Kitabı oku: «The Drowning of Arthur Braxton», sayfa 3
Blinking:
’Course I’m not even sure what Madame Pythia’s real name is, I mean she must have a first name, I mean no parent’d be that cruel and name a child ‘Madame’. I think I heard Silver call her Veronica or maybe it was Sally. I didn’t quite catch it, but what I do know is that Madame Pythia delivers her oracles in a proper mental state. If Silver told me she’d been popping an E or seven, I’d believe him. I mean I’ve watched her from the viewing gallery and sometimes she even sounds like she’s talking foreign.
Ada Harvey’s left and today, right now, I’m seeing stuff that’s making my stomach do hula-hoops. I mean I had a feeling it would when Silver said that I had to cancel his last appointment ’cause him and Madame Pythia were doing a healing together. I mean in all the time I’ve been here nowt like that’s happened before, so my stomach did hula-hoops even before I was seeing what I’m seeing now.
I’ve sneaked into the Males 1st Class pool. I mean I waited until they’d started their healing, ’cause I know how they get all into it and they don’t know what’s going on about them. I’m trying to be invisible right next to the changing cubicles and I reckon it’s working, ’cause no one’s shouted at me to bugger off yet. Madame Pythia, Silver and some lass I’ve not seen before are starkers, I mean they’re fully naked in the water.
But none of that even matters. ’Cause the shape of Silver’s face has just changed.
I mean it’s altered, I swear he’s stopped being Silver and, apparently, instead he’s a bloke called Simon who the lass in the water once shagged in a former life. I’m thinking this is like some dodgy remake of Ghost and trying not to freak.
A few minutes ago Madame Pythia was giving it all about showing the way to ‘reverting the body of his spirit from a former life’ and then Silver’s face stopped being Silver’s face. The lass who was being healed, her and Silver were treading water next to each other in the middle of the pool. Next thing, the lass let out the biggest scream ever and swam through the water to hug Silver. Silver hugged her back and then they snogged, with tongues, proper snogging. Madame Pythia had to pull them apart. That’s when I started giggling, ’cause that’s what I sometimes do when I’m freaked out. And that’s why I’m blinking now and blinking some more to make sure that it’s not my eyes playing tricks.
I mean I’m tired, it’s been a long shift, it’s the last appointment of the day, but none of my blinking’s making any difference. And now a proper beautiful white light’s surrounding Madame Pythia. Again, I’m blinking and, again, I’m blinking a bit more. I even use my fingers to stretch my eyes wide open. Maybe I’m confused or maybe I’m coming down with chicken pox. I know I’m not though, least I don’t think I am. I wonder if it’s the vapours off the water, I wonder if they mess with your head and make you see stuff that can’t possibly be real. None of this makes sense to me.
’Cause now Madame Pythia’s face is changing too. Ada Harvey said Madame Pythia could do that, she said how sometimes Madame Pythia allowed several spirits to ‘manifest on her ugly face’. Ada said that one of the spirits she’d seen was her grandmother who’d passed when Ada was a little lass. But this is the first time I’m seeing it with my own eyes. I’m shaking, I’m so confused. I mean it’s crazy, but I don’t think I ever thought it was real. I mean, if I’m honest, I thought the folk who came here were all nutters, that they saw and heard what they needed to see and hear to make their lives better. But now, I mean right now, I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not no more.
The other day I asked Madame Pythia why so many people came to The Oracle and she said, ‘After a long period of spiritual sleep and materialism, humans are finally awakening and opening their minds to new experiences.’ And then, ‘Humans are beginning to realise what I have known since birth, that materialism is not the answer.’ I remember nodding my head, not really listening ’cause she was going on a bit. I remember thinking she was off her face and wondering why they charged so much for each session, if it wasn’t about the money.
But that was all before I realised she could do proper freaky shit with her face. My head’s all over the place now and that’s when I hear the lass speaking.
‘I have been told that there are dark demons smothering me,’ she says.
