Big Man, Immovable Object
by Dian Bulfin Winder
November 5, 1969 - May 22, 1999
Ar Dheis Lámh Dé
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chapter 2 SO
Darkness. IMMense dark. Thicker and blacker than plastic smoke. Barefoot.
In the freezing cold, wet grass. And yet, a great polished smooth wall
on the left hand, topped with merlons, protruding arrow heads and savage
spear tips. Sinister, beyond fear. Hundreds of feet high. Unclimbable.
Insurmountable. Knows this. Cannot really see. Afraid. Afraid of the terrible
battlements that stretch on, forever. Terrified of the black, cruel lancer
cavalry that may issue from an unseen gate on muffled hooves, to ride
him down. To feel the point rip and burst in your own body. To be slain,
and ridden into the lane like mud, at any moment. On the right The Bramble
Wall. Merely six or eight feet tall. Green. Alive. Undulating with wicked
life and Intent. An old craggy garden wall that lies beyond. The garden,
initially overgrown but crimped lawns and escape that surely must lie
beyond. Freedom. But The Wall will not let him through. Impenetrable.
It bends and twists and scrapes and scraps with him when he makes forays
into the thicket. The pain of its vicious hooked thorns is unbearable
as it writhes and threatens to engulf him into its mean heart. It is a
monster. A living, Writhing, moving Daemon. And when he dares to walk
along the track - to get around it, tendrils sneak out to grapple with
his legs and make him fall, lash at his face, his eyes - to make him cry
out and alert the guardians that must lie in wait atop the wall.
it is a nightmare. a recurring hell to it's sleeper.
So. Wakes. Paralysed. Once again - a dream where he is the victim, the
prey; and not the calculating, empowered one. Reversal. You or I might
think of our worse things, but the graphic sense of impending slaughter
and total frustration leave our man petrified, barely able to draw breath,
long after the dream has gone away and he knows that he has awoken. Lying
on his slice of the bed, the other person not stirring in the middle of
the night. She is sleeping most like. Most people who are not working
are asleep at this time of dark. But maybe she is awake.
?. She probably doesn't know herself. it is impossible to tell whether
or not she sleeps without the risk of waking her. Which is a terrible
risk to So. She may be only in a fight trance filled with dream. Her breathing
silent, even. He can feel the tiny depression and recovery in the mattress
next to him. He is pinned by fear that he might alter it. He is a sensitive
man. Keen. A Vietnamese in a tunnel. He can sense the warmth of her buttocks
pushed into his retreating groin. He longs to touch her, to reach down
between her meeting legs into her her black lace designer turn-on panties.
He knows he could not lie still indefinitely in contact with her, if sleep
will not come. In her slumber, his physical presence and his intense bodily
warmth would become an item, which if withdrawn, could easily disturb
her. He smells her and her intoxicating perfume. It makes him light headed
and want to envelope her in his arms. Squeeze tight, feel her soft breasts
compact. He does not know the scent's name because such things do not
concern him, but he knows it immensely, deeply, which she cannot. It never
leaves her for long. She leaves him; into her other life about which he
knows nothing. He would Never ask. He can smell her cold cream and the
faint touch of fragrance from her shampoo. He can smell the faint taste
of her sweat and her sex. The very smell of her makes him hunger. More
hungry than Days without food. He itemises all the scents at once and
all together. Without thinking.
if any of them were different he would begin to wonder silent questions?
when so wonders paint peels.
Quiet questions. He would monitor her mood and check her, maybe for male
smells and would test her sex drive. Not that it is his place to say what
she is or isn't allowed to do on her own time, but he would reserve the
right to be disappointed. As we all do. We not. Of course she'd have the
decency to shower or bathe before going to So, if she'd just made it with
another man. The tact. The caution. She believes him an unpredictable
client. Knowing that he is Very predictable. All this is purely speculative,
now he just does not want her to wake. Does not want to wake her. What
he wants most in the world is that she remain, asleep.
she would only start to ask things if she woke. mostly with her eyes on
the ceiling with tiny almost invisible inflections of the whites of her
eyes and the almost imperceptible exasperation of a stifled sigh. or a
He likes her this way, unconsciously following his warmth across the bed
in her sleep. She may not admit that she cares for him very much during
her waking hours.
this is her way.
But in her sleep, his being there is better than not. Not much. I hear
you say. But to a man who only has his keenness, clouding, perturbing
memories; a room and a bed - it is a special something. And a gun. And
several knives. The special something. How he hangs on day after day.
How can he hang on day after day? mankind hangs on. in a death spiral.
In her slumber - he is desirable company. This is what is important to
him because what he has got now, is the best he can expect. Maybe she
does like him but holds off because of the arrangement. So has known arrangements.
Lives one. Consequently, he has also divined that being greedy can bruise
the precious. My preciousss. He is not a handsome man of face - you see,
but he is absolutely tenacious in pursuit and careful and thoughtful and
appreciative in possession. This he has learned. His women have been the
desperate, the fallen, the insane, the lost, the professional. So tries
to swivel onto his back so he can meditate. She stirs. Oh no! Please do
not wake up. Please, Please, please do not wake - couldn't stand feeling
your eyes; silently blaming, accusing me in the night because I cannot
keep my insomnia to myself. I'm so tired as it is. Go back deeper into
your sleep. Please my love. My angel in sleep. ssssshhh.... Oh God here
we go. She'll wake and I haven't hardly slept at all. I need to rest in
peace. I'll go mad if I have to deal with your demands when I'm so exhausted
as it is. Don't make me go through another day without even being half
rested. She groans and rolls over towards him. Her arm snakes out and
comes to rest over his bared shoulders. A Benedictine, frightening, magic
touch. Sleep my darling and I will find for you the most wonderful thing
I can for you today in my mind. I'll present you with the most beautiful
imaginary present ever given - I promise. You will not know this when
you wake, but if you would know it now - I will be very grateful. I'll
place my sorceress cloak of darkness over you. It will put the Emperor's
new clothes to rags. I will not be able to bring it to you, my sparkling
gift because I am bound not to leave this prison for now. Years ago, I
made this city my own and now that I am among its most feared inhabitants
I cannot be seen abroad in it. One arm hunts me. Another employs me. I
am hunted. I do not exist and am utilised. I am the reviled. And am the
rapier of the hand of government. Why did I ever become involved with
you people at all. I suppose every artist must work. ever decreasing circles
i suppose. the law of diminishing returns.
Her thick eye lashes remain lightly - delicately closed. She looks so
beautiful in the all but dark it makes my heart pain. So with holds his
sigh of relief. o.k.. God you are beautiful; in this dim light I look
at you and it hurts Soh much. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to kill
us both at times like this. Murder us, and meet as equals. Man and wife.
House and garden. Love and children. Neighbours and wine. Love and...
love and... get me out of here! He has learned to keep quiet and still
when emotional and physical necessities have insisted otherwise; So at
this moment, as at many other times before, whilst his thoughts fire rapidly
in his mind, not a muscle twitches nor a heavy breath betrays the frenetic
activity which is passing in his head. Racing savagely, unrelenting in
his mind. He relaxes. Just in time; once more at the door of the abyss
of the insane. His whole body becomes fluid.
During scarce periods of sleep he can encourage his body to become weightless.
And then rise. Sometimes he flies. The wonder of that feeling, in contrast
to the leaden wakefulness of so many sleepless nights is beyond expression.
This plasticity is preferable, but it is the ultimate comfort of lacking
any heaviness in his body and even in his self, which he ultimately seeks.
Eyes closed, he has travelled from Room 101 into the stars. Zoomed into
them. Surrounded himself with celestial bodies of light. Has charted from
the inside, galaxies of stars - our scopes can only falteringly reach
out to in two dimensions, black and white. So lies in the broad bed awaiting
release from the thing body he drags around after him every waking moment.
One second, five seconds, twenty, fourty, minute, ten, fifteen, hour,
a half, two. He feels light and relaxed but neither of the releases which
he desperately seeks has come.
Enough. Move. Game! He slides out from under her arm and silently, smoothly
off the bed onto the floor. Few living people have seen how slick he is
capable of moving. She gives a disgruntled murmur as her arm is separated
from his warm body and flops gently onto the bed. So lies face up on the
floor, listening keenly. Intently. After a while the equilibrium of her
sleep re-establishes itself. Just. It is possible that she has risen from
the depths and will not slip back down into deadness. She may be beginning
to become more wakeful anyway, after all it is a quarter past six. So
decides to knead himself under the bed on his bum and shoulder blades.
He cannot turn on the T.v., or the light to read because it will only
wake Laragh. Obviously fool. What have we been talking about? He doesn't
want to wake his... lo... his paramour. so loves laragh.
so loves laragh.
I don't love her... she... I... we... I just... I'm fond of her that's
He cannot go out. If he did and it become known to the House it would
break his contract, which on fruition will leave him rich and alive, and
unpersued to enjoy it. Maybe. If. Iff. Necessary extensions aside. He
dare not run the bath or turn on the shower. Instead he will divert himself
in the gloom on his own. As always the fear and restlessness of the insomniac.
Maniac. One foot and a half into his side of the bed So comes across the
depression caused by Laragh's body where she's pursued across the bed.
He manages to slip his upper body under her shoulders but it is a tight
squeeze to get his middle past the bulk of the weight of her body which
is projected toward the floor through her hip. Her regal hip. Her royal
recurvedness. Laragh is unbearably good looking. Almost. Depending who
you are. She lies on her side. Just as he gets one knee past the bulge,
Laragh squirms angrily and half heartedly thumps the empty sliver of bed
next to her. Please God don't let her wake up now. Jesus. She'll go absolutely
ape if she finds out I've woken her because I've crawled under the bed.
Jesus. Eventually, after the expenditure of the odd bevel and some deeply
disgruntled mutterings, deeply disgruntled, Laragh once more settles into
a composed rest. I was sure she would erupt that time. Whew! Close one.
Better to lie still for a while. Better. So lies stoically with Laragh
virtually weightless on top of him and asleep. He resists the temptation
to break out laughing. Shout out. ! He wants to enfold Laragh, the blankets,
the mattress and all in his arms. He feels very close to her now but -
he cannot take the whole bed in his arms. Maybe he should get out from
under the bed, wake her and try and persuade her to have sex with him,
but no.. He doesn't want to rouse her, in case she hasn't had enough rest.
She must be given a chance to rest - his Lovely Lady. She likes sleeping.
And in sleep, she is gorgeous in her vulnerability. After a while he has
to resist the temptation to tear at the upholstery above his face with
his bald finger tips. They are completely bald so that if he stimulates
her manually - it doesn't scrape. So lies mute, immobile. Shailowing his
breathing he calms the frustrated flutterings in his brain. Then he smiles.
It is a touching, ugly sight, all sideways and narrow, with the lips curled
back and his eyes squeezed into dots. It is genuine, - dare I say; heartfelt
though, if nothing else. It is not a kind order that consigns a man, in
moments of shared joy, often to have people greet his facial expression
with shock or disgust. what a life!
He is not a morbid person, people are often led to think so because unless
he trusts them, which is rare; he will hold his face as a mask. A blank.
A blank, apparently emotionless facade. Behind it, what we call the beast
lies. So's beast is beyond. He has learned to be vicious and cynical.
Generally he prefers to deal with people, with whom - a certain amount
of mutual distrust is understood. And is mutually accepted. That way ceremony
can be dropped without reason for offence. offence is awkward. and anyway,
it is bad for business.
He is happy now - happy like a child. He has a woman bearing down between
his thighs, unconscious though she is. It feels sexy and it is secret.
So cannot share her beauty like handsome men can, on equal terms, but
when they talk and he is good to her and amuses her, he can almost forget
that she is with him in anything other than a professional capacity. But
after they've been in the dark for a long long time So remembers to forget
her reasons for not finding him attractive. Or almost. Which is the Benediction
of his life. At those times he just does. Behaves completely uninhibitedly
- tries to make her come and come and come.
Pathologically unfortunately. It is a face of his insecurity that he seeks
over and over again proof from her body that he does something for her
- allbeit in the dark. Afterwards he never makes reference to it - not
even in jest; even when she has beaten him with feet and hands and knees
and elbows, torn his flesh and bitten him to make him stop, which he never
does, until he is sure she cannot take anymore or bead another drop. And
when she crashes out asleep he, smiles his private smile and feels satisfied
inside. And is alone. Resumes his long standing staring match with the
So is nobody's fool. Sure, sometimes he likes to think that she is a semi
pro where he is concerned but she will behave to him the way she does
whatever she feels. So has a weakness for women. Woman.
So do most men I hear you say. But So would really have your guts out
in much less than half a second if you gave him a reason to - like messing
with one of his girls. Don't get it wrong, her feelings are not academic
to him but he would not demean her by forcing her to lie if it is all,
just - good job. So knows what it is to be a good job and as such, knowing
its deprivations and trials, he respects her like she is a champion prize
fighter. Knows the House pays her like one. And probably twists her arm.
A bit. Like if you called Laragh the street name for what she is good
at - in his hearing, you wouldn't realise it but you would just have pencilled
yourself in on the endangered species list. Or you'd be over taken by
pain on the spot. Overcome. People who are smart know this, and are rightly
very wary of infringing. They are only two anyway who could know them
Only people who are smart get close to So. The rest are a long way off
in the distance amongst the trees. It is good for them to have the trees
to protect them from the eye. A look from a laser is a joke compared to
a look from the So because at least you know where the red eye lie.
Cars and suits and make up and houses and dogs, are only a protection
against certain types of insecurity. A dog has not met So that hasn't
liked, or indeed loved him. On purpose. dogs understand meat. they eat
it all the time. raw. more than we, they understand what it is to be it.
Few intelligent animals would side against So with its owner. There are
few stupid dogs contrary to popular belief. If So had been a wild dog....
A European wolf maybe - all grey and keen.... He would have been a queen
she wolf, and perhaps would have saved one more of the great northern
packs from man. .0
man. ...Anyway he has Far too much pride to demand that Laragh bolster
his self-confidence on demand. DON'T EVER RISK PROVOKING HIM BECAUSE YOU
NEED TO FEEL TALLER ON HIS BACK. He will kill you. I said he learned to
be vicious. Do not delude yourself that it is a sick lust. That, it is
not. It is a technique that by its nature requires a certain quotient
of abandon. He would use it as a weapon to intimidate and subdue you.
And then he would DECIDE whether he would fuck you or not. It is statistically
unlikely that you would meet him, one way or the other and extremely unlikely
that you would know it if you did. And if you did, you would do well to
disguise the fact. BUT you might recognise the ignition series in someone
else and then.... You might be prepared to act.., fight because if you
didn't you'd be admitting that you are destined to become just another
irrelevant statistic. such worlds you think will never touch you. you
are wright. perhaps.
He has a problem. He is extremely visually stimulated - optically in
work. His eyes are a pale spectral blue with dark brown flecks, radiating
into the iris from the pupil. And are permanently, mind alteringly hypnotic.
They are obscenely far spaced which makes for excellent shooting, but
they make his face seem even flatter as it had to be even broader to accommodate
them. People often have difficulty looking into both of them at once.
Should they feel so inclined? If you took a photograph of one and blew
it up and put it up on your wall, people would stand in front of it and
stare for ages. And they call me an ugly man. Not that I'd entertain close
up photography of my face or any other photography for that matter. No
matter how close an associate you were. I might eat you! might have to.
So enhanced the mesmerising effect of his eyes during his studies of
snakes. He used to stare into their eyes for hours, unblinking, until
he would almost go blind. He used also to play catch with aggravated aggressive
varieties for fun and reaction speed - it's the kind of game he understands.
And he respects their raison d'etre.
He flits by his reflection in mirrors not like 'you're so vain' man;
consequently he has learned to use them for other things than repeatedly
looking for an affirmation, that he is slightly better looking than he
really is. Ever since his mother gave him the present of an electric razor
he has shaved by touch, blind. He kept slicing himself with a blade because
he would never quite concentrate on his own face in a detailed enough
fashion. He always wanted to flee from his reflection. Other people cut
his side burns. If you think that it is the ultimate statement of frustrated
vanity you would be wrong. It is simply the best way for him to live,
seeing the world from the inside out and leaving it to others to judge
his aesthetics as they will. At a remarkably early stage for instance,
he could see clearly inside a pretty woman because he generally wasn't
concerned by what she thought of what she could see of him. He already
knew and did not know. Instead of being shy of them - they are shy of
Him. His self abasement is virtually completely absent. Practically speaking
it is not a construction. He want thing. Resistance of thing. Understand
thing. Strategy - win thing (if mission not impossible). He has watched
so many women valiantly grapple with how his looks affect them or attempt
to remain in ignorance and safety of 'im. He has admired many and known
many, many more. A large part of his mind is fascinated by EXACTLY how
an attractive creature feels and thinks and functions through her cover.
In his first proper job whilst all the other lads were spendin' all their
money boozin' and tryin' to get their legs over slags, he was saving to
go to the 'Dam' and buy the best one he could find for a time. He would
have enough money that she would do whatever he wanted, as a matter of
course. So never masturbates. he waits.
He would wait forever and a lifetime for the right woman - not many men
would. An uncomfortable Lifetime. Even though they think they would. Times
he waited for a woman until she was at the low tide of her lowest ebb
and having placed himself within her turning circle, he appears front
and centre, touch and look at her unwaveringly there could be no misunderstanding
what the look in his eyes said. 'I will never be self conscious around
you and I will do anything, and I mean Anything to make you. If you do
not know what it is that you want, I will help you find out what it is,
and help you experience it.' ...And after ... and after ... and after
you might deign to pay off your servant. In time. Your humble servant.
I am a patient man. Your humble, Indominitable servant.
The first arguably gratuitous thing he did in his life was because of
a woman. He had been going out with this girl - see. She Was a STUNNER,
but her life, having failed to fulfil many of her ambitions, her fantasies,
left her more than a little bit vacant. Anyway, as usual he took her to
dine and dance and to concerts - the whole bit. She seemed indifferent
to the whole twirl. It wasn't getting him anywhere and it was costing
him a Fortune. At the time, he was working in an engineering factory on
a lathe. He was a genius everybody said so behind his back.
Concentration, speed and such accuracy! Quite by accident he came across
this really really expensive, really hot watch. Full of jools and everything.
People were always hanging around trying to sell all manner of gear, especially
to the single men on big wages. He gave it her. Even in his youth he knew.
Her little eyes fairly twinkled in delight. 'So'. gotcha! Soon.
He knew it would give pleasure to her to flog it instantly. It got lost
down the baths. She wasn't As distant. He got another one. This time he
overtly purchased one. He reasoned that if she tried to flog a dodgy watch,
she couldn't get half what he paid for it. What a ridiculous way to manage
family finances. It would seem. So. Before they went out this particular
night he made a big deal about giving her the warranty, which he'd 'stupidly'
left back in his flat. Would she stop in on their sort of way past his
place? She would. Good. So ostensibly forgot about it on the way home
and tried to steer her the direct route to the restaurant but Sharon protested.
And - OOps whilst rooting for the warranty amidst the calamitously arranged
papers on his desk, a small white piece of paper floated meekly to the
floor. So didn't look but he could hear its soundless thud on the ground.
"Ah here. Tch. One Guarantee!" He had calculated the risk. As
he washed his hands - he watched her in the mirror. The mirror. I telled
you. She curiouser and curiouser. Yes. Stop. Look. Look again. Click!
Pause. Foolish girl. If you had of straight picked it up and into the
pocketses I 'd have had to let you have it but now... I will make you
pay for it. if i can. and if the gods will let it be.
The chit read for what most women in the town earned in a fortnight.
Not alot of money. But a lot of money. Clothes, go out whenever you want....
a change in style. A change in lifestyle for a while. for a while. So.
Dinner. Piercing the tiny fastnesses of her mind Robert read his book.
Getting whatever you want, at whatever expense, even if nobody loves me.
He was still Robert then. He had begun his road to So however. Manipulation.
Devolvement. In orientation, tactics and realism. The fish thought: Damn
why didn't I just pick the damn thing up!
"More wine Sir7'
"Oh yes I Do think so!" Don't you Sharon - a drop of Dutch
courage for the madam.
He's O.K. apart from the obvious. I kind o' like him, except when he
leers... like.... No one would have to know. What they don't know....
They probably think it anyway. Maybe I'll just stay - "Delicious
wine Robert thanks; lovely... and Thanks forthe... you really shouldn't
have, you know." for a drink. Yea, just for a drink! Salubriously
pissed as intended, Sharon allows to be steered to So's place. She braces
herself for the ordeal to co.. the quick get away! But the gallant Robert
was no such the fool - guides his tipsy date on across town towards her
cat box. She is surprised, then confused, then indignant. Robert knew
that if he asked her up 'for a coffee'that she might bolt after picking
up the note. No. He must be firm. she had to ask herself into church.
which is very important with certain beings.
Her pretty head turned a tad too quickly and jerkily. A bite! Yes.
