The Org, page 12
He whispered in my ear, “Do you want this?”
I nodded, and some of my hair brushed Zira. Her legs quivered.
“Yes, please …”
I felt Mikael behind me. It slid and slid and then …
Jesus Christ.
He took me while I took her. Her hand gripped my hair and pushed me even deeper inside her as Mikael pushed deeper inside me and I had never ever known anything like this.
I felt degraded and worshipped at the same time.
Apple trees erupted down through the roof, cracking the ceiling, their fruits hanging heavy and low and already ripe. Mikael kissed along my back and shoulders as he continued his strides inside me. Zira would look down at me across the mounds and valleys of her body, her eyes screaming that there was nothing she needed more in this world than me, right there and then. I wanted to come so so badly, but something was blocking that final push. Was it the cocaine? What have I done? Zira gripped my hair at the scalp, yelping. Mikael became more determined. He hit nerve endings I’d never thought I had, never dreamed they could experience such transcendental insanity until I thought I might finally spill over the edge, please please please, like Mikael pulling fruit from the branch but straining to pluck it, the stem resisting but the pull getting fiercer, desperate. A horrible piercing siren alarm cut through everything, just as I felt the giant cosmic rock of Jesus’s tomb finally shift to reveal the divine resurrection, the apple about to yield to the tug, and the alarm rang on and on, far too loudly, a robotic male voice saying:
“EVACUATE NOW, YOUR BUILDING IS ON FIRE, PLEASE EVACUATE NOW, OR YOU MIGHT DIE, EJACULATE NOW, OR YOU MIGHT DIE, EVACUATE OR BURN TO DEATH, WHY DOES NO ONE EVER TAKE ME SERIOUSLY, THIS IS NOT A DRILL, A DRILLING, NOT JUST BURNT TOAST THIS TIME, PLEASE EJACULATE, YOU HAVE TO ESCAPE, NOW, YES, GIRL, ALMOST …”
“Oh my god are you fucking kidding me …” screamed Zira as her entire body convulsed, but the fire alarm kept screaming at us. The boulder was blocking the tomb again and I couldn’t get back to that edge, couldn’t pluck the apple, left hanging from the vine. Mikael stopped moving inside me and Zira stopped moving. I was kneeling there with a dick going limp inside me, a face covered in a woman’s come, and the fire alarm still screaming, “PLEASE EVACUATE NOW, YOUR BUILDING IS ON FUCKING FIRE, IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME? EVACUATE NOW, WHAT IF IT’S NOT JUST BURNT TOAST THIS ONE TIME … EJACULATE NOW … I MEAN IT PROBABLY IS JUST BURNT TOAST BUT STILL …”
“Oh god, let’s just go downstairs,” yelled Zira over the noise. Mikael moved off and out of me. My muscles all contracted. He helped me stand up. I wrapped myself up in my dress, my damp underwear, pulling myself back together. Zira disappeared. Mikael removed the condom – he hadn’t come. He noticed me noticing it.
Zira reappeared wearing a huge white fur dressing gown and not much else. She topped up the drinks while the alarm continued screaming. She cut lines again, using one of her business cards. I joined them, going last. I pocketed the card. We moved to leave, to escape the alarm, my clitoris still swollen and hot and hoping.
Looking around the apartment as we left, there was no wild flora, no tree branches, no structural damage, no waratahs or palm fronds. Just the vast windows and the sparkling, grinning, winking city.
We had to take the fire stairs. We spilled the drinks a bit but made it down to see a fire truck and a crowd of half-dressed residents and their families, their lovers, their pets, their cigarettes, standing or sitting on the ground, on their phones. The firemen said it was just burnt toast, a false alarm, but they had to do their due diligence according to Org safety regulations, especially now, after the casino. Mikael and Zira’s eyes were huge in the flashing blue and red lights. Mine must have been, too.
“How are you feeling, sweet Cristina?” She opened her arms and I snuggled into her embrace, my veins strung high and wanting her touch. There was plenty of skin beneath her coat to touch.
