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ike any other host he rarely shut up. He blathered on about this and told me stories about that. Like any good guest I nodded when appropriate, smiled when necessary and flattered when warranted. And why not? There was no reason to argue with him. There was no reason to disrupt the civility that had become our established grounds for conversing. Besides, it wouldn’t have enabled me any better. So I just listened.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” He’d ask making sure that my tea was in good reach and filled.
There was nothing I desired.
“I’d often sit in a chair much like that you know.” He said. “For hours sometimes; I’d watch something going on or going by. I’d stare at kids playing outside or watch my mother perform her necessary duties. I’d just sit there and think. Marvelous isn’t it what one can achieve without ever actually doing anything?” He offered biscuits but I declined. My stomach was off. It didn’t stop him though. Placing the plate back on the table he held up a single cookie in front of my lips, coaxing them open, coaxing me to bite. I relented, bit off the smallest amount and chewed grudgingly. His eyes searched my face for appreciation. I delivered.
He sat and returned to his stories. “I’d imagine myself to be some powerful king, and around me were my servants of amusement and chore. They’d bid my call and heed my wishes. Any whim that I might come up with would be done.” My host chuckled. “Of course that only worked as long as I didn’t actually involve myself. As soon as I did it stopped. They stopped. Then things changed. Then I had to reduce myself to their level and help or leave or get involved.” My host shuddered. “No, that wouldn’t be how it went—not at all. So I’d simply remove myself and orchestrate elsewhere. Behind me was always the pleading and caterwauling to be involved, to do something, to help out. SLAM. I love doors.” He shifted thoughtfully. “Perhaps that was the precursor to my relatively withdrawn life today.” Though a question hadn’t actually been posed he looked to me. Perhaps he thought I would leap at the chance to offend or to condemn. Perhaps it was a test to see if I would divulge my true feelings for him. I simply raised my brows as if to indicate that only he could answer such a deep and thoughtful question.
“You’re right,” he confessed, “hardly fair of me to expect you to solve the mysteries of my life.” He waved his hands in the air like a Shaman.
Though incredibly self centered he was surprisingly attentive. Realizing that the room had become stifling he opened one of the windows. The immediate rush of air was so welcomed I think I openly swooned. “Well why didn’t you say something?” He asked noticing my obvious appreciation. “You know what we need while we’re waiting? Music.” he crossed the room and ran an index finger back and forth along a set of CD’s. Though I doubted he was reading or considering as fast as the finger traced he did seem very deep in thought.
“Light, easy listening, rock?” He stopped and played with a jewel case, pivoting it on its front bottom corner. “Hmmm. Cohen. Yes, it’s been a while. How are you with Leonard?” The question was purely rhetorical. He was already crossing the room and preparing to load the disk. For a moment he appeared confused like somehow he’d just completely forgotten how to use the equipment. Then, as if returning to some former state he was again in control. Blue lights ignited in the little LCD windows, speakers cracked as power surged through their magnets and the familiar piano intro to ‘Everybody Knows’ was filling the room. Cohen’s voice was deep and resounding at the best of times, today on this system, in this modest flat Cohen was nothing short of capturing. “A personal favorite to be sure.” said my host. He was standing back but still facing the system. It wasn’t clear if he was admiring the components or the music. My guess is that it was both. “But what Cohen song isn’t worth hearing a thousand times over?” He asked. “Cohen captures you, drags you in and leaves you all in the same moment. Probably like some of the men you’ve dated eh?” he laughed and looked over his shoulder.
I shrugged.
“Do you have any personal favorites? Of Cohen’s I mean. ‘Dance Me’, ‘Hallelujah’, ‘Take This Waltz’, they’re all right up there for any Cohen lover to be sure. But what about his less mainstream, like ‘Democracy’ oh, or ‘The Future?’” My host became pensive again. “You know I believe that Cohen may have been a real visionary. Take ‘The Future’ for example. Wait let’s put it on first.” With that he fiddled with the controller, skimming through song after song.
I had a head ache now.
