by Alan Duff
Oriental boys fast headed down street, not see Tavistocks sign, too busy looking for Massage sign, need girl, white girl, blonde the bess, they bess for Oriental boy who only know black hair, yellow skin, we like white skin, blonde hair, specially down there, we pay more for that. Travelled all that water with only woman wet on Oriental mind, which not so inscrutable when you look close. Lady massage girl, Blonde Queen, I alright, I clean, I clean, Japanese and Chinese boy he clean, so no rubber, lady beautiful girl, no wubber pleese for clean Chinese Japanese Korean boy.
And the massage girls bringing in early-evening earns for a quick drink say hello to some of the Tavi regs, to the lowlife mirrors of herself, and tellem lurid stories of kinky filthy horny perverted customers, clients; and everyone laughing, or scowling, or looking astonished at the extent – the extent – of behaviour gone beyond even their depraved condition, of man, mankind his fantastic sexual scope of bent and twisted and warped imagination turned to real-life pictures with simple handover of the cash: Do it this way, lady, sweet blon white lady. Show me it, show it to me (ahhhh), let Oriental boy gaze upon your blonde (pure) sexual loveliness. The gals telling em this, the Tavi regulars, but only surprise and mirroring and envy and part disgust getting through to em, not wisdom, can’t be wisdom, cuz, hahahahaha, wisdom’s an open door in ya mind, eh, arid if it’s closed, it’s, like, closed, eh. And no amount of hammering’ll open it neither. No amount.
Outside, outside in the lovely (for all they knew nor cared), the sun starting to dip, making the harbour waters golden. And the boat and ship churning giving the water this kind of sheen that danced with silvery reflections and threw mercury shade and rounded water texture movements to any observant eye that weren’t drunk out of its skull and/or stoned to the eyeballs.
More and more going out to the payphone, to beg and plead and implore and lie for the stuff that’d keep this lie going, the same stuff they go out steal for – bread, baby – cos it’s what holds the emotional fort, keeps the emotional wolf from the door of your tormented condition. (But not so tormented you can’t telephone a con to the callee other end, laying it on thick, with that plastic mouthpiece in your tattooed hand signifying the degrees of your pathetic duration, telling the tale of your unhappy endurance. Mum? Mum, I need some money.)
Such a nice evening outside too.
10
Oh, and during the night, not that night though, too out of it that night, but another night, this sheila comes in, eh. On her own. And a looker too. So everyone thinking she was a new girl started at one of the parlours, probably Class Touch, Big Pete’s joint, but then again she didn’t look like no hooker, not even to them in their drunk and stoned states. Too sorta confused, of eye and demeanour; the way she looked around her unafraid of eye, only a little surprised at being somewhere unfamiliar, and maybe getting confused at all around low-life patronage eying her; them, the regs, figuring how she, the lost-looking entry, would be seein em; so grinning amongst themselves and giving her looks varying from mock hostility to false innocence. Then everyone could see she was kind of sick, in her eyes, in her innocent unfraidness of not alarming, let alone bolting, at the sight of what she’d stumbled into.
Not retarded, no, she wasn’t that bad. Ain’t as if her head was rolling all over the place and her tongue was hanging out, not like that. But she looked lost in her facial composure; the skin was pulled tight and she had make-up that’d seen a few tears in the last little while, though she was covering up as if she was okay.
They swarmed over like flies. They didn’t give two fucks bout her looking probably a bit wonky in the ole head, the brain department (so who’s sane around here, hahahahaha!), they only wanted to fuck her, the men did; and the women wanted to smash her up, lure her out to the toilets and scratch her pretty face to shreds, comin in lookin like that. The men only wanted what was up her short skirt, to go straight up to her, no kiss my arse, nuthin, and hike up her dress and enter her twat, her strangely different womanhood (might be sumpin different for a change). Drooling over her cos whoever scored’d be having the prettiest woman he’d ever had in his life (his unhappy duration), and that’s the whole point, ain’t it, to fuck the best-looking sheilas you can? So wha’s ya name, darl? Jube was one of the first over to her. The first to slime over.