‘Who spoke such words to you?’ Madame Pythia shouts across the pool. They’ve swam apart a bit while I’ve been freaking out.
‘A friend,’ the lass says.
‘A friend! A friend! What rot! You should choose your friends with more care and consideration, my dear!’
I watch as Madame Pythia swims to the lass, lifts her hands and places them on the lass’s face. Madame Pythia then closes her eyes and doesn’t speak a word. I’m looking at the lass, she looks scared. I wish I could help her, but then I remember that she’s paying for this mental stuff.
‘Open your eyes,’ Silver says, even though his face isn’t his face still and even though he’s now clutching the edge of the pool opposite me. And that’s when Madame Pythia opens her eyes and turns her head to stare at Silver. She stares for a good few minutes, still with her hands on the lass’s face and by this stage the lass’s sobbing like our Sammy does when he’s had a nightmare.
Madame Pythia turns back to her.
‘I can see clearly, my dear.’
‘But I fear that dark demons are there,’ the lass says. She’s still crying but at least the sobbing has stopped now.
‘My dear, I will speak only the truth to you. I can see that there are spirits that are dark and that they stay close to you.’
That’s when the lass gasps. And that’s when I gasp too. Silver stares at me, but it’s like his eyes don’t recognise who I am. He doesn’t speak.
Madame Pythia continues, ‘Do not have fear, my dear. I can tell you that those spirits are aching, in anguish, in such deep misery. It is true that they are near to you, that they see your energy, but still they cannot touch you. They cannot become you. I can see that you do not recognise the power that you hold within yourself.’
That’s when the lass falls below the water and that’s when Silver turns back to being Silver, lets go of the edge of the pool and dives under the water to rescue her. He pulls her back above the surface and over to the side of the pool. She’s all spluttering but that doesn’t stop Madame Pythia from continuing with her speech.
‘They cannot climb onto you,’ she shouts, she’s treading water and raising both of her arms out of the pool and up towards the ceiling. ‘It is true that they seek to scratch your surface, yet beneath this fragile outer layer there is a vast reservoir of light. Close your eyes, relax, try to draw upon it.’
Silver’s holding the lass with one arm and clinging to the edge of the pool with his other hand. The lass leans her head back, onto him, then she lets her legs lift up into the water. She’s floating, she looks calm.
‘Even if you cannot look into this light within my presence, know that this reservoir will be there to guide you when you are open to accepting that you are deserving of happiness, of goodness.’
Madame Pythia pauses, she locks eyes with the lass and that’s when Madame Pythia declares, ‘It is time, we must end this session’, and she swims to the side of the pool.
And that’s when I run to the doors, swing them open and run to my desk. I know I’ve been seen and that I’ll probably get a bollocking later, but it was worth it.
His Love Story:
Next day I’m at my desk, struggling to complete a piece of GCSE coursework. I’m too close to the deadline and that’s making me panic even more. It’s English language, it’s a love story, and mainly I’m struggling ’cause I don’t really think I believe in love. I mean, it’s not like my mum has found her happily-ever-after and it’s not like any of the women who come here are celebrating amazing marriages. Everyone moans about their husbands and their partners and their kids. I don’t think I know anyone who’s in love, I mean not like I read about in all Madame Pythia’s books. And that’s why I’m struggling.
That’s when Martin comes up to the desk, he’s on a fifteen-minute break before his drop-in sessions start. As usual he sits, then shuffles closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. My stomach hula-hoops and I try to move my chair back a bit without him noticing.
‘What you up to?’ he asks.
‘Coursework,’ I say. ‘Got to write about love, like I know anything about love.’
‘What do you want to know? I’m a bit of an expert,’ he asks, he winks.
I look at him, I blush because his eyes are that strong and powerful and scary. ‘Everything,’ I say. ‘Don’t reckon I believe in it,’ I say.