"Robert I can't invite you up to my place we don't want to disturb
the old flatmates..." Yes "or I'd invite you in for a cup of
tea... ?' yes
"Would you like to err... like" yes'lo come up to my place
for the last drink. A night cap with Rob." Yes
I'd love to."
Definitely a bite. I hope I can handle this right, now. Now if you will
only do the diplomatic thing and look over the top of my head or past
my ear for a half an hour, we will have a stirrup cup and you will have
your precious finders fee. I bet you think you have been working hard!
You have no IDEA. Once in the flat, instead of asking for a coffee which
would have pushed him into the kitchen and out of the way, she accepted
a large drink,
apparently resigned to her duty.
DEAL. most people early in their lives suffer from conscience, however
primitive. excluding, of course the right of the young - abandon.
She sat down daintily on the edge of the bed. Knees together. Touching.
Shoulders back. Back straight. She did not pick carelessly at the embroidery
with her fingernails. She did not wistfully admire the surprisingly tasteful
etchings and say: 'My aren't they beautiful! Where ever did you get them?'
Nor did she hastily gulp her drink and reach out for more. She fixed Robert
with a cool, penetrating glance that said - come and get me
if you must. All done. if you will insist. but what you see is what you
Any qualms that Robert may have had about what he was doing were mercilessly
quashed. They would both have what they wanted (no favours here) but she
had to feel that she was the better aswell. Superior. So. I chose what
I wanted and I have paid for it. And isn't she love ely? Throwing open
the drapes and turning out the light So faced her. For a moment, knowing
how she valued herself above him an unpleasant expression passed over
his visage and was gone. Sharon couldn't see it - back lit as he was but
at that early stage if she had? She put the oily drink slowly, deliberately
down on the carpet and looked at him expectantly, like he was about to
deliver an intellectual lecture. She wasn't either, going to make this
easy. The muddied cloud and smoke bounced dim, warm orange streetlight
into the room. Now you cannot see this big nasty face I follow around
after - with the fight behind me. How do you feel? How do I look? - not
as beautiful as you, but you cannot see me now so you lie. I may have
changed. I'm quite as good a lover as you I'm sure. Just lay back and
forget about it and let me make love to you like any normal man would
be allowed to. Does it make a difference? Sharon stood up, barely ever
taking her eyes from where she knew his to be, she stripped from the shoulders
to the floor. Not sexily. Not defiantly. Not dejectedly. Just stripped.
Indifferently. No, not even that.
She held herself erect, naked as the day she was born, except for the
mad coils failing down her back and neck and shoulders, her pubic hair
and her mean experience of life. Not even coloured nail polish.
She allowed herself stare at him. So smiled demoniac, deeply, inwardly.
She couldn't see. Such pride. No one could see but So could feel it warm
him like brandy. She wasn't supposed to see. He would prove something
to her - not that she would probably Ever admit it. He would prove that
of all men... it takes a leper to judge flesh. He converted things to
what they could be, should be, with precision every day. As the heat in
his forearms built and his saliva, he tried to empty his head of all the
nastiness, so that he could explore this new form without irrelevant bias.
His hands remain cool, dry. He likes where ever possible to work with
his shirt off. He took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the
back of a chair and with his head dipped, pulled the shirt out from his
body and unbuttoned it. Sharon stood as if waiting were a great chore,
like everything else. Like she had to suffer waiting for him to get it
together. Intimidating him into not being able to. She stood erect like
she was waiting for a bus, which she doggedly had faith would come soon.
Or later. Stripped to the waist So left his trousers on. He wasn't shy
and hiding an erection - he didn't have one. So wanted to investigate
her body, without her tightening up at the prospect of an immediate intercourse
that she was averse to. No - that is not his way. He had been that patient,
he would not spoil his pleasure because he could not make her forget.
Forget. Forget darling. Darling. Ba-aby fo'get and fall luscious into
my waiting, manly arms. What a joke! Forget. forget for him, man that
needs you. You are capable, if you only knew it, of giving great succour.
He would sensitise her and sensitise and sensitise and sensitise her
and then maybe. ...And then maybe she would want it; maybe she would want
everything and maybe when she had forgotten the day and the daylight and
her stupid friends, she will forget that it is me and accept me in the
darkness and all she will want is to Feel. Crossing the room to where
she waited was a moment. When he got to her she was taller, barefoot,
gorgeous in the warm orange glow. It pleased her. He knew this. Anything
to make her happy now. I will have my turn later. To knee her in the proud
stomach causing her to double over crossed his mind and made Him happy.
Make her bow. "Do you know why I have wanted to have you like this
for so long?" Silence! "Everyday I make things of perfection
in precision. With these hands." He raised his forearms - palms open,
elbows at his hips. She would not look down. At an example of the manipulators.
She would not help. The sinews at the top of his chest rose. The thick
upper arms bulged to receive her as she fell into his strong embrace.
But that was a different life. She was waiting for that bus. I could never
make you." Do not despise my ugliness for at a different ill roll
of the dice you could have been as pretty as me. So closed the rest of
the distance, so he was two inches from her - chest to chest. Why won't
you put your arms around me. Kiss me. I don't even care if it is like
a sister ... some affection. Please ... as a favour for god's sake. A
personal. Special favour. No one needs you more than me! Who would take
care of you better? Carefully, So freed and swept the hair from her shoulders
and from the sides of her neck, gathering it up in a tremendously soft
pile on her nape. With the ends of his fingers, applying a faint pressure,
he traced the lines from the bony tips of the skull behind her ears all
the way to the ends of her shoulders and back as far as where her clavicles
began. And then louder than if he'd spoken, the thought sounded in his
head: would she yield at all?
And if she did, would she allow him the satisfaction of knowing that it
was anything other than involuntarily? Secondary. Would she yield at all?
for in her own way she was a proud girl. a proud, proud girl. in fact.
is all she had really. in a lot of ways. and she stood on it. and she
could stand. and look. when she felt like it sometimes she could melt
Simply did not know if she would participate, but would try and if that
didn't work, would persevere. Incrementally, his keen hands followed the
fine straight bones to the top of her rib cage. They held themselves in
restraint by an act of surgical will what they ultimately desired was
an open embrace. Just one. Once. Some show of understanding or fellowship
or sympathy. Sharon let him play chess on his own with her board, not
assenting, merely derogating permission. barely, meanly, silently, caustically.
It was what protected her from her own corrupted motivation. for pounds
and not to feel cheap. a cheat.
Sex power in the most unnatural form a body can take. At one and the same
time So was trying to think the word for what he felt for her. Or for
her body. As he laid his fingers flat and opening across the top of her
chest he thought of it: 'reverence'.
It made him smile faintly and quizzically at himself. He didn't feel
as though it characterised the desire expressed by his mates. He looked
different. Maybe, he Was different. The skin under the heels of his hands
and near her arm pits, where the tips of his little fingers were, felt
unbelievably warm and smooth and firm. A lot of her upper body was hard.
She was a slim woman. She had tits though and a bit of a nice ass. Slowly
he applied pressure. She didn't fall, sexy with abandon onto the awaiting
bed, hair fanning out - but sat, quite suddenly down. So almost fell waist
to face on top of her. However he is the furthest thing to being uncoordinated
you could imagine. From an exceedingly early age he became astute at minimalising
the intrusiveness of his presence. Quiet, subtle, reserved, unboisterous,
undemanding - he didn't particularly value the attention of people who
didn't find his presence uplifting or illuminating - as everyone, who
knows anything about anything, all cherubs should be. So instead of toppling
with surprise the two of them chaotically onto the mattress, he counter-balanced
himself by swinging his buttocks underneath him and his shoulders back;
ever so slow and balanced and relaxed. Woha. What balance. He calculated
afterward that foiling her little trick might annoy her. It might not
have been the best ploy. His reflexes may be said to have let him down
by operating so perfectly. He had too much self possession and too little
self effacement still, to deliberately make an idiot out of himself, which
is what he should have done if he wanted to genuinely make peace with
this woman. Peace if not love. But that still was not the balance he could
accept. He might be renting what he wanted, with her accompanying distance
and disdain but he refused to play the fool for her - so she could laugh
at him as well. Instead he thought how titillating it would have been
to have grown up with Sharon as his older sister. As she transformed from
an undeveloped girl into a full woman. How little she could of picked
up his incestuous interest in her budding sexuality. In an instant, he
thought of as many opportunities he could have used to monitor her blossoming
body. Suddenly, intensely, disgustingly, Robert had a vivid picture of
the kind of man that would have come along and robbed him of his sister
and bedded her. It was not the first time he'd thought these things. He
instantly dropped the fantasy and returned to the problem at hand....
the pleasure at hand.
Sitting between indifference and abjectivity, Sharon was with her head
slightly averted, her long fingers and hands clasped pointing toward the
floor in between the delicious flattened curves of her thighs. So went
down on his hunkers, reached forward almost timorously and placed his
open palms on the tops of her thighs just above her knee caps. She tensed
the fraction of a bit at the thought that jumped immediately into her
mind. So knew with certainty that she was reluctant and that she wasn't
ready. Like he didn't know it already. He knelt carefully to the floor.
He wistfully thought of putting the crook of his index under her chin,
raising his jaw slant ways and softly kissing her to carelessness on the
mouth. that was a different opportunity. again, - a different life.
He knew it would only exacerbate their contrast in desire if he tried
and she turned her face away from him. Surely. That type of honesty or
deceit he might never win from her, even in the most private, most drunken,
most disorientated of moments. prostitutes don't kiss customers. companions
have been known to. all be it however sometimes unconvincingly.
Even in So's advanced state of self knowledge it still hurt that she was
a pay-me and a side of him, which had grown from adolescence in order
to protect himself from reality, wanted to hurt her, even slap her, but
it flashed by, leaving him just a little less exasperated and a little
more sad. And very strong. Very, very strong. He knew he had to become
faceless. Perhaps, in order to vindicate her time with him, she might
convince herself that superficiality had, in his case, to be let go. Few
of us think; or recognise such thoughts perhaps, but great defences, for
whatever reason, have been known at first to slip, and then under apparent
token pressure to collapse. Or a clever general perpetrates a great flanking
manoeuvre. What is important here is to understand that this man had already
become a great fisherman. Knew he it or knew he it not, is irrelevant.
A handsome man can afford to fish with grenades. So cannot, but a little
shinnin' lure, or a favourable breeze, skill, will and all of time. A
little shinin' lure. All of time. And so. so doesn't know it but he has
visigoth blood in him. and if in the unlikely event that you'd ever met
one and it coincided with your remaining alive, you would know what a
useful and powerful thing it could be.
On his knees like a particularly sinning devout little altar boy, So brought
his wide, tight face against her bony knees. Hard enough that it hurt
his cheek bones and brows. Good. Tight enough that she must have known
that it must be hurting. She knew. She knew him. Knew how he wanted her.
Needed her. Her body. Not just her body, her very essence. He knew how
tight she was being and while he was thinking this, she almost let the
tension in her groin go so that her knees would part without effort. Almost!
He compared also the debasement of whatever self esteem he had been left
by the 'beautiful people' against what she was prepared to sell her's
for and... Sharon was not a bad girl. People place such a high price on
the looks of the pretty: it can be a very hollow currency for them. The
narrow chink that opened was necessary so that she could still feel as
though She was a good person and no one else really mat.... Sound familiar?
Liberating her perfect hands she tried to squeeze them between his forehead
and her legs. It was good. She decided to co-operate for whatever mixture
of reasons AND conditions. They would emerge in time, unless of course
she suffered from early remorse. The pressure on the confluence of her
knees built. God I don't know if I'm ready for that! She braced herself
and slowly, imerceptably she began to lie back, at the same time a rigid
gap began to appear in front and below Robert's face. Thank God! OH God!!
His smooth face slid between her shaven calves. Not quite where Sharon
had expected, but infinitely easier to handle, given her very mixed emotions
about the whole business. For the moment Darling. Alternately rubbing
either set of bones in his face against her shins and calves Sharon's
legs couldn't tell whether or not he was good looking - and frankly didn't
care. wow. Then he started to use his mouth. Accidentally as it were;
at first. As his cheek passed across her skin his narrow, dry lips would
vainly try to make an impression against the pressure which his neck was
increasingly applying to her lower legs. Then his mouth became wet. Undoubtedly
wet. Sharon had never really particularly considered that part of her
anatomy; certainly never as being particularly erotic. She thought they
were nice legs but never.. She was starting to feel dangerously funny,
sensitised more than partially against her will. As intended. that's what
bed's all about.
Just when she was starting to feel that it must be a fetish rather than
an elaborate foreplay of fealty, he started to gnaw, kind of painfully
at her knees and to lick in earnest at her skin like a big cat cleaning
meat. She leant forward, concertinead the flush stomach as hard as she
could and aimed a blow at side of his head. Having brothers had taught
her to strike with the closed rather than the open hand to have any kind
of lasting effect. Sensing the dramatic movement in the middle of the
bed So anticipated what was coming. He could easily have defended himself
or dodged his head out of danger. Instead he turned his face to take the
punch as full as he could. It was the best thing that could possibly have
happened - he could give her satisfaction whilst not letting her belittle
him as a person, a man or as a partner. Acceptable. It was a very stiff
fist to the mouth, Especially considering how slight she was. She had
hard protuding knuckles but. The blow split both lips and even drew blood
from the upper gum. There was a loud, satisfying "SMACK!" sound.
So was even starting to smile just before it struck. Dark droplets jumped
into the quarter light in a wide arc and promptly disappeared. To most
women the undefended impact would have been shocking - and to many men
to be true. Sharon's instantaneous reaction was to ask him if he was alright
- if he was hurt? In that guilty instant So's strong right hand took a
firm grip high up on her left thigh and pulled her back side and all the
blankets a good foot and a half down the bed. As she had swung he was
reaching for it already. But deliberately he had moved more slowly - not
wanting her to imagine that he might fight back. He certainly didn't want
things to degrade into a sexual brawl, from which tomorrow, she might
easily, never return. However, tactical opportunity was what it was. She
allowed herself to feel completely vindicated in what she had done and
let her superb upper body, with now partially erect nipples, be jerked
backwards to flop heavily, once more onto the hard, waiting mattress.
the bed enjoyed it. if you believe bed can enjoy?
Three quarters of Sharon's upper legs now were exposed over the edge of
the bed. Soon to come under attack. They were nice legs. Red blood and
saliva mixed over and around her lower thigh. War paint.
She could feel his mouth slip across her skin lubricated as it was. She
respected his carelessness of her gesture; of the pain and consequent
surprise it would have elicited in other people. Other men. Curiously
Sharon felt herself impatient for her orgasm. man says to woman did you
honey? i tried.
Initially it hadn't come into her calculations but now the slow build
up of contact was gradually stimulating her into a depersonalised form
of sensuality. Sexuality. The knowledge that she could do whatever she
felt like, behave however meanly, however viciously, crudely or selfishly
she wanted; without him being rejected; was new to her. Novel to her.
A sexually aggressive part of her was becoming more than faintly turned
on. With its realisation she let herself go and dug her long finger nails
into the base of his throat and with her other hand drew his head back
by the hair. She wanted to look into the face of the mouth that was inching
up her inside thighs, where she was starting to water to meet him, greet
him, against most of her will. When she did she was greeted by two small
intense points of light. Pins. Which was impossible with all the incoming
light behind him. It gave her a fright. She let him go with a start.
- Maybe she just imagined it. Of course she did.
she couldn't see the smile. the glee.
He did it hugely, outlandishly, insanely. Then, feeling foolish at giving
up the initiative so quickly, she struck him again in a swipe below the
eye. This time she hit him with the side of her hand. A thoughtful blow.
Again he didn't allow himself turn his head to minimise the force of the
strike. In fact he opened his face by tilting his head back. Thank you.
The feeling inside her nipples and breasts, between her legs and in her
stomach were so alienally placed with this guy that she felt like erupting
into uncontrollable - tickled laughter. Ironic. She felt like repeatedly
slapping him on the back of the head until he looked up again and say
- furthering the extent of the gap between her legs 'I Know where you're
Heading. I've known where you're heading for a long time. So why don't
we dispense with all this unnecessary grovelling. You're a man. Why not
climb aboard and we'll have a nice hard ride!' Yet. A short moment later
So looked up and stood up. Leaning over the edge of the bed he entwined
his arms incredibly carefully around her waist and lifted her, settling
her further up the bed. It required great strength. Try it yourself. Feeling
the rock hard muscles in the back of his neck and the top back of his
shoulders and sensing the power in the lift, So actually Became a man
to her and not just a servile sexual person who she didn't particularly
want. A girlish part of her was charmed, charmed a little by this foolish
gentle reverence toward a tuff grown woman who'd just attacked him three
times. When she picked out the dried blood, she hardly saw his Ugly features
just the sensuality of his nonchalance to the damage for her sex. Then
she did something out of place for how she'd decided to behave - she touched
the injured side of his mouth with soft finger tips and started to smile.
As she did so, so did Robert. She closed her eyes and he knew that it
would be alright to kiss her now. He just looked down at her. It was a
rare, rare unadulteratedly happy moment and then he remembered a little
discarded piece of paper on the floor in the gloom behind him. Waiting.
She was letting him take something he'd already paid for.
Always usury, always commerce. What a pity. Gratuity is something to
be bandied about, toyed with on whim. The force of good within people
has no more direction than their ability to do harm. Far less in all probability.
How paltry, how small, how debasing; he wanted two things amongst a hell
of a life - her and his receipt from the Devil afire. A warm tear fell
onto her curved flushed cheek. It was not a tear like yours or mine of
sorrow but a tear of incredible bitterness and slight.
against all protocol. never the less.
Startled! She looked up - was he bleeding again? She looked up and was
sad and sick. Saw the gleam of its trail along the side of his nose just.
Then she saw him in all his splendour. An ugly, hungry, helpless man.
Pity. she remembered also. his ticket to ride if you like.
She threw her legs around his waist and he lay forward, helplessly on
top of her. Rubbing and kissing away his two keenly begrudged tears -
she hoped into oblivion, her finger nails accidentally broke the skin
of his belly as, a little frantically, she tried to relieve him of his
favourite trousers. Eventually, he looked down and moving slowly, aided
her getting them and his jocks off. She helped him into her and stimulated
intercourse. She had to avoid the ultimate embarrassing situation now.
Thankfully she was well equipped and practised for the job. By the end
it was an intensely fast fuck; Sharon making sure that at each stroke
as their two pelvis's came together, the contact became harder and harder.
So thought: how things change! Maybe she won't? At least there was some
kissing. So always likes kissing, if that is, you like kissing him. He
knows more about false kissing... betrayal. People kissing him because
they think they ought to. Or because it is brave to kiss someone so unfair
of face. is that what was really meant by that incident with judas ...
? was it an allegory.. was he not in the habit of kissing christ or was
it the wrong kind of kiss betraying the fact that he didn't want to kiss
him because he was jealous of him? so knows, he has spent every waking
moment he can spare disembowelling the books, desperately searching through
their entrails for traces of truth. and sorrowfully, the weaknesses of
Next morning Sharon woke. Immediately, her eyes snapped open in surprise,
feeling the strange bed. But her all feline caution did let her stiffen.
No. Her being awoke. She would not wake the sleeping dog she had lain
down with and which she had put to sleep the previous evening. By instinct
she didn't flicker in the after dawn. Which ever Arabian fantasy she had
escaped to in her dreams, the last thing she had expected was to wake
in So's strange flat. Even with her eyes closed she could hear an alien
set of morning noises. She lay stock still and gathered her thoughts.
It hurt between her legs, her groins hurt, her back hurt, how come my
hand hurts so much That doesn't make sense? Oh Yeaah! I didn't do that!...
I did. God we had sex twice more after that initial.... Oh WOW! yeah.
Christ I... ! Am I sore.... Gotta move. Gotta grow. Make like a fetus
and head out. Or: as the shepherd said to the sheep: 'Let's get the flock
out of here!' Nowish. Of course she didn't know about So's cosmopolitan
sleep pattern. In fact he'd lain absolutely still for three hours without
her knowledge - hoarding even such passive time with her, desperately
afraid, despite himself, that she might leave and never be to revisit.
On the rare occasions that So had a woman in his bed he would go through
this silent self-imposed torture. And that wasn't nearly often enough
as far as he was concerned. I can tell you. It was all the more poignant
because the balance of self sufficiency he had established to protect
himself and to survive, could never allow him admit how terrified he was
of abandonment; and how dearly he yearned for a partner who actually cared
about him. Let alone for him.
Ignorant of how So felt and the million and one things racing through
the man's brain - she rose, picked up her clothes, hoping him and wishing
him to remain asleep, she went for the shower. On the way she, at an incongruous
part of the room, dropped a sock. She got on the way back so what she
bargained for. The sore testament of which, she would privately bare between
her legs for a couple of days. 'So' finally and irrevocably so, lay completely
disconsolate in his bed. He had waited for her move for hours... or Ages
which ever you prefer. She was what he thought. So was too sick in his
stomach to remember to feel superior at knowing exactly what she was,
her price and how to play her. But wasn't there a moment when, ...when
something lost or never nurtured over the Eons; prevented him from having
a perfect parcel within time?: faith, confidence, carelessness... some
Jack Shit like that! Having confessed this iniquity, it made him even
more fatalistic, he thought: so this is the way things will be.
