Random Acts of Heroic Love

by Danny Scheinmann

  The woman stopped in the middle of the stage, turned her back to the audience and held a pose with hands on hips and legs a metre apart. For a good twenty seconds she stood absolutely still while the crowd clapped and whistled. Then she raised both hands, clicked her fingers, and the voice of Marilyn Monroe singing ‘I Want To Be Loved By You’ filled the smoky bar. The coat fell to the floor, a flick of the head and a pout over the shoulder. An old formula but it had its effect, for in a moment the room went quiet as the men ravaged the girl with their eyes. Now, in black lace camisole, suspenders and high heels, she turned to face them. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

  At last Leo was at the bar, he was sweating and his eyes were smarting from the smoke. ‘Here’s twenty quid,’ he said to the portly barman, ‘get me drunk.’

  ‘Well, there’s a challenge. What would you like, sir, beer, wine, spirits?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . beer and spirits.’

  ‘How about I give you five pints and five chasers?’

  ‘Fine, whatever. You choose.’

  As he watched the stripper, Leo felt Eleni hovering silently above him. ‘Go away, stop judging me. This is where I belong now. I feel good here.’ He gulleted a couple of drinks to chase her from his mind but nevertheless he, too, began to wonder what he was doing there. Maybe this is me, the new me. If I am going to lead a life without love then why not indulge in baser pleasures?

  The girl was down to bra, knickers and stilettos. She was at the front of the stage now, inviting a group of six or seven beer-bellied boys to put their money into her bra. They whooped, whistled and egged each other on, excited and embarrassed all at once. It must have been their first time. They looked from one to the other to see who was bravest, each looking for permission, unsure of what to do. Hands in pockets to see if they had any notes. The shortest of the lads, a spotty red-faced kid with lank hair, seizing the opportunity to raise his status, pulled out a fiver and was pushed to the fore by his mates. He held out the note tentatively towards her. The girl grabbed his hand and pushed it down her bra. The others cheered and within seconds they all had their money out and jostled to get closer to the stage. When she had taken all their money they turned on one of their number, lifted him up and rolled him on to the stage at her feet. ‘It’s his eighteenth birthday,’ they clamoured, ‘go on, give him something special.’ Pumped up with drink and teenage hormones the hapless boy scrambled to his feet and held his fists aloft in victory. The audience responded by singing ‘Happy Birthday’. The overexcited youth turned to the stripper and began to wiggle his hips in some hopeless erotic dance. She grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him up close and fixed him in the eyes. The boy froze; his knees were shaking. She wrapped her right leg around his lower back, thrust her hips into his and flung her hair back in simulated pleasure. The boy tried to kiss her neck but she was having none of it. She withdrew and circled him very slowly looking him over and shaking her head as if to say he was not up to it. She then turned him to the audience and made him raise his hands above his head. She put her finger on his lips and slowly traced it down his chest to the top of his trousers. The crowd cheered. Leo whistled and shouted in delight. Eleni had disappeared in the smoke.

  She lifted the lad’s shirt, revealing his hairless, bulbous belly, and walked her fingers down inside the top of his trousers. Instinctively the boy’s arms shot down to protect his manhood. She removed her hand and again pushed his arms up towards the ceiling. The audience laughed. This time she went for his belt, unfastening it provocatively, and slowly pulling it through the trouser loops until she had it in her hand. She took hold of his arms and brought them down behind his back and tied them together with the belt. The lad did not know what to do; half-eager and lusty, half-terrified, he laughed nervously. He was both hero and victim. His tormentor unzipped his trousers and let them fall to his ankles. The audience erupted. Leo looked at the ruddy faces around him, baying like wolves at the kill. He liked what he saw. These men were earthy, honest, in touch with their angry, self-loathing cores. Man as fucker and murderer, beholden to no one, with all the sticky layers of culture and civilization peeled off. He beat his fists on the bar. Go all the way, fuck him. Go on do it, do it. Yes, now he was beginning to find himself, the truth was grovelling on its knees to the surface. He was not worthy of love, not worthy of anything more than whores and sluts.

