Mama's Boy, page 5
Excuse me, I’m trying to find an address but my GPS is broken. Can you help me? The guy seemed harmless, with his overly neat little goatee. He had to be gay.
I crossed the road. Through the open window he held out his phone to me. I didn’t have time to check whether his directions were right. The second bastard must have been moving along the truck as I was crossing the road. I barely saw him pop up in my field of vision. A big ape with his arms raised. I didn’t see it at the time, but he must have been armed with a stick or a club.
Giving someone a serious pounding doesn’t take very long. I think it was over in twenty seconds. Recovering from it’s another story. And this particular story looked like it would be a long one. As soon as I hit the ground, bastard number one leapt out of his truck and started raining kicks on me while bastard number two continued marking time with his stick like some kind of psychotic metronome. They took off at full throttle, spraying up gravel and dust. I stayed lying down for a moment in the light of a street lamp, letting the cloud of their hasty departure settle on my wounds.
You’ll think twice about doing that next time, you fucker! These were number one’s parting words. Personally I’d have liked a few more details. Who were these hired heavies? They were pretty professional when it came to brute force, but there was room for improvement on the communication side. Were they Audrey’s cousins? Mr. Paul’s employees? An old debt that had tracked me down? That’s the danger when you have a full life, it’s hard to keep track of who you’re dealing with.
I wanted to roll onto my side to support myself so I could get up. I froze on the first attempt. Those fuckers had busted my ribs! My movement was extremely limited. But I couldn’t stay there lying at the side of the road waiting for help. The police would roll up, probably with an arrest warrant. And if not, they’d make one up. They’re allergic to young guys wandering around villages with gloves, tools, and masks. They get ideas.
I wiped the blood that was dripping over my eyelid and, in one movement, without allowing myself to drop back to the ground, I sat up. I was made tough. I was crying, but it had nothing to do with my pain threshold. These tears were physical, maybe even mechanical. The body lubricates itself so it can get its engines running again. Sitting up, I was halfway there. I felt myself all over with my blood-smeared palms to figure out where the trickle was coming from. I shoved my fingers right into a wound at the hairline, above my right eye. That would leave a nasty scar. I had a cut on my elbow and I was also pissing blood from my broken nose. I don’t know who was behind it, but he’d got himself some good subcontractors. They knew how to wallop somebody. I’d get my revenge on somebody else. The wheel turns, and I believe in karma. In the meantime, I added two anonymous assholes to my blacklist.
In three minutes I was on my feet. It took nearly as long to take the first step, but once I’d got going I hit a good cruising speed and headed back to Nicole’s. I hadn’t lost morale. Even the Knights Templar suffered their share of loss and injury.
7
Organizational Skills
Breathing’s enjoyable. That’s something you only fully appreciate with broken ribs and a broken nose, which is quite restricting and puts things into perspective. My morning phlegm was already pretty stained from cigarettes and other substances, and now it was a masterpiece of contemporary art.
Nicole desperately tried to convince me to go to the doctor, but I reassured her that she was all the nurse I needed. Bandages would be enough to close the wounds, the busted nose would add something to my style, and anyway, you can’t do anything for the ribs. Time sorts everything out, my beautiful Nicole. I took advantage of the situation to borrow yet more money from her and to send her out to do my shopping. While she was out looking for beer and cigarettes, I got the village dealer over to replenish my supplies of amphetamines and pot. Excellent product, considering it was local. I managed to get a bit of stock saved up too. It was a period of abundance. And of unbearable pain.
During the first few days it was difficult for me to relieve my sexual tension myself, because of my fucked-up elbow and ribs. Helped by a mixture of amphetamines, wine and beer, I revealed my difficulties to Nicole, who was drinking with me at the time. I got her to understand, in veiled terms, that she could be of great help to me in this respect. She hadn’t had a young guy in several decades. I found a taker and she took me.