It was the final straw. The last last of many.
We will know how they feel and we will not care.
We will know how and what they think and we will use it against them.
We will know what they want and we will cheat them into thinking what
we have conned them into doing is what they wanted.
The only thing left out of this equation to make an adversary from which
one' should immediately flee, even in a large pool is what? No clues.
O.K. I'll tell you: the killer instinct. Rage. indifference - whatever
it takes for a man only to - I was going to say care - but what I truly
meant was live for himself. even if that life is not filled with Hollywood,
ultimate pleasure or eating strawberries in the ripe summer sunshine of
an English garden.
After some meetings the artifice within the relationship had become completely
transparent. Obviously. It became a crude sham. Ridiculous, a bizarrely
constructed facade. Absurd. Sharon felt O.K. with the deal, so long as
she could partially feel - big, slighting and cheating him by abandoning
his baubles for cash. But when she knew that he accepted it, probably
even planned the first time, it just wasn't good enough. Pride. What did
she do? She took a man. not just any man. an empty headed fool is what
she took. Sharon told John all about her relationship with Robert. In
Oh he was good looking and had a sexy voice and all but he never bothered
to understand what it must be like to be without these things and still
to desire to distraction. Or in So's case beyond it. The pose he took
for her was one thing but then, of course, he had to be righteous. After
a while he couldn't help himself. A good story... I mean public information.
you understand. In ones and twos he told people. the men. They were incredulous.
That such a.... It is one thing to discreetly visit a pro. One understands.
But to actively pollute and bring low a respectable (ideal fuck) girl
is of course a totally... heinous. The crimes that have been committed
in the name of that word.
How many of their wives would have twisted up their noses at So's reverent
treatment and attention?
IRRELEVANT! a moral... decency. The man who had everything cuts the ice
about his feet. A zealot. Zealousy can be a dangerous state of preoccupation
of mind. That is where it starts u no. Someone says let's stone him. There
is a volley. A bevy. But eventually someone says yo ho man you got wrong
- fuck you! Couldn't help.... Had to expose... (sort of). Couldn't stop
to think how Sharon.... She had confided in him because she was sick of
what she had learned about Herself... far more than she resented So for
pointing it out, for bringing things to.. The word on the street can be
unassailable, especially if it is far ahead of you, fast moving and, most
importantly - people want to believe in... u no - words. PUBLIC INFORMATION.
First the side glances and the suspicion that something isn't quite ....
The coolness of people's... then the coldness. The fear that something
isn't quite .... Then the taciturn... so the definite paranoia. Then the
gruffness and the staring and the Certainty that something isn't quite....
Then the voices breaking when you come within... I really want to know
what's going on but I refuse to (can't ask)... gossip. Catch the voice.
BANG! Oh dear. oh dear. Oh Fuck. NO! no no no no no no no. Head down and
finish work. Who (everybody must) knows? Try not to catch anyone's eye.
Change quickly. Run slowly home, screaming teasing, pointing in the head.
Inside. oh god no. Shame has been cast upon a warrior. But How (who) ...
? If the men in the factory know what's been... then.... She's been trying
to. to cut both ends. But if all the men in the shed know?? She's very
unlikely to have.... So. so. Finally and irrevocably.... Finally and irrevocably
And sadly, sadly so. I'm finished he.. for good now how could I st...
knowing that all.... Bastards... die... swear .... Plan. Settle the account.
Leave. Nothing to stay For. Stupid... why did you hate ... you didn't
hav.... I never... you know I only ... you didn't have to tell. Why? You,
smiling, pretty, mean idiot I'll show you what I ... of your life. And
You, you, you probably won't want to... in case your face gets .... But
he is much bigger than m.... But I, I have the will and the pain... and
I have the pain. and I have the pain. and i have the pain. and i.... THEY
will know a share of my pain. O.K.. o.k.. So that's the way it is to be.
Not what I... cannot be... never is! My accuser and my judge will suffer.
They will know. I will not take anymore.
So: for now that is what he is, no longer Robert - but a reaction to unkindness.
Misunderstanding. Having a destiny for which he yearns but cannot fulfil.
He intercepted Sharon most genially on her way home. He had done a lot
of running so he spoke in a warm, low voice, full of inconsequentiality
and neutral friendship. Disguise. Camouflage. Disguising the burning sense
of defeat, anger, hatred, vengeance, frustration and... and disappointment
and hurt and lost love - a falsity of lost love: unrequited love then.
Fifty seven unpleasant things he might do to her on the spot begged leave
enter his mind. he repulsed them from the doors of his consciousness.
Although he knew he would not lash out, he also knew that one of them
might sparkle in his eye. The lust for your enemy's blood., He would not
show it to her. She was not one of his tribe anymore. It would be another
ordinary feast. Only after this service was over, she would be punished
for speaking ill of his name amongst the cloisters. It can be dangerous
there too, for old monsters who have been bending their backs may come
at the sound of their call in the wrong context and be annoyed. Sharon
had a slither in her stomach for how she had miserably related (treated
him) again just the night before and yet here she Was. Unable to break
it off. Because maybe she had started to like him against her will. Or
a strange kind of bond had grown up between two creatures, howsoever different,
however descendant. There was also money. Perhaps she had really come
to like him with his essential forbearance and was running around desperately
looking for ways to refute it and the consequences for the future. Her
future. Her rosy future, which in the past had never in projection included...
a monster. A monster who... who knew her better apparently, than she thought
she could be known. Things had progressed in a calamitously wrong way
(difficult wayby) for her she thought. Perhaps not. Sometimes. Robert
had become her second kind o' sort o'job and she was good at it. At him.
Too fuckin' good, without the courage of her convictions. Perhaps she
loved - given a chance his candidness and self-effacement which she had
not been taught to have. Which she had never learned. Perhaps she hated
him for it. And her power over him gave her power. But for sure it made
her dislike her own brand of haughty vanity in selfishness and self love.
But (sadly) she was powerless to change the past and the rules made there.
Quintessentially could she not accept finding an ostensibly unattractive
man attractive, or one who could have fixed a price for her that was not
heaven and earth and all. But it was His heaven and earth and all. What
she didn't know was that her other fuck had poisoned every ear he could
against So, with the story of how he'd made a virtual whore of the spotless
Sharon. He could pull another. She could hardly be blamed for not knowing
the heartless ice which was forming, hardening, freezing in the centre
of the man - Robert as she falsely thought she saw him.
many men can become cold given the right jab. jabs. some women too but
you seem less inclined, disposed to pain, meanness and savagery. many
women, full knowing however, have closed their doors on the cold faces
of men and boys demanded of to be soldiers. when they have returned where
they thought home ought to be cashed. you refused to recognise them in
your hearts, when there causes and quests have turned to falsity, to dust.
it is written in tsung su that you should never attack an enemy that is
for if you bar him from fleeing; there he may have no choice but to fight.
probably to the death. why engage anyone who, when you do, will have no
other purpose than to kill you. no. do not waste good men who can still
think, on men to whom it will instantly be a vendetta that you intend
hamper their final line of retreat. rather call on them the next day and
look in their eyes dareful. there will be those who have learned once
more to cling to life much, and you will slay them. there will be those
whose gardens have gone to waste or whose temples have been defiled. their
faith in continuity will be gone and you will slay them. there will be
those boys at heart whose loves will have died or love others. give them
berth. slay them with your arrows. do not engage them with sword. draw
out their rage. suck them back into the field. you will slay them, for
they will tire. this is where officers may turn with them - seeing how
the laws which they left behind have not been followed in principle, spirit,
exacitude and yes - courage. they may prefer now the rules of engagement
and lead the dourest regiments into your hands. once you have crushed
the heart of an army and torn the loyalties of its garrisons, then you
decide if you should tear down its citadels or to fortify them. as you
are master - be beneficent: treat worthy vassals well. send them in your
honourable waifs with respect. feed them if you can.
offer the defeated terms. especially their children.
mercy may be remembered even by the very cruel. give
the rest to your men.
and whilst they are enjoying their right to choose, as the general this
is the time when you must be most watchful. whilst your army is revelling,
keep in your hand your bitterest warriors. ring your dogs with ice. send
those who thrive best on I499cal per day back out the way you came. if
you came quietly you may be pursued, quietly. there will be scouts. take
them. if you have engaged, do those who have seen your colours have terror
of you? if they do not, slay them while the body of your men sleep.
in the morning you may have two armies. and now that you are secure for
a time you will pray with those who serve under you. on your hill top,
then and only then will you unfurl the black flag. savour the vanquishing
of a foe with your officers and men.
accept petitioners. there may be gifts for those who are proven amongst
the mighty. at a time like this an overlord, perhaps previously unknown,
may be announced and wish to inform you of his plans for you.
ambassadors may come. it will be good. they will see that your people
hold off somewhat in awe of you.
it could be a good time for your army to make a move.
there may be a bargain, an allegiance. a date.
another field. check over your shoulder. mount, ride. you will be followed.
your colonels will purvey the reports from your scouts. your army will
surround you. this is also a time when Old scores may be contemplated.
in secret. perhaps this is a moment when you may pick a fight. perhaps
even generals have vendettas but have learned they are better served cold.
and when an excuse, manufactured or otherwise, draws in more of the strong
when they are looking for exercise. or gain.
here, so having proven oneself the wisest, direst of foes you would look
for the payoff a beautiful bedfellow. it is erroneous whilst at war. the
scarred, unglorious of your men may not like it.
but the service of women, who nurture dead men, and repair them that they
may go back into the fray, where they belong; should be remembered. so
long it makes them strong.
beauty is an old and wiley one and will not be drawn into battle easily,
however, little of their encouragements have been known to go a long way.
She thought of the promissory notes that had been discarded for her amongst
his papers when everything else of his tended so precise. She had taken
to wearing some things - for him... for both of them. She could have sworn
it made So's eyes water sometime but he'd look away at some triviality.
He was thread bare. And then as she thought to herself of the power she
held over So's emotions, she thought how she would meet him anew and how
they would be great friends... and anything else... no deals. little did
little did she know there was an open claw in her path. just about to
close. just about to close in retribution for unprofessional errors, more
a signature of confusion than a desire to do harm. hurt. but, never the
less, the woman trap would close.
Friendship was now further away than she was experienced of knowing. (This
is perhaps the greatest vanity of all. While condescending to someone;
to enjoy the arrogance of ignoring how they actually feel. Never looking
into the little emotional box we have consigned them, to see what is Really
going on. All knowing of the reasons why they should love us and all ignorant
of our self love and their independent importance in existence.) And maybe
she could be grown up enough one day to really love someone. Maybe she
had. Already. This is one thing which So never made clear. Perhaps he
couldn't bear even in long distance hindsight, that there was someone
she had loved. Loved. Loved, the powerful human concrete. Perhaps even
one day she would, could love someone, displeasing as he looks, like Robert.
Was Robert. She could now relieve him of his sex drive when it bothered
him, easily enough. It helped that technically he Is good in bed but she
found it very hard to let go and enjoy herself because she wasn't attracted
to him in the same way he was her. Wordiness aside they went to an out
of the way, out of the way pub. The loudly gabby, cocky pub owner took
one look at the couple and almost broke up. B&B. I'm sure.
How funny, how funny, how boring, how witty, how predictable. Now give
us our drinks and go fuck yourself. ASShole. Serving So he got a shock
he looked into his eyes and received a chill for his audacity. He couldn't
help himself. He wanted to see if he could detect, in this fiercely ugly
man's face, the key to pulling such a stunner. All he got was a relaxed
intensity of deathwish directed at himself. Hate. It wasn't a threat.
Far from it. It was merely an admission, that the other would do him if
the opportunity arose.
behind the bar you see all kinds. it is not over common however, to serve
people who'd like to kill you for having a smart 'thought', when they're
stone cold sober.
So had turned away and walked casually off when the barman returned with
the change. It wasn't much. What to do with it though? Don't feel like
keeping it. Maybe it was a tip. I Doubt THAT... the way he looked.. Leave
it on the bar. He passed a half worried look in Sharon's direction. It
bounced off her. Sharon could always use the battleship armour plating
of her looks. So ambled back to the bar and picked up his change from
the counter. "How stupid of me!" and SLAPPED! the heel of his
hand Hard against his forehead. Not for an instant did he take his eyes
from the bar keep. His eyes glistened, smiling with completely unveiled
hostility his look said: Mind your own business or I'll be in behind that
bar.. And he did. It was a murderous mood.
a murderous mood is like so.
So had to steady himself - he didn't want to ruffle the pigeon - could
not let it know, that what was sitting beside her was, in fact, a hawk.
A hungry, pissed off, hooked beak; knowing its talons desire to gnaw the
seats. He'd caught her - worse luck, but now it was time for a little
patience And restraint before instruction was to begin. Sharon noticed
something but she put it down to her being worried about her own situation
and what to do! She had seen or heard nothing to regard Robert as being
a threat! to anyone - least of all her lauded self. And he hadn't been
- he had just been unhappy. Unhappy at fate. His fate. His one definite
shot at life. She had no ambition of possible significant change in mood
for anyone else other than - me.
Myself, I. this is a significantly dangerous policy.
He was beaming and charming in his shy public way. And yet So looked thirstily
at her gullet more than once - sidewards. however he didn't lick, lovingly
his kanine teeth. that is something you do to show your raison d'etre
to other blood suckers who flock around a kill who is innocent of you.
it is something you do when the outcome is academic, full in the belly
as you are.
She felt the little chill pass over a not too distant future horizon of
hers. A small foot, pressing gently down on her grave. stilettos mincing,
heels down, along your raw naked back.
She ignored the sensation. The Instinct. Foolishly. Ignorantly. Idiotically.
'do a runner quick - bitch!', shouts the drunk lout by the aisle.
I include only a tiny part of my peoples lives. The important. The dramatic
if you like. Mostly. There are times when you should act, even though
for the vast majority of your life it is not necessary. Especially when
you are afraid. Fear is uncomfortable for a very good reason. There is
only one thing stronger than it. But any fool would relinquish fucking
on noticing the ball and chain from that crane
which is heading slowly, but inexorably for the boudoir window. But then
few of us listen acutely enough to the backs of our brains. Because we
think. He just wants me is all.
She thought not really convinced. ?. Run. Hard. Run far away. Break it
off NOW! Run, run away. Hide. Little girl. He is a man and you are only
a li'tle girl. He doesn't want you like other nice men and boys anymore
- he wants to subjugate you to his will, take out his inevitable hurt
out on you. The chances of you staying with him were always minuscule.
Insignificant. Of you bearing his children and keeping his house, non-existent.
He was always doomed to the pain of the absence of you - beautiful woman.
Most prized commodity of all - flee. Him. He will only teach you the bad
side of us. It will make you suspicious of us. And that is the greatest
loss to us. We who never intended that the chickens should see the knife.
We the hunters who should have kept all our trade secret - no talk of
battle, no exposed tools of the trade.
You've heard it said: 'fear is the mind killer'. And it is. Fear is the
enemy. Fear of doing. Fear of not doing. Fear of winning. Of losing. Of
the dark. Fear of not shining in the sun. fear of so. and those who have
been learned to be like him. Forced or otherwise. Jean to whom I believe
I have introduced you volunteered. People do. By the 10s of 1,000,000s.
Or are volunteered. Naively believing that, like a game, when it's not
actually in play that it doesn't matter. Doesn't count. Is not relevant.
- I'm a normal person when I'm not in uniform, without my baton, hand-cuffs,
when my fists aren't clenched, when the boxing's over. But you're not.
I'm not. It warped Jean - taught him things someone as physically impressive
as him need never have known, and in practice could have learned to obviate
or tried to. Perhaps one student in his seminar would have adopted Jean's
disdain of violence, if he'd let that grow, and not thrown that punch
that started that fight where the kid got stabbed and all the ladies got
frightened. It is not always true- that you Have to do things to understand
them. Come close. Maybe.
During the course of the ensuing conversation in the pub, So, amongst
other things, spoke in glowing terms of his work mates, of the camaraderie,
the jokes, the foolery, the chat and the crack. Peculiar. Not something
he normally talked about? - Said he had enough of it at work and preferred
not to be one dimensional and boorish about it afterwards. The IRONY was
so thick and hard only an idiot or someone who desperately didn't want
to hear could have missed it. He was giving her WAY OUT.
Sharon reminded him that he'd said he thought work and all its paraphernalia
boring fodder for conversation but he brushed it away with a wave of his
hand, saying that he didn't think it was such a good idea to introduce
the aul' male bonding when you're just starting up with a girl.
Sharon smiled inwardly, wrongly (very wrongly) thinking how So couldn't
have 'started up' with too many girls and therefore was in no position
to comment on what was or wasn't a good idea to talk about. Again, the
egocentricity prevented her from judging what was actually going on his
mind. So pleased was she with her insight that she over looked the key
clause of his sentence which was 'when you 'were' starting up with a girl.'
Did she think that So had come to think that their relationship had graduated?
it is hard to say.
In a relationship when one partner feels so little for the other, by contrast;
take it or leave it, they can lead and dominate by virtue of being so
much less into the other. Less to lose I suppose. Considering her coolness
and aloofness; setting aside her being mercenary, perhaps she thought
So had come to believe that the length of time since their first encounter
meant that things had changed. Graduated. This of course negated his essential
pragmatism and almost ultimate lack of self deceit. What it was was a
cue. He would give her many more. Many more opportunities to acknowledge
what she had done to his reputation, his face, his life. If she would
just admit it. Say she was sorry. And then agree to keep seeing him sometimes,
he would wear his thickest skin and not run away but stay for her. The
terror of popular opinion can be a heavy burden to bear. He would pare
away his pride as much as he could stand - for her. You see So was as
near as makes no difference in love with Sharon. She was aware of this
fact - she thought it was funny. in a nervous, sorry sort of a way.
Ridiculous that he should have paid such a high price for her and imagined
that there could be any such feeling on her part. He didn't. He couldn't
help himself. He was a lonely man and he didn't want to be without her,
no matter what the terms or how HE was degraded. "You know that friend
of yours - what's his name John... came up to me and said how lucky you
were to have a friend who bought you such nice things."
"Oh. That was nice of him to notice." Jesus. Did he really say
that?? So Robert what does This mean? I will see whoever I want! Are you
trying to ask me not to see him anymore? I won't do that for you. I absolutely
will not do that for you or for anyone no matter.... Privately I am your
sleeping partner sometimes. Otherwise we socialise. Date. Now this? What
does it mean? What do you want? What do you want me to say? Do you want
a capitulation from me? - Never. Do you want a renunciation from me of
my right to be single? If I stopped openly seeing John would your next
logical gift be an engagement ring? Jesus. That would be an awkward moment.
I like you. I have learned. Isn't that enough?
Fuck you Robert you really piss me off when you will insist on sticking
these pins into yourself!
"Good looking chap. Don't you think?"
WHat? I spose so. Yes." What is THis? Is this a late emerging masochism?
Did he hurt you luv? I'm sorry, I cannot be around the whole time to protect
your pride from slight. You wouldn't let me even if I was! In fact when
things are wrong with you, and I try and smooth things over you invariably
get worse. More infuriating anyway. You're so independent and erect -
my little man. Why do you have to be like this? So cutting. You only hurt
yourself. You know. It's not quite water off a duck's back for me but
you make Yourself wince. Com'on tell Sharon - you can tell Sharon - she'll
Ah fuck you anyway! i give up. All this bloody posturing! SPIT IT OUT!
`I s'pose so.' What sort of an answer is that? If a ride walked in here
right now and you asked me if I thought she was good looking - I wouldn't
say 'I s'pose so', now would l! - I'd say 'corr isn't she.' - or something
like that. John is lucky. He is a Damn good looking fella. No doubt about
it. 'I s'pose so' indeed! And a gentleman - he spoke so highly of you.
And not a whit jealous that your good friend Robert can give you such
pretty little trinkets." I guess his looks more than make up for
him being not so skilled. I admire guys like him you know." So much
so that I'm going to fuck him!, that is, after I've finished with you
delicious. Just admit it. How you blabbed about our little arrangement.
Couldn't be satisfied with the goodies, you had to have sympathy aswell
- and from Him! That... that snivelling, back biting, ASSShole twerp!
Didn't you realise that men who think they will never have to compromise
themselves can be so mean and cruel? "SOH handsome and not a bit
vain. If I'd been born with looks like his, I'd like to have behaved like
"Robert I'm sure I don't quite know what it is" and I don't
want to know either "that is up with you today but I wish you'd stop
it." There is no need. For Cris'sakes don't you think I'm going to
tell John to shut his big fuckin' trap at the first possible opportunity!
God you're so infuriating sometimes. So many little intrigues and word
games. Jesus, why did you isolate yourself so much before you met me?
