“Let me show you my latest project,” I said, as we entered the living room. I took my portfolio out of the bookcase and laid it on the table.
He opened it up and flicked through my sketches. He didn’t bat an eyelid when he saw the various male nudes which I’d accumulated over the last few weeks.
“You draw,” he said.
“Yes. I want to use those sketches to build a golem.”
“A what?”
“A golem. A human figure made of clay. Like Adam. God created Adam from mud and dust and then breathed life into him. I want to replicate that.”
Theo raised his eyebrows. “You want to replicate God?”
“It’s the pinnacle of Kabbalistic magic. I just haven’t found the right model. These men...” I pointed at my sketches. “They’re just people I picked up off the street. Labourers and soldiers and telegram boys. They don’t have the right countenance. They look so ordinary and lowly. My Adam must be special. Elegant and lofty. Not earthy, but ethereal. Like you.”
“Like me?”
“Would you like to be my new Adam?”
“You’re asking me to model for you.”
“Yes.”
“In the nude?”
“It’s warm enough, isn’t it? I can light the fire if you wish.”
“Is that why you brought me here? To see me naked?” That flirtatious smile again.
“Go on.” I took the sketch pad off my desk, pulled a pencil out of my pencil case and sat down in my armchair. “Take your clothes off and stand by the window. It won’t take long.”
He did as I asked. He maintained that flirtatious smile as he stripped, but that cockiness was gone as soon as he stood by the window. He looked vulnerable then, and a little embarrassed, which really turned me on.
The light shone through the window grilles and cast black squares on his smooth skin. His body was so different to a working man’s body. No tan lines. No over-sized muscles on his arms and chest. It was well proportioned. Slim, pale and exquisite.
He became impatient after three or four sketches. “Will it take much longer?” he asked.
I suppose he must’ve thought that this was all a prelude to something more intimate. That I’d be taking my own clothes off later, and that we’d end up rolling around naked on the carpet. But I had no intention of fucking him.
“Why? Are you getting cold?” I asked. “Do you want me to light the fire?”
“Or you could rub me warm with your hands.” He smiled again.
At that point, the front door opened. I looked at the clock. Quarter past six. Much later than I thought. “Damn it,” I thought. “The fat oaf is back!”
Angel Puck waltzed in. He saw Theo standing naked by the window and stopped by the doorway. His jaw dropped open. “What are you doing?” he asked, nostrils flaring.
Theo looked at me, alarmed. He quickly picked up his clothes and covered himself up.
I frowned. “What are you doing here, Angel?” I clenched my fist around my pencil, barely able to control the fury welling inside me. Angel had been a problem for a while. One which I’d ignored for too long. He had ceased being useful to me a long time ago. He was nothing more than a leech to me. Living off my annuity, constantly upsetting the apple cart.
“It’s past six,” he said. “You told me not to come home before six. Well, it’s past six.”
“You can see I’m busy, so clear off!”
“What are you doing?” He was still staring at Theo.
“None of your business!”
“Can I join in?”
I hurled the pencil against the wall and jumped out of my seat.
“Get out of my house!” I yelled.
“What’ve I done?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Theo quickly getting dressed. I turned towards him. “What are you doing? We haven’t finished yet.”
“I’m sorry, Alick. I didn’t know there’d be someone else.”
He ran past me and Angel, his shirt still unbuttoned. He pulled on his jacket and hurried out of the door without even saying goodbye.
The moment was lost. My Adam was gone.
“Who was that?” Angel asked.
I looked at that ugly face. “Now look what you’ve done, you leech!” I pushed my hands against his fat chest and shoved him out into the hallway. “I want you out of my life!” I kept pushing him, punching him repeatedly on the chest, shouting a new insult with every punch.“You toad! You reprobate! You ugly cunt!”
“Stop it!” He leaned against the bathroom door and tried pushing me off him. The door opened, and we stumbled into the bathroom. Angel finally fought back.“Stop it, Alick!” He grabbed my wrists. “You should’ve told me you had a guest. If I’d known you had a guest... But I’ll go away if you want. Just tell me what time I can come back.”
“Never! I want you out of my life for good.”
“But Alick, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“I don’t care.” I grabbed a razor blade from the shelf above the sink and pointed it at him. “Leave. Now.”
Angel looked at the razor. Then at me. “Come on, Alick. Why are you being like that? I thought we were friends.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Are you going to leave?”
“But where can I go?”
“Not my problem.”
He fell on his knees and began to cry. “Don’t do this to me, Alick, please! I’ll do anything you want.”
“I want nothing from you, Angel. I have no use for you. All this time,I’ve just been tolerating you. But you’ve become intolerable. You’re no good to me as a disciple. You’re too dumb. Too dense. Too common. I have a new disciple in my life, and I don’t want you getting in the way. So get off your fat knees and clear off!”
I’d gone too far. I saw his face redden with anger as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“I’ll tell them if you make me leave!”
“Tell them what?”