And the other fullas gathered round her like she was being auctioned, calling out their bids of introduction and lewd comment; one even calling out cock size: as if that was the sole reason to bring her sad-faced existence in here to, of all places, Tavistocks, to give herself to the bidder with the longest cock. But why, even Jube wouldn’t talk like that and expect a result. Can I buy you a drink, doll? What’s your name? My name’s Jube, hahahaha, and you’ll have to pardon the ole eyes, darl, but I’m, you know, out of it, eh. But not that out of it, if ya know what I mean, hahahaha. What was that you’re having? Bourbon and L and P? Lady, it’s yours. Come with me up to the bar, and you wankers take ya fucking eyes offa her cos she’s spoken for, ain’t ya, lady? Smiling at Jube. See? Tole you wankers, (hahahaha). And you cin take your dirty paws off the nice lady’s bum too, Pedro. Think I didn’t see ya? Hahaha, ya gotta watchem in this place, lady – What’d you say your name was?
Maria. Now that’s a nice name. Maria. Jube eyeing the woman over her face, into her eyes as far her obvious condition was allowing him to probe, glassy that they were even though they were a beautiful doey brown. Knew a girl called Maria, back a few years now. But she wasn’t as pretty as you, lady, tha’s for sure. You’re not from one of the parlours, are you? No, didn’t think you were. You got too much class, huh? Hahaha. Drink up, Maria, plenty more where that comes from. Jube flashed his wad of fifties, his diminishing wad; even though he didn’t see it as that. Still felt the same as when it first started, this dream run that bread and only bread can buy. Come closer, hahaha, I ain’t gonna bite ya. He’d looked round him at the competition he’d beaten to this woman. They’re the ones to watch, Maria, them creeps out there. Here, down that and I’ll buy you another one. (A double. No, make that a treble, hehehe).
She downed the three-shot of bourbon and Lemon and Paeroa, as Jube merely sipped on his drink, wanting to stay in shape enough to really giver one if it was gonna work out that way. Eyeing her. All over. In a state of disbelief, or half belief, that he, Jube McCall, could be in such attractive woman company when he’d spent his adult lifetime in the company of sluts and low-lifes and scrubbers. Something was definitely wrong with her, she was spaced out and she spoke in unrelated spurts of silliness in a lil girl voice (which turned Jube on.) Drink up, drink up, Maria, hahaha. Betcha ya don’t remember my name? Thought you wouldn’t, hahaha. (But you won’t forget me, the man, lady.)
Third drink into her and Jube was hustling the woman out. Come on, kiddo, let’s go somewhere classy. Alright? Yeah, sure it’s alright, hahaha, I can tell. Ya like big cars? Take em or leave em? Wait’ll you see mine. Oops, did I say sumpin wrong – HAHAHAHA, I never meant it that way, Maria. The woman’d nodded at Jube’s suggestion they go someplace else, just nodded and looked at him trustingly with those big brown eyes even more glazed by the double and triple shots of bourbon Jube’d fired into her. And the dudes catcalled and whistled and glared and teased at Jube walking out with the spunk, the mad-looking sheila he’d pulled before anyone thought to take advantage of her state, her pitiful condition.
Here ya go, darl, climb in, hahaha. The laugh catching in Jube’s throat cos he was hornier’n a bull. And ya don’t have to wipe ya shoes before you get in, hahahaha. Hearing his horniness in his own laugh, and his own nervousness at anticipating this event. (Man, wild horses wouldn’t stop me now.) In his side looking at this dream stumbled in from the evening. He took her to another bar, a bit flasher. More our own kind, eh Maria, hahaha. Drink up. She drank. And night fell. Try another place? Sure.
Eyeing her as she got into the car, catching a flash of uncovered thigh when her dress rode up as she got in, he holding the door playing the gentleman. (And
was that white flash I saw her knickers?) Jube had to swallow repeatedly, and he dry-retched when he walked round to his side of the car, carrying a six-pack of beer. Go somewhere to enjoy the night, yeah? Okay. Fine, the dulled creature’d said. Off we go. (Hahahahaha!) His hand trembling with the key in the ignition. Penis as hard as a rock.