So that you cannot do Anything straight! SAY! anything straight. "Did
you slip out of work early and start drinking or something." Offensive.
"However invaluable I may be, I cannot do that without asking for
the sack. But that wasn't a question you were asking me - it's just one
of those things you say to annoy me." Not that that matters now.
YOU = the pair of you, have destroyed my life here. And one - just one
tiny, almost admission on your part of the fact will save me from having
to hurt you. Don't you understand, don't you see how your bluff corners
me, forces me. You don't. You won't see. "Someone else could do my
job. Maybe not as accurately or as quick but they could do it." (And
will do it). "The rest of the work force would go nuts if I got away
with that." I wonder will they be glad that they have driven me away
from my little home, my few mates for over a pint and my bit of a job?
Or will they simply not notice that I am not around anymore? Years of
my fuckin' life! MY life. Not your precious life. My paltry, dirty little
meaningless fuckin' life. And you had to... and he... and he... smilin'at
me... think you've won - FUCKer. You'll see... I AM GONNA STUFF YOU PRICK!
And bad luck to your mother. I could have smashed your disgustingly perfect
teeth in on the spot but I can wait a few hours. My dentist has to hold
a relief map in one hand when he's working on my mouth. After all I waited
for a woman like her all my life! The next time she sees YOU - FUCKer,
she's gonna wish you looked more like me. So. And bad luck to your mother.
So loves Hemingway. The Way. A man's way. Do what he must, no matter....
kind o' stuff. .
"Sometimes I really do think you're nuts Robert. Of course I know
you don't just take a half day off work to go boozin' and yet you go on
with all this... this... stuff!" This is of course not the kind of
nonsense you normally go on with though. ?. If you were a woman I'd say....
What is it? What is at the back of your mind? What IS behind all this?
Tell me! Please. Pleease tell me. TELL ME! Trust me. Let me be your friend.
I'm no good at being your woman. But I could be a good at being your friend.
I don't want to hurt you. i won't hurt you. Relax that invulnerable wall
of yours for just one minute and stop speaking in jig saws. You are hurting.
What pains you so? i know you. you think I don't? tell me. please.
Oh you exhaust me!
What did he really say to you? Oh SHIT!..
"Don't call me nuts."
I went and said some stupid things to him. Has he hurt you my short gruesome
man. Scrue him. Don't pay any attention. Ignore it. I didn't mean it.
He just couldn't take me liking you in Any way. I'm sorry! I have to have
someone else. I can't have just with you. You have always understood that.
You understand. It isn't true. Whatever he said? Just remember to believe
that it Isn't true! Everything will be fine in a day or two. You'll see.
You must remember only to remember that I sit here now with you and only
with you. He is not with my mind when I am with you. TELL ME!
"I'm sorry. It's just... you know... sometimes you hear things and
you think it has affected you one way and then you start acting like they
said something completely different!" Pause. "You know?"
You know. Why won't you just come out and ADmit that you were bad mouthing
me to your 'other' lover behind my back. But that is the whole point isn't
it - I'm fuck all removed from being your pay master.
DO IT! Tell me! TELL ME! Break all protocol between us and be STRAight.
Please Sharon. I never ever intended You any harm. It is not My fault
that I am made this way and that I wanted you. That I wanted.... I just
wanted you. I just had to have you in order to live. A beautiful alter
ego. Another half to be around for a while. I needed... don't MAKE me
show you how much you've... I've been... before... so much... my life...
anymore. No more.
"No I don't." BAAD decision. "That is if I knew what the
hell you were going on about Robert." Show me your cards and I'll
show you mine!
Unfortunately Sharon was trapped by the many veils under which their relationship
had gone. she danced the dance of the seven veils like no other, but all
she knew was a vision of her own loveliness. not the ache of the men who
watched her dance. Even allowed them touch, but she never really gave
herself to them which would leave them still hungry, even after. ever
after. that hunger that she left, made them learn to despair, even to
hate and despise Her.
The path to a bald saving honesty was at least partially blocked by by
the etiquette which prevented Certain things, which being said, would
surely have smashed their brittle little tacit agreement. Problem was
as stated, Sharon didn't care enough about Robert to shame herself by
reporting her meanness upon herself. Didn't fully believe or understand
her motivation for doing what she did. Finally also, So's last shred of
dignity would NOT allow him to directly ask for an apology. NOT. NOT.
NOT. NEVER. NOT. Not. never. no.. He cared for her too much then to have
her on those terms.
Without knowing it, Sharon helped forge the insomniac freak lying under
the bed of his companion in a hotel chosen for him, where he is banked:
a narrow sliver being moved around the board for elephants to tread on.
Before her, he didn't sleep much, but afterwards, the fact of his sleeplessness
distressed him, and as for being freak well.... Without realising it fully
the precision machine tool maker was allowing himself be made into a precision
machine tool. It was So because he was believing that what he really wanted
he would never receive gratuitously. What he received gratuitously was
pain, hurt, slight, frustration and most deeply disappointment. So no
one had anything to give him. Nothing that he wanted.
OUTCAST. Unclean. Lean. Sharps.
He will take... revenge - whatever. No one holds responsibility for him
so.. His adopted name IS what he is. It is fair. It is accurate. It will
suffice. It is not an arbitrary name tag but the meaning of a man's life.
All those trillions of instants. All those billions of fully rounded thoughts,
emotions, dreams, fears, regrets, instants. He feels ill used by the Gods
and man and has become perfectly honed to have no respect for either.
In fact - Pay Back! This is So's way and he will NEVER go back on it,
recant, feel guilty, be merciful because it contains his last shred of
strength he walked away from Sharon with. An ugly, slighted piece of STEEL.
All the more dangerous because he can paralyse you with a look.
And So when he became Their confederate they gave him the call sign:
EEL. A bite that is at once swift and inseparable. Silent, unemotional,
ugly, mean, slippery, persistent, patient and, if you swim into its waters
or it swims into yours - Night.
“It was nothing. Nothing at all. I guess I was just making up some bull
shit to excuse me being weird. I'm s'rry Sha'; have another drink babe."
"Make mine a double!"
english measures are pifflingly small anyway.
Good, you're gonna need it. My sweet. THIS obligatory tab I don't mind
picking up. "What are you trying to do get me drunk! Double doubles
it is then.'
- I'm glad. We haven't gone on the rip together for ages." Who's
fault is that. One last night together. I AM glad. Without your make up
you look even more beautiful. What a mess. God what a pity. Fuck you.
Liar. "We shall have the Bestest of times tonight. No problem!
"How do I look to you?"
Never the kind of thing you usually say?! But .... .. “You look fine Robert.
"Thanks. It's nice of you to say so." Even though we both know
it not to be true. That's what I hate - God if you'd even just said 'horrible',
I think I could have forgiven you. Just one shred of honesty. Just one
four square moment of decency. Within indecency.
"I sometimes wonder what it must be like - feel like to be as good
looking as you or... John for that matter." But he may as well be
scarred beyond recognition.. "I mean, like having people who admire
you all the time - all over the place. To be able to have whoever you
want - at the touch of a button... so to speak. To be a part of so many
“It's not like that.” As well you know. I thought you were going to stop
with this stuff. What is it Sweets? I don't need all this probing. I should
go home before you make a scene but you seem upset or... or something?
You are upset. I cannot be sure... what it is but I will know as soon
as I speak to that fool John! You're not normally like this.
I'll stay but please stop it.
"What is it like then?" Tell me. Tell me why? Tell me of your
arrogance. ..of your callousness. Tell me how you can be so unfeeling.
I am a person too. I AM A FUCKIN' PERSON TOO! I AM a fuckin' person too
you know.. Bitch. I wear two masks: this hideous thing that I could tear
from my bones and gristle and the wet blanket I've worn over my emotions
ever since I've known how, and you do not know HOW Much i feel. And i
love you. There! Your ultimate victory. The ultimate tribute to woman.
But you will never know and i will never tell you. Quite the contrary:
you will have pain by my hand and you will taste of my hate because you
have made me suffer like I was sure I never would again. I have suffered
every single day since I laid eyes on you; that was not your fault but
this thing that you have done.. It is beyond bearing. I cannot let this
go without it's being self suicide. My suffering is done, now only the
pain remains. The pain again. I lived with it for years and so I will
again but no more will I be foolish and live in hopes. In dreams. Robert
has died finally and from the ashes I will CRUSH....
"For a start" as you insist "you can never always have
what you want. People - the world brings you up to think that the beautiful
people are always happy - having fun - and with each other. Only problem
is is that people are always lying to you. The working model is .002%
of women. 'Don't you think you'd be a little more comfortable darling
with a little less on.' They adopt a personality or behave in a way that
they think will make you like them. Then they'll judge you so much more
harshly when you're not around" or in their heads at least. when
your exquisite shoulders have turned you mean.
It can be impossible to know where you really stand." Especially
with men. "They try to manage you properly, like you were" some
"a brittle thing", idiot child "or something. Other people
behave much more realistically to each other."
"Don't stop." I've often used to dream of being other than I
am - of being attractive even. Of being able to pick up a woman without
thinking she has taken pity on me. Or is dead in the water herself. or
i'm the last thing between her fall from grace and an overdose. This is
as close as I'm ever going to get. Call it a parting gift. "No please.
Do go on."
"Well... like you see someone - or you know someone who you like,
and they have this really false picture of you in their heads. And then
when you try and explain who you actually, really are, on the inside,
and you try and tell them what you - the real You need, there's consternation...
Good God she couldn't... how could she?... she wouldn't....
Or like you know this nice fella and you become friends. But he's all
the time trying to hide the fact that he's into you. He's sensitive. And
then for no apparent reason he goes all sour on you. But it's really because
he hasn't got the courage to ask you to be his lover - you know. He's
so afraid of being rejected that he blows the Whole deal even though that
isn't what he wants. And he blames you! Even comes to despise the ground
you walk on, when he tried, secretly to worship it before. Or you find
out second hand that someone who has made themself your friend has been
angling all the time to get you into bed, or has even told people that
he already has! Unless you have a steady boyfriend you can have a sex
life that you are completely unaware of! Other women can be under the
impression that you're a complete slag even though you've kept your own
council for ages. And they fend you off with their cold shoulders and
dry smiles. And you're really disappointed because you thought it was
cool just to be the guy's friend and that he liked You, and didn't just
want into your knickers like most of the rest of the blokes around. And
it's crazy because it often would be cool if their jealous macho shithead
mates didn't subtly (or UNsubtly) try and make them feel like they were
less of a man if they didn't try and hop you. And there's those times
when nice shy blokes make these horrible sloppy passes at you. And you
have to be faintly amused and polite and Firm, when what you really want
to do is SCReeeam. It's disgusting. But you are not allowed. Women aren't.
We're supposed to be demure and patient and soft and dolly and forbearing.
And this guy's got you up against the wall at some party and he's breathing
practically bloody neat alcohol down the front of your blouse. And you
can SMELL him. And he's, like sweating on you. And it's horrible. It really
is obscene. And he's trying to manoeuvre his groin through you and the
wall at your back and you're looking over his shoulder this way and that
desperately trying to catch the eye of a friend - to come and rescue you.
And you have these little hands and these weak arms out in front of you
trying to fend the brute off your body. And some women and men look you
right in the eye and they know EXACtly what's going on. And they look
away. Think it's funny maybe." Spiteful. Good enough for ya! Jealous.
"And maybe you do raise your voice or give him a shove and he looks
so disdainfully at you. Shocked. Tight. - Bitch. Or ever so genially,
a guy steals you away, and it's just beautiful because he has Respect
for your feelings and he wants you too and he can't stand to see you manhandled
and pressurised and freaked out in that way. He would, could never behave
that way to you. He wants to bash the guys face in but he plays the fool
because he knows that if he makes a scene you'll be blamed - for being
a tease in the first place! And he makes little jokes and he won't hold
eye contact with you but keeps looking down maybe dances with you for
a while. And sometimes he dances well. And sometimes he has a nice physique.
And you think - well.. His ambition for you which he is trying valiantly
to hide is so palpable that you could touch it; take a hold of it and
shake it. It's so damn sweet and charming and lovable that you'd lie down
on the floor and do it with him right there and then because he is a good,
decent man and he really likes You -you're not just a flashy sex object
conquest thing. But he can't make a pass at you because that would be
cheating betraying your confidence in him. He won't believe your little
encouragements because 'She couldn't be into me. ?. I'm too... she wants...
He's so busy telling himself why not, that he won't listen to how you're
saying 'YES'. You don't make a
more direct advance because you've been trained to be taken, to surrender;
not to initiate, to lead. And then it's gone. Your frustrated at him too
for not being more of a 'MAN'. (Whatever that is when it's at home? I've
never known. You’re all boys as far as I'm concerned!
I'm dying to be proved wrong!) And maybe at the end of the night he's
had a few more himself and having gone away and thought about it alone,
he's finally clicked some signal that you made two Hours earlier; so he
makes this pleading, scared little pass. And it's awful because you're
not in the mood for him anymore, so you pretend not to recognise it for
what it is. You can see how disappointed he is. It took such bravery.
Courage. Now HE thinks you're a tease. He'll slink away from you, flushed
maybe, like a beaten dog and you can't help feeling sorry for him. That's
the worst thing. Feeling sorry for them. Nice guys...'get washed away
like the snow and the rain.' He won't like you so much anymore but his
desire for you will probably have increased and it will have made him
sharp and polite or fawning and sarcastic in the future. It can be absolutely
horrible, confusing, unbearable but mostly just plain disappointing. That's
why so many attractive women go with such thick skinned, self confident
men. The way we're brought up, they're simply easier to deal with. You
don't have to spend half your energy or half your time bolstering their
ego because they're not quite ever sure that they deserve you or that
you're into them. It can be so God awful boring."
FUCKIN'HELL! Jesus. I wasn't expecting THAT. From YOU. CHRIST! How do
you feel about me? Unfortunately I can't ask you now without the possibility
of scaring you off. Eventually she will sniff the rot. The disease in
me. I have plans for you. My gorgeous mean darling. You have grown in
my mind that what you did WAS vengeful and not merely accidental or sympathy
seeking. I cannot know and I cannot believe that you'd answer truthfully
if I asked straight out. Contradictly, the sympathy which you have made
me feel for you in your beautiful dilemma has made me all the more determined
to teach you the UGLY lesson. I don't know what your direct intention
was, but I feel that you intended, in some small way at least, to wound
me, because you obviously feel that you deserve so much better. So much
better for why? So much better for what? So much better because of your
birth right? So much better than what I can offer. Yet you take what I
can give anyway and pretend to be 'Goldie Locks' and that it is all such
a 'horrible, awful' burden to you.
or can you really hate me?
Like those OTHER men you talked about. Did you not realise, with all your
painfully won insight into men 'boys'what HE is?! Jon. Were you blind
to what an irresistible temptation it would be for him to stab me in the
back. Drive the carve in from behind. How heinous an act was that? How
much wracking of his pathetic little mind must he have put himself through
to find out why you should share yourself with me and his sexiness. Ha!
I'm glad for that. How much wracking of his conscience must he not have
gone through before he blew the whistle on me? When it comes down to it
are you as blind and naive as everyone else (probably purposely) and you
didn't even realise that you were using him as an extension of your 'little
hands and weak arms'. Or was it lack of mental resolve and pathetic weak
arms? It couldn't have been little hands because yours are majestic and
elegant - that right? Unfortunately for you, I refuse to slink away from
you like 'a beaten dog'. animal. I will walk away. My head will be high
and my back Straight, even though I must lose the two things I care about
- my bit of job and you. Work and sex - Ha! Christ add T.v. and you got
the mix that keeps the western world going. God I'm a cliche! What a time
to come to this little discovery. ...my bit of a job and you. ..Christ
you - I love you. loved you. No love. I will walk away. Which is not what
you expect. You do not expect my dignity. So maybe that will teach you
something. Maybe you will become a little less superior and a little more
human. Also, it will make me a little less human which it seems is what
'I' need to be to survive. I must survive. I Will survive.
god help me.
and you I will divorce myself from the rights and freedoms of your world
because to what I want I am polluted, so - I will make my own rules and
just Take what I want. OR deface it. Do what I want. Do what I MUST. Do
what i shall. (Jesus I don't believe that I'm going to do what I am.)
Do you want to know why? Because I AM A MAN. Believe it or not. I am or
am no longer one of your 'boys' because I have strength independent of
the umbilical. Of your umbilical. I am not lucky. I have not been Blessed.
But this thing I Know about myself and had you been blind in your eyes
you might have known it too. But then again had I been blind I would not
have tried to buy you. Rent you. Lease you. Why could I not have been
able to ignore looks as i have my own? Almost. Well there you go. Q.e.d..
Could I not have found some dog with a nice body and in the dark.... And
I would have been So good to her that she would have learned to love me.
And feeling love is what she wants. Why did I have to have the instincts
of the connoisseur? I am a connoisseur! Unfortunately. Everything could
have been alright if.... So. As the Spanish say: 'Que va!': is life. -
Hemmingway again. Life's weird! Is Hell. And as for him - the 'thick skinned,
self confident' one.... I'm gonna give him THE fright of his Life. Que
va for you too my ENEMY. MY ENEMY. ENEMY.. enem ene
akin to madness. of pain. corralled. already done.
"The way you talk... wistful like... a bit disappointed or something...
do you think you would have been happier growing up... if you'd been a
little less attractive... had less attention directed towards you? If
you'd been given a little more space to get on with being... becoming
Sharon in her deepest, grossest ignorance of him, turned and fixed him
with her glistening eyes and with a wry smile proved her Great unknowledge
of him. Glittering orbs. Robert foolishly enough, wanted to hear her compare
herself a small way back to how he'd grown and lived. But instead, fairly
enough by her lights, she took it to be an opportunity to place the onus
onto other people. It was a sad moment for So. The final punctuation.
but the engine can run on sadness a lot longer than it can on despair.
this is the truth of the loner.
and love? love is a memory. to be cherished. (if known.)
but not over used.
He was used to it, but the sinking feeling came just the same: 'tis not
as deep as a well nor as wide as a church door but 'twill do'. So doesn't
remember whether it's the exact quotation but 'twill do. Mercutio - the
wounded between Sharon and John's houses. Flailingly, he hoped she would
see that a little less could have been a little more. But then, would
he have admired her so deadly, hunted her, entrapped her, if she had been
a little less? perhaps.
Faithfully though, a little more to offer on his side and a little less
sexiness on hers
could they have been Lovers? Was that what, in the round about way he
had to go; what he meant - what he wanted to say?
possibly. but that is another life.
She came back in answer to his question, unassailably in the knowledge
of her undiscovered noble birth with: "If people were a little more
generous," less unkind “more one faced," less two faced "more
appreciative of my space and feelings" less ignoble "then there
would be no need for me to be less ‘attractive’” strut my stuff and have
the attention I wanted, from whoever I wanted it from "would there?"
Great. Just what I needed to hear! yeah just what i needed to hear. Why
do I bother to try and tap the spring of humility in this woman? You're
doing it because you are trying to build up your courage. Trying to concrete
what you have planned, which you still find extreme, but which, no matter
what anyone else will think, you believe to be fair. Know to be fair.
When has fair been the yard stick of this life? let her disgust and contempt
of weakness be yours.
So. You will do what a man has gotta do. This man. It won't make you happy.
But you are used to this. For when have you been? when have you been.
In her smooth arms, sometime late at night maybe, when she had forgotten
to go home. and lay slowly breathing in her sleep. And was innocent of
you. But she knew it was good to have a man by her side. As she slept.
And in her rest was free and secure once more. But that doesn't matter
now. does it? gone.
And a slow song began in his head, I wish I could describe it to you,
it had a beat but was faint and always began when he had something to
do; it was; is the march of retribution, if you like. Evil things have
been done while this song has played in men's heads. and it has played
What is it they say in the qualities 'scarce commodities command a high
price' cuts both ways! Literally. So: "People are very grasping.
It can lead them to be unfeeling. I'm sure it is very annoying to be plagued
by the unwanted" unsolicited "attentions of men. Especially
on a... physical level. It's so unfair; being at such a disadvantage where
defending yourself is concerned. I'm sure I couldn't understand... or
appreciate what that's like... or how it must make you feel!" Oh
Slowly the innuendo dies down. Even So forgot it. never. Or contrived
to forget it. Or nothing. The flotillas of drinks helped him to remember
his higher purpose. Or to forget both and to drift in a regular type sodden
evening. He got her drunk Hahaaa. aa. Long before the night was done,
he suggested going back to the flat for a breather. Did she suspect something
might be up? A little giftee perhaps. She readily agreed, for she was
both tired and drunk. She had no energy to falsify a mood. It was misty,
dense with pollutants outside. Unreal. The river spilling a cool most
As they opened the door - a queen with her king - or suitor, their barman
who'd served them faithfully and latterly in silence, wished it was he
helping on her coat going to some alien cot, dance hall, burger bar. In
his middleagedness, his overweightedness, his employedness and his very
marriedness to a woman he knew but long since had given up the pretence
to himself that he loved; there was no escape, no release, no hope of
it. This story could have been about him - his customers lives, pork pies,
getting bets in before the runners are let go - on the basis of dubious
tips and even more dubious analysis of form, football, slag off humour,
sex once a week and.... But he didn't take long long walks, forgetting
the time because he was lost in reverie, he didn't become madly embroiled
in the classics, the romantics, he didn't slowly fish the canal in peace
and admire the felicity of the swans but thought of how they ate. He hadn't
framed a way to work with kids even though he had none and loved them
once. Jean would have made him laugh, praised his lady wife's cuisine,
made gestures, shared smut even made him shine and show his barman's stripes
and deliver his observations of pub life man. So hated him now with his
back - this barperson - a tree rooted so deep and charge of destinyless
- never knowing the dash through the clearing or even, the clearing itself.
