Twilight Breakout Page 11

  “Yeah.” I lied. Nothing outstanding, the usual traffic, if they had known what I was doing would they have looked as we glided through the long bend. Soon speed would warp my time, send me to a new universe. I was practically there, looking at Kerry from another dimension. The approach warped the moment again, slower and slower, the hectic curb, a welcome relief of speed.

  “I’d come in with you but I’ve got to get back to Todd.” Hers was the hard part. The luggage at my feet, she approached after a mercifully silent pause, her embrace was violent and unknowing. She turned and rounded the car, letting me watch her go off around police cars and rental car mini-vans into the traffic.

  The large creatures measured the landing strip be-fore dipping down to their final silent approach. I returned to the TV, it was 3rd and 10 and I was hoping for a last gift from Danny Boy. The kid next to me was asking questions. I would have brushed him off but his sadness longed for affection. He reminded me of a younger, nicer me.

  “You’ve been to Spain?”

  “My mother’s Spanish, I used to spend summers there. I’d like to go back someday.”

  “So is mine. Maybe you will. I can’t believe he fumbled the interception, hope springs eternal, shit, off sides again.” The clock ticked for all of us, only Danny seemed to know how to take control of it. Bonded in our football devotion, one last chance, 3rd and goal from the 15. The seconds ticked away as they raced to the line of scrimmage for the apparent spiking of the ball to stop the clock . The bar was now surrounded, all eyes on the screen, we never completely lose hope while there’s still time left. The quick count, the arm crashing downwards but the not the ball, a squirming OJ scoop-ing the ball up in the near corner of the end zone, it was a good omen I thought. “This time I really have to go, take care Parker.”

  “Good luck.” I walked to the gate thinking the Gods were with me.

  Spring

  CHAPTER 23

  The small, delicate fingers twined the ends of the paper with an attention not becoming of a man. There are things that we have to learn over and over again, for me it was that solitude was preferable to all but the most select, or sensual, of company. I knew that if I smoked it would mean a quick exit, the music lent itself to hip thirty year olds and despondent bartenders. “George, you’ve got to get them to sign something or they’re just going to take advantage of you.” He fin-ished rolling and gave me the honor of lighting up. Inma’s maternal interest in poor George’s problems made her unattractive. I was reminded of her last boy-friend, the ex-con who liked to ruff her up.

  “But how? I’m just tired of being taken advantage of, the idea was mine.”

  “But the money is theirs.” I added. She looked at me as if I were the bad patriarch.

  “I know, but I set up the restaurant, found the place, the cook. I did everything, and now I can’t even take 20,000 pts from the cash register.” The frustrated English teacher in Valencia who spent all his money drinking and eating out decided to jump the line and see if he couldn’t make some money where he had been spending it. He could always go back to teaching. The poor conversation wasn’t letting me drink well. I or-dered another one anyway. “So, John, have you been looking for anything?”

  “I’m still thinking about it. I just don’t know about teaching again.”

  “Why did you come back? George told me you had a good job in Florida.” The question occurred fre-quently, and I had my prepared answer but what frightened me was that I had forgotten why. It had been so clear before I left, the decision so cutting that I had never really thought why. I was just sure that I didn’t want to die in America, it wasn’t the place to do it. I was the whale who had found the beach but had forgotten what to do.

  “I needed a change. I guess, life’s too long to spend it all in the same place.”

  “Couldn’t stay away, could you, he partied like crazy when we taught together.”

  “We live better here.” As if she had ever lived an-yplace else. George was getting uncomfortable; we had never really had that much fun together, the occasional good conversation, but always over an after work beer. Our nights were different. I suddenly lost the anxiety to leave, the night and the city scared me and the bar transformed itself into a safe haven. “How’s Nacho?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in along time, thank god.”

  “You have been away for along time.” I just want-ed to let her know I still knew her.

  “So you’re back with Irene.” She tried to set the trap.

  “No, she’s just letting me stay at her place, they have an attic they’re letting me use.”