‘Love exists,’ Martin says. ‘I once knew a woman,’ he says. ‘She was one of my first-ever clients. Gwendolyn Price was her name. She came here for treatment but me and her, well she was my fit. I mean she fitted onto me and I fitted into her and it was different. I know that’s lame and all pathetic and I know that my wife’d have a paddy at me daring to say that me, that the father of her kids, was with the wrong lass. But Gwendolyn was the woman I should have married.’
I don’t say anything. I pick up my pencil and start making notes. Martin’s still perching on the edge of my desk, but he’s taken his hand off my shoulder.
‘Mainly at night when I was lying in bed, when I’d just shagged my wife, well I’d be thinking about Gwendolyn. And I’d be thinking about when I could next be with her. I still loved my wife, but it was clear I wasn’t in love with her. Sometimes I even hated her because she could be a right nasty bitch to me and the kids. But mainly we just ended up shagging because that’s what married folk do and if I did then she’d not be suspecting that I was at it with some person else,’ he says, then he laughs. I laugh too, even though I don’t think he’s funny. ‘What do you think about that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. I don’t. I mean I look at Martin and I see someone who’s old, he’s like the age my dad probably is. I don’t really understand what he’s trying to tell me. ‘I don’t get it. How do you do that? How can you love, but not be in love?’ I ask.
‘Love’s not that black and white, pet,’ he says. ‘I wanted to leave the wife, but it was my kids that kept me and the wife together. I thought that the responsibility I felt towards my kids was more important than the love I felt for Gwendolyn. I reckon that me and the wife, that having kids was the reason why everything started going wrong between us, but we were good parents. Being with Gwendolyn was my only bit of me-time, the only time I could have some fun, away from dull-as-fuck routine,’ he says.
‘So what happened?’ I ask, ready with my pencil.
‘I couldn’t leave my kids, financial and emotional shit, Gwendolyn got fed up of not having all of me. We ended after a year and I reckon my heart broke,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ’cause I am. He looks sad.
‘I still think about her every day,’ he says and he sighs. I’ve not seen him sad before, I feel sad too.
‘I reckon that you can fall in and out of love all through your life, but there’s only one person who really fits. And that love, that love trumps all other love. The problem is, that like everything in life, you can blink and you’ll miss your moment,’ he says, and then he’s laughing again.
I laugh too.
‘So Gwendolyn was my first-and-only real affair. And, of course, after losing Gwendolyn,’ he says, ‘that’s when I started resenting my life. I decided I had nothing to lose and now I shag anything with a pulse. If I can’t be with Gwendolyn then I don’t give a fuck about anything else.’
That’s when I look up at him and he winks and gets down from the edge of the table.
‘People have affairs,’ he says, walking towards the main door. ‘Of course they do. And I do my duty as a husband, I’m there for my wife and I’m there for my kiddies. And I love every one of the women I’ve shagged, almost as much as they’ve loved my cock inside them. Everyone’s happy and everyone’s getting a piece of me. But it’s never been like it was with Gwendolyn. I’m just a giving kind of bloke. I shag women and I give them a love that lasts for anything from five to thirty minutes.’ He laughs again, I don’t really understand his joke. ‘What I can do with my cock …’
He doesn’t finish his sentence and I’m really not sure what he’s trying to tell me about love. I’m feeling even more confused.
But a bit later, I’m just coming out the toilet after having a wee and he’s waiting. At first I’m wondering why he’s waiting to go in the girl’s toilet but then I get to realising that he’s waiting to see me.
‘So when you going to let me take you out?’ he asks.
‘Out?’ I ask.
‘On a date,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘What’s funny?’ he asks and I think I might have upset his feelings.
‘Soz,’ I say, I blush.
‘How about the pictures?’ he asks.
I shake my head, I don’t look at him, I look down at the mosaic tiles. ‘My mum wouldn’t let me,’ I say. And that’s when he walks away.
‘I’m in love with you, Laurel,’ he shouts over his shoulder, he laughs as he turns the corner. ‘Think of it as research for your coursework,’ he says.