The barman didn't hail them good bye, even though it came to him - he
was the one after all, who'd felt the slight for another man who was in
luck. No we will not stay with him. We will not stay with him because
and you have heard it many times before:
The candle burns twice as bright,
Burns half as long.
or in so's case: at both ends.
Breath came in plumes although it seemed not that cold. Swathes of breath
like horses. Anyway, So steered her through the streets and alleyways,
past strangers - bulky ghosts, some people they vaguely may have known
coming out to the pubs and going. Up through the doors into the bedroom.
Did she expect slightly distasteful - sex? It was not the sex she found
distasteful actually but the choice of partner. The sex itself was exciting
- there were no bounds. Except some of the excite was separated from the
ment. She had learned to enjoy it with Robert. Somehow. To her credit.
Whatever she was expecting she wasn't expecting a teeth shuddering punch
in the jaw. ddd. No she didn't. The floor jumped up to hit her ‘SMASH'
on the other side of her head. It was not part of slapping her around,
even of beating her up - he wanted to abjectify her. Face. It hurt - she
was not used to this kind of pain. She whimpered like a virgin school
girl who has turned on an older boy who's pressing hard for his go of
sex. Did she think of rape? Not apparently. She did say "no"
though. That's what you're told. It's not what she got. She lay on her
side on the floor - bleeding. She gurgled and spat out the thick mix of
saliva and blood which was filling her mouth and a tooth. It had been
a vicious, unrestrained and undefended blow. No warning. So was strong.
Fit. She didn't stare at him with her eyes or plead with them - she hit
him with them. He was unabashed, and the side of his face started to curl
up most pleasurably in a sneer. he could easily have beaten her to death
at that point.
He didn't have to, because just then she was the powerless one. He fairly
brutally tied her hands behind her back with the belt from his bath robe
that was hanging ont door and gagged her with a dish towel. "Don't
want you screaming your little head off and force me to murder you."
"You mean you're not." she mumbled.
"Depends. Depends on how I feel."
"What are you going to...."
She did squeak on being tied, like a shop mannequin might when it is moved
from window to window. Did rape pass through his mind then. Not really.
He thought he was in the wright and that such an action or actions could
only demean him. His actions were designed to be purely explanatory. Robert
as was, was going to cut her face. Perhaps then her power as a floating
wreck would be diminished. Stripe. Other men might wonder why she had
been slashed. But he couldn't. He loves things of beauty too much. He
could not even carry out his revenge, come lesson. Even then he failed
himself. his heart was broken as he went through with the alternate.
He loves pretty things like a child loves strange, new bright things and
will turn them over in his hands for ages - staring at them in wonder.
And really, as always he cursed and blamed his own ugliness. Himself.
So. What to do next? He had to do something or she would have an even
bigger laugh at him for being weak and not following through with his
diabolic plan. whatever it was.
Kneeling down - his hands as clamps he caught the front of her shirt and
in that vice, he tore the front right out. And the bra. The tearing of
the tight crimped elastic was better than sex. Now. That did scare her
somewhat more for some reason. Her breathing became very irregular when
he produced the knife. Indeed. The precise beauty of the wicked wafer
of K47 steel in his deft hand could only be rivalled by the sleek lines
of her breasts on their curved cage. He thought it would be easy again
- up to this part. He sat back on her abdomen and cleared his mind. Emptied
his mind. Acres of work had trained that hand, that arm, that hand. Endless
hours, fields of toil have turned a part of him into a mechanical man
and now if he could only access it .. ... To carve. He concentrated and
squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment and then he began to slice.
Even still, he was glad of the warm steady pulse and rush of the alcohol.
There was almost no need for sawing. Gentle pressure is all that was needed
at first, but then more. Her body spasmed at its touch. She whimpered
convulsively. He cut from the armpit deep into the flesh of her chest
to the nipple and through it. The blood spilled in profuse chains of drops
down the side of her body onto the carpeted floor. He thought of drinking
it... of lapping it up like some kind of carnivore. of killing her.
She wouldn't bleed to death from the wound but it was a gouge. The tension
of her skin pulling it wide. Perhaps some lover of hers would see it and
think what a bitch she could be to a guy to make him do that. To deface
such a beauti.... Despite So, the incision, so precisely made, would look
to anyone like a surgical scar.
He didn't think he should do it, would do it. But then something new came
to the surface. The only word for it is Aggression. Adrenal fed. The word
doesn't sound as wanton, as savage as it was. He drew his arm back and
slashed her face from the upper part of her cheek to the bone and to the
point of the jaw at the chin. Blood lashed onto the floor and jumped onto
his face and into his eye. He wiped and blinked it away with a bemused
smile and a short laugh. Finally and irrevocably he was in control. He
did it even though, not only did he not think he could not do it but that
it was wrong. Better it made him feel and indeed shocked him at what he
was capable of. Shocked in the sense of awe at how empowered he had become.
His sense of wrongness was countermanded by what he felt had been done
to him. So there was nothing his rage, his sense of wright couldn't persuade
him to do. He didn't have the romantic thought of killing her and then
That would have been far too flippant. Far too arbitrary. He had come
to the answer for the rest of his life - take, escalate, 'I' matter most.
"You have taken all I had for myself - the respect of the Men....
That and the part time of a prostitute. You and that bastard (who I am
also going to sort out) have taken away everything a guy like me can reasonably
expect to have in this life. Yes, I have not forgotten your pretty Boyfriend.
I can smell him even this far from the Oaks. I ought to kill you but you
are not worth it. Neither of you. There are other towns, others teams...
I would love to let you speak at this point. But that's a lie. Anyway
you might as a final stupid gesture, force me to kill you by screaming
your dumb fuckin' 'ead off; mightn't you my pretty - eh-eh." He poked
her playfully in the solar plexus as he spoke.
He sat back on her upper legs, admiring his first attempt at surgery and
the military slash. He was pleased, on the verge of tears. tears of loss,
amazement, joy, horror - futurity.
- The slow clotting of the red liquid against her pale tit, he found most
engrossing beyond the beyonds of fascinating. A little drunk, so the freakish
or garish nature of the situation was mostly lost on him. Lit up a cigarette
and used her concave bellybutton as an ash tray. What an exquisite belly
His mood was high - plans half-completed. Cigarette finished he wanted
to stab it out in her stomach but he couldn't. Wouldn't I mean. That would
again have been far too petty. To cause pain when humiliation was sufficient.
That is not what he had sought or had become. If you can understand. Please.
He did want to fuck her now but by not, it might leave him with that little
bit of hunger that he would need for a target that not only might but
Could fight back. you always wanted that just one more fuck. with her.
His hand reached forward in a trance. His hand moved forward in a trance.
Was he going the whole way? Was he going to go the whole way? His alien
fingers eased the gag down. He knew he would drive the blade into her
chest. He knew where. Could feel the hollow. This is insane - she is not
worth murder. I don't want to.
She tilted her head back. So almost slit her throat but was fixed, waiting
over a beautiful gap between her ribs.
She coughed. Winced. Spat. Drooled. Looked up. At So's face, but not in
In sorrow. Deep.
"I only feel sorry for you.
This was not necessary.
I could have stayed with you for a long time.
I did care for you.
Maybe not the way you wanted, the way I wanted, but I tried.
It would have been good for you.
I would have been good for you.
Perhaps you would have ignored brutality.
You have hurt me. I will remember you everytime..
You have punished me for my nature. My lack of satisfaction. Let my defacement
be an end, a letting of your bitterness."
"no.", he said quietly and replaced the rag, his face averted
from hers to the side. She had taken his energy, his hostility away. And
now all he felt was drained.
So could not believe her calm, her resignation. How ... ? Could he have
had an argument with her instead and halved his wallet with her at regular
No. It could not have lasted. Could not have lasted. The artifice was
necessary in the short term. Things had turned nasty because of aspirations...
impossible aspirations and because of, I bore you I know pride - the bottom
line of insult that people have. He turned slowly... away from her, with
his right forearm and hand he swept the desk clear. He didn't have to
say 'the slate's clean now'.
So. Now. The man traitor, bastard. He knew where his prey would be drinking
that night. Good. He felt power once more... over someone else's immediate
destiny. Future; of shock, of pain, of fear. Disembodied. Felt power perhaps
for the first time in his adult life. Did he savour it? Not really it
was too much of a rush. But he would. At least it was a direction to go
in. Filled him up.
the red eye was oscillating in and out of his self. Down came the shield
of the shades. He would not let him see. No he will not see the devil
in me. One of the blue eyed devils. Coming. In his youth sometimes he
had to hide from the victim his eyes. In time he learned to cloud them
as also he did his craft.
"Just one more thing - you'll not be left here to croak. My ever
so smutty landlord will be detailed to find you here in the morning. He'll
take several good looks at You I'm sure and what a time he'll have freeing
you, staring at your tits, ogling your pussy - hoping all the while that
you'll throw yourself into the arms of your saviour. I'll save you the
hunt around for old clothes to cover yourself with - I'll take or destroy
everything." And he did. He packed what he wanted and cut up the
rest. Then he tore down the rest of her dress - and ripped her panties
off. of course. "No, you'll have to go in your clothes (or what's
left of them) and His jacket.
They'll ask you questions - the hospital staff and the police and think
you are lucky that you weren't 'interfered with' in any other way. - Ha!
Another counsellor, another charge obviated." To see her quivering
vulnerable body shrinking away - a body that in pose could inspire desire,
admiration even - you would not have had to have been a particularly gentle
person to offer her a blanket then. Pity. He wanted her to be mortified
at the last and cold - he opened the window. As she would be discovered
to it, so he had discovered it. He needed her naked body anymore not,
he had learned to replace feelings, emotions with ones more appropriate
to what he had to do, how he had to live.
like someone else.
The joke had been on him. Had always been or so it seemed. But he had
the sense of humour now and he would be fucked if he would lose it. He
looked at her trussed, lying on her side again, where she'd turned in
abjection; having seen no pity roused in him, for what he had done to
her in anger; no remorse for the pain the memories he had created would
cause. For the memories he would create, for the losses others would sustain
at the hand of So. At So's hand. His lust for her was gone. She had become
merely - old baggage too dusty too kick. But he did it anyway. She was
crying then. At the arbitrariness he had newly learned. Get the dig in
above all, and think whether or not you should have afterwards. Or better
still don't think about it at all.
know how, just DO M, walk away. think much later
Her convulsive sobbing became a groan. Pathetic: he thought and turned
away. She was sobbing slowly. Reluctantly. Painful tears. She had been
strong and reasonable and over fair in an effort to staunch him. Very
over fair. She didn't care for John - he was just something to do - there
was no love there, not even friendship it appeared, but she still didn't
want anyone else to be hurt, even though he'd dropped her in it. As dropped
in it as you get. Or almost. She had risked death, and she did not want
to die, to prevent So.
Sharon is a good woman today, less green - maybe you've seen her scarred
but not marred, deeper, still beautiful in a worldly way - not perfect,
but having her good points. Moments. Side.
I've seen her or someone like her and fancied her more for her learning.
'Flaunt the imperfection.' if that is not in poor taste.
So's stomach dropped. He had not defeated her. In fact she had behaved
admirably. Which is what he wanted to make her. On one level. Then why
did He feel so empty, so sick, so beaten? There was just sorrow again
and a dull tired pain in his head for to be completed of revenge. To be
finished. Freed. And to leave. Permission to retire. Permesso de depart.
Yes, maybe he would go to a foreign country. To a foreign land. Shore.
Where no one knew him. Become a mercenary. Join the Legion. Where a hideous
face would be appropriate. An asset. Maybe. But then out of place, out
of no where he thought of the very word 'foreign'. It broke the rules.
'I' was supposed to go before ‘e’ except after 'c' - but it
didn't; not in foreign anyway. They lied to children - adults did - to
help them learn, be safe, grow up. They were wright about the boogey man
though. It's me. Just now. Today. Tonight. Tonight, tonight, tonight.
'Bring on The night,
I couldn't Stand
'Foreign' - hmmm - he would make forays there. Teach them to remember
the Great British Empire. Remind them of the terror of Her. Of him. But
first he would join a gang. They would admire his coolness in cruelty.
And fear him. No, he would stay with his people the English. The Englanders.
He would teach them the meaning of the word 'cold'. Show them. He would
dig in. He would be an ingrowing form. To the marrow.
and deeper. to enforce terror upon the person, on top of cruelty.
He had discovered his new talent. Recently. He would embark on a new career.
Cast off. Into an ocean of souls - of sinners who were not ready for him.
Could not be prepared. There lay his advantage. He knew - 'fuck you'.
Faster, Harder, further. For longer. First. 'FUCK YOU!!'. Always. Hate.
Despise. Stamp. Crush. Until you know they know not to get in your way,
trip you up, give you cheek, omit to pay tribute, or in any way interrupt
your CRUISE. That was it he Would be a paid surgeon cutting like a hot
knife through a dry ice of sheep.
Then he went over and slowly, gently dragged down the gag again. It hooked,
sexily as he thought, over her polished teeth and lower lip. Looking her
dead straight in the eye for a trace - for a flicker of resistance, of
fight. Did he want her to cry out? So that he would be forced to silence
her? murder her.
She coughed alittle cough and said: "I only feel sorry for you.",
again. So laughed and slapped her wounded cheek. Not hard - just slapped.
She had nothing further to say. Add. So replaced the gag.
- He left. His walls. His ceiling. His lightbulb. His kitchen. His desk.
His covert. His refuge from having Simply to go on. The papers. He smiled
a little crooked smile for a pathetic artifice which had helped drive
him, wrightfully he then thought from home.
Grim. Grimness. Grimace.
He'd already swept the papers onto the floor so he smashed the side of
his hand down it. A blow that undefended, unwarned, would have snapped
your neck. And killed you. and u would have been unglorious and dead.
His stamp of eternal good bye. He was learning. His punctuations were
already becoming mortal blows. Learning. Preparing. To give abandon. To
cripple, mutilate, ...immobilise an enemy.
The slate's all clean now honey - O.K., "You're free to seek new
I'm sure you'll be more careful how you treat it when you find it.
You'll have a so-so handicap. You'll feel it when you're coming up the
hill at the end of the straight. You'll feel me. Lead weights on your
thoroughbred back. You'll turn the other cheek. You'll know the meaning
of it. In the disco. In the D. I. S. C. O. - when you see him coming over
out of the corner of your eye and he'll be dancing kind o', but heading,
definitely heading straight for what he thinks, in his youth and handsomeness
and greenness and running and bucking and his belief in a good result
and invulnerability - and he hasn't seen your stripe - your character
line - you'll feel it then - feel me - in the pit of your stomach because,
there'll be that moment when he tries not to do a double take and a part
of you will hope that he won't forgive you history and will stay immune
to reconciliation, accidents and incidents. That part of you will be glad
that he goes - Whew! close one - escapeably, rudely, dodgely and swims
away - and you'll be glad that he doesn't forgive you and passes on and
stays away from young women who've suddenly become middle aged. Or will
you mother him, when in his goodness and pride of it; he softens and tries
to make it up to you - for the badness, unkindness of an uncaring, unfair,
vicious, un-cricket world. And the thing is if he knew I was around, and
had any sense, it would teach him to be afraid rather than compassionate.
And there'll be another part of you - just as keen just as heart felt,
that will wish that you were a man because then you'd just be another
Huzzar bearing proudly a duelist's scar or a gash from a notorious, glorious
milit'ry campaign. Or more likely a street fight.
I'm sorry if I didn't hurt you enough. - For you have destroyed a romantic
which is the sin which makes the world what it is. Or at least, drives
away some chance of reparation from the inside. There was no room for
him in your.heart. How do you like this Man? You are a Frankenstein and
you, not he will bear the scars. This time. When you notice them, remember
that there are far more wounding ones inside. I should know, for I am
your monster. I will care less for the nicety of the asking but for the
size of my slice of the cake. You think it is a small thing compared to
that which I have done to you? - but I plan on living a long time to teach
many what you have taught me - Estella that you are. I will be famous
in jittery whispers. When people check under their beds at night - it
will be me that they are looking for.
Nothing to say?
I'm sure you'll have found your tongue by the time you talk to the Filth
both of you! Or will you let it go as no one around here will ever see
or hear of me again. Except perhaps in the odd bad dream - eh?
But perhaps one day when you are old and ugly I will come back to gawk
at you just one last time. Or maybe i will be erased by someone before
that sweet opportunity makes her way forward to meet me. I'd kind of like
to be erased now... by someone good - it goes without saying... not in
the 'two shoes sense of course that would be Too Sickening... it will
have to be someone good ... I feel myself getting ... growing harder,
slipperier... more devious all the time ... by the second I mean ....
I've only just started... the clock is ticking"... ticking on ...
ticking on in my brain ... 3) primary ignition start 2) ignition 1)...
"My... how many are there of me?... i wonder... how many of them
will there be?... how many of them will i meet?... how will we get on?...
what will they teach me?... what Can they teach me?... what will I teach
them? by then.... Will i have partners?... Accomplices?... Molls? Bosses?...
Vassals?... Right arm men... Oooh it makes me giddy just thinking about
it! Somehow the life of the controlled sadist isn't going to be all that
glamourous methinks but... and however, I have a feeling there will be
moments. Some humorous I hope. However sarcastic. Gotta have a laugh...
sometimes. All be it on someone else.
Adieu chicken. Adieu.
Got a date. Gotta go.
- Oh, and by the way - you weren't That good in bed - a lot of it must
have in my head. I did fancy you a lot after all. A lot. I'll give you
that! Don't know that I'd go out with you now though - you're gonna look
like a knacker. There must be some excuse... some explanation for my infatuation...
How I lose the run of myself. I AM sorry. Don't want to miss him his appointment
with doctor... no I won't say it."
And then he did something - he winked at her and smiled broadly. It lacked
ingeniousness, artiface which is what surprised her, because at the turn
of a coin for a moment - he was just a normal person - the man - the self
deprecating man she knew. Once knew. And then she thought: God help them!
He is serious. He Will do as he says. What have we done? He shouldn't
have become this. God forgive me... if I'd known... if i'd only known...
I... i'd never.... God help them.
Have pity on me. Forgive me. forgive
"We must do this again sometime.
No. I guess this is good bye. I've brought you to your threshold i think.
If I haven't I'm sorry - I apologise - I'll learn - in time. Given time.
No point in labouring the issue. But maybe I'll come back and when you
carefree open the door - I'll flash you a grin and Knife you in your pregnant
That is nasty. I'm sorry. It's what he said.
His bathroom. His bed. His worn..... He left.
Now you may have noticed something here. Small. Nagging. Have you asked
yourself: has this person gone off the deep end? I have. Asked myself
this I mean. Transcribing him, frankly, I am perturbed. Worried even.
Has he gone insane? He certainly is beyond the normal range. too right!
Or more importantly ... or more to the point - how many are there of me?
Of him? I mean. Of course.
In his head it thrummed. A manic falsetto. It screamed to have its share
of the fun. Not the cool sardonic cut or the swipe of corporal punishment
but the bludgeon and the mind altering yell of adrenaline. There was no
thought of loss, no entertainment of the possibility of defeat - with
the heavy metal bar in the pocket to laden and harden the fist. The thought
of mashing his head between dock and concrete, of mushing his features
into a pizza face was like extra smooth chocolate ice cream. Chocolate
chip, extra smooth, ice cream. Crushing that man into the pavement was
the only thought in his mind. His ultimate desire. The bastard's face
covered in blood and his nose smashed and pulverised all over the place
was his dearest wish. It was 3D, feeley, gel, hologram, quadraphonic,
acid, ecstasy, weed, speed, B.C.P., crack, cocaine, formula I, Harley,
jet fuel, Lear jet, Mirage, F 14, F15, F 16, SS 20, I.C.B.M., Minute Man
I, II, and III, N.A.S.A., all at once, in short. And more. The chemicals
pulsing, rushing in So's body and brain made him supercharged. Almost
superhuman. The bugs he crushed underfoot as he marched were lucky. They
didn't know much about it. Nor did they have the nervous system to feel
pain like we do, or the brain to experience the almost infinite shades
of fear and most cunningly, the depths and disturbing recurrence of paranoia.