“What we did. In the desert. I’ll write to everyone. You friends, your family, members of your society, the police. I’ll send them all a letter and tell them how you made me fuck you, and how you moaned like a bitch as I slapped your arse!”
The demon of pride took over then. It made me plunge the blade right into his fat gut.
Angel looked at me, shocked. He staggered backwards and fell into the bathtub. I stabbed him a few more times while he lay in there. Then I dropped the blade on the floor, rushed out of the bathroom, took my coat from the coat-hanger and hurried out onto the street to chase after Theo.
I didn’t find him. I looked for him at the bus stop. I even went to the underground station. But he had gone. When I came back home, I found Angel still in the bathtub, dead, his blood flowing conveniently into the drain.
9. The Lion and the Ox
Billings lay on the chaise-longue. His heavy head sank into the pillow. He’d finally caved in and taken a shot of morphine – the first in many months. His mind kept racing after his conversation with Clarkson, and there was nothing else he could do to relax.
He felt his whole body sinking. Descending slowly into a never-ending pit.
The happy prostitutes passed by, singing their merry song. The pillow around his ears muffled their voices, making them sound like brass instruments. Billings pictured a clarinet, a trumpet, a French horn and a tuba, marching down the street, holding hands. He smiled.
He heard footsteps out on the corridor. Was it another invitation, he wondered. That would make Clarkson happy. He looked at the door and waited for the card to be slipped under it, but nothing came.
The door handle turned. Up. Down. Up again.
Billings frowned. Why were they trying to open the door? Would the invitation not fit? Maybe it was another parcel. A new pocket mirror to replace the previous broken one.
A bang. Then another. Were they trying to break open the door? Tilly sat up and stared at the door, her ears raised, her head cocked.
Another bang. Louder
this time. Somebody was throwing their whole weight against the door. Tilly cowered back and barked ferociously.
Billings tried getting up, but his limbs were too heavy.
Suddenly the door swung open. Two men in black suits appeared in the doorway. They wore animal masks: a lion and an ox.
Damn it, thought Billings. This is not good.
The two men didn’t look at Billings but kept staring at Tilly, who was barking at them from a safe distance.
“Blast it, he has a dog!” Lion said.
“It’s all right, it’s a bitch. They don’t bite. As soon as we’re in, she’ll stop barking. My Bessie is the same.” Ox stepped into the room and, sure enough, Tilly went quiet.
Billings rubbed his eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Finally, the men turned to look at him.
“Is that him?” Lion asked.
“I think so.” Ox pulled a hunting knife out of his belt and rushed towards the chaise-longue.
Billings, still dazed, tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but Ox jumped on top of him and pushed him back down.
“Go for his cock,” Lion called.
Ox pulled down the sheets. Billings pedalled his legs in the air and tried in vain to push the man off him.
Tilly began barking again. Lion was still cowering in the doorway.
“He’s moving about too much,” Ox said. “I’ll go for his finger.”
He grabbed Billings’ arm and slammed it onto the cushion. Holding the arm in place, he lifted the knife in the air.
Billings screamed and tried to pull his arm back, but he was too weak. The knife swooshed down and sliced off his little finger. It tumbled onto the floorboards and rolled away. The blood streamed out of Billings’ hand.
Tilly continued to bark.
The downstairs neighbour added to the chaos by banging his broomstick on the ceiling. “Stop that bloomin’ racket!”
Ox stood up and looked for the finger. “There it is.” He bent down and picked it up. “Look!” He held the severed finger up to his companion.
“Well done,” Lion said. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
Ox replaced the knife in his belt and joined his companion. Without giving their victim another look, they walked out of the room and descended the stairs.
Billings reached for his bleeding hand. He rolled off the chaise-longue and thudded onto the floorboards.
The neighbour banged his broom against the ceiling again. “Stop that racket, I said!”
Tilly rushed over to her master. She sniffed and licked his pale face.
The blood kept gushing. Billings wrapped the bed sheet over his bleeding hand. There was no pain – not yet – but the sight of so much blood and the morphine which still circulated in his bloodstream made him feel faint.
He lost consciousness, and his head banged onto the floorboards.
The downstairs neighbour continued banging on the ceiling. “Stop that racket right now, or I’ll fetch the police!”
A DULL, THROBBING PAIN woke him up from his trance. He opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him. A small, round, bespectacled man. It was Trotter.
“He’s awake! I think he’s awake.”
Who was Trotter speaking to? Billings looked around him. He was in his own room, on the chaise-longue. There was somebody else there, standing by his desk. A young gentleman with a rosy face and wavy auburn hair. It was Clarkson.
He came towards him. “Are you all right there, Billings?”
“What are you doing here?” Billings could hardly speak. His body felt numb, his head hazy.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“My finger.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“A little.”
“The doctor gave you a heavy dose of morphine.”
So that’s why he felt so weak. More morphine. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position.
“No, no, don’t sit up.” Clarkson pushed him gently back down. “The doctor says you mustn’t. You lost a lot of blood, you know. You’ll faint if you do.”
“The doctor?” Billings mumbled.
