Innocent Monsters

by Doherty, Barbara

  “It must be strange to see someone else’s furniture in a place where you’ve been living for a while,” Jessica said.

  He looked up at her, passed her his beer so she could open it. The truck suit bottom she was wearing looked too big for her, it reminded him of all the oversized clothes he had seen hanging loosely on his skinny sister and he looked away.

  “Just as strange as seeing your own furniture in someone else’s house, I guess.”

  William knew. His family’s furniture always looked strange, everywhere they moved. It never seemed to fit properly, always arranged in the same way, always a copy of the way it used to look before people started talking about his father and his dirty business. William always hoped a new house would be the start of a new life and a happy family, but his family was never happy. The house would change, the town would be different but the furniture would be the same. His father, his frightened sister and his useless mother would still be there; the spare room would look the same, only a different colour, and the men coming in would all look like clones of each other. Wherever they went. Just like the furniture.

  He sighed. “You should buy new stuff and throw everything away.”

  Jessica sat on the floor next to him. “There’s nothing wrong with my furniture.”

  “It keeps memories. Furniture keeps memories. You can rearrange it, you can change house, but if you take it with you, you take every memory, every smell, every ghost you kept in your old place. It’s like keeping a t-shirt you wore the day something special happened to you... Like a song that reminds you of something.”

  He drank from his bottle and when he turned to look at her he found Jessica staring at the floor, as if she could see something that wasn’t really there. He touched her hand and felt her jump under his fingers, saw her rubbing a hand across her forehead.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What if you only keep some of it?”

  “What? Furniture?”

  “Yes. What if you only keep some of it and throw away the rest?”

  “I don’t know. Are you ok?”

  “I gave away the car, and my sofa... the bed.”

  Kaitlyn’s three-seater sofa had made it to Nob Hill, her single wardrobe now lived in this hallway. Jessica had kept a mirror, one of her lanterns, a suitcase full of her clothes, her books, the butterfly painting and the shoe boxes. Was it too much? Had she carried her ghost here?

  He leaned closer to her, a hand on her forearm. She could feel the breath coming out of his nostrils, a strange light shone in his eyes, madness, sweetness, something that made her forget about the blood she had just remembered looking down at the floor. He smiled at her, concerned, hopeful.

  “I’m ok, thanks.”

  She took a sip of beer and him after her, and another, both of them staring out of the window in silence. He was so close to her she could feel the heat of his body, its strange energy. She thought she could hear the blood pumping through his veins. She turned to look at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice her staring at him while he drank his beer, hoping she’d have enough time to study his face, admire every little detail of his weird features. And when he turned towards her again she found she couldn’t look away.

  “You’re the first person to see my new apartment,” she told him. “I don’t know anyone else around here... I don’t really know a lot of people anywhere.”

  She didn’t mean to sound desperate but she suspected she just had.

  “That makes two of us. I say fuck friends. Who needs them?”

  She smiled sarcastically. “Right. It kind of makes this time of year terribly depressing though.”

  “It’s not much of an event where I come from, but you can buy me a present if you like. I’ll come around on Christmas day, you can cook a turkey or whatever it is you eat that day. I’ll bring champagne and pecan pie.”

  “Would you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d do anything for an expensive gift.”

  They laughed together. It was a joke, but right now she liked the idea.

  “Not a fan of Christmas, I take it.”

  It was a child’s holiday that William couldn’t remember ever enjoying, and now that he was an adult he just couldn’t see the point of it.

  “Let’s put it this way,” he said. “I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t believe in Santa Claus and the whole thing is such a money spinner, I actually find it kind of disturbing.”

  “Disturbing, uh? Now that’s a word I haven’t heard associated with Christmas before.”

  “People behave like pigs to each other all year round, then December comes around and they start running around buying presents for relatives they never bother with and so-called friends they hate. Come the twenty-fifth it’s smiles, hugs and kisses all around. Isn’t that disturbing?“

  “When you put it like that... Have you always been so cynical?”

  “I’m afraid so.” His hand on her forearm again, warm, so warm. “But I can also be hopeful and very trusting. You just need to dig deep.”

  Then they were silent again, comfortable, sipping beer.

  “Have you been out since you moved in the area?”

  “Not really,” she smiled. “I’ve been too busy painting your walls.”

  “We should go somewhere sometimes, you know, lunch or dinner, have a walk around.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  He gulped down the rest of his beer and stood up leaving the bottle on the kitchen worktop. “Well, I’ve got to go now. It was nice seeing you again.”

  “Yes, you too. Thanks for stopping by. And thanks for the beer.”

  She left her bottle next to his and walked behind him to the door.

  “How about tomorrow. For lunch.” He asked turning around quickly.

  She stood motionless a few inches away from him. “...You mean?”

  “Tomorrow, I can come and pick you up at one. What do you think?”