Going to the bar So was buzzed. High. As I've tried to explain. Opening
the door the smoke and the smell of alcohol swelled his nostrils. Business.
Walking coolly up to Jon he placed his hand ever so gently on his shoulder
like a woman or a submissive friend or a play actor trying to be effeminate.
And when the mark turned around So squeezed into the bar and deftly had
a double brought to him, which he instantly wolfed down. The liquor never
touched his palate but its fire was appropriate. Would Jon like to go
outside - and talk. - O.K.. He would. Amongst these people how could he
say no - and there lay So's advantage. A slim one. Just not not done.
Real man propriety. John expected a straight up punch up - straight away.
The thought crossed his mind to level Robert as he went through the doorway.
No. Maybe he did just want to talk? Did a small sense of guilt hold him
back from taking the initiative and decking his adversary. A tincture
maybe. Because he Was his adversary and he Knew it. As it turned out this
was an expensive turn of conscience. Of fairness. Of chance. Of guilt.
Of giving a man a fair chance. A fair go. Were these appropriate sentiments
in a war. He had petitioned the members of the United Nations - coming
clean, pressed - the moral arbitrary and they in their turn, had come
to (an apparently) unanimous decision, on the shop floor, as it were.
Was. The council in closed sessions had imposed sanction - disdain, the
cold shoulder and most cleverly, as always, cloudy diplomatic communications
edged with biting, yet deft and subtle innuendo. snow ball.
But these sessions had eventually to become known to the ostracised party.
The lonely man perspiring at his work desk. I mean, round table discussions
even on a reduced scale to the U.S.U.N. are bound, eventually, to become
known to the interested party. I mean - stands to reason. They don't call
them interested parties for nothing. I mean interested parties are interested.
After all. It would take a real moron not to realise that they were in
coventry. Eventually. John had blithely opened So's underbelly - stoic
friendship and camaraderie on the job but refused to cut his head off
- hurt and humiliate him further by giving him the digs. He should have.
They would have understood - the man on the street - the man in the pub,
because it was obvious there were two competitors for one meal and they
had already decided, after all, to go for Mr. All American Colgate Smile
who should Obviously carry on with Miss Beauty Shop Queen - unimpeded.
After going through the door So was planning on beating the fuck out of
him. Simply. But he was subtle. He wanted to bait him a little first.
Insult him a little maybe. Get his hackles up a touch. Instinct prevailed
- don't taunt a lion when all you've got is a pea shooter behind your
back. Instead, So reached into his pocket and fished out a cigarette and
touched, with his fingers metal. And what a comfort it Was. It felt cold.
Hard. Rounded. Certain. He'd made the bar himself. There could be no room
for error - he wanted John to be sanguine to him putting his hand in his
pocket. The target was strolling down the pavement on his inside and to
his right - it was the way he was turned. Clever. He received the cigarette
thinking - it will be talk... and yet. Fishing So for another cigarette...
Having not done this before he didn't realise that all his might equated
to a fractured sternum and an arrested heart. The man slumped into the
wall badly. Mostly with his face. Slid down it. Dead when he hit the ground.
He looked surprised as the light went out of his eyes. Not unduly surprised.
Just plain common or garden perplexed. So could have tried C.P.R., being
versed in such pragmatics, but instead, he let the accidental sentence
stand - he didin't feel inclined to revive anyone anymore, least of all
the man who'd ruined his old life. a dead enemy is a good enemy. how did
he know he was dead?, you ask.
After the initial shock, it came as no real freak to him that he'd have
to lift the man's body up, carry it fireman style some distance and throw
it over a wall. He jumped over himself after it and rolled it up against
the short hedge. It would give him some time maybe.
So was prepared to move. He'd dropped the case down to the station before
turning to the haunt of his prey. And what little money he had was in
his wallet. He didn't have much left after what he'd spent on Sharon.
But hey! - he'd gotten laid. And she was, what? - a nice piece of ass.
He'd have to do his first robbery pretty soon. Not too soon. But pretty
soon. There are people who will rent weapons.
Calmly he made his way to the station where his train would come in. Assault
with a deadly weapon, a.b.h. and assault are dwarfed by the word for and
rank of killing. So he waited for a train south and discounted his losses
and added his general paranoia and his private hell to be. That is now.
And which can never go away.
As the train came into the station, the master walked ponderously past
So on the platform once more. What does he have in his doddardly life
to make him restless? Fuck'im I wish he'd.. I’ll.. I swear... if he doesn't...
old bastard! Strange to say So was a jerk away from jumping up and throttling
the railway employee, who was completely innocent of the effect his pacing
was having on the weary traveller. Had he known he would certainly have
For more reasons than one. You say.
That just goes to show the kind of nerves So had come to adopt. So was
like the proverbial fox in the chicken shack, driven to a kill by the
furious hunger of waiting and the lusty, cocky insolence of the prey.
Ready to slay all around him. like us all sometime if we can just dull
our breathing to hear it.
Sitting in that dark, lonely exposed place - So began to fall, deeper
into himself than he had ever dreamt could exist. Despite the cold, the
fear and the incredible isolation of his new and second adopted trade;
the earth shattering, bone crushing, mind numbing, soul destroying loss
of it all - a tiny, microscopic, hard, mean, manic piece of him fell into
the almost unkindleable depths of (for want of a better word) his soul
and there burned hotly, unquenchably. A piece of activated phosphorus
or sodium it repeated - over and over again - I AM STRONG. That is all.
But that was enough. Enough not to give up. Give in.
Not until the noisy diesel had come to a complete stop did So unfold himself
from the hard uncompromising seat. He resisted the temptation to lash
a kick out at it but smiled a tiny, secret smile to himself instead. No
one in the the world could see but it lay, still within him. Always to
be hidden. - I don't care about other people. I will satisfy my self alone.
It said: I have killed a MAN tonight, what need do I have to injure my
foot trying to vandalise a bench. that man will never stand and piss against
a wall again.
Walking across the wind swept platform So couldn't resist the temptation
to intercept the dowdy station master. He came right up to his ear and
whispered: "You know - one night you're gonna walk right off the
edge of your platform in front of a train. And do you know - no-one will
care, even, that is, if they notice you gone at all. Do you know if I
had been a tad more bored I might have helped you over myself.
Good bye old man for us never again shall we meet. Save perhaps in HELL.
And I, I will be by then a general and a task master and therefore your
friend and dearest n m e."
Had Robert gone crazy? Out of his mind? Crazy is not an adequate word.
Improper. He had merely become the hurt within him and acted on its rationale
- So's rationale. A great way of So's on the move became the enigmatic
good bye it amused him so. When So made his second permanent living, he
liked nothing better than to get close to them so he could send them off
with a few cryptic words. . To feel their stuttering breath in his face
and he gives them cryptic words. He loved seeing their faces failing to
comprehend his meaning, as they were also trying to come to grips with
on rushing, uncompromising death. It is something he gave up later in
his career. When he thought about it it made him shiver not out of remorse
but out of professional distaste. In a word he became sophisticated. He
exchanged - slowly, his anger for a cold malicious superiority, which
gave not pleasure but abstracted satisfaction. A disembodied orgasm which
came every few weeks or months.
The light had just begun by the time the switched train approached its
destination. Indeed, like in the movies, the sky was a strangely beautiful
shade of violet. More than beautiful - perfect And silent. Another new
day. A special day for our fox, watching the outline of the buildings
grow closer, he knew he had changed things for himself utterly and for
ever. As he looked out the window of the racing train he smiled.
There is nothing I cannot do. They will not be ready for me.
People. Why should they be?
How can anyone hurt me now?
i must become the wolf. and embrace its way. i will choose the colour
of my surroundings - grey. i will be pursued always. but my hunger will
make me sharp - there will be meals. i promise myself this.
The inner voice was straining to be released, so that it could prove how
ruthless and elusive it could be. Another animal is enrolled on the big
city's lists. Secretly and at night. This one has a mission - DON'T FUCK
WITH ME! Like so many others. In their foolishness. In their pride. And
their isolation. So is finally at home. Alone. Robert died by a bed and
on a street in a dirty, hard working little town 'up north'.
So. Long live. Hail Caesar. from now on there are only three rules:
1) Guard against betrayal.
2) Honour your deals.
3) CRUSH! the enemy.
simple. simple as failing off your bike. simple as being pushed off it.
simple as having it tampered with!
The man under the bed is in a hell inside, with the gnawing doubt and
the sleeplessness. He will never give up, give in. He does not have pity,
he has madness. Not the deranged kind that people commonly fear but ordered,
reasoned... intensely over and over again. Lying here with you in the
bed above my head. What do I fear? What do I want? I, like anyone, fear
the loss of you. I want a new job. Then I can hold you without apprehension,
for I am more afraid of what I must do. Poopoo. I take you and you like
it better because you gauge the strength of your charge. I heard whispers
in their eyes after the last time. I think you would like to die at one
of these moments. At the height of your prowess. On the job. And I am
just the man.
So many thoughts crowd my crowded head. I cannot uncoil it. Keeps firing
breakers at me. How can I hide from these thoughts . Thought won't leave
me alone. TIME.
TIME. God and Jesus. Leave me. Deaden me to the world. PLEASE. I don't
want to hear these thoughts at all. Again and again. A REALITY OF BEING
ALONE:'FEAR AND LOATHING'.
He looks up at the sleeping form and relaxes. Praise be to Allah. That
woman lying above me in the bed is really all I have and I don't Really
Have her. She's a borrowsees - a condition of my employment. She's like
the char woman - comes in and goes. But when she comes... and Oh when
It must be late in the morning... no? So squirms out from the bed. From
under the woman. This time she almost wakens. So's bravado has risen.
Time must have passed. Must have passed.... Has to have passed. Must have
passed. He starts exercising and in the process strikes himself violently
in the throat before he'd quite fully tensed it.
cough... gasp... cough... gasp... COUGH!
Laragh wakes. She rolls over to leave him room to get back into bed, her
head turns to the side over her shoulder to look at him.
"Couldn't sleep again?", straight away; not to be too associated
with sympathy Definately more question.
"Did. Got loads before you woke."
No you didn't. "What time is it there Robert?
"Don't call me that! That name. You know how I hate it.
Finito. Ceased to be valid.
Has Silas put you up to provoke me?
Does he think because of what happened last time out that I've lost my
It's a dead name. Like I am a dead man post dated. You didn't used to
be such a goodytwo shoes. Doing everything you are told.
Don't look at me so strange like I'm some sort of' freak "monster...
and don't deny it. You know the look I mean." I will have to kill
you one day. Couldn't give you the satisfaction of living on after me.
But when?... today, tomorrow, next week, next month. When? It's hard to
know. I kind of like you alive. Though. Not today. I think. Tomorrow?
Tomorrow maybe. Yes tomorrow. or after that. ?. Maybe. perhaps
She did it on purpose. Used his Christian name not his pseudonym. To make
He is a tremendously valuable soldier. His temper has to be gauged.
But not too far.. never go beyond... S.O..
He got too close to the target at the last hit. going back to old habits.
Thought he was a street thug again. It is not clearly known why. "Time?"
"Fuck's to time. Time doesn't mean anything to me cooped up here."
It does to me. Someone has to be at home to feed my cat. You will release
yourself one day and be packaged off to some country where you can run
about freely. Doing your bestest at not your worst. But you are working
for your retirement still. Another retirement: CREDIT. "Getting restless
my leopard?" And anyway I have a private life. ?. I am not hunted
by anyone. I am not a killer. I am a high class sofa... with the accompanying
expensive tastes. I am no killer. I am a minder, a tamer of beasts. A
woman who knows her place.. and when she is not in it, she has her desires,
but you keep a killer going. don't you. i no.
"Getting restless my babe?"
"Don't worry, something really nasty will turn up." It always
does for you, you have become very good with it. I wonder do you realise
that you are in more danger for being too good at your business than you
are from any peculiarities you might undertake on the job? So much work.
So many obsolete people.
It's hard to know with you what you know, you are covered with so many
spines. Paranoiac porcupines are more approachable lovers. It's probably
better not to know. Forme at least.
"You think you're really funny don't you." Ah, my little flightless
bird has old uncle Si.La.s whispered the possibility of a stoop for daddy?
Daddy thinks maybe he has. or maybe the bat of a wing has been felt and
in chaos this can mean the brewing of a breeze.
Silas feels it, he hears her - the Neman, goddess of winds. the first
angered snarls are heard by the crows of the storm. they listen and are
rewarded. their masters and their master's children are once more wearily
roused. they slowly open their eyes. shake off sleep. so many hungry jaws.
the odd spit escapes a careless mouth, in drool or in challenge. a back
arches. stretches. concave and long, their mistresses convex and tight.
the tails go up. the packs spreads. Lazily fans out. trouble for someone.
somebodies. the breeze stiffens, will it be a gale?
"Sticks and stones may.."
in his eyes.
"Oh shut up will you. For Chris'sakes will you. You're such a tease
"No i'm not. You even prefer yourself a little" mad (oops can't
say that) "angry than depressed - don't you. You look at me like
that. Do you really think you can intimidate ME after all this time? You're
You'll be sorry when I'm gone."
So unfair. "yes I will. of course you know that. you can always go
back to that fine of defence." i will kill you with a knife. When
you are choking from a neck wound, will you think then how superior it
makes you that I will miss you when you are gone?
From my experience, I doubt it.
i seriously doubt it.
I've Seen expressions in peoples eyes.
"Ah I know it's not fair to go back over that track, with you cooped
up here. But at least you're the dragon and not the meal." It worked.
"You're so full of shit. Do you know that? I know you're not dumb.
I suppose you're paid to be. At least I'm honest."
"No fuckin'fair. You mean bastard! You want a change? You want a
slab of meat? And you've got the balls to say 'at least I'm honest. How
the fuck do you figure that out? Jesus the cheek of you. You're so arrogant
and conceited. Jesus! How come whacking people for money is more honest
than being a paid companion? At least the person" (people) "I
service get some comfort and enjoyment out of what I do. You... you'd..."
better stop here. No sense in getting carried away... in more ways....
It's not necessarily a good idea to... he can be... persuasive... remember
what happened to Christine... don't remember what.. anyway he wouldn't...
Can't think of things like that. It'll make me tighten up. And that could
make him suspicious. Angry. - Keep a loose grip. Have to remember to....
"Whore. I don't 'whack people' I enlighten them." Ha ha ha NICE
"Yeah!! I'm sure they feel highly enlightened when they're lying
belly up in a fridge.
What a pisser - Ha ha."
"I don't think you choose to accept a Literal interpretation of the
word honesty. in this case.
You portray emotions which you do not feel.
I do not.
You lead people to believe things which are untrue.
I do not.
Anyone who I censure, will know by their actions, within their portfolio
of reactions, that statistically I exist.
Therefore I do not feel honour bound to send them a post card telling
them I am coming.
And when 'I' decide to eyeball them, everyone starts wetting themselves.
You know how to do your job and as I've told you many times before -
you do it very well.
Do you think I don't know how to do mine after how many kills?
I am old."
..Although the last time I did talk to her. I'm still not quite sure now
I know why I did. Strange..
"I am neither judge nor consumer. but simply currency.
I do not tell lies.
I do not prevaricate.
Rifleman - will travel.
Simply - that's me.
You are many colours and are always pretending to be one."
Why did you cozy up the target the last time then. To bait her? What?
"Do you really believe that infantile rationale makes what you do
"Yes Insofar as honesty is concerned." Q.e.d..
You're out of your mind. Better not. "No way. You know we've gone
beyond you're arbitrary distinction."
"You see, what annoys me about all of this is that you think you
are cleaner than I. Out of which fairy God mother's purse do you draw
your pin money anyway hmmm? Answer: same as mine. Ours. I've got account
numbers but you're actually out there spending it. I'm not going to be
able to slurp all my ill gotten gains if I get nabbed." Shot full
of holes. "Am I?
You change a part of yourself so that the rest of you can have the life
it requires. So that you can remain intact - go to tea parties and stuff.
I change nothing. I am always the same - for the meat, for you, for that
creep Silas, for myself or my coworkers."
"Co workers! - Jesus just listen to yourself!"
"What is so strange about calling them co workers.
Sometimes we work together.
Sometimes we work alone.
Sometimes we wait together.
Sometimes we wait alone. Like me now.
Sometimes we win.
Sometimes we don't.
Sometimes we live.
Sometimes we don't.
Even if you play for a bad football team, it is still filled with co-workers,
however capable or otherwise. Seen or unseen. Known or unknown."
What are you on MAN?! "Oh Yeah and you are a star player. Right!
What do you think this is poetry you FREAK." Ooops.
"Do you think the contemplative life of the carp is preferable to
that of the pikefish? You think because one preys upon a smaller bug than
the other, that its raison d'etre is more preferable than the other's,
and therefore more noble. More proud, more fuckin' esoteric and therefore
cool. What would a cleaner fish know about it anyway?
In and out quick, wheedle a mouthful, no regrets, avoid the awkward questions.
That's you. oh yeah and don't ever call me a freak again - I'll break
your face - your stock in trade." and then i'll put you ina wheel
chair. i know how to maim as well as kill. sometimes a living cripple
is a longer, more frightening reminder of our power than three days of
mourning and a heavy, funny shaped box.
"And if I thought you could handle not being able to look in a mirror
with pride I'd break your neck - Capice." He says this last sentence
quietly, almost softly up to the last word and then with emphasis not
volume - it is a deadly threat. He means it. Any resistance now and he
will complete. This is understood.
Real killers are prepared to do violence - always. of course.
"You're just impossible today So. This is getting us nowhere.
Hey - look, perhaps I should just go." ?.
So walks over to the bed, sits down, leans over and starts to bite her
foot through the slippery sheet. Whilst stroking her delicate calves.
Just so much is enough to make him horny. And he graduates. And how does
she feel? Pleasantly satisfied a hit begun? Warm maybe. As his hands run
over her thighs and hips, on the outside of the scant bedcloth he buries
his head in her groin for refuge. Home. Inaudibly she cannot help but
groan. He Can turn her on. If he couldn't he'd put in for a different
model. She still responds to men to whom she is assigned - still at
the height of her powers. He pulls the blanket away and kisses All her
smooth soft belly, until he knows she can hardly bear it. And then he
"You shouldn't have called me that name."
"What - FREAK?"
There is no use in So producing his pistol in order to frighten her. She'd
make love to it. He wants to screw her, but he feels too annoyed at being
related like he has a nut loose. It annoys him that his singularity of
purpose can be discounted by her soft pliableness so easily.
"You shouldn't have called me that... you know.... I know you're
trying to make me angry but when you test my mettle you also test my temper.
You threaten yourself with that smart mouth of yours. Do you do it for
fun? Does it excite you to see how far you can push me? You don't show
it but you have fear. You still love life. I endure it because I am such
a bastard. The power that I hold is enough to suffice. It wouldn't bother
me a whit to ice both of us. BUT I am not finished being a bastard yet.
And quite frankly Darling I want you ALive. So - you win again... leave
it out though. Isn't that the height of it. Funny thing is you won't know
when I've tired of being a swine until it's too late. And having said
that, if you plan on asking for a transfer, I might sense it and have
to enlighten you strictly for security reasons of course. You understand.
Do you think you could escape ME?" He laughs and looks at the ceiling.
"you wouldn't get to the end of the next street. Cock sucker Silas
would be peeved but strictly speaking, in business terms, I'm worth more
than you baby. - no matter how good you are in the sack. So unless I get
incredibly sloppy on the job, you're stuck with Me babe and don't you
I thought you said that already. "I'm sorry. Look please don't get
upset and tighten up on me now. I want it too you know."
Are you? Do you? You're so good i really cannot tell. I cannot tell. That
is why I like you. Does it really matter? Do you know how cheap you make
me feel sometimes? Do you care? Or are only caresses bought and sold in
I really Am sorry. Don't crawl back into your shell now. Sometimes when
you talk you are so hard that you frighten me. So, I play the bitch. I
don't mean it. I hurt your feelings and I Do know that you do not expose
yourself to anyone no - not even your 'co workers'. Please talk to me
my Strong little man. I know you have fear And remorse and compassion
but you block it out because of what you do. What has brought you to this
business? Who can say (you won't and i won't ask. past is past.) but don't
cramp up and die inside. You don't know what has brought me to this function?
For sure. And you have the decency not to ask. Please Talk with me. I
won't tell anyone. You're Allowed to talk to me. For God's sake! I won't
tell Him. I promise. ESPECIALLY him! But you don't know that. For sure.
Please. I, I..
He touched me once. I replied 'Sir?' - Freaked him right out. - Never
tried that again. Strange to say I thought of you - my unbeautiful one.