And I’m left wondering what that even means.
A Palm Reading:
’Course, I’d known that Silver reads palms. I’ve been working six weeks now and I know pretty much everything that goes on. I’m sitting on the stone steps outside the Males 1st Class entrance, reading and loving that it’s a suntrap. I’ve got another one of my little dresses on, Mum treated me, buying it from Miss Selfridges instead of Mark One. It’s got tiny yellow-and-blue flowers on it. I’ve got it hitched up into my knickers. I’m stretching out my legs across the steps and I’ve even taken off my DMs. I’m happy. I hear him whistling. Silver comes and sits next to me.
‘Show me your palm,’ he says and I do. I mean I don’t even think twice about it. I like Silver, he’s got kind eyes and he’s bought me a tube of Smarties from the shops every day for the last two weeks. I’m saving the lids, trying to spell out ‘Laurel’, but I’ve not got ‘r’ or ‘u’ yet and I’ve only got one ‘l’. I slide my hand off my open book and hold it up to his face. Silver smiles.
Silver lifts my palm up close to his eyes. He tilts my palm this way and that way and bends my fingers one by one. He runs his chubby man-fingers over the lines.
‘Oh,’ he says.
‘What?’ I ask.
I look at Silver, tears are already falling from his eyes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Run for your life,’ Silver says, letting go of my palm with a deep sob. He steadies himself on the metal railing, trying to get to his feet.
‘Silver, tell me,’ I say. I’m terrified.
‘I can’t, pet,’ he says. ‘It isn’t what I do. Things happen as they should.’ Then he walks back through the open wooden doors and into The Oracle. I hear him sobbing.
‘Silver,’ I shout, dropping my book and getting to my feet. The steps are hot.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Martin Savage says. I hadn’t seen him coming. I pull at my dress, to make sure that it’s not still tucked in my knickers. He’s at the bottom of the stone steps, dragging on a rolled ciggie. ‘He’ll not tell you if it’s bad.’
‘Will you?’ I ask.
‘Don’t know if I should, what with you not letting me take you out,’ he says.
‘Please,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ he says, and then, ‘But you’ll owe me one.’
He climbs the steps to beside me.
‘Sit down, Laurel,’ he says. I do. I don’t want to owe him, but I’m that desperate.
‘Give me your palm,’ he says. I do.
‘How old are you again, Laurel?’ he asks.
‘Nearly fifteen,’ I say.
‘You’re pretty,’ he says, stroking his index finger up my fingers and down to the base of my palm. It tickles, I giggle even though I don’t want to giggle. Then he brings my palm up to his mouth and kisses it with his lips. He makes me want to be sick, I don’t like his kisses. ‘Ask Madame Pythia,’ he says.
‘Ask her what?’ I say.
‘To read your palm, I do tarot.’ He laughs, a low and dirty laugh.
He lets go of my palm and leans towards me and kisses my cheek. ‘You owe me one, you promised. Nice girls don’t break their promises,’ he says.
He smells of ciggies and stale beer and he makes my insides hula-hoop. I’ve seen what he likes to do. A couple of nights ago I sneaked up onto the viewing gallery and sat on the back row, on one of them fold-down seats. I was quiet, proper quiet and I watched just what he does to heal the women. I wanted to understand all that stuff he’d said about love. And that’s why I know that Martin Savage’s dirty, I mean he does proper dirty things. The noises he made and the mess they made. If that’s what love is, then I don’t want any of it. And I certainly don’t want him loving me.
But Martin Savage is used to having women falling at his feet. I mean I’ve seen them all at The Oracle. They’ll be queuing down the steps leading up to the Males 2nd Class pool. Some days the queue goes all the way down and onto the beach. He’s the only one of the water-healers who does a drop-in session every night. I’ve watched when Martin’ll come swaggering along the sand and the women’ll turn into quivering wrecks, dying to take their clothes off and let him swim naked with them in the Males 2nd Class pool. I overheard one of the women saying that after one of her friends had let Martin Savage do things to her in the pool, then she’d been able to have babies. She reckoned that Martin Savage could heal insides and because word’s spread now every woman in the world’s wanting to have a bit of him. It isn’t like that with me. I mean I don’t get why all the women are falling at his feet, and I know that there are some women who’d happily swim to him sitting naked on the edge of the pool and suck on his willy, while he’s huffing and puffing for Wales and trying to say words to heal them.