She whipped out a pack of cigarettes. Rotting human organs covered the packet. She offered me one. I almost said yes, craving something to rattle through my lungs with more weight than mere air, but I stopped myself. They lit up, whispering, watching the firemen.
I walked away a little. No shoes, warm night, cold feet. I looked up at the polluted sky, unable to see any stars. After a while I looked back to see Mikael and Zira straddling a fireman each, up against the other side of the truck. They were really going at it. My shoes were still upstairs but I wanted to run. Was it the cocaine? Is this how some people live? Is this how I live? It hadn’t been such a bad night. Quite the contrary. Quite the night.
I could see Zira now dancing in the street while Mikael and the two firemen watched, her full fur figure illuminated, on and off, by the red and blue strobe lights.
I bolted into the night, hoping Bacch was home. The city at night. I laughed hysterically at myself, at the world. Empty streets welcomed me with silent nonchalance. Magic is everywhere. Alleyways are sanctuaries. But then I passed a man leaning against a wall and he began following me. I ran harder and he disappeared behind me because I was flying. I was fucking flying. No one teaches you about these moments. No preparation. You just have to stumble upon life yourself. But I slowed down because I could feel cuts in my feet and I could barely breathe. At William Street, I got in a taxi and gave the address. The driver said I looked beautiful and suggested I go to his place instead. I jumped out at a set of red lights in Surry Hills without paying and ran off between buildings until I finally got to the apartment, fumbled with the keys and walked upstairs with a headache I’d never felt before.
Bacch was home and asleep. I vomited in the toilet and lay on the couch with the stereo on low, crying now and then, drinking water from a jug, barely noticing the spillage. Fitful. Awake. I wanted to crawl into bed with Bacch, but I was too ashamed. There were bags and bags of sugary baked goods crammed inside the tiny apartment and I didn’t know why. I eventually went to my bed. All my muscles felt like restless, starving snakes trying to escape my own skin.
Bacch
What a beautiful day! The Saturday morning sun lit up the apartment like I’d rarely seen it. Perhaps because I’d rarely seen morning sun. I showered & shaved. I looked up city rentals. Jazztronica on the stereo. I did some push-ups between the bread bags. Tried to be responsible. At least for a day. Only seven nights left. Should make the most of it.
I heard Cristi’s door slowly crack open. She had never ever slept later than me. Staff drinks gone wild, perhaps. Her footsteps were always soft yet firm – you get to know such things in close quarters – but not today.
She appeared around the corner, robe wrapped around her, shoulders hunched, eyes half closed, loose in their sockets, like mine most mornings. She shuffled between the overflowing sugary bags & sat in the chair across from me.
“Good morning,” I chirped.
She just looked at me.
“Are you ok?”
“Please …” She swallowed, trying to clear the rust in her throat. “Tea …”
I stood to boil the kettle. “Where were you last night?”
She didn’t reply.
“Do you want any food? There’s plenty here.”
She managed to ask about all the bakery goods & I explained my new business venture.
“That’s one of the most … most preposterous things I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“Do you wanna help sell some?”
She went to the bathroom & vomited.
I finished brewing her lemon & ginger tea, cut up some fruits, put leftover pizza in the oven, lit the incense, readied some Disney film on the laptop & prepared the soft blankets on the couch for what I imagined was Cristi’s first hangover.
She said she needed painkillers, but we didn’t have any. I offered a joint but she said the last thing she needed was more drugs. I lit up anyway. She took a small puff, and a bigger one a few moments later. She was in bed before dinner.
Sleep didn’t come to me so easily, so I went walking, found some cheap takeaway dinner, kept walking the streets, hoping something might happen – but it never did & I went back to the apartment. Moss had begun growing on the front door.
I called Hari. He actually answered.
In no time, I was at a headland doof.
In the Uber, by myself, I opened a bottle of wine I’d grabbed. I’d started keeping the red in the fridge, otherwise it was just too hot. I drank it in. All of it.
“What’s out here, mate?” asked the driver.
“Emptiness.”
He didn’t ask any more questions.