The body has obsessions that the heart doesn’t approve of. Nicole was old and chubby, but I could make out her earlier beauty from another time. She was a gentle woman, full of little kindnesses for me. She deserved at least this much. I was performing an act of charity.
Lying on her bed, way more comfortable than my own, I made it my duty to keep my eyes closed, open my mind, and rummage through my bank of salacious pictures. Nicole was all about the little tongue licks and sighs. When she finally straddled me, I compared her niece’s skinniness to the corpulence of her body. I felt myself sinking into the mattress. Curious, I opened my eyelids, but shut them again immediately. Too late. I’d seen the beast. Contrary to my usual habit, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to ejaculate quickly. After stimulation comes simulation. I faked a polite orgasm and complained of rib pain. She withdrew with difficulty and apologized.
No, no, it was good. No need to apologize… There’s still a bottle of red left to open, right?
* * *
Hi, Mama, do you recognize me? You’re beautiful. No.
Hey, Mom, I finally found you. You hid yourself well. Not that either.
Mama, we can finally tell social services to go fuck themselves and spend some time together. Are you happy? If I was ill at ease in front of my own mirror, I could barely imagine a successful reunion in the flesh. I tried to reassure myself by telling myself it was just my face upsetting me. One eye was still swollen, my lips slightly split, and I couldn’t get used to the curve, or rather the bend, of my new nose.
It’s been so long, we must have so much to catch up on! No, that wouldn’t do, I abandoned the rehearsal and rolled a joint. Then another one.
Once I was relaxed my ideas were clearer. Imagining this meeting would get me nowhere—I had to make it happen. Great events aren’t planned, they’re lived. Come to the West, we’ll do the rest, as Alice Cooper sang. All I had to do was go to Sherbrooke, show up on Prospect Street, knock on the door, and let destiny take care of the rest. Blood ties are thicker than anything, it’s well documented. I rolled a third, then stretched and tested how well my joints were recovering. I was capable of pleasuring myself. It was decided. I would leave tomorrow.
* * *
Tomorrow was yesterday. I drank too much, smoked too much, fucked Nicole again. I didn’t even want to, but when it’s there for the taking… And there was a precedent. And alcohol, and fatigue. I’m not looking to justify myself here. Absolutely not much at all.
Like dogs, humans stay stuck together for a certain amount of time after the act. That’s what life wants. We went all the way this time. It felt as though it had popped my ribs. It was really painful. Turns out I was going to wait until Monday for the grand departure. That worked better, Monday rhymes with getaway. While I waited, I’d let fat Nicole pamper me and I’d find some funds for the trip.
Like the flower, bloom where God plants you. That’s Christian. It goes for criminals too. No matter which way I turned things, I couldn’t see any quick scheme for coming up with some ready cash in my state, and the first of the month was still a long way off. Monday had arrived. I made a withdrawal from Nicole’s handbag.
She never got up before nine or ten. It was perfect, the intercity coach left at quarter past eight. I’d turned Nicole down after the second bottle of wine. She’d been pretty disappointed. I get it. I gulped down three pills to be sure of not falling asleep and stashed the remaining alcohol in my bag. When the first rays of sun appeared I passed go and collected nearly two hundred dollars from her purse.
I was limping toward the famous convenience store where the bus would pick me up when I noticed the blood on the road. In spite of a rainy night, my hemoglobin had stained the asphalt. It had flowed from the road right to the gravel shoulder. I took some pride in that. I’d marked the village, in a way. Then I left it without any further ceremony.
Once I was settled at the back of the bus, calculating the cash I had left after paying the fare—daylight robbery—I felt fatigue overtake me. I had to force myself to stay awake as far as Drummondville, where I would change for Sherbrooke. I was hypnotized by the kilometres of road and forest.
I wandered round the station in Drummondville. The bus nearly drove off without me. The driver opened the door and threw me a scornful look. I demanded his name before heading to my seat. I’d get revenge on him too, one of these days. I really needed to update my list and get it written down. Otherwise I might forget it. So many bitches and bastards will know the fury of my wrath, yeah, fuck you! That sounded good. I had a new chorus. I needed to find a record company, RFN.