  “Is she still with Chema?” Irene’s flings could have filled the pages of ‘Hola’. That I was staying in a house that she owned with Chema, whom she had lived with for ages, while she was in Madrid with Eli didn’t seem to go down well with her.

  “No, she’s with Eli, you know him, don’t you?” I looked at George as he rolled another joint. The thrill of the escape was over and the idea of spending the rest of my life with these people was terrifying. I needed a definite end, a destination. They were happy to see me go, never a nice feeling. The lonely stroll home re-minded me of the hundreds of times I had wound up alone after having left home full of hope, hope to find women, to laugh, to have a good conversation, almost always to find myself alone. Kerry had always said I was anti-social, and maybe she was right. To connect with people, to feel friendship was something I had lost in youth.

  The lights of the port lifted my spirits as I trudged on toward Irene’s house. They were a door to the world, a universe that made me feel small, comfortably small. Through the port towards Cabañal, the small town beside the port. The streets were quiet, far from the outlandish night life of Valencia and I approached a suited man in front of me. The big black shoes remind-ing me of Harry, and all the Harry’s I had known, the decided monotonous pace infuriated me, the city dis-gusted me. He didn’t even have the courtesy to give me a nervous glance before he slipped his card through the slot to open the ATM machine. I turned the corner and stopped, fuck him, let them throw me in jail. I picked up half of a brick and waited for the door to open, but he had gone the other way and I lost my nerve.

  The wide road that followed the beach was full of whores in the end of the night. I passed them on the other side of the street, waiting for one, then I saw her. Strong legs and wild hair, she strutted with force and I crossed the street. We walked up the stairs to the door of the house that wasn’t mine. “You want a whiskey or something.”

  “Give me a beer.” I gave in quickly, she had want-ed more, strange in a whore. She talked about her kid, hadn’t seen her in months. She swore she wasn’t a junky but I didn’t believe her. “What kind of food do you eat in America?”

  “Turkey.”

  “We had Turkey for lunch.” She had been drink-ing but she wasn’t drunk, from Pamplona.

  “I knew a lot of Opus Dei people up there, what a bunch of pricks.” The sun was beginning to rise on a dead calm ocean.

  “My brother is an Opus monk, lives in one of their residences, he doesn’t even go home for Christmas. He came down, tried to help me.” Her thighs we strong and firm, big breasts and all that wild hair.

  “It must be dangerous.” I stared out the window drinking another whiskey. I had to bend over to look out the small window, my back was to her open legs. I wanted her to stay.

  “Yeah, three Italian guys took me to their hotel the other day. I was sucking on one, whacking off the oth-er and the third guy is giving it to me from behind, but not up the ass, I don’t like that, it hurts. They keep ask-ing me, come on, come on, let us give it to you up the ass. They start putting cash on the bed. I finally say yes, all three of them gave it to me. I thought I was gonna die, but what was I gonna do, you never know, once I met these Arab guys on a train, they wanted me to go with them back to Morocco, make some kind of fuckin slave
out of me, a lot of weird stuff goes on.”

  “The first time you do heroin, what’s it like, I mean, do you get sick?”

  “You wanna do some?”

  “Maybe.”

  “The first time you shoot up you usually throw up, you’ve got to be careful not to take to much.”

  “How do you know how much to take?”

  “I’ll show you, we can get some if you want.” Watching the light on the water in the crampy attic I decided what the end would be, and it wouldn’t be a bad one. A bottle of whiskey, a friendly whore and then whamo, a shot of pleasure and its all over.

  “Not now, but maybe another day.”

  “Whenever you want, here, this is my number, you can always get hold of me. You know I don’t usually hang around talking afterwards, can I take a shower?” I sat in the kitchen in the silence of the departure of someone I liked. Whores usually made me feel pa-thetic, but I had enjoyed her, the sex, looking at her and talking to her. She was my guardian angel who would bring me to a happy end.