Probably seemed dramatic, but it was risky to reveal the doof, in case it got reported to the Protectors. This was a one-nighter near the city, hopefully an all-nighter, though we take what we can get. Normally a doof went for days & nights, non-stop music, everyone camped deep in the bush, too far for Ubers & taxis & Protectors, all of us dressed up or dressed down, art & coloured lights on trees, the galaxy glistening & exposed above.
The car reached the end of the road. I hopped out to see Hari & some of his crew. We were on a headland off southern Sydney somewhere. Breezy scrub. Above, the stars struggled to peek through the orange glow of city haze. I threw the empty bottle into a lone garbage bin, no recycling bins, before a bit of a trek down dark bush tracks, using lights from our phones to find our way. Somewhere around here, the organisers would have set up cameras, in case the Protectors showed up.
Memorise the ways in & out, in case you need a fast getaway.
And then the first thing you hear, above the whispers of the wind & yourselves, is the four-to-the-floor bass of the kick.
doof doof doof doof doof doof doof doof
That’s when you know you’ve made it, when it’s a secret location, when you get a riddle or a last-minute address pop up on your phone.
doof doof doof doof-d-doof doof doof doof-d-doof
Yeah so that’s why it’s called a doof.
The wind was fresh & salty. Tucked into a hill, facing out to sea, hanging off the edge of the coast in the darkness, was a reinforced concrete bunker, some abandoned military post. I couldn’t quite tell; it was being used very differently to its original intention. Lights flashed from within, like the mouth of a cosmic tiger head, the entrance to the Cave of Wonders. People were everywhere, silhouettes dancing, briefly detailed by multicoloured flashes. Some in wild outfits, others dressed casually, just bopping around with friends. The edge of the earth dropped off metres away in the darkness, while we celebrated & escaped & tried to love each other & ourselves.
Hari pulled me into the crowd, towards the DJ booth. To get there, we had to go deeper into the bunker, to the back of the throat. But people parted easily, swaying, happy to groove with you for a passing moment. There were some super cooked units, eyes staring out their ears, rubbing their sweating selves, in their own worlds. But most were cruising & bouncing, checking it all out, digging it, big pupils & bigger smiles.
doof doof doof doof-d-doof doof doof doof-d-doof
We reached the back of the throat, which was the front of the dancefloor. They had hectic speakers set up. The sound was off its head. If we got busted, you’d wanna have a plan to save the gear from within this cornered space. Hari said hi to the DJ as I followed, stepping through people. The moving lights disoriented you in the darkness. Hari passed me a cap. I took it, dry swallowed.
It had been such a healthy start to the day.
And there was a girl dancing there, where we were, facing out across the crowd from behind the DJ booth. She seemed familiar. The girl with the gap teeth from that warehouse party. Winnie?
The cap caught in my throat for a moment. Tears appeared at my eyes as my tongue pushed saliva down the back of my Cave of Wonders & I managed to choke & swallow.
The girl noticed me, and smiled, and I smiled & wiped my face as the kick drums disappeared & a deep synth stab picked up. Hari grabbed me.
“I fuckin love this tune,” he screamed. “Listen, Jacques Greene and, and Cadence Weapon, I think. Hectic shit. Geniuses. Welcome, bruddaaaaa.”
I had called him late, but I was right on time for these nocturnal humans. Hari introduced me to the guy next to Winnie.
“Giao,” said the guy, then motioned to the girl. “My cousin.”
We introduced ourselves again, sly smiles hinting at our familiarity. I was wrong. Her name was Wendy, not Winnie. Her outfit wasn’t quite so wild as before – slim-fit trackies & a colourful windbreaker. Hari immediately interrupted.
“Get amongst this shit, LISTEN …”
And so we listened & danced & looked & felt & tasted all in the flashing sweating darkness, where people moved, where people were moved, where the Wonders were, where we were. We were swimming in the sesh. The sea roared somewhere below. The sermon had begun.
