“When I felt Nick could manage to walk I took him by the hand and walked him to my flat. He let me guide him, without asking where we were heading. He was a broken man with no will. When we reached the rental place where I was staying I removed his shoes and guided him to the couch, brought him a glass of water”, I say
And here I stopped.
“Don’t stop now”, John urges me
“I won’t”, I reply calmly
“What happened?”, John insists
“What happened?, I asked Nick after letting him settle for a moment. I am a professional killer and I’ve killed the man I loved, he said. Tell me about him, I said, and he did. He told me the whole story, the names and all, without omitting any detail”
John looks at me intensely, as to penetrate the deepest meaning of my words.
“This cannot be true”, he says at last, bugging his eyes
“Nick told me the whole story without pausing, his eyes dry now, the pain turned into numbness. When he finished the story he collapsed his head backwards, eyes closed. You don’t believe me, do you?, he asked me, eyes still unopened. I said I did”
John wavers between faith and disbelief.
“Then he opened his eyes and pulled out a gun”, I say
John’s body oscillates slightly, before leaning an inch closer to me
“Thank you for being my confessor in this last hour, he said, placing the gun in his mouth. I was sitting very close to him. It is strange how I felt no fear, just a sense of waste as I pictured the remnants of this man scattered on my walls, on my couch, on me. I asked Nick if he was sure this is the last thing he wanted to do. He took the gun out of his mouth, slowly, and looked at me”
“He looked at you, waiting for your words”, John smiles
“No, for his own intentions mirrored on me. I was the one waiting for his words”, I reply
John smile fades on his lips
“What did he tell you?”, he wants to know
“Rick Hanson will die”
Chapter 22
John’s body is tense, he is hardly breathing.
“So died esthanol. Amen”, I conclude
I expect John to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Are you satisfied, Mr. Journalist?”, I ask smiling
He shakes his head no, and I bug my eyes, teasingly.
“What else?”, I want to know
“Carlie Lester”, he replies
“What about her?”, I say
“You tell me”, John decides
My smile fades, and I bow my head.
“What is it, Iris?”, John asks, his tone changed
“Nothing. I will tell you what happened to Carlie Lester, but you won’t understand. You don’t understand me and you won’t understand her”, I state
“I know”, John admits, and when he says so I feel lonelier than I have ever felt sitting alone in this living room
“The summer was veering into fall, and the night was drenched in melancholy. My fridge was empty and I was starved. It was about midnight when I had stepped out of my place to buy some food in a 24 hrs shop few blocks away from my flat. I was walking back home when something captured my attention”, I recall
I am recounting the story for myself now, and when John speaks the sound of his voice resounds oddly in my living room. It seems alien to the place.
“What captured your attention?”, he asks
I shift my body on the couch and frown.
“Sorry”, John apologizes
“There was a homeless in a corner and he was looking up, his eyes intensely drawn to something. I followed his gaze, and saw her. She was wearing a black dress, fishnet stockings, red pumps. She approached the man and bent over him, her breasts ready to pour out of her tight dress at any moment. I’m back darling, she whispered. Then she moved his blanket slightly and slid under it, working her way on him till he started to moan. I observed the scene, mesmerized. When Carlie completed the task she got up, wrapped the blanket on the man’s body with care and left without a word”, I recollect
John is about to speak, but then he stops
“Carlie was walking away when our eyes met. She smiled from a distance, pondering options. I stood still, waiting for her decision. Then she walked towards me, and took my hand. ‘I think you deserve to see what you initiated’, she told me”, I recount, addressing John again
He senses the change in me.
“How did you feel?”, he asks, and I am so relieved he did
I sense the change in him, and the walls of solitude begin to melt in my renewed warmth
“I suppose I should say guilty, but it was not so. I was intrigued”, I say
“And you followed her”, John says
“I did. I’ve lost everything in life, Iris, Carlie told me, holding onto my hand. I nodded and she continued. I don’t deserve to live anymore. I want to destroy all of me, I want to melt into others, be what they need me to be. I don’t want to exist for myself anymore. These were her words”, I tell John
“Did Carlie try to commit suicide?”, he wants to know
I shake my head, smiling.
“No John, did you not listen to what I just said? She didn’t, not with a gun or by jumping a bridge. She died every time she made love to a man in the street, and she did so over and again, roaming the street at nights to efface her identity. And to punish herself endlessly, I suppose”, I explain
John is speechless
“Carlie had sex with all the homeless she found in the street?”, he asks at last
“Yes. Carlie donated joy to the rejected, free of charge”, I smile
John looks at me for a moment, and there’s curiosity and care in his eyes. Perhaps love.
“What about you, Iris?”, he wants to know
Chapter 23
“Fall was veering into winter, and melancholy into sadness. I was sitting in my apartment, analyzing my life, when the phone rang”, I tell John
“Who called you?”, he asks
“The man introduced himself as Ed Black. He said he read my short stories on the New Yorker. He said my style was good, and the links between the stories riveting. I sat holding the phone, barely breathing. Are you still there?, he asked, and told me I should go see him. I asked when, and he said, now”, I say
“And you went to meet him, just like that?”, John laughs
“Of course I did. It could have been a prank, but why not?”, I shrug
John shakes his head
“God Iris”, he says
“You must have faith in the possibilities of life”, I smile
“So it wasn’t a prank after all”, John replies
“Make a guess, John. Who was Ed Black?”, I ask
“An editor?”, John says
“I want you to tell me more about him”, I prod him, legs crossed, my foot drawing slow circles as I wait
John guesses, but hesitates to speak out his guess.
“Tell me John”, I insist
“You tell me, Iris. I want to know what you and Ed Black, the man with the black trench coat, a paper and a drink in his hand, told each other when you rushed to see him with great urgency”, John states
I nod my head yes, smiling.
Chapter 24
“How could this happen?”, I say
“You made it happen by believing it was possible”, Ed Black replies
“Who are you?”, I want to know
“Your editor. I’ll publish your stories into a book”, Ed Black tells me
“My stories were a fantasy, and we’re not talking about fantasy, we’re talking about facts”, I insist
“Is there a difference?”, the editor asks, his tone plain
“Who are you?”, I repeat
“I’m your fantasy”, he replies
“Stop toying with me. I want to know what’s real”, I insist
“Reality is the one you choose to write”, Ed Black smiles
Maastricht, April 2016
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The Mediator Page 4