“Give me back my broken back, my mirrored room, my secret lab, it’s lonely here there’s no one left to torture,” droned Cohen. “Give me back the Berlin wall, give me Stalin and St. Paul and lie beside me baby, that’s an order.” The remote now hung limply from my host’s hand. “There!” He shouted. “Did you hear that?” My host recited Cohen’s words. “‘There’ll be the breaking of the ancient Western code your private life will suddenly explode . . . Get ready for the future it is murder.’ Now call me crazy—but I think he truly saw the coming of the balancing of the world’s power. Cohen knew that we lived in a make believe freedom. We have dictated from our democratic soap box far too long and there has to be a reckoning. ‘When they said repent, repent, repent, repent, I wonder what they meant!?’” He sang the lyrics now with Cohen. “Think about it—Repent, repent, repent and repent. The super powers must repent for their ‘hands off’ way of approaching and manipulating world politics.” He stood and grabbed at air, “taking from the smaller countries, exploiting their people and their resources. Now the future is here—it’s time to repay. We will all be held accountable and there won’t be anywhere left to run or hide. Cohen saw this. He knew that accountability was for the masses and not reserved for the one at the top. He feared it!” My host was elated. “Cohen actually predicted it. Do you see what I’m talking about?” Again I was afforded a brief nod before being cut off again. “Yes, of course you do. You probably see it all don’t you?” He sobered up and approached me. “Are you okay—your eyes seem heavy?”
I shook it off and forced a smile. Nothing felt good now.
“Ok.” He went back to his seat and lowered the volume on Hallelujah. “This one’s too main stream for me anyway.” He slumped back in the chair. “I want to really thank you for showing up.” His face had lost the luster it had a moment ago. He seemed overly pensive maybe even depressed. “You never know if someone will respond to your invitation. Even then what if they do right?” He half joked. “You know what I’m talking about. What if you wish you’d never met that person in the first place. Do you ever feel that way?” His voice was sad and reserved as if anticipating the answer would be bad.
I shook my head.
“That’s nice of you to say. But we know the truth.” He sighed looking me over. “It’s ok I understand. Can you excuse me for a second I have to make a quick call?”
I nodded.
He went into the other room. He wasn’t in there very long and when he returned he seemed rejuvenated. “Ok they’ll be here soon. I really should have called earlier.” My host ambled around the apartment for a bit then looking out the window launched into another story. “You know what used to amuse me? My father yelling as we drove. He yelled and yelled. Some people curse, get annoyed shout sometimes, but my dad—he just wailed on or about everything. ‘Why the hell did he just do that?’ ‘Where the hell did you get your license?’ I remember my mom once told him that if he was so interested that he should go and ask them himself. I think my mom’s tooth cut his knuckle as his backhand knocked it clear out of the socket. Anyway it was the last time she spoke that way to him in the car or anywhere.” My host sat on the edge of the couch like a kid waiting for something to happen; too anxious to wait and yet too fidgety to be comfortable. “It wasn’t always fun and games with him. What could be fun to watch though, was when a service vehicle came pouring through the streets, sirens blaring, clipping along at full speed. My dad would laugh at how the stupid people would get in their way. ‘Move the fuck out of the way jackass.’ He’d holler for our ears only. ‘Look at that moron, just sitting there, someone’s gonna die because that dumbass didn’t get out of the way.’ It was the only time he sort of spoke to us while he ranted. There was an odd closeness in that.” My host looked my face over to see if the sentiment had passed along. Finding none he continued. “Anyway it was something I guess. I still remember him lying on the bedroom floor bleeding to death. He never asked what was lodged in his spine or how it got there. He just asked if we thought the ambulance would make it in time. ‘Jackasses are probably holding it up.’ He whispered. They didn’t by the way.” My host looked at me. I couldn’t tell if his face betrayed a confession or contempt. “Make it in time I mean. Someone forgot to call. Not that it mattered really I suppose.”
My head felt light on my shoulders but in the distance I heard the faint sound of sirens.