  “Yes...Yeah, that’d be good.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then. One o’ clock.” He opened the door. “If you change your mind, just pretend you’re not in.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry.”

  “What about the bedroom?” he asked before leaving.

  “What about it?”

  “What colour is it now?”

  “Red.” She pointed at a small dot on one of the washed out white letters on her t-shirt. “Deep red. Like it?”

  He smiled walking out into the communal corridor. “I don’t have to sleep in it anymore. Don’t ask me. See you later.”

  When she closed the door behind him Jessica sat on the floor again. She was feeling drunk, her head was spinning but it couldn’t have been the one beer she hadn’t even finished. And she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  16 December 2000

  WILLIAM DIDN’T tell her where they would spend the afternoon. He told her they were going to take a walk, that he wanted to show her what he liked and what he didn’t like. They took a taxi to Grant Avenue and stopped at the entrance to Chinatown, walked through an arching gateway bedecked with dragons, guarded by stone lions. Jessica had been here a couple of times before, but it had been during the evening and never this crowded. She looked ahead in a daze, speechless: people, lights, open stalls hiding the sidewalk, vegetables, bamboo boxes over filled with fruit, fresh fish writhing, trying to breath in the melted ice water underneath them; Peking ducks and pig heads hanging from the store windows, herb bunches and teas, healing crystals and people pressing one another, against one another, too many, all at the same time.

  “Ever been here?”

  “A couple of times, in the evening. It wasn’t like this!”

  He laughed, casually throwi
ng his arm around her shoulder and leaned closer to her ear. “See? This is what I don’t like. Crowds. I hate crowds.” She nodded, still looking ahead. “Come.”

  He held her closer to him and she held onto him, trying to make herself smaller while they walked, looking around in amazement until he turned into an alley where the noise of the main road suddenly seemed to disappear, as if this narrow road was a corridor to another world, distant, remote. Timeworn buildings rose on each side draped with black fire stairs and fading Chinese street signs; behind the closed doors families chatted in their strange language.

  William held her hand walking until they reached the other end of the back street where a small restaurant stood by itself, surrounded by nothing other then blank brick walls.

  A girl with beautiful oriental features and narrow hips welcomed them into a room where tables encircled a large, round fountain filled with lotus flowers, a stone dragon rising from its center to the ceiling, spitting water instead of fire. She led them upstairs where William had reserved one of the private booths: white paper walls covered in pink flowers and birds hid them from the rest of the restaurant, a lantern shone from the ceiling over a low square table, large cushions laid on the floor by each of its sides. William sat on one of them with his legs crossed while Jessica looked at him still standing up, her hands on the long tight black skirt she had decided to wear.

  “Pull it up,” he whispered. “Nobody’s gonna come in here. Except the waitress.”

  And she did, she pulled up her skirt, sat on the cushion and hoped she would feel his hand on her thigh before the end of the afternoon.

  “I hope you don’t mind Chinese for lunch,” he said.

  “Bit late to ask, don’t you think?” Jessica smiled, looking at the light inside the lantern. “But luckily, one of my favourite... How did you find this place?” She asked him. “It’s beautiful.”

  He shrugged. “Walking by myself. Walking where people don’t usually walk. I tend to spend a lot of time on my own, and a lot of that time going where other people don’t usually go.”

  “You’re a loner.”

  He shrugged again. “Fuck friends, right? I’m used to my own company.”

  “So why did you take me here?”

  “Because you’re different.”

  “You can’t say that. You don’t really know me.”

  He grinned looking down at the table in silence and another Chinese girl walked through the sliding paper door of the booth excusing herself, bowing, bringing a large pot of tea and white porcelain cups. She poured some for both of them then stood by the door waiting for them to order, and William ordered for both of them, comfortably, without looking at the menu. As she left, Jessica observed the girl walking out of the door, admiring the grace of her movement, her ability to move without making any audible noise, and once she was gone she turned to face William again and found him staring at her, her eyes, her hands around the tea cup, her hair looped behind her ears, her breasts. His eyes were everywhere, and she looked away.

  “I passed through Kearny Street on my way to your place today: there’s a good picture of you in the window at Dalton’s.” She blushed. Again, shit. “I know. I’ve seen it. It’s funny, you know, I kinda have to remind myself that’s me. It’s just so weird.”

  “You’re a good writer, that’s why your face is in there.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to say that.”

  “I say it because I believe it’s true. I was serious when I said your book is one of the best things I’ve read in years. It’s real... We all try to repair ourselves as we go through life...” It was the last sentence of her novel. ”You try to undo the damage... But the world gets hold of you and somehow you just can’t ...Can you?”

  She nodded. He knew. He had been damaged. He was one of the defectives.