The woman spoke in her dreamy tone as Jube drove. She was away with the fairies, but Jube going, yeow, hey! and nodding as though in perfect sympathy with the woman; her disjointed tale something about supposed to have taken her lith-something pill, that she was a maniac depression or sumpin, in that freaky voice of hers that was really a lil girl’s not that of a woman with as fine a body as Jube’d ever seen other than in Penthouse magazines, and even then.
Talking to him in that lil girl voice that was turning him on, stirring up his sex juices sumpin terrible that he could rape her on the spot, cept it wouldn’t be rape, not since she was in the car of her own accord, and anyway it’s not rape it’s only a fuck. One fuck is all it is and yet they give out big jail sentences for it, for a lousy fuck that the sheila can take anyway, no different to sticking a toothbrush in her mouth: a quick twirl around and it’s over. Was how Jube saw it. But rape was worth more and more these days, and look at that dude they knocked back his parole even though he’d done seven years cos of the public outcry. (Fuck the public. They’re a buncha cunts anyway.)
What problem is this, Maria? he’d felt obliged to ask even though he wasn’t thinking bout no problem cept what he had of himself down there – (HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!) – and hearing her mumble about the lithium pill again and the maniac depressive disease she had. Yeh, yeh, sure, Maria, I unnerstan. Know how ya must feel. As they drove through the city out east following the sea. Hey, now lookit that for a sight! Jube in false appreciation the sight of sea dappled with light reflections and streetlamps bouncing yellow off the waters and little humps of waves.
They’d passed a walking couple along seafront and Jube’d felt a kind of empathy with them: as if he and this mad woman were more or less in common with the couple, cept they were driving their partnership not walking it; but this could be his sheila, his main gal, her obvious, uhh, condition aside for the moment it took to run the thought through its shortspan course till the main one came back to the fore. But till it did he glanced over at her frequently, thinking she was one fucking stunner and that people’d be looking at Jube with envy and jealousy and hatred that he had a woman so attractive, the other guys wanting what he had of getting to (shortly) stick one into her, dip into her honey pot (hahahaha) but more, her beauty: that a man wanted so much to have at the same time he wanted to hurt, for some reason. Since, if he couldn’t have her for keeps – not if she was sane, he wouldn’t’ve had a chance – what was the point of fate turning up with her if not to hurt her?
All this going on in Jube’s mind but not so much words as a series of feelings and impulses connecting up with thoughts. Thinking it was ya never saw the goodlookers ever at Tavistocks cos the guys’d only wanna hurt em rather than treat em like goddesses, Goddesses never stayed long with low-lifes, they suss a lowie out pretty smartly, so the rare beauties that did stumble in like this one, well, they get what they deserve don’t they? (And anyrate, it’s only one fuck. Just one fuck. So what’s the fuss about?)
He drove. She mumbled. He hardly heard her. Just rambling she was. He drove and she rambled and he got hornier by the second. He headed out to a spot he knew’d have no other cars parked up there, cos it wasn’t romantic, had nothing that’d attract cars to park up.
His heart rate doubled. He’d kept glancing at her as he drove, making out he was all genuine ears for her forgotten lith pill condition, even as he sized her up for getting her to go down on him. He’d like that. More than like it. But then he decided she was a bit far gone that she might bite his cock off, so he gave that idea away, even though he hated not to get her down on him.
Out of the blue she groaned. What the – Hey, you okay, Maria? Yes, she was okay. Just that she should’ve taken her pill. Not the pill, hahaha, Jube was hoping like hell since it’d be a signal, a sure signal of consent, which he could tell the cops with a straight eye and an indignant tone if she cut up rough. She wiped at her brow in anguish and Jube used it to reach out a touch first her shoulder in apparent sympathy and then it fell on her knee, rested there. As his heart pounded and his throat clammed up.