“Ah! Here they come.” He stood and went to the window. “We’re low enough that we can see them coming down the road. “Third floor I think.” He kicked at a hidden interest. “Right?” My host bent down and hauled up something over the back of the sofa. “I haven’t introduced you two yet.” He pulled back on the scalp of someone badly beaten. No one said anything. The face looked broken and crushed. I thought I could make out an eye but that may have just been how the light played off some bloodied bone. Something on its face twitched, it could have been a lip or some of a cheek. The mandible dropped. Strings of blood and spit hung in the gaping orifice. Perhaps it tried to say something, perhaps it tried to repent, but no sound came out. “Well you had your chance.” Said my cordial host and released the body. It fell back to the floor with a thud and a slight groan. “Not a bad place though eh?” He looked around the apartment casually then back at my horrified face.
I couldn’t move. My eyes were wide with terror. My ropes seemed tighter than ever.
“Don’t be afraid my dear.” He crossed the room again and crouched down in front of me. “There’s still hope.” He checked that my restraints hadn’t somehow loosened. “There’s always hope.” He soothed checking the wounds he’d inflicted earlier. They still bled slowly and he seemed pleased, as though I was doing something right.
The sirens were much louder.
He sprang up as if missing some great event. “Ok here they come.” He watched through the window like a child, one hand clenched in the air; waiting. “Anything could happen right?” He turned back to me. “Anything can still happen, they could get stuck or worse in an accident even. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Who would save the saviors? I guess we’ll find out.” He beamed a mischievous smile coming back to my chair. “Look on the bright side they may get here in time to save you. But first they have to save themselves.” There was hatred in his voice.
The sirens stopped outside. I could hear the doors opening and closing as the paramedics prepared to come up. I was about to scream when 2 things happened. The first was when I took a deep breath of air. Somewhere inside my chest two pieces of broken bone grated on each other and shifted. The intense pain completely choked any hope of expelling a sound. The second was that a piece of material was being shoved into my mouth. Not that it mattered really. “Shhhh,” he pleaded. “We’ve come this far. Let’s play it out—ok?” He winked at me. Now we shared a secret and I hated him for it. I hated him for sitting beside me on the bus. I hated him for holding open the door, and I especially hated him for the concern he demonstrated when I stumbled. I hated him for inviting me to lunch and for listening to my personal thoughts. I was no longer a victim but an accomplice in my own torture. Violations of the tangible I could almost have lived with. But having him inside my head was completely unbearable.
The bone shifted again.
I winked back.
I hated myself.
You could hear them on the stairs now, the stretcher—my stretcher—clanging along steps and the low murmur of voices. My host stood straight; listening. “Idiots,” he shook his head. Looking back to me he explained what would happen next. “I have to go and meet,” he stopped suddenly. “Did I say beat? I meant greet our guests. You’ll have to excuse me. The lucky thing is that I kinda’ like you.” He pulled out his knife again, the serrated edge still stained with my blood, and walked back behind the sofa. “You’re both pretty far gone.” He was crouching down now and all I could see was the top of his head. “So I’m going to increase your odds.” He looked directly at me, and then began to thrust the blade downward and out of sight. There was a groan. “This way,” he explained “they won’t have to decide which one to try and save.” He continued to thrust the blade. The first few times invoked muffled agony, when he finished the only sound was of flesh tearing. I wondered if that was the point.
The paramedics were in the hall now, probably looking for the suite. He smiled at me with the same radiance he had when I first walked into the apartment. I was angry at the warmth and hospitality his face conjured even now. “You have been a wonderful guest. I hope to do this again soon.” With that he closed the door between me and the rest of the apartment.
I heard the front door open as he greeted the men in white. I could see in my mind that his arms would be wide and inviting. “Come in, thank God you made it.” He’d usher them into the trap, letting the door close behind them. They’d rush to the broken, torn body on the floor. They’d realize what had happened. They’d feel the bite of metal. They’d scramble, they’d . . .
My head fell limp and the room (finally) went black. |
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