  The key rattled behind the door, the four-by-four maneuvered its way through the kitchen and into the patio behind. “Can you give me a hand?” Giving Chema a hand could sometimes be like joining the for-eign legion, or in his case, the People’s Army. Seventeen four-by-fours up the stairs, the sweat poured off me and the edges of my perspective dazzled in white. I remembered helping my father as a kid, the silence, never knowing where the end was. Chema act-ed like Irene’s father but he wasn’t going to be mine for as much as he tried. He mercifully looked upon his prodigal son, his knee bouncing. “Let’s go have some breakfast.” I had a beer and a slice of tortilla while the boss went for more traditional morning grub.

  “How’s the trade school going?” He held a bu-reaucratic post in charge of giving the lost youth a skill and a supposed future.

  “We’re trying to get together a convoy to take medical supplies to the Sahara. We’re still trying to get the truck.” To save the world, what balls, if I could on-ly save myself, the man had no limits, all for the revolution. A strong thirst brought on a burst of clarity, the cold beer with endless cigarettes. Chema never held it against me. He spoke in a low voice, the eyes eva-sive. “Would you like to go?” The idea of running around the desert with a bunch of juvenile delinquents and Chema made me shiver, but I knew the truck would be a long time in arriving.

  “I’d love to. I’ve never been to the desert.” He liked the adoration, and I needed a place to sleep.

  “Why did you leave, Irene told me you had a good job?” I decided he wouldn’t have asked if she had told him.

  “Things got out of hand, I owed a lot of money. I hated my job, I needed a change.” Chema’s life had been dedicated to rescuing lost people. I could feel the eyes begin to pierce me, my salvation was at hand. I was weak, tired, lonely and although I had always de-tested being part of anything, the idea of becoming one of Chema’s lost souls was inviting.

  “At some point you’ve got to put some reason into your life.” The sun couldn’t escape the morning cloud cover, what had begun as an overcast morning was be-coming a rainy day. “Any kind of revolution needs a goal, without one it’s all senseless violence, you’ve made the first step, now take the next one.” If only I could believe it, but the only force that kept me alive was my mental honesty, to fall into his trap would mean surrendering. I hadn’t done all I had done to become someone’s lackey. “When you feel like your ready, come see me, maybe we can find something for you.” It was more than anyone had offered me in a long time.

  CHAPTER 24

  The long loud table quickly filled with plates of fresh anchovies and sardines, fried squid and grilled small clams. Beer, wine, snails, blood sausage; they kept coming and coming, George took the legs off the shrimp as if he were dismantling a watch. My palette growing steadily more ecstatic with each new delight. The blood shot eyes of Andrés searing across the table, his deep melodic voice setting the rhythm. My head was afraid to turn right to see what seemed to be to good to be true. I’d wait and let the night decide. Wine and more wine, laughs and food. I looked at her and spoke with her without ever really looking at her. The key moment in any seduction is the long, mutual look, the stare deep behind her eyes into the streaks of color and light that create the eye, the light hidden behind the color, the hope inside the black nothingness.

  She listened, laughed and looked, which was all that I needed. My hand approached the ashtray, the drags on the cigarettes endlessly long, our pinkies mil-limeters away, mine dancing with anticipation, looking for a way to touch its feminine equivalent. I could feel the energy shooting between the fingers, finally I slid the soft bottom end of my pinkie over hers. She coun-terattacked and we began the dance of love amid ceramic jars of wine and a table full of food. “John, let’s go to the bathroom.” I bid a momentary farewell to my Lady of the Sea, María del Mar was her name and followed George into the bathroom. With his lips closed tightly he ripped the small paper in two, leaving me a lone strawberry to consume. “They’re really strong, you might want to take a half.”

  “How many are you going to take?”

  “A whole one.” So did I. The shy smile was re-freshing and welcome, drinks were served and I revered in my good fortune. This night was the most I could have asked for. There was no dreaming left for me. Even on the most optimistic of nights, I had to settle with the pleasures a night could bring me. If I hadn’t drunk so much I might not have taken the acid; from the bowels of my mind what death tainted horror could the drug extract?

