Mistification

by Kaaron Warren

  We had planned to do this, talked about it. How we'd toss the addiction, start our lives again.

  Then this doctor comes around and tells us that heroin as a substance is not addictive. We all looked around at the cardboard of our homes and someone said, "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "So we're not addicted?" The doctor agreed, but said we may be addicted to the additives in heroin. He said if we had pure heroin we would realise his truth.

  I didn't want anything from him. I hid in an old car we used, hid in the boot. Plenty of air holes there, bullet holes.

  This doctor passed out needles, fixes to everyone, thirteen I think there were. It was winter and a lot had found other places to go.

  Once they'd all been fitted up, the doctor left. I climbed out of my boot.

  I couldn't figure why I'd let the chance go. It was like someone offers you a glass of thirty year-old scotch when you've spent the last four hours chucking the cheap shit up. I'd had a bad run, been real sick, even thinking about going home.

  Then they stopped breathing one by one. What's he done, I thought, what's he done to them?

  I left them all there and went home for a while. I found out in the papers that all of them died, so I guess that's the end of the BBQ reunion in ten years' time where we could have said, "Hey, remember that doctor?"

  By the way, I didn't sleep with those two guys. I only slept with one, and we were going to get married and have kids. I was pregnant, you know, could be why I was so sick and turned down the fix. He's a good kid.

  I feel so fucking ripped off.

  #

  Marvo introduced her to a natural healer, a friend of Andra's. This woman provided healing by dispensing the juice of flowers and plants, juice to make a person feel good.

  Marvo spent some time at home again. He wanted to forget his work, to learn about himself and to find happiness. He remembered a time he was very happy; when the tea reader saw a spider in his cup and he made love to Andra for the first time.

  He became obsessed with spiders, thinking that their majesty could help him sort himself out. Their lives are so perfectly designed, their needs all met by materials within their own bodies.19

  Andra felt bamboozled, run over. She hated spiders; always. She had no fear of failure, of public speaking, heights, small spaces, faeces, outside, dust, serial killers, rape, flying, drowning, eating red meat or dying. But spiders, their furriness; she imagined them living inside her, feeding off her stomach lining. She hated the song about the old lady so many children learn and love.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a fly

  I don't know why she swallowed that fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a spider

  That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

  She swallowed the spider to catch the fly

  But I don't know why she swallowed that fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a bird

  How absurd to swallow that bird

  She swallowed the bird to catch the spider

  That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

  She swallowed the spider to catch the fly

  I don't know why she swallowed the fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a cat

  Fancy that! She swallowed a cat

  She swallowed the cat to catch the bird

  She swallowed the bird to catch the spider

  That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

  She swallowed the spider to catch the fly

  But I don't know why she swallowed that fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a dog

  What a hog! She swallowed a dog!

  She swallowed the dog to catch the cat

  She swallowed the cat to catch the bird

  She swallowed the bird to catch the spider

  That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

  She swallowed the spider to catch the fly

  But I don't know why she swallowed that fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a cow

  I don't know how she swallowed that cow

  She swallowed the cow to catch the dog

  She swallowed the dog to catch the cat

  She swallowed the cat to catch the bird

  She swallowed the bird to catch the spider

  That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

  She swallowed the spider to catch the fly

  But I don't know why she swallowed that fly

  Perhaps she'll die.

  I know an old lady who swallowed a horse

  She's dead of course.

  Andra, as a child, had frozen with terror the first time she heard this song. She learnt never to breathe through her mouth in case a fly flew in – a habit she retained. She never had a cold because she protected herself so carefully against it, the teas and nutrients she took throughout the year were adequate protection. Anything to avoid swallowing that fly. It was the idea of being dead, of course, the certainty of it.

  As his obsession grew, she knew he would not give it up for her because he revered and respected spiders. He even feared them, but only superstitiously. He told her never to kill a spider, because a piece of china or glass would break before the close of day.

  A new spider appeared while Marvo was out. He had not seen it; he did not know it existed. Andra killed it. Wiped its juices from the wall, flushed its body down the toilet.

  "Hah!" she said. "Let's see what happens with a death you don't know about."

  She was careful, handling dishes and glasses, all day. She cooked a good meal because she felt guilty; she knew how hurt he would be that she had wilfully killed one of his precious spiders. It had become a battle; his success would mean she was more than ever under his spell.

  He came home quite late. He unpacked some packaged food and hid it around the house, and placed a bottle of wine on the bench. She reached for it to see its label, misjudged the distance, knocked it onto the floor where it smashed and spread like a blood stain.

  "Not the wine," said Andra. She wiped the mess up furiously, like she wanted to forget the accident had happened.

  Marvo sensed that Andra's guilt did not match her action.

  "It was only wine," he said. "Nothing."