There there, Jubesy’s here, babe, ya don’t have ta worry. Ya sure? she’d asked. Sure I’m sure, he’d turned a full face to her of lying innocence, smiling, as he crept the hand a little higher up her leg; feeling the bare skin, the warmth of her womanly blood inside, the tremendous sickness, nausea it induced in him. And he heard his words stick in his throat as he slowed and turned into a little tree-studded bay. And switched off the engine. So just the boom of his heart pounding in his chest.
He worked his hand up, still facing the sea, and making comment in a catchy voice of how cool it looked with a moon dancing light on it and there must be no wind cos the sea was like glass, as were her thighs as smooth as glass, and she wasn’t saying nothin, not even pulling away. He was telling himself to keep cool, keep cool, seein as how there was no resistance, so what was the hurry? But another side of him was equally in despair that she might suddenly pull away from him, slap his face, yell at him (and so hurt me), and that feeling won. He pushed straight to the objective.
The hemline of panties was almost too much to bear. The finery of pubic hair hint was even worse. He leaned across, to kiss her, but mainly to work his hand up under the garment. Which he did. And things went kind of blank. Something did.
Not blind, but lost of a sense of his whereabouts; only his hand, his urgently probing, thrusting fingers fiddling away in there, had him of any state of word thought. He thought: I’m there. Man a fucking alive I’m there!
Dampness and hairiness, and then the definite feel of inner thigh muscles relaxing. (I’m in? I’m in?) Unbelievable. And he told himself: This bird ain’t mad, she’s hot to trot. And felt that he’d picked her up on his own merits. Which swelled his heart with pride and turned his mind to a murderous possessiveness.
Oh Maria … (God in fucking hell, but don’t let it end, don’t let no-one stop this) … Maria … probing her dampness, stunned that it was turning to a wetness. (She’s mine.) My pill, Jube … I should have taken my pill. Oh Maria … I’m spaced out, Jube. My head is all freaky. Oh Maria, you’re the most beautiful woman I ever knew … As he worked his fingers inside her, over her genitals, claiming her womanhood. Oh Maria. Jube, my pill, I should’ve taken my pill. Where am I? How long’ve I known you? Forever, doll. You’ve known Jube forever.
Maybe it was the way she was easy, a bowl-over, Jube didn’t know, that he’d got wild with her. That he’d suddenly seen her in this light of not being what he thought she was, that she’d let him down, brought crashing to the ground a precious and grave concept of his. Which is why he found himself hitting her. With no reference point, no values to take from the bottomless pit of himself, his morals-bereft condition. But thinking, even as he plunged sexually into her at the same time he punched her with a left and a right, that he was in the right, for it wasn’t his fault she’d let him down with her being not what she made out to be, that she was no different to a Tavi scrubber; she was even worse than that because she had offered no resistance.
And he’d muffled her screams – no, they weren’t screams, they were just moans, of pain, but mostly echoes of her horror, confusion at his assaulting her – with a forearm whilst he pushed in and out of the wretched woman. Hating her. Hurt with her, that it was her, not him (not fucking me) who’d let him down.
As outside a full moon fat with nearness to the wretched Earth climbed higher from the sea it’d risen from. And the same loomed up above the roofs of closed early-opening bars like Tavistocks. And the man’d cried out his climax and then it was gone, in an instant. All his rage and hurt feelings of being tricked, she – it. It could have
been a slight disagreement now spent of its energy and its meaning. So he lifted her bloodied head and kissed her sorry. I never meant ta hurt you, Maria. Though he knew he did. As the moon rose higher above a sea unruffled by wind or vessel or sea beast broken briefly of its glassy surface. And a woman cried. And her assailant drove away from her wandering state.
11
(I love this one best.) Sonny in eager anticipation of the video tape starting up on screen. Eager and excited, and with a kind of preconditioned hurt coming on, but not a – not a self-pitying hurt, more a kind of door being opened to himself. An aspect. (An aspect of myself, that’s what it is.) As snow fell on the street and on spire-roofed church building, and people hurried into church huddled up in big coats and fur hats, then the big wooden doors closed and the scene was just of the small village with snow coming down and not a soul in sight. (But it’s coming. It’s coming, Son.)