So when he kisses me on the cheek, I mean I don’t know how to react. It’s not like I fancy him. I mean he’s old enough to be my dad and I’ve seen where his lips have been. I mean Martin Savage’s probably the kind of bloke Mum would have gone for. He’s married, he’s got kids and he’s a bad bad man. I need him not to love me.
I turn to look at Martin and he moves in to kiss me on the lips. I pull my head back and bang it on the metal rail.
‘My head,’ I say. It hurts like hell.
Martin Savage gets up, and walks into The Oracle. ‘You promised, you owe me, prick-tease,’ he says.
He Wants a Virgin:
Later, I was sitting at my desk when he came over and sat on the edge as usual, bending in right close to look at his appointments in the book.
‘I haven’t had a virgin for a couple of years,’ he said. I looked at him, he stared at me.
At first I thought I’d heard him wrong and so I didn’t say a word back to him. And that’s when he said, ‘You’d better be a virgin. I don’t want to be wasting my time on you. No one likes a filthy whore.’
‘I am,’ I said and I blushed again.
‘You’re a prick-tease, that’s what you are. We had a deal, you owe me,’ he said, before pushing the appointment book onto the floor and ordering me to pick it up. I didn’t at first, I was looking around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. And that’s when he shouted. ‘Pick the fucker up.’
I bent to pick up the book.
‘And the toilets in my changing rooms need cleaning,’ he said, before walking off.
That was a couple of hours ago and I’ve still not plucked up the courage to go into his changing rooms. I don’t want to be near him, I don’t even want to be here in The Oracle. I told Mum last night, told her about how weird Martin was and how he made me feel and Mum said that I should just grin and bear it. And then she said that I should stop my moaning and be grateful that I had a job and that we needed the money, and if I gave up then she’d have to think twice about whether or not I could go to college.
So I go to have a look in the Males 2nd Class changing rooms. I push the door open and shout a ‘hello’ but no one replies. I walk around, looking and looking some more, but it all seems to be pretty clean. I mean I know Maggie, the cleaner, was in this morning. I mean she comes in every morning. There’s no towels lying around, the floor isn’t dirty, there’s not even any water on the floor. I’m walking towards the toilet and that’s when I realise that he’s in the changing rooms too.
‘Time you let me suck on those little titties of yours,’ he says. I turn. He’s standing in front of the door so there’s no way I can get out. ‘Undo your dress, time to pay up,’ he says.
‘I just came to check—’ I say, but he interrupts with, ‘We both know why you came here.’
‘You told me to,’ I say.
‘You’re not stupid. Take your dress off and stop playing games,’ he says. ‘Do as I say or you’ll get the sack,’ he says. ‘And I’ll make sure no one round here gives you a job,’ he says.
I start walking towards him, hoping to get around him, hoping for a miracle, a something to make this better. He grabs my arm.
‘Get off,’ I say, trying to wriggle away, but that makes him grip harder and pull me in closer.
‘I’m going to taste you,’ he says. ‘That’s what lovers do.’
I feel sick, I’m crying, I want him to stop, I want to be back at my desk, with my book, with the clients, with the appointment book. And that’s when he lets go of my arm and that’s when he opens the door out of the changing room.
‘Off you go, prick-tease,’ he says and he slaps my arse as I walk past.
I’m still crying when I get to the desk. Silver’s there, he’s watching me, but when my eyes meet his he turns away.
‘Silver,’ I say, ‘what shall I do?’
‘Run for your life,’ Silver whispers, but he carries on walking.
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