Locked up here in your gaol. You came to me. Your face. Your hands. And
you smiled - ice him you said. And I looked at him So cold. It felt so
good to have you with me then. For a moment I felt your strength. I grasped
it, I had it. I am very weak. Really. Inside my armour. I was untouchable
and I ain't been That much. Hardly ever been so glad to see anyone's face
as when I next saw yours. But you didn't smile - you frowned and asked
me what it was like outside. So instead of jumping into your arms as I'd
sort of planned to, I talked about my morning in the park and the pigeons
and the kids. What I didn't tell you was that I'd been thinking of getting
accidentally-on-purpose pregnant by you. How I'd thought that any kid
could well do with some of your strength in this world. Or that knowing
you, not only is it difficult not to see weakness in other men but being
married to you in a home with your reserves, your thoughtfulness and your
lack of bullshit might not be such a bad thing. So Robert do oh do please
talk... So. "However things are arranged I am your woman. It is unfair
of you to threaten me: when you force me to fight back verbally in order
to maintain my integrity. In fact it is stupid. Whatever you say, I know
how highly you value my friendship. And I Am your friend. But if I knew
you were coming for me do you seriously believe that I would be infantile
enough to try to escape you? I'd open a vain or two, a few bottles of
pills, take a long bath, add the radio - just to deprive you of the satisfaction.
So - Hey, lighten up will you for God's sake, or I'm putting on my things
and going home Right now."
"Speech!" He claps his hands loudly several times and starts
laughing. - I won't kill her I'll frame her. Far more reservedly but far
more; he loves Laragh than he did Sharon in the now distant, hazy past.
A rare thing: broadly smiling, but it is spoiled - he turns away, conscious
of how he can love her and without any notice, make people suffer great
cruelty and loss at his hands. He makes people unwell. He could handle
it if it didn't bother her but in truth, he knows it does. Turned still
from her, he looks down at them, his hands, almost shy of their alien
presence. More despicably - he has trained himself to enjoy it while on
the job: in order to make himself more effective. Or so he tells himself.
Afterwards. But still.... Spooky. It is a secret he has kept from her.
He couldn't stand it if she thought of him as an animal. The spinning
cylinder of his thoughts rolls around, as now, he is not beyond finding
it horrifying. He will never tell anyone of this, one of his private hells.
He has a few. Faces, places, blows, screams, keens, flashes, lenses, jolts,
flights, blood. It is his mill wheel to carry. On his honour he Will carry
it in silence. And he will carry it alone, and to the grave. And if there
is a heaven and if there are pearly gates and if there is a Saint Peter
awaiting there, he will spit in his face and say: 'What the FUCK! did
God or Jesus or the Saints ever do for me!?' and how will they answer?
is he not a living representative of the old testament.
She has seen him turn his face from her. Laragh has. He is no longer
with her. She can leave now. He will be away now for at least hours, days,
weeks - who knows? She has done her job - he is on call. Ready. readiness
is high. She slips the little packet of thing that he is not supposed
to have on to the table and which the guy on room service, who sees him
and who is also an employee of the House, would certainly not get for
him and would rat on both of them if he knew So had it. Laragh has her
little rebellions, her little victories over her employers. It, coincidentally
helps her with her clients that she tends to side with them. In little
ways. Of course. She'd hate to be found out. She might be forced to work
?. Like she's not.
... He is far away now - reliving old chess games of the snake, the scorpion
and the web. Relaying ancient snares - traps more slick and sure and deadly
than they had been; repinpointing the instant and the micrometer of the
strike. His mind exuding deeper smoke, out jumping the flea, carrying
a greater weight of guilt, of cross referenceable craft than the titanic
ant, yet without giving Hansel his crumb. Generating and out witting ever
faster, ever more cunning pursuers. Foes. Ageless, nameless, faceless.
Huge in number and great in art. His mind implodes goes sub atomic - each
thought takes an eon of perfecting, of rounding before it ever begins
to form itself into being. Each movement enlarged into a gargantuan Ocean
of space - to be tested by three, then four dimensional models. Then the
repayment comes - the repayment for manic consciousness - a point in the
furious examination and reexamination of possibility, of improbability
so far beyond the experience and necessity of ordinary human beings lives
- Stillness. Balance. Terrifying computing power. Automatic random testing.
then Darkness. silence. Surrounded by the infinite Chaos of thought of
its own making. The self. Raw Survival. The most elusive. The most savage.
The most scared. The most sacred. The most certain of its own indestructibility.
The most believing in the necessity of continuance of its own being. The
most frightening. The most untouchable. The most wicked. The most arguable.
It is in fact, what people believe the devil to be. It is the real difference
between us being and not being here. One raw molecule of it in existence
within a species is enough to keep to ensure it's life. Or to wipe out
another. Others. This one has taken 2,500,000,000 years of organic chemistry
to isolate + I2,500,000,000 years to make its abiological blocks. This
time around. It is not logical. It is necessary. It is the identity of
a specific life force. Energy. History. God. if you like. it is YOU. But
do you own to it? Will you own to it? Your largest living relative? mine.
the CORPORATE CAPITAL MACHINE. alias: MAMMON. 1+1=2+: The She monster.
Life. LIFE. so. Has any of this helped you understand what Robert has
become? had to become. Can you anymore judge what he has done? What you
have done? As Him. What he will do? What he will have to do? What you
will do as him? I am - therefore: FUCK YOU! I challenge you. Find him.
Slay him. For every breath that he takes is proof that he will cut away
in ever decreasing circles around himself until 1 Divides 1. Because he
breathes in Time, Exists in our time, our time is finite. His existence
is the writing of your Destiny in your own blood. If you do not seek him
out then you accept the loss of infinity. You accept an infinity of loss.
And if you can seek and destroy him then you ARE He. Statistically speaking.
ME. I. MINE. MORE. For we are speaking of the machine. The Machine. The
machine is just the aggregate of us. U.S.. Look. Seek. then ?. what? YES.
Destroy. You have taken his mantle. You have striven to survive and have
won. So. You are he. You are what we consider the devil to be. What we
admire. and what we think we wish to become.
I have seen him several times. He looked different each time. This So.
But they were just disguises. I knew it was Him. Perhaps he knew I observed
him? Perhaps not. I couldn't see into his mind because his mind is covered
by a thousand ever wakeful eyes and is guarded by the Way of every dead
tiger and their ancestors. I never took my chance. Even though I am a
weapon of sorts. Blunted perhaps, by comfort. Perhaps I am capable now
only of seeking. I know that I have held ground and made Temple to protect
myself and others from His Coming. But I have bled before ever one of
his many illustrious Hands or any of his magnificent Servants or any of
his terrible Vehicles has touched me. I bleed Before his Touch. And am
Glad. For I will fight or fly but will never be taken. If you are taken,
owned, you will know real suffering in the end. I will perish b 4 the
End. And am Happy. A Valhalla may await us who have known and have fought
or done Magic. But beware, he knows the Fight and much Great Magic. Beware
- cast yourself under his wheels or make Sacred not to Escape or to Survive
but to Clog his progress or to Protect that he has not Yet touched. ...An
old vampire once told me: never should the Warrior drink the gold rimmed
Cup of Suicide. The warrior must fight a rear guard action if there is
one to be fought or throw himself upon the Enemy with the lust of every
ounce of his Being and then he will be set Free. Suicide is the one thing
that He fears, contradictly. The soaking up of the ground of one drop
of UNpolluted blood. Warriors’ blood is polluted with antidotes to old
venoms and scratches and gashes of war and therefore undesirable to Him.
But suicide is honourable and therefore the right only of those who are
unaware of His presence. For they may be free only if they believe they
can only fight themselves AND that there is no Point in the World at which
they can fight. The honourable Warriors will always throw their blood
in his thousand eyes to hide from him where the Loved ones are hidden.
It is their nature. They will gladly fill His enormous Maw so that his
appetite is a little stifled, or even better - choked. So long as we are
given bodies this we will do. It is our duty and our Franchise. We have
long since known that we cannot win. True Life is the striving with the
Fore knowledge of Ultimate defeat or the Cup. True Warriors do not draw
the innocents into an almost infinite existence of defeat and yet it is
their to duty to seek allies. Yea even to breed them. But the children
must find the battle themselves and engage as they will. Here lies the
Crucial paradox. Unknowledge is Gifted and must be respected or there
will be no enjoyment even within defeat and therefore there would be no
point at all. Or if you prefer - to be ignorant and happy and mortal or
Drink and be set free - knowing and yet not knowing the certainty and
Enormity of the deprivation of possibility for our Destiny. These unfortunately
are my words but... I am sorry I let myself be bound to speak. I must
still be too proud. Forgive. So - one of my names sounds like Aim On.
Fortunately you do not just have to take my word for it. So, in his trance
like state of professional 'deep thought' hardly notices Laragh kiss his
neck. He inflects and notices the little paper envelope. It is a friend
that comes from the enemy. She has only dressed in her brief lingerie
and God she looks good. She has left swathes of bare flesh for him to
admire; so that he will know that she is still open to love making if
he so chooses. Sex if you prefer. She knows he won't. Not now. But she
carries through anyway. She is 'a good girl' as Silas would say. She sticks
to her guns. At this moment however, words have crystallised in So's mind.
He walks in Zombie like shuffle to the table and awkwardly takes up the
instrument like he never held one, any tool, and begins to write... begins
to write. He transcribes slowly, afraid that if he moves quickly he will
forget perhaps, he is trying to apply Order to his understanding and certainty
of meaninglessness: and there was One. And He, he looked around him. And
what he saw? What He saw. What he saw was nothing. He Knew loneliness
then and conceived of it forever. So he gave nothing meaning. But the
people didn't understand. The same people who had come into existence
when meaning had come to be. And they Quailed at their lack of understanding
and therefore their failure of their Master. She had to come into being
also then. To give them succour in their despair. And to save Him. Because
He had not wanted those who were like Him but less than Him to be consigned
to distress for almost forever, through no fault of their own making.
But She. she had something far more amusing in mind. And She was far more
Beautiful than man because He had let her Be so; so that man would have
his mind taken off his lacking in understanding of his Master and his
purposes and what should be done with his creations. But She made herself
Even more beautiful still because it was Her Arch tool. Poor man became
over balanced in love for her. In the majority, he forsook the quest for
understanding and service of his growing distant Lord. It was not Her
fault that she believed her Purpose, as opposed to her Duty was to be
loved. Just before He shut the Door and went back before the Beginning;
so that he could prepare a respite for those who had reached the End -
in his sorrow, because of his Sorrow - our half buckled. In that instant
improbability was created. For those who serve his memory. The memory
of meaning. With possibility came little impossibilities. Archaic footprints
from when things were decided and did not merely flow. or magic. but magic
- she suffered at the hands of those who sought to trap her for power
and to awe others. And those who had striven to provide for Woman and
her bairns mistook magic and her handful of wizards for cheaters and persecuted
them. Simple charms became Sorcery. Some of those good turned in their
beseigedness and knowledge of superstition to the black.
Why should they be able to do things we cannot? and so even the dreams
and tears of Him are driven from the hearts of man. And Her name was never
Eve but Delilah. And her only fault was to want to be loved more, because
that initially, was her first and her greatest means of survival. and
man's fault was that he could imagine of nothing more lovelier than She
and had long tired of the Search because it reminded him Too harshly and
Too often that in fact, he was only very weak and very small and very,
very stupid. so. but so who invented the veil? who invented ownership?
And then he wrote, leaning much harder on the page:
in other words: There is a part of me
that is an infantryman with only a blade.
There is a part of me
that is a fisherman with only a hook.
But there is a part of me
that gets lonely, and it never goes away.
So if the Devil keeps me keen.
And the Devil keeps me sharp.
And if Coin He keeps letting Fall,
so that Buy I can what I Want,
then forever shall I be His servant,
for this is what I AM.
I have despaired. I despair. I AM despair. For a team, for a father,
I take away. I reduce. I end. Because for me nothing is for free. Killing
to me is appropriate because it is incontrovertible I place others where
I have always been. Facing something which is quintessentially not negotiable.
The plotting of goodness for my heart because I am loved, I have not known.
There are always entailments. Entanglements. Codicils. The appearance
of spurious acts of kindness do not fool me. Nothing is for free. The
Touch, the warmth that a woman can spread just when she lets you brush
her cheek - for that instant I forget, I have solace. But the welling
of beauty is like my cloak of darkness - from my being. I must feast.
The House finds me those who believe what they pretend whilst they are
pretending. You may find a sack actress. You may find a bedside actress.
You may find a coffee table actress. But all three in a face, a house
that makes you forget, eyes that don't appear to recognise your perversion,
your marring, makes up, for me, enough.
I destroyed Christine's ability to be such lies - not because she despised
my murders, my tortures or because she abhorred my visage, my scars but
because she believed I had crushed, eradicated my compassion. It was erroneous
And superior. I haven't, because to nurture, in secret, what people would
hope to receive, expect, reminds me to always to know where they will
turn when they are under threat, feel the fear. I always know where they
will turn, bolt. More often (those wise enough to feel me) they end up
running into me, not away. KEPOW. They die. So.
Stunned by his own audacity, his self knowledge and himself - So looks
over his shoulder, half expecting Laragh to be there, half shy that she
might see his rewriting of the story of creation and his raison d'Etre
but She, is long gone. Her hour’s up. Her scent is cold. She had said
good bye. Even faintly touched him. He should have gone to secure the
door. But he had ignored her. No one is perfect. Maybe beyond knowing,
everyone deliberately leaves themselves prone to someone, somewhere, sometime
- so they may be taken at their ease, without their knowledge, when it
is o.k.. It is a postulate. Do you? Have a spot. A hole. A weakness that
you refuse to shore up because somewhere deep inside you there is someone
who refuses to deny that they are human. Fallible?
He is sorry now. No room could be big enough to contain his despair now.
How paltry a thing it is to be a man, but to realise it, is something
"Laragh", he says her name: softly in plea. He is alone. He
screams a war cry down the psychic telephone to his next victim to kill
him. if they can. But So remains undefeated. God help him. relieve him
of his mantle because you are compassionate.
Six hours later.
six long hours.
So has remained seated, unravelling for himself the ways of man. The same
man, whose champions that challenge the sway of his House, he culls. Teasing
us everso carefully out. Expertly. SUDDENLY! There are two quick raps
in succession at the door. So is still poring over his papers. Ignoring.
He doesn't even bother to raise his head. Doesn't raise his eyes. He doesn't
have to. He hears and he doesn't hear. He doesn't need to hear because
he felt them coming. He can wait, there is plenty of time. Time is in
plentiful supply around him. Let Them wait. He is looking through the
ink, through the page, through the pad, through the desk, through the
floor, through the building, and beyond and beyond the foundations, the
bedrock, the molten core beneath the mantle and on out the far side into
infinity. - A pause. Three separate knocks follow, one after the other
- slightly longer and evenly spaced. He unfolds from the chair silently,
without emotion and walks over to the bedside locker avoiding the bed,
slides out the drawer carefully and lifts out the pistol quietly. It is
a glock - a most excellent weapon. It takes a small load but I in the
breach + I4 rounds in the mag. A long silencer protrudes from the barrel.
Because of the small recoil it is a very accurate hand held weapon. Hand
gun. It feels comfortable - not too heavy in his hand. Always. More loyal
and constant than the touch of any woman. But weapons have been known,
for what ever reason to jam - So. It has been perpetrated upon men bad
ammo. Even that the colour of their noses as a joke has been known not
to accurately reflect their nature. You wouldn't. As a matter of course
he deftly eases back the hammer. The safety is left disengaged. A small
satisfying click. A knowing snick i am with you. master.
Will he kill now? Will he be forced to kill now? Will someone force him
to kill now? Without sound. Slowly. He gracefully slinks approaching the
door, stalking the spy hole.
walk like an Egyptian.
Careful not to let his shadow or image cross in front of it. He stands
to the side and cradles over to look out aiming the pistol at the middle
of the door. He presses the barrel to the door hard. If he is hit it Might
keep his shot closer to where he wants it to be released. Where he thinks
his betrayer's hand might stand. It's not much precaution but what can
he do! He feels the lust for the destruction of another at the same time
as calculating. But it is abstracted power. no one will get me without
being shot themselves. for their trouble.
He sees the diminutive blond - Laragh his lover (if that is the right
word for her), the grey man - Si.La.s, ever in the armour plated suit
and his friend Driver's placid face above them. So unlocks the door and
snaps it fast and effortlessly open. The weapon is left raised, swung
and eased to level at Silas's brain pan. if there is to be any treachery
- he will go first.
Silas in discomfort tries to lean his head out of the sight line unconsciously
but is followed. He hates to admit it - he is afraid of England.EL. EEL.
He is an executive director of strictly off the books special personnel.
- Basically a businessman but one delegated; detailed to deal with concealed
irregulars of the trade. A man with an ignorant spouse (ignorant that
is, of the messy specifics of his civil service and of course - awkward
hand in glove - sort of private enterprise commitments), ignorant kids
in university, ignorant neighbours, ignorant wife's charity friends, hemi
ignorant golfing cronies, etc, etc.... "Do you have to brandish that
thing about? For Chist's sakes."
It is always like this - such all abiding caution. Silas cannot but squirm
a little under the spotlight of So's barrel. It is a very disquieting
sight. Very. He of all people knows how So has killed many. And how. Perhaps
too, he has figured that So Wants to kill Him. "You will please to
STOP pointing that thing at me.
NOW." What if another guest were to see it? It would very easy to
taint this cover you know. A great deal of trouble has gone into providing
it for you!
Apart from the gun, the man behind it is known for such savagery. Some
reputations become exaggerated however, but usually for some base reason.
For a reason. For a good reason. For some reasons. After they have entered
the room So lets his arm fall - nothing having rushed in from the corridor
(head shots only). Dutifully closes and locks the door. Slowly, turned
to them, he releases the hammer again - barrel pointed down after he's
looked in their eyes for the flicker of a sign of a move. He is anything
if not attentive now. Alert, intense, keen, pointed. as a dagger. a rapier.
Council of war.
His mind waters to the conference to come. He is keyed up - flashing at
the opportunity to become ACTIVE again. Boredom long since having set
in. Long, long since having set in. But he is the marksman. He awaits
only the head of the beast and the shoot and he will be delirious with
expectation. And then the calm will come. This man is serious. So serious
that you would imagine his body tattooed, writhing with asps and vipers.
Immovably. No -wait! Almost imerceptably. If you knew him. He runs and
does a head over heels onto the bed, arriving beside the bed locker sitting
down. He reverently puts the pistol back, closes it and turns around with
a huge, gleefully gruesome smile and says: "So's going out to play.
I know it. I just know it." Laragh smiles broadly and laughs with
him. She is astoundingly attractive too short to be a model but her face
and her body are perfect in their small proportion. So is short, likes
taller women but they don't seem to work out. Somehow. She could be from
the upper classes except she is more warm than removed. He can be such
a winning child sometimes that she feels great love for him as now. If
love is the right word. She is like a mother having watched over him these
empty days. Nights. She throws a huge blanket of empathetic warmth over
the conquering. Isn't she wonderful. She isn't so strict all the time
- not like our Si.La.s. Not like Our Dour Silas.", says So, elated
at the prospect of a job. Something to Do.
it is a job isn't it?
"Fuck you So for pointing that thing at me. Can you honestly think
that they would possibly send Me to sanction you.
Anyway I don't see why you're so paranoid - you're on a perfect 10 after
how many hits. You should be in the Olympics." But can you ski? I
wonder... UNLISTED. I bet you'd become expert pretty damn quick if your
quarry'd gotten over the ridge on you in the snow! This is the way you
are. Hunter killer. No. Not just a hunter killer but a hunter-seeker -killer.
"And do you really think it's so witty; so cool to make fun out of
a person who is just doing their job." Yea just like you - you smug,
arrogant, wanton, ungrateful, grotesque Prick.
"You signed up for this duty of your own accord when things in the
Real world were getting too hot for you. No one forced you to become ACTIVE
employee. You stepped up and bought in at the price of your life. You
are the death sntence. I didn't fucken make you!
And I'm glad that you and your temp. here are getting along so well together
because Robert, you're taking her with you this run."