The weather was grey, the road was grey, and I was green with fatigue and hunger combined. Thirty hours without sleeping. Fifteen without eating. I should have got something to munch on at the station instead of wandering around. Too late. I watched the highway exits pass by and reminded myself that everything would be better in my new life.
It was the first time I’d ever travelled so far.
* * *
Sherbrooke. My mother’s town. I got a bit misty-eyed. If she’d chosen to settle here, there must have been a reason. This place had to be like her or be dear to her. I set foot in it with a certain amount of restraint. I entered my mother’s city respectfully.
Once I’d relieved myself, I turned to look in the mirror. My face was still swollen. My clothes were dirty. I should have asked Nicole to take care of that before I left. I had bags under my eyes too. I needed a coffee, a hot bath, and a bed with crisp white sheets. I left the station whistling a Nickelback tune.
The good thing about bus terminals located right downtown is that you soon come across community workers. I sucked one in with my usual story of a breakup and a job loss on top of a bone disease, and in no time he was going out of his way to find me somewhere to stay. Even transport was provided. He went with me to the big homeless shelter, where I had to argue with the social worker to get a bed. I didn’t have a piece of photo ID or a guarantor.
I piled on a few layers of good sentiments and a scarcely veiled suicide threat to make the employee fold. The tiny room was clean and the conditions acceptable: no drugs or alcohol, and I had to leave during the day, between 8:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. If I stayed for more than a week we’d have to write up an intervention plan for finding me somewhere to live. With pleasure, man. I headed toward the soup kitchen, then took advantage of my first night in the town of infinite possibilities to sleep the sleep of the righteous.
* * *
The little social worker from the previous day came to wake me up. I muttered and pretended to go back to sleep. He was persistent. We even left you longer. You seemed so tired. But now you really have to get up. The centre’s closed during the day.
Getting my body up was difficult. I dragged myself to the showers, spat up my daily blood, and made the most of my morning erection for relaxation purposes. Unbelievably, the Pomeranian on duty even came to harass me while I was in the shower. He called me by my current borrowed name. I didn’t respond to it right away. The dawn mists. Are you talking to me?
You’ve been in there for more than twenty minutes, you need to hurry up. We’re closing for the day. Life is hard for travellers.
I looked for a source of income as I wandered around the town. The women and the sunshine distracted me from my quest. I had to stop frequently. With the number of skirts and leggings I was seeing, I’d never manage to come up with a good plan for the day. I needed money. For self-medication and to buy flowers for my mother. You don’t show up to visit someone empty-handed. You need flowers or a weapon, it’s well documented. While I waited, I decided to take advantage of the air conditioning in the municipal library.
Make the most of the present. Read the signs. Master Eckhart would have encouraged me to seize the opportunity. As soon as I went into the entrance hall, the notice board jumped out at me. I never usually bother reading those little messages and the ads for shows by really bad local artists, but that day a logo caught my eye. In the jobs corner. The Eastern Townships SPCA was looking for an animal health technician. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Sixteen bucks an hour. No doubt about it, it was the perfect job for me.
I had a lot of experience. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of experience you can put on a resumé. Thanks to social networks and the stupidity of the average citizen, I found an identity for my CV without any trouble. The guy was originally from Mascouche, had got his college diploma two years earlier, and even listed his last employer. His moronic friends had been wishing him happy birthday a month earlier. The whole deal. Our ages matched, I added a fictional employer, and I was holding in my hands the ideal curriculum vitae for an animal health technician. To bring me luck, and because I had to put in an address, I gave my mother’s. I was really excited about the idea of getting my first job. I stopped off in the toilets before I left.