  He was guilty of murder and this was the punishment. ‘Let’s sit at the front.’ With these words he had led Eleni to her death. He wanted to be ripped open and feel salt in the wounds because he deserved it. His humanity had died with Eleni, now he was brute. From this day on I shall live the rest of my life as an animal, he thought, and to encourage himself on his new journey he finished off the remainder of his drinks without pausing between them.

  The stripper was in control, she slipped one red varnished fingernail inside the rim of the birthday boy’s black underpants. There was not a man in the crowd who did not feel that finger against his own skin. Little by little her whole hand sank down inside the boy’s pants until she had hold of his penis. They could all feel her hand on them. A hundred penises bulged and sweated. But not the boy’s, he was too nervous. He was limp and the ruthless stripper pulled his pants down to join his trousers and exposed his flaccid humiliation to the crowd. She pushed him hopping and stumbling back towards his friends; he fell to his knees and rolled off the stage to be rescued by his jeering mates.

  Leo headed for the toilet. He felt wretched. He pushed his way past the stage, where the stripper had now removed her bra, and through a door on the far side of the room. He was in a corridor and he leant heavily against a wall for a moment while he wiped the sweat from his forehead. A rush of nausea rose up from his stomach, he doubled up and made for what he thought was the toilet door. He found himself in an unlit dressing room. He closed the door behind him and pushed his back against it. He steadied himself, took a deep breath and fought off the urge to vomit. When at last he had mastered himself again he groped along the wall until he found a switch and flicked it on. There was a large mirror edged with vanity lights at one end. In front of the mirror was a table strewn with lipstick and make-up and a chair with a pair of jeans flung over the back. Leo sat down and stared into the mirror. His eyes were torpid and his face seemed to sag. Flesh hung from his jowls in pale shapeless wads. Skin too big for bones. His brow looked corrugated, freshly furrowed. He could see no redeeming features, he had lost his youth. It was too bright and the mirror too cruel. Out in the bar there was a loud cheer and a round of applause.

  Leo staggered on to the street, and as he gulped down the cool air, his head swirled and his stomach emptied itself on the pavement. He fell back against a wall and cursed. He was bitterly angry and suddenly it was obvious who to hate, for he had noticed a white lorry approaching on the other side of the street. Lorry drivers were responsible. As a breed they were collectively guilty. He tottered to his feet and lunged into the road.

  ‘The lorry’s going to hit us,’ Eleni yelled. The lorry had strayed on to the wrong side of the road. Leo saw the frightened face of the Ecuadorean driver as he tried to bring his vehicle under control. He could hear Eleni screaming and another disembodied voice, which must have been his own.

  ‘You murderer,’ he slurred as the white lorry bore down on him. ‘I hope all of you die . . .’ The lorry swerved to avoid him, mounted the kerb and skidded to a halt. The driver jumped out of the cab, ran over to Leo, pulled him by the shirt on to the pavement and began to throttle him. ‘You fuckin’ idiot . . . what the hell do you think you were doing?’ he shouted in Leo’s face.

  ‘You killed Eleni . . . you killed Eleni,’ Leo retorted.

  ‘What? Drunk are we? I should have run you over. One less moron to worry about,’ the man said, shaking Leo vigorously.

  ‘No, you were drunk,’ Leo contested, ‘. . . the doctor told me you were drunk . . . that’s why it happened . . . now see . . . what you’ve done to me . . . y
ou’ve ruined my life.’ A surge of hatred rose inside him and he found the strength to push the driver backwards and lunge at him with fists flailing. The driver fought back, kicking and punching him until he fell to the ground. A group of people watched from afar but no one dared intervene.

  Leo came round in a police cell, bewildered and bruised. Once he had found his senses he was escorted from his cell up a flight of stairs into a whitewashed room where he was examined by a police doctor, breathalysed and then questioned. At six in the morning he was informed that he had been reported missing by a Mr Frank Deakin and was allowed to phone home. By eight he was told that no charges were being pressed and that he was free to leave. His parents were waiting for him at reception.

  ‘We thought you’d killed yourself,’ Eve said as they led Leo to the car.