  Mar was a hairdresser, but unlike many of her co-horts, she refrained from excessive makeup and intricate hairstyles and offered the simple and sweet image of an attractive brunette in her mid-twenties. By the time we got up to leave I was feeling the effects of the drug, my mind was kidnapped by the forces of good. I would be for a night an angel of peace and happiness for Mar, only to turn into a rotting pumpkin come morning. The lights and sounds of the nightclub jumped and danced, all the faces were friendly and yearning, staring at me. I knew that they knew. I was convinced of it. I created a persona. I was the ambassador to the world of the frivolous from the empire of time. Conversations jumped out of peoples clothes and faces, the smiles were unanimous, my timing was infallible, all of this in a long circle around the club. Having been the ambassador of time I was permitted to live beyond the grasp of my master, at least temporarily. She glowed from between two friends, her smile warmer and lovelier.

  I fondled the ends of her hair. “The hairdresser’s hair, the soldier’s blood, the surgeon’s heart.” She smiled understandingly, unquestioning. We were leav-ing again, the traffic terrified me. The driver was a boy I didn’t know who spoke and laughed without stop. I curled my head towards Mar and gave her a long kiss, she responded with a smile and another kiss. My quite creator of beauty. “Mar, you bring beauty into the world instead of talking, your my angel.” Only more smiles and kisses, my hands swept across her body and her breathing increased. For a moment I longed for a life with a partner and a family, a death in old age and grandchildren. Mine was the quick and potent strike and I accepted the challenge, convinced that I had a choice. She launched a passionate attack of kisses and hugs before we left the car.

  The large bat symbol stared from across the parking lot, off bumper stickers, and from the sky above were it shone down from the spotlight that carried its image to the heavens. The hardcore dance music throbbed away at the spirits of the masses. I had the terrible sensation of descending into the depths of evil, of being initiated into a terrible sect. Inside roamed girls with dark lipstick and the boys with tight jeans and dark sneakers.

  We danced and drank and kissed for hours, my trip rose and rose, she held my ears and squeezed. “Let’s go back to the car.” I swung the full condom onto the pebbles of the parking lot and fell back into her arms. The slam of the door woke me to the serious face of the now s
ilent and serious driver. I worried if he was an-gry, but too nervous to speak. The yellowish light of dusk brought us through unfamiliar side streets and by early morning customers in bars. “Mar, I’ll leave you here on the corner.” Her last smile towards me was full of compassion and faith.

  “Come by the salon, you know where it is, OK.” Another long kiss and off she went. She looked at the car as we sped towards the beach. It slid quickly be-tween a truck and a taxi and the silent driver turned to shake hands, two kisses from the co-pilot and I returned to the world of being alone. The moist morning air coated the orange world with the distant drums marking a constant funeral rhythm. My state of mind, which had seemed to return to near normal had begun to expand again. I feared the morning’s lack of strength, physical exhaustion. My worst enemy would then attack the weakest point of my psyche and leave me terrified. As this moment approached the acid made its return, a wave of energy swept through me brushing away the fear and loneliness.

  A roamed through the still soft light grateful for the energy that protected me from my fears until I crossed the path of two policemen whose stare reminded me of my precarious state. The reflection of my pupils was enormous in the window of the negligee store, plastic legs covered with pantyhose faded into the enormous black hole at the center of my eye. My steps followed the careful banging of the drum 20 yards ahead of me. I continued beside the procession, the large wooden crucifix swaying above the pointed black hoods. I stopped with the procession. I had been delivered from the pounding rhythm of the temple of vice to the hypnotic and ceremonial beat of Good Friday. Christ would be crucified again this morning amidst the Roman pomp, a singular beat on the drum and it moved forward, the drummers expressionless, the caped and hooded men anonymously receiving for-giveness.