* * *
The convenient thing about the municipal library, in addition to all those books to read, the internet access, and the girls wearing skirts, was that it was just a couple of steps away from a junk shop. A junk shop that bought books, at low prices but in bulk. I stuffed my bag at the library and unloaded it five buildings away. It’s not just the economy that has to keep going, it’s literature too.
And on top of this, just a few doors down from the junk shop was Rob N Kurt’s pub. I immediately discovered that it was the ideal place to stock up on amphetamines for a good price. Other interesting substances were on offer, but my needs pushed me to the pills, whose effect is powerful and long-lasting. I smoke and drink too, like everyone does. We all need a crutch. Life is unbearable without support.
This little Bermuda Triangle in the Eastern Townships had basically saved my life. But like any good criminal or businessman, I would need to diversify.
8
Recognition
My mother had short hair, which I don’t usually like. I prefer it when women play up their sex with long hair, delicate features, and skirts. But I still thought she was pretty, maybe because she was my mother. She was calm, moving around her apartment with a light step, doing everything gently. Maybe she wasn’t so devoted to psychiatry anymore. She watched television and ate sunflower seeds almost every evening. She often talked on the phone too.
After spying on her for three evenings, I started to recognize her expressions, her smiles. It was my mama. I was ready to bet on it and pay for a maternity test.
She’d changed, put on weight and aged, but she was still a beautiful woman. I was eager to meet her officially, and see her face fill with wonder as she recognized me. But for the time being I wanted to get my bearings and get to know her in her own space.
She lived in the basement of a triplex and covered her windows with see-through white curtains. I’d have to warn her that it wasn’t safe, that she was exposing herself to thieves and perverts. The thought of protecting my mother made me proud.
That evening, I stayed crouching by the window for close to three hours, until she went to bed and turned off all the lights. I hummed her a lullaby. I couldn’t remember all the words so I improvised. My mind is very quick. A seductive tranquility came over me for a moment.
I limped back to the centre feeling at peace. I whistled “Dear Mama” by Tupac Shakura. It’s sad that the government had him assassinated. He was a great artist, Tupac. But he was too much of a pacifist. Like John Lennon and Malcolm Luther King. The government just can’t let these pacifist artists live. It’s an economics thing.
I arrived at the centre, my head full of my mother and international issues. I was stopped short by a closed door and the Pomeranian refusing to let me in. It was too late, the rules were clear and strict. I’d have to contact the emergency shelter if I needed somewhere to stay the night. I swore I’d throw myself under the next train instead, and spent a warm night in my closet.
* * *
Still no reply from the SPCA. They’d had my CV for three days already, for fuck’s sake! Did they need a technician or not? While I was at the library I checked the messages in my eight other email accounts.
There were still several women from Côte d’Ivoire who were dying to marry me, I’d won hundreds of thousands of euros yet again and just needed to claim my prize, and, of course, I had several offers for penis enlargement. This last one always bothered me. I couldn’t help wondering, worrying. Was it possible the advert was targeted? Had someone been informing the company about my penile proportions? I’ve got a big dick, no doubt about it. Not as big as Steve the Haitian or porn actors, but I’m pretty certain I’ve got a normal penis, so a big one. Women love big ones, it’s well documented.
Several messages from dating sites too. I’d kept my accounts active. I snooped around a bit, seeing the new candidates on the market. Nothing interesting, but I put out a few feelers to the least ugly ones.
In a more personal account I came across an email from Marie-Josée. Rite back now ITS ERGENT. I hate people giving me orders and I despise illiterates, so the chances of my writing back were dwindling even before I took in what she was saying. It was basically just a mishmash of insults and threats. Her aunt was having trouble because I’d never paid the rent as well as having relieved her of a small amount of cash and running off like a thief. But for her, the worst thing was that I was a durty fucker. She’d come back from a clinic with confirmation that I’d given her some infections. A smile played on my lips. Poor girl. Sex is Russian roulette, honey. No mention of Aunt Nicole’s genital health. I guessed from this that they hadn’t confided in one another.