  Later, slouched at the kitchen table, Leo was vaguely aware that his father was loitering behind him.

  ‘Shall I make you some tea?’ Frank offered after a while.

  ‘No, I just need some water.’

  ‘Would you like some ice?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, just give me some bloody water,’ Leo snapped.

  ‘Sorry,’ Frank said meekly and handed over the glass.

  Leo drank it in one go and held out the glass for more. Obediently, Frank filled it up and passed it back.

  ‘How about some toast?’

  ‘I can look after myself, thank you,’ Leo hissed.

  There was a silence while Leo finished his second glass of water.

  ‘Your mother wants me to have a chat with you,’ Frank began and immediately regretted bringing Eve into it. He should have said, ‘I want to have a chat with you.’ ‘She wants me to tell you about my own experiences. She thinks it may help you. You see I . . . I know how you’re feeling because . . . I lost my parents when I was young and I . . .’

  But Leo wasn’t listening, he still felt drunk and he hadn’t slept all night. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was shocked about what he had done the night before. He’d never got drunk like that in his life, he could have been killed. It would have been darkly ironic if he had been killed by a lorry, too. He knew Eleni would have been furious with him for his stupidity. He was ashamed of himself and he knew he had to take some kind of action to halt this slide into self-indulgence. Action. That was it! Action was the true healer, not time. This would be his medicine.

  He noticed his father dithering at the table.

  ‘Dad, aren’t you supposed to be at work?’

  ‘It’s all right, I can go in later if you want to talk.’

  ‘Not now, I’m exhausted, I’m going to bed,’ Leo said, and walked out of the kitchen.

  Frank watched him go, then he scraped his heart from his sleeve, carefully folded it up and hid it away. That evening he went up into the attic and rooted out an old leather suitcase. He dusted it down and took it to his study. He hadn’t looked inside that case for fifty years. Inside was the inheritance, but there was a lot of work to do before he could give it to Leo.

  14

  ‘AT LONG LAST. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I’VE ONLY CALLED YOU A thousand times. And it only took you a month to call back. I should be pissed off but for some reason I feel honoured because I know for a fact you haven’t called anyone else.’

  Hannah was one of the first people Leo had met at university. He was in the hall of residence queuing at the canteen on his first day and she happened to be behind him in the queue. A slim mousy-haired girl with impossibly high cheekbones and a natural toothy smile. In those early days all of the students were a little clingy and desperate, they would spend the first term making friends with anyone and everyone and the second term trying to lose them. But Hannah became an enduring friend. When Leo and Eleni moved out of their two-bedroom maisonette in Camden and left for South America it was Hannah who moved in.

  ‘So what happened, suddenly find your address book?’

  ‘I had a dream about you last night.’

  ‘You lucky boy. Was it erotic?’

  Leo laughed. ‘No, the dream was about you but you weren’t actually in it.’

  ‘How intriguing, were people gossiping about me again? I am the subject of a lot of gossip, you know. The other day I was in the toilet at work when Janet and Lilly came in. Anyway there I was wiping my bum when Janet said to Lilly that I was sleeping with Mark, he’s the chunky sandwich boy. Oh no, that doesn’t sound right. He doesn’t sell chunky sandwiches – they’re actually quite meagre, no, what I meant was, he’s chunky – works out and stuff. Sort of bloke that waxes unwanted hairy patches – you know, those scrappy little tufts you blokes get on your backs and upper arms. They all fancy Mark, that lot, always going on about peeling his wraps and getting their hands on his Cumberland and other perverse activities of which I am innocent. But he’s not my sort. I swear to God, Leo, I haven’t touched him.’

  What relief to engage in a conversation about nothing. Hannah was the only person Leo knew who could turn trivia into a weapon against misery. ‘It’s all right, Hannah, you don’t have to convince me. Even at college people always thought you were at it when you weren’t.’

  ‘Did they? Who? I want names. Who did they think I was shagging?’

  ‘Well there was that anthropology lecturer, Jack Dunphy. Someone said they’d seen you under the table in his office, while he was sat on his chair with a big smile on his face.’