- See you don't know my real name. But I know yours. Smart ass. I know
All about you. Yes. Oh Yes. I do. I feed you. Entertain, clothe, house,
move you. I get you layed. I Even ignore your mistresses illegally feeding
you. - And you thought i didn't know about that. Ha! I know everything
there is to know about you. Everything there is to know worth knowing,
that is. Except what it's like to be killed by you. I clear up, pay-off,
frighten etc. your little messes... oh yes - like Christine. That was
a particularly nasty little bit of calculating and balancing I had to
do there. poor Christine you really did a job on her. didn't you. you
ruined her. she'll never be the same. i had to unemploy her. she wouldn't
have been any good. on the outside of course. you've learned how to leave
'em alive with no distinguishing but inside.... you know all about that.
don't you. she'd never have unwound enough to be of any further use to
us. so she is paid off. threatened. she knows she couldn't do anything
to the house. one way or another. one day or another. we couldn't stay
in business and let anyone cross us. defame us. - bad for business. disrespect.
no. and that's what you bank on. daddy'll clean up the little messes.
mistakes. walk the fine line. tread that fine line. but Finally i decide
whether you have outlived your usefulness. or in your special case - gone
rogue. but while i dwell on that aspect of my relationship with you -
you get skittish, break, and start rubbing out family members. for want
of anything better to do. you see i know you you darling little impetuous
twerp. it's never good to RETIRE employees. bad for recruitment. bad for
morale. bad for loyalty. bad for business. but we both know that we cannot
pension you off early. you set your target in $s, we set our price in
bodies, you completed and then negotiated a second on better terms. not
only is there no null clause in the contact (either way) but if we did
pay you off early for the full quota - you might get suspicious and go
PSYCHO on us before you'd imagined we decided to try and tidy up your
loose end. so - you Horrible little bastard - we're stuck with one another.
like it, love it, lump it, hate it or despise it; it's you and me my pretty.
what I'd really love is if you fulfilled your contractual obligations
with us and one day on holiday somewhere, i saw traversing off the crossing,
so i'd feel exonerated if i ran you over in my car. but somehow i know
that that isn't going to happen. worseluck. this is one of my little refutations
of the arguments for god. a just god. or just a god who listened to my
prayers. but we will see little man, we Will see. it ain't over between
us yet. it may never be. you may fulfil again and renegotiate again. god
help me. what drives one such as U? we will always have enemies, if only
because we have much more than certain other billions of paper friends
or because with our history of suppression and being presented with certain
talented like you, we are helpless to prevent ourselves from tinkering,
interfering or just plain old strong arming.
"I'm WHAT - going with 'Her7'
Don't pretend to be deaf aswell you little git. "You heard me. You're
taking Laragh with you."
"Ah here, hold on a second! I wouldn't want to take Laragh to the
toilet outside of this room. I'm not taking no woman with me on operations.
Noway." NO ENTRY.
Laragh pipes up: "You pig ignorant, good for nothing prick; after
all we've been through together, here in this very room and you don't
trust me to come and hold your hand on the outside!"
"Who asked you to speak.
She is to be part of your camouflage. What could seem more natural than
a pretty ugly couple flying out to avail of some cheap rate, late Spanish
sun?" You've made us loath to fly you out anywhere on a military
flight or to diplomatic bag you because of all that shit that you bring
back and don't deny it! You really are a tiresome impudent little... oh
no word adequately describes how infuriating you are. 'And your driver
here will fly out ahead of you to Malaga and get some wheels under him,
make contact with the grubbers and he'll meet you in Almeria. There is
an airport there. That's where you are going.
Anyway, as this is very late and hot incoming, we might not be able to
find you a hide. If so, as our target of choice is a ladies man...."
"Wo, wo, wo, wo, wo,WO! Not any sort of a way. You're seriously....
I can't believe that you seriously.... You're ordering me to take her
on manoeuvres. You're seriously telling me that we have been reduced to
bait fishing. I cannot believe this Silas. This is so unprofessional of
you... I cannot believe what I'm hearing. I just can't. Come on let me
into it what gives 'ere Si? Why are you ordering me to do this gig so
out of fashion?"
"Wait a second. Just hold on one Goddamn minute you punk. I'm not
Ordering You to do anything. I May Be the 'grey' man but you help the
House for your own reasons both of you... And driver here. We look after
those who looks after us but that does not mean that you can pass the
buck on to me when you don't like the portfolio. If you don't want to
deal then you can go fuck yourself. I... We can go to another hitter but..
you are acknowledged as the best, numero uno, so I had to come to you
first. It is also Your area. I'm sure there are plenty of sights seers
who'd be glad to do the trip with Laragh here. You have a huge bank account
you can piss off anytime you like and forsake our protection and management.
You would be alone. And I know you are a hunter. Still. I'm not saying
I understand why, but if you want the rest of the brief, you do so on
the understanding that you take your 'little bimbo of a wife' with you.
Don't you worry. You know how she has been trained and by whom. She has
done this kind of thing before. So what's it to be? One happy little family
or not insubordination but dissent - leading to a missed opportunity for
a Double credit by you.
Well which is it to be?"
“A double cred." Ah I wondered if would get him.
"Oh well then! That settles it. O.K., let me have it. Hit me.
You like talking a lot Silas but should remember when talking to someone
like me that I represent your livelihood - not the other way 'round. And
my enemy, when I'm on call as I am, is boredom. And the last thing I need
is to be lectured by a fucken suit. Right!"
Got that have you you little runt.
"Now having sorted that out. I'm registering an official objection
Right here to bringing her with me.
God and his mother got cross with me for having gotten close up to the
mark last time out. Well as I told you, you can put that down to just
plain boredom. I, in fact, was, as I always am, on the job, in perfect
control. It was arrogant of me, if you like. However, I am the one who
calculates the risk. But I'm warning you, bringing in the idea of a bird
trap smacks of amateurism to me.
I don't like it."
She is unlearning her place methinks.
Methinks she thinks she could do My job.
Anyone can, but it is the parameter of error.
Laragh pipes up in her defence again: "You would wouldn't you, you
"Shut up." Again. These tiresome... tiresome, unprofessional...
people! What i have to deal with... i really don't know... i... couldn't
be paid enough... never .... .. Noone asked you.", Silas.
"Yea who asked you wifey?
Better you remember - when we set foot outside this room - you are under
orders. 'My' orders. And unless told specifically otherwise you Will be
a Dumb pedestrian or I promise you... if you Fuck up, or if I even imagine
that you are Going to fuck up I'll kill you myself, preferably but not
necessarily, in cold blood.
"Got that." She bows her head in deprecation to the stronger.
Not quite unconscious body language. But This could be fun. Exciting.
"Oh let's get down to business for God's sakes. This to and froing
can get us nowhere. The aircraft will still be running to a time table
even though we're obviously not."
"So what's the jelly.", says So.
"Well it appears that the sales boys got caught with their trousers
down. Couple amateur politico detectives burned some film of 2+2's at
a party together who never should have been seen connected." Stupid
idiotic provincials just had to see seniority and stupid idiotic seniority
had to go and be incited upon to accept an opportunity to let their greasy
hair down. In of course, the most risky and incriminating way possible.
And of course greasy provincials have to show out in style - open air
if you like. And, of course greasy provincial buyers or greasy provincial
entertainments inc. or greasy local security or even greasy salesmen leak
and up pops cockin the box and thanks to Mr-ever-present-trusty-Nikon
: SNAP! 'Thanks lads! Nice one of you with trousers down.' And I'm off.
And just when things were going So smoothly! provincial bloody greasy
security who fucked up in the second place manages to wound, then RETIRE
cock in the box but omits to remember to acquire for certain from him,
all be it under wouldbe duress, the 20 of the commodity under issue because
they were too fuckin' busy wantonly and of course with cavalier glee,
Trying to make amends for having fucked up in the second place. They do
a job on him and here we are. But - wait for it - that's not all - turns
out it's STRATEGIC House Only. We're doing to Big Brother what the good
old FRIENDS - the froggies did to us in the Falklands. Remember the Exocet.
We do! We're flogging the best we got to a bunch of sand niggers - co-incidentally
the Wrong bunch sand niggers - or at least the current wrong bunch of
sandniggers. It would appear. Why? Because we're broke. Or going broke.
Or Someone's broke. Or we have to pay for our end of our independent R.
and D. within The Special Relationship and or N.A.T.O.. Or we're unemployed.
Or we're going to be unemployed. Or because we're bored. Or Someone's
bored. Or some posse of people are bored. More like. Or having suffered
withdrawal symptoms from having the Empire and having become so used to
interfering or having learned how to fuck up so well, whilst trying reluctantly
to withdraw from the empire we're determined to see to it that other people
know all about fucked upedness on Their patch. Hopefully. But what if
the Americans.. I mean Big Brother - ah shit I told you who Big Brother
is but then again I'm sure you know that much; know all about it. I mean
how big a secret can you keep?! I mean I just proved I can't keep a secret
- well O.K. a code to myself. I mean - well - talk, paperwork, interdepartmental
talk, interdepartmental paper work, international talk, international
paperwork, translators talk, international technical talk, international
paperwork, technical translators talk, spare parts, talk, paper work,
factories, lots of talk, lots of paper work etcetera. So what if B.B.
knew? Maybe it was B.B. who farmed out the intelligence to cock in the
box's Editor or Control? Or whoever was behind him. If there was anyone
behind him? Maybe there is a big SHAFT coming? Maybe since we're on the
verge of getting retired from the Security Council someone is planning
on giving us the PUSH? Or somebodies? If the Israelis are starting to
play ball with the Palestinians it might look to the world that it is
an inopportune (well no - it's very opportunist - say - inauspicious)
moment to start arming their old enemies. And since they're broke they've
probably had to make provision to go on credit somewhere. And - yes that
probably means the two bankers - the Germans and the Japanese who want
on to the Security Council in place of us! I'm quite sure they're involved
in some shape or form - all be it only underwriting the loan however circuitously.
But if that is the case why wouldn't B.B., if they're that deep into the
Japs let the deal go through? Perhaps there are too many bad loans? Or
perhaps someone in B.B. who has sympathy with the Yiddish nation told
Them and they'd much rather the arms never arrived on site and don't really
care exactly how deep the sand is when it gets kicked back in our faces
or who's on the Security Council, just so long as they don't fuck with
them!? Of course they'd probably prefer it if the Germans weren't. And
as for the Post Nazis would they be heart broken today, if someone else
finally drove the Israelis into the sea, partly using, ironically, British
weapon production skills which helped to foil them the last time. And
people wonder why I am grey. God what I have to endure. The messes i have
to clean up. Have to try to. As best i can. But we have a chance. Some
little time maybe. ?. We also have MUSCLE messy though they always are.
But what if Mossad have been sticking their oar in? There could be trouble.
Messy fuckin' trouble. And if there is, the Spaniards will go CRAZY -
apeshit. And it's my area. "Laragh 2 + 2s are mated, like here salesmen
and customers for arms." Especially hi tech.
"I understand." I know that! You pompous school teaching git.
You just went and alluded to how I've been trained and now you go on like
I was born fuckin' yesterday! What Is your Problem? Do you have to suck
up to So by making out how the two of you have to suffer stupid underlings...
"In this case the DOWNSIDE is if the Americans find out who we've
been touting our wares to. They will go ABSOLUTELY INSANE."
"Why are you telling her this?", says So.
"I'm telling her because she needs to know. Remember - need to know.
She needs to know where potential friends and enemies may come from. And
what the worst possible scenario is.
OK. Now the froggies say that our mark has an excellent record and probably
isn't involved But the proximity and the contamination are high. Too high.
Far Too high. That's why we need the woman So, because we just don't know
if it's a straight shot or not. And you, as a negotiator have been known
to be... shall we say - less than tactful in the past. It is possible
that if approached the right way he might cede information. If he is still
a patriot he should. We just don't know. The French may not be in N.A.T.O.
but we're on the same side. His government is also implicated as a participant
at the auction. Anyway, if he isn't a risk, why did they bother mentioning
him in the first place? There is panic in Whitehall. And a stampede amongst
the intelligences. The Secret Intelligence Service is bound to have sent
in the 'Air Service already for the centre of the cell. It's dodgey though.
Thence we can assume that the nest and the self addressed will be covered
by the S.I.S.ter and her buddies. It appears that we're First up to tickle
and shoot the outside man. We could be important. But a hand over would
be nice. And this thing has only been running minutes. SECURE on site
said they wounded the carrier climbing down a drainpipe believe it or
not. They found him later, down the docks - dead. Or so they say - hunted
him down and murdered him more like. He was clean. So it must have gotten
passed over. Possibly irregularly. It could go straight from leaf to trunk.
That's what we're afraid of - the irregulars. These men were war compatriots.
Our man ran some rumbles afterwards but he is supposed to be retired.
He is supposed never to have acted treasonable however, and as the package's
wounding to the French... theoretically he could be our best friend. But
you So must decide for yourself. Perhaps these men were too close. You
will see now that some close contact could make things a lot easier and
finite. It wasn't specified but his Control could be of another nationality.
Again, if that is, he has one. Anyway his name is Jean Marsaud. His call
sign is EI CAPITAIN MarSud or just plain EI CAPITAIN." JeM he missed
one of yours. nice one. even such ardent professionals make mistakes.
perhaps there is hope. but ferrets from another sphere have unearthed
your leonora's fair - and the dogs have been dispatched. but hear this
jean: BEWARE He comes for you.
"Ha! pfff... are you serious Jean Marsud is like saying John Smith!",
Driver will issue hardware, likeness and 20 on site. - Questions?"
"Sometimes it is very annoying being the messy detail - I mean you
say 'the SISter is 'bound' to have sent in the 'Air Service' - in other
words someone in 'Defence had a hastily arranged lunch or brunch or coffee
and brandy or a whiskey with someone in 'Industry and it was hinted at
that procedure would admit of such regal intervention. But because 'Defense
can't confirm anything the Secrets are doing to anyone outside the Cabinet
and because 'Industry can't admit any knowledge of the House to anyone
in 'Defence or the Cabinet (officially) or 'Industry for that matter,
I or You can't TELL anyone in 'Defense to 'F.uck OM' because we don't
want the COWBOYS giving the irregulars anything Concrete to do.
That is exactly the kind of action they want us to take, so they can be
confident and bold and heroic. And we give it to them. I mean you say
this Dude - MarSud is ex-military - probably some twice decorated infantry
grunt fuck - worse luck - and his eyes are just going to light up if he
feels the tremor of little S.oft A.nd S.flent boot boy's pumps tryin'to
a sneak across his web which he's probably been sitting in for years,
and make off with his dinner. He might be prepared to ignore, to suffer
that, but because we send SOLDIERS, They probably won't feel as though
they've lived up to their brownie P.oint acquisition R.atio unless they
punch a great 'Secret' fuckin' Air Service stamp through the middle of
it. Winged dagger my ass - winged bloody size I2 more like. And that means
non combatants, d.etectives, journalists and ancillaries. This he may
certainly not allow with impunity. So you say 'the nest and the self addressed
should be covered' and quid pro quo if the House have been informed of
the existence of this el CAPITAIN then someone in the F.uck O.ff omitted
to tell 'Defense, presumably because of some cogent enjoinder that this
MarSud is a P.rotected S.pecies, presumably, again because of some pre-existing
under the table agreement or service or Knowledge, not forgetting the
CAPITAL Services He has and May (unofficially) have performed in the past.
Or May be performing, or May be waiting or sleeping to perform in the
little future or the Big Future. The French probably asked the Foreign
Office not to damage this MarSud and what happens? He goes straight to
the top of our hit list. Brilliant! Since you told little 'Bimbo' Laragh
here to make SECURE any Americans she should ACCIDENT.ally Bumble across
you might aswell have told her of the fortunate (un) geographical angle
or of the G.I.g or RUMBLE or whatever it is or is.int. going to be, is
is that with ROQ (the perfect PARK for Krouts) jusque down the ROUTeWAY
and MAL, malheursement, is an international ENTERway after that, will
it, is it, has it or will it have gone INVITATIONAL by the time we get
there before or after the sister's agents or Mr. Marsud have gone ACTIVE,
and if Someone has gone, how dirty will the waters be for the SHOOTER
i.e. me, I, So. And if the water is MIRKY with DETECTIVES who will they
be looking for and or annoyed with, and god forbid BLAME! God Forbid!
And what about Joe Stalin eh"
...[195 missing??? - ed]
would finish what they started by soiling the temple skirts 3)CRUSH THINE
ENEMY clause; them, their women and children, then their allies and then
their friends. And then their neighbours in the Middle East? 'The Elimination
Game.' They win.
"If you sniff a Yank - tell So - So call home.
If you should, in the unlikely event sniff a Ruskie - hope he's just another
budding entrepreneur. Leave 'em, 'im or 'er to it. Hope for the best.
A.n.bodies, autro nationales PREPARE could be INVITATIONAL MUSCLE. E.and
o.e. Right Silas."
In short huh "Right So." Clever dick.
Laragh pipes up: "Is he good looking?"
Chorus: Drives, Silas, So "Who?"
"MarSud - of course." Idiots. They're so Big into things, intrigues,
forces simple Questions pass over or through their heads without meating
"It never occurred to me to... GORgeous. Why?", Silas.
"I should think it was bloody obvious - it can just be easier to
make a mark if you'd be interested in him anyway. You know. Less chance
of an act being spotted.
Oh well.... I'm sure... it doesn't matter.... I'm sure that the grubbers
will find a hide for So to stoop from, making me redundant."
"Are you sure? I wonder if you'll be right. It is not always possible
to rent or ENFORCE a place from someone," (and that's always risky
what with neighbours calling and all) "a place with the right aspect.
Well I think that's all. Here Laragh take the tickets. Don't come home
And here, here's some money - some cash for you to spend.
You like cash.
You like spending cash.
You're good at it.
You can share the money with So but for God sakes don't give it all to
him at once - he'll slip you."
"Yea. So?" So.
"So... so nothing. Look after him.
Good bye So. I'm sure you'll sort it all out.
"Luck doesn't come it."
"O.K. So, I believe you, if you insist." Cocky dick.
"You see - married to your attitude. Quite extraordinary in a man
of your inteligence."
Walks over to the bed locker, slides out the top drawer and withdraws
his ever faithful pistol. Goes over to the door, stands to the side, unlocks
it and yanks it wide to him. he is not there. my demon isn't. isn't even
hiding in the gloom of the hotel corridor. i'll sneak up on him one day
and that should scare it away. perhaps. perhaps not. maybe it could be
killed. maybe not.
Driver slickly closes the door as Silas's passed out. He takes So's arm
and looks him directly in the eye. which few people do.
"If bringing the woman really bothers you we don't have to go."
"What are you saying? I've already agreed that we'll do the gig.
You didn't object."
"No. I know I didn't. It is not my place.
What you say goes. I just mean... that you don't have to go on my account."
Ah Drives you're almost fulfilled of your missions aren't you. Soon you
won't be coming back to visit old So Sa. "Don't worry.
I don't mind. I just didn't like the thought of having to use a hand gun
in place of a rifle. We did some mad things in the past which ......
But we were young then. We didn't have any choice then.
We do now!" I'm nervous. Too many unqualifieds.
"Drives you'd better go. He'll be waiting. .
Pick us up at the airport. And do try and get us some decent kit.
Cannibalise it if you have to. I don't care.
Oh and you'd better get Goldie Locks a pea shooter asweil, as it seems
she's to be a partner - pardner."
"O.K.. But no, I'm not going to be in the same province as that gung
ho little hooker if she has a fire arm."
Percussion should be reserved for full timers - lifers. What am i saying,
I'm almost out.
"No Way. She can have a nice knife one that will impress her - even
in a side show - the Spaniards are bound to have a nice blade."
Huh. "O.K. Drives get My li'le Lady a fancy tooth pick - if that'll
settle your nerves."
"I'm sorry... So... I didn't mean ......
"It's O.K. Drives - no offence i no how you.... It's good to have
someone even more cautious than me along." If that's possible? "Always.
Now you'd better run along He'll be waiting in a tizzy, standing out in
the corridor All alone, trying valiantly and silently to pretend not to
be able to find his key.
So looks again in the spy hole. It's only Silas. Waiting impatiently.
Confusticated. He swings the door to himself, weapon raised at Silas's
head again. Spite. Pure.
Some day I hope to be able to do you a serious disservice you infantile
Do you really get such a kick out of taking the piss out of me?
It is so easy to take a rise out of him. Driver passes out. So pulls the
door to after watching Driver's back down the corridor. Mates. He realises
he's been standing partially out in the corridor with a gun in his hand.
How strange and how foolish of me.
you were not there.
Closing the door softly So lets his head drop onto his chest, "why
do I always feel so exhausted when I've been talking to that man?"
Laragh takes off Almost all of her clothes and gets into bed - there are
a couple of hours to kill before the flight is due to take off. She will
rest or not. So puts his iron away and offers to kiss Laragh. She accepts
it and kisses him back. So extricates himself from her invitation and
goes to desk, crumples into the chair and begins to write, if he has sex
now it will take away from his edge:
And she looked around her
And there was daylight in her eyes,
And they were DAZZling eyes.
And the darkness
Fell into being of jealousy with the warmth of her.
But where she went;
Where she went
The light and the spring went too.
So gets up from the chair and gives Laragh what he's written. Dedicated
Then he goes back and recites for himself, whispering between his lips
poetry he's read somewhere. Because it reminds him of the other half of
Belly crawl, hide,
Sit, stand, kneel, lie.
Blink sweat from eye.
Keep them ig'orant,
No to let them feel the' fear,
No to panic the prey,
No to stampede the herd.
Dream figures wander In my glass,
Cross - hares pin dummies
To the ground.
Surreal clockwork people
Butt to shoulder tight.
Light, light finger on;
Ready gentle squeeze -
Delay the shot unti...
Rise up with her,
Fight her down.
Did we 'it?
Give ‘im one
One more kill.
So is the word of the sniper.
B U L
Chapter three will be published shortly
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