Through cerulean hue
Praise place comes into view
Chants fill up the room
Strange sounds underneath the moon
Hands raised to the roof
Grey slate under black boots
Best friend you never knew
Miracles coming out the blue
Circle dance like a Quaker
Brings me right back to the pit
Eyes search for a saviour
Never know when this is it
Preaching to the congregation
Club burning up, conflagration
Bread & wine, consecrated
Let’s have a conversation
At night service
Saturday mass
Night service
Saturday mass
All the nights with stained glass
In the future see the past
Night service
Saturday mass
You look at everyone & marvel at it. Human beings just moving to the rhythms of invisible sound waves. We make it so beautiful. Imagine, some ancient beat our ancestors danced to together, around their lights, their fire, their clear & unadulterated stars. Here we are. Dancing in a concrete bunker, under threat of prosecution.
At some point a bunch of us left to smoke & see the place from outside. Hari, Wendy, Giao & I bustled through the crowd to the outskirts & walked around and up. You could sit on top of the bunker, legs dangling off the edge, looking out across an endless horizon, vast clouds, lit by the city, sending that orange light to dance faintly atop the sea. Headlands stretched north & south into misty blackness. It wasn’t sunset, and thankfully I wasn’t drinking goon, but I spared a moment for Kafi & his dreams of freedom. And what of Ria’s dreams of freedom? What of so many human beings’ freedoms?
“I think I met you at that church warehouse sesh,” Giao was saying.
Hari & Giao were rolling darts above their baccy pouches. I took a lighter & a mint tin from my pocket, popped the lid. Out slid my joint. Wendy just looked out across the sea & sipped her water bottle.
“Yeah, we met briefly,” I said to Giao, lighting up the tip. “You dance well, I remember.”
Giao chuckled as he popped the rollie in his mouth. “You danced with Wendy, I remember.”
We all wore smiles of mischief. Except Hari. Hari’s rollie dangled from his mouth, the strings of tobacco poking out the end of the lil white tube. He was looking at his phone.
“What’s wrong?” I said after an exhale. I felt the cap tickling my muscles, the first ripples running through my body, the ocean air lifting us higher atop the headland bunker.
Breathe in, deeply.
Breathe out, deeply.
doof doof doof doof-d-doof doof doof doof-d-doof
“I need to leave,” Hari whispered in my ear. His eyes were glassy, but maybe that was just the gear.
“Is everything ok?” I asked him, also in a whisper, while Giao & Wendy chatted. “Your mum? Your cousin?”
“A client …”
“Brudda, you only just got here. Tell him to wait a day.”
“I normally would.” He pressed his palms into his temples. “This is my time, brudda, my holiday, for a night. But this … this is one you just don’t say no to.”
“A Servant?”
But Hari was already saying goodbye to Giao & Wendy. We all stood up & hugged. I offered to walk him back, but he said not to worry, enjoy the party, he’d prefer to go alone, but of course he’d prefer to stay. He turned his back to us & the wind, lit the rollie, exhaled, and walked off into the darkness, back to civilisation.
The come up was hitting me hard. The wine sloshed in my stomach. With Hari’s departure, my heart was a mongrel baby animal, crying & screaming. I felt stranded on this strange bunker, surrounded by black waters. I wanted to be home & snuggled up with other warm loving bodies, with Hari, with Cristi, safe, maybe some hidden sanctuary in this ancient land, somewhere that The Org doesn’t know about or think it owns.
“Are you ok?” Wendy asked.
Giao stood staring after Hari with a strange look. “I really wanted to fuck him tonight,” he said, shaking his head.
“I was asking you,” she said, putting her hand on my forearm, gently touching, like the light atop the sea that spread before us.
“I dunno,” I said, looking at the splotches of grass & dirt & gravel at my feet. “I dunno.”
“Fuck this,” said Giao. “Let’s dance.”
We began descending. I offered the j, Giao accepted, Wendy waved it away.
“We get random drug tests,” she said. “I’m happy just to have a late coffee & dance.”
“You seemed super on it when we met.”
“It was my birthday, my first & only time.” We went down single file, Wendy & I holding hands, for support, until we were near the mouth of the bunker. “Giao asked if I wanted to go to a party. I was stressed out. The new job had been tense. I’d never really been out with him. It was very different. I would never dress like that normally.”