  ‘I dropped my pen, for Christ’s sake. He was laughing because I was making such a fool of myself. God, did people really think I went down on Dunphy? That’s desperate. What do they think I am? Why do they believe these scurrilous lies, Leo?’

  ‘Because you smile at strangers? Because a lot of men fancy you? I don’t know.’

  Hannah snorted, ‘The truth is I’m hopeless with men. I’ve not exactly had many and the longest relationship I’ve ever had was five months. That’s crap, isn’t it? You know we used to look at you and Eleni and say you were the perfect couple. I’m so used to saying your two names in one breath. Whenever a conversation came up about love we would quote you two as proof that it existed. I’m so sorry, Leo.’

  There was a silence before she continued. ‘Anyway, what about that dream you had? What were they saying about me?’

  Leo took a deep breath, ‘I’ve been having a lot of dreams about Eleni recently where she appears next to me and starts doing Eleni things like that crazy bouncy dance she used to do or singing away on her bike. She drifts into the dream and I think she’s alive and then she waves goodbye and I know she’s dead. Last night she came to me again, but she just sat staring at me and she said, ‘Hannah’, and then she disappeared.’

  Hannah giggled, ‘Is that it? She just said, “Hannah”? She didn’t say, “Hannah had sex with the Archbishop of Canterbury”? Just “Hannah”. That’s weird. What do you think it meant?’

  ‘At first I thought it had to be something deeply significant from the way she said it, but now you’re on the phone I think she was just saying, “Hannah will cheer you up”. And she was right. You have.’

  ‘Oh good, I’m not completely useless, then. So tell me when are you coming back to London, Leo?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he replied impulsively.

  The following day he climbed the steps to his old flat, weighed down by the same rucksack that he had carried in a previous life, when he and Eleni had skipped down those stairs full of excitement and embarked on the adventure that was to separate them for ever. His heart filled with trepidation. How abject he felt coming home without her! There was a small, unwelcome, welcome committee waiting for him at the door. He would rather have entered the flat alone and spent a quiet moment with the memories that were beginning to flood his senses. As it was, Charlie greeted him first, throwing himself into Leo’s arms and hugging him so tightly that it was difficult for Leo to breathe. Then came Stacey and Karen, Eleni’s closest friends, and finally Hannah, who declined to kiss him, preferring instead to punch him hard on his upper arm. ‘That’s f
or not calling sooner,’ she said.

  As he followed them down the hallway towards the kitchen, Leo noticed two stacks of boxes. Still here, he mused, untouched. The thought of their contents made him shiver. His entire life with Eleni was packed up in those innocuous-looking brown boxes. Love tokens, letters, clothes, photos and books. Three years of a love now reduced to little things in boxes. He felt a certain ambivalence towards them. He did not relish the thought of sifting through them, a task he knew he would have to undertake soon. There were decisions to be made about what to do with it all and it had been so hard in Ecuador to even look at the clothes Eleni had once worn, or feel the objects she had once held. And yet he was desperate to reread her letters, rummage through forgotten photos and rediscover the accumulated paraphernalia that would allow him to travel back through their life together, leaping from memory to memory rather as a child might leap from stone to stone when crossing a stream.

  Passing his old bedroom he couldn’t help but look inside. Hannah had pushed the bed, which used to be in the middle of the room, up against the far wall under the window. She had offered to let him move back in, but he couldn’t imagine sleeping in that bed without Eleni. There was a new rug on the threadbare carpet and a collection of Asian Buddha heads and statuettes above the unused fireplace. The doors on the large white fitted cupboard hung open. Leo saw Eleni standing there naked, wondering what clothes to put on. It was the gentle concave arch of her lower back, her rounded shoulders and the spread of her buttocks that were etched in his mind. She had the shape of a Botticelli goddess, neither fat nor thin but pleasingly fleshy. An unusual snapshot, he thought. Of all the things that had happened in that bedroom, why should this quiet and seemingly insignificant moment come to the fore? The image was frozen. He tried to make her turn round and smile at him but she wouldn’t.