  Jessica had spent her life trying to undo the damage her father had done to her, ruining her childhood with his drinking, not being there for her when all she really wanted was to be loved. And it never mattered how much her mother tried to compensate for his lack of affection, it never mattered how many kisses she gave her before bed time, how many praises, how many strokes, how many school events she tried to attend, it was her father’s love she wanted. It was her father’s love she didn’t have. It was her father’s love she had been looking for all her life, going from one untouchable man to another, one short relationship to another, sexual relationships, empty, cold, distant men, silent, lost, just like her father had been, just like she remembered him. Like him, none of them had ever really showed any love or respect; through them she had tried to undo the damage, chased them, tried to reach them. And failed.

  She watched William lighting a cigarette, watched its smoke tangle in the air with the steam coming out of the cup in front of him.

  “Tell me something about you, I’m a boring subject.”

  He shook his head slightly. “I don’t like talking about myself.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to try. We’re not going to spend the rest of the afternoon talking about me. You already know a lot more about me than I do about you. You have an unfair advantage.”

  “You know what I do for a living, you know where I live, you know I hate Christmas and crowds, you know I like peace and quiet.” He smoked, his eyes fixed on hers. “And what if I told you I think I already know you anyway?” He asked. “Would it be possible somehow, do you think?”

  “I don’t really see how.”

  “Reading your book, reading between the lines.

  She searched his face: he looked relaxed and yet she could see some dark monster struggling just beneath his skin, behind the blue of his eyes, some dark sorrow. She could see that inside him, and maybe so could he, inside her.

  “Yes, I think it’s possible. But you’d have to know just how much of myself I decided to put between those lines.”

  “And what if I think I know you because you remind me of someone I used to know very well?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t really know me then, you would still just know someone else.”

  The waitress came back with a small trolley, which she parked outside the paper door and carried their plates to the table one by one, discreetly leaving a little silver bell by William’s hand when she’d finished.

  He didn’t resume the conversation once she had gone and Jessica didn’t ask him to. There was something about not being unique in his mind that made her feel uncomfortable, something she decided to ignore.

  William ate perfectly with chopsticks and made fun of the way she tried; he talked much more than she did, but never about himself. He told her about the Chinese neighbourhood, about the New Year Festival and the parade, the largest celebration of its kind outside Asia, one of the last night-time illuminated parades in the country. As he spoke she could almost see it, the elaborate costumes, the ferocious lions, the floats, the exploding firecrackers and the enormous Golden Dragon. And she thought about Kaitlyn again, because she loved anything to do with Chinese culture and the New Year festival was one of the things they had always meant to do together. But she wasn’t here anymore and William was the only other person in the world at this very moment she could think of sharing this experience with.

  Once their plates were empty, William rang the little bell and after a few minutes the Chinese girl walked back into the room to clear their table leaving then a little tray of fortune cookies.

  The flame burning inside the lantern seemed weaker than when they had first walked in and the daylight shining through the paper door had started fading. William was casually smoking another cigarette and Jessica had taken her off shoes, hugged her knees close to her chest, the skirt almost up to her hips. Everything felt so intimate and serene, so natural. The world seemed suddenly simple, and she smiled, she smiled at herself reaching for a fortune cookie.


  “They’re magic,” she joked. “Last time I opened one it predicted fame and fortune.” Now she hoped it would tell her she would feel his body close to hers before the end of the day. She opened it and read the message out loud. “Friend’s laughter will soon turn to tears.” Damn. “Not exactly what I had in mind, I must confess.” She winked at him, “Open yours.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I don’t believe in magic.” He stretched across the table to reach her ear, his eyes were shining. “What do you say I take you home now?”

  He touched her face with his fingertips gently and the only thing Jessica could see before her eyes was an image of herself riding naked on top of him on the bathroom floor, their bodies reflected in the large mirror.

  “Take me home,” she said.

  JESSICA OPENED the door then turned to look at him standing behind her. She only had a couple of seconds, then the light in the communal hallway clicked off and she couldn’t see him anymore. The winter sun had already set and the window at the end of the corridor didn’t break the darkness.

  In the taxi on the way back he had laid the hand she had so desired on her thigh only to tell her he wasn’t going to stay, and she had smiled at him, told him it was ok, it was not what she was expecting from him. But now, standing in front of him, face to face, what she heard herself saying was not goodbye but...

  “Not even for a coffee?”

  He laughed, a sweet laughter that didn’t embarrass or annoy her, just made her want him more. “I’ll leave you here today. You can take me somewhere tomorrow.”

  “Ok. What time?”

  “God, I don’t know... Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  That laughter again. “Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and let me know? You have my number.”

  “I have your number,” she repeated.

  “Thank you. I had a great time.”

  “Thank you. For once, it really wouldn’t have been the same on my own.”

  For a while they stood there looking for each other in the dark, in silence, no light in the hallway, no light coming from the door Jessica had just opened, just the memory they both held of each other’s face to guide their eyes. Then she placed her hand on his neck and kissed his lips, softly, gently and felt his hand on her shoulder, traveling along her arm, heard him whispering something not quite loud enough to hear, and then he was already stepping away from her.