“At the hospital. Don’t you remember? You’ve been to the hospital.”
Billings looked down at his hand. It had been bandaged. And the bed sheets had been stripped.
“What happened to my sheets?”
“I threw them away, Mr Billings.” It was Trotter who answered. “There was no way those stains would come out. And the floorboards will need repainting too. The blood dripped right through them into the apartment downstairs. That’s how he found you.”
“Who?
“Your downstairs neighbour. He came up to see what was going on and saw you lying on the floor. He told me the whole story when I came to work this morning. I rushed to the hospital straight away, and then on to Scotland Yard to fetch Detective Sergeant Clarkson.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Clarkson asked.
“They cut my finger off.”
“Who did?”
“Two men.”
“Do you know who they were?”
Billings shook his head. “They wore masks.”
“Masks?”
“A lion and an ox.”
Clarkson frowned. “The neighbour didn’t mention any masks. He just said that he saw two men in black suits come down from your room.”
“Perhaps they took them off,” Trotter suggested.
“They must’ve been members of the Sons of Cain,” Clarkson concluded. “But why the devil did they cut off your finger?”
Billings pushed himself up again and attempted to stand up.
“What are you doing?” Clarkson pushed him back onto the seat. “You’re not supposed to get up.”
“But I want to get the card.”
“What card?”
“In my desk drawer. A card from Wolf Augustus. He’ll know.”
Clarkson went to the desk and pulled out the drawer. It was filled with calling cards. “What did you say his name was?”
“Wolf Augustus. Manuscript hunter.”
Clarkson rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a card. “Is this it?” He held it up for Billings to see.
“Yes.” Billings stood up but immediately felt faint. He wobbled and nearly fell over. Trotter was just able to catch him.
Clarkson frowned. “I told you, Billings. You’re too weak. You lost a lot of blood.”
Trotter helped him back onto the chaise-longue.
“Now, who is this Wolf Augustus?” Clarkson asked.
“He’s an expert. He knows about secret esoteric societies. We must talk to him.”
“We’ll go tomorrow.”
“No. Now.” He attempted to get up again, but Trotter stopped him.
“We’re going tomorrow, Billings. Or I can go on my own if you prefer.”
WOLF AUGUSTUS LIVED in one of the large houses on Queensgate.
The door was opened by a dark-skinned man wearing a white sherwani and red turban. He stood rigidly in the doorway, his arms by his sides, and nodded at the two detectives. “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I be of service?”
Clarkson was taken aback by the man’s exotic appearance. “Um... Good morning. My name is Detective Sergeant Clarkson, and this” – he pointed at his companion – “is Mr Billings.”
Billings frowned. Mr Billings. How ugly his name sounded without a title in front of it.
“We’d like to speak to Mr Wolf Augustus.”
“Certainly, sir. One moment, please.”
The Indian butler retreated into the house, leaving the door ajar. Billings and Clarkson took the opportunity to look inside the house. A red runner over the white marble floor led from the door to the staircase. The ochre-coloured walls were decorated with exotic ornaments from faraway places: African masks, pictures of Hindu deities, Ottoman miniatures, shrunken heads from the Amazon.
Augustus appeared from the living room. He was dressed in a shabby brown djell
aba – the kind worn by Moroccan goat-herders. He was barefoot. His soles and toenails were dirty. His thick, uncombed hair was matted to his head.
“Yes?” he said, looking from Clarkson to Billings.
Clarkson looked him up and down, struggling to understand what a man with such a pathetic appearance would be doing in a house like this. “Are you Mr Wolf Augustus?”
“I am.”
“The owner of this house?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Clarkson from the Metropolitan Police, and this is Mr Billings. You have met him before.”
Augustus looked at Billings. “I have?”
“In the library,” Billings clarified. “We talked about Lilith.”
“Oh, yes. That’s right.”
“We’d like to ask you some questions regarding an ongoing investigation,” Clarkson said. “May we come in?”
Augustus hesitated. “Well... if you must.” He stepped back reluctantly. He called out to his butler. “Adesh, bring us some tea. Follow me.”
Augustus led them to the living room, which looked as unconventional as the rest of the house. Sheets of scarlet silk hung from the centre of the ceiling to the corners of the room, making it look like a tent. On the floor were strewn various Persian mats. Clusters of coloured glass-paned lanterns hung in each corner.
“Sit down,” Augustus instructed.
The detectives looked around them. There were no chairs. Were they supposed to sit on the mats? Augustus dropped onto one of four large cushions against the wall. Billings and Clarkson followed his example.
“Now, what is it you want?” Augustus asked.
Billings answered, “When I met you at the library, you warned me about the Sons of Cain and Daughters of Lilith.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, I think I’ve been attacked by them.”
Augustus looked at the detective’s bandaged hand. “What happened to you?”
“Two men broke into my room last night and cut off my little finger.”
Augustus winced. “Ouch!”
“Then they picked the severed finger up off the floor and walked out with it.”
A Glimpse of Heaven Page 8