  She kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

  "I can't forgive you if I don't know what you're sorry for," he said. She would not tell him, and the secret grew. It became more important with time, and by the time she confessed, she felt as if it was murder.

  "Spiders bring good luck and prosperity to a house. Don't forget that," he said.

  Marvo told her this story of an ancestor as he convinced Andra to allow spiders to roam free in their home.

  Spider Man

  In Rome there was a magician whose skills were in great demand. He did not want for anything; his clients paid in produce, in money, in kind. He enjoyed the life success brought him; in the end it caused his downfall.

  This magician kept spiders in every corner of his house. He let insects come and go to feed his spiders; apart from that the pets got no care.

  In fact, every time the magician needed to see the future, he would destroy a web. He would summon his client when the spinning began, and they would sit together and watch as the spider spun her web, though both male and female spiders spin, so it could well have been a male. Then he would give the forecast; success or failure in a venture or love. Then he would destroy the web, to have the next story spun. Answers to questions. He was right almost every time, and as his reputation grew, so did his worth. He never asked for reward – certainly never specified an amount. But as he became more famous, the Romans assumed he would ask more, so that is what they gave.

  He became very famous, for his sight in some circles, for his wealth in others.


  A new spider moved into his home. He summoned a client and they sat to watch the spinning of the web. The magician saw death. He said to the client, "You must be careful, and you must watch over your loved ones." Strangely enough, it was not the client who died. My ancestor, the web-reader, was robbed and killed within a few days of the vision. Robbed of his goods, his coloured cloth, his money, his jars of ointment. They beat the magician up and left him to die.20

  #

  "Also, a baby was left behind, casting suspicion on every woman of childbearing age. They found it playing at the magician's side, plopping his hands up and down in the blood which covered the magician's back.

  "That baby is a mystery never solved by Roman officials. For want of any relative, and bowing to public pressure, the child inherited the magician's home and any belongings not stolen by the thieves. That child became a part of the family line. And now let's go out and have a dance."

  Marvo never let Andra question him about the family stories he told her. She wanted to know, for example, how an orphan could inherit a rich man's chattels, in old Rome or the modern day. They were not treated as important. Once a child lost both parents, they lost their final protection: the people who traditionally would die for them. Their buffer against the world. No one would ever take the place of parents, blood or adoptive.

  Andra said, "So, did he die of wounds, your ancestor? Did they beat him across the back? Where did such blood come from?"

  Marvo said, "There was once a great writer, a woman of talent and foresight. She was renowned for her logicality; she wrote about progress. It was her fame; she disavowed superstition, disapproved of myth. It was only when she died they found a tube by her side, the tube they had thought of as a mitre, a staff, a symbol of her power. The tube was hollow, as tubes are, and it was empty."

  Marvo knew Andra would ask questions. Let her ask about this invention.

  "But how did she die?"

  "Can't you guess?"

  "Was she murdered?"

  "No."

  "Did she die naturally?" Andra asked.

  "What do you mean by that? All death is organic."

  "Did she die because her time was up? Of illness?"

  "No."

  "An accident?"

  "No."

  "She killed herself?"

  "Yes."

  "Does it matter how?"

  "No."

  "Does it matter why?"

  "Yes."

  "She gave up. She ran out of ideas."

  "No."

  "She owed money."

  "No."

  "Her lover left her."

  "No. Think of the scene I described." Marvo suggested.

  "A woman. An empty tube. I suppose the tube was connected to her death."

  "Yes."

  "Was it the method used?"

  "No."

  "So. The method is unimportant but I'd like to know. Pills?"

  "Yes."

  "OK. She took pills because of the tube."

  "You could say."

  "Because of what was in the tube."

  "You could say."

  "Because of what was no longer in the tube."

  "Yes."

  "The contents of the tube had kept her alive."

  "No."

  "Kept her wanting to be alive."

  "Yes."

  "Was it her inspiration in there?" Andra asked.

  "No."

  "Something which kept her sane?"

  "Yes."

  "Something which kept her capable?"

  "Yes."

  "Capable of writing?"

  "Yes."

  "What could that be? Not a special pen or a good luck charm, because she was not superstitious. What then?"

  "You give up?"

  "Yes."

  "Snakes' teeth, to ward off headaches and blindness. Someone removed them from the tube, and as she tilted it back and forth, a well-known habit, she realised the protection had gone. Her head began to ache, her vision to blur, and she could not continue. She did not wish to be a blind writer. She wanted to see, use her eyes, so she chose to die."

  "That's cheating. You said she was against superstition."

  "That's what she said," said Marvo.

  "And you said she killed herself. But really, someone else caused her to do so by taking the snake's teeth."

  "But it was a child who wanted something to play with. It was not a malevolent adult." Marvo was pleased with his trick. Tricking Andra was difficult; she rarely gave in.

  "Ask me another," she said.

  "What are you thinking when you give a gift? About how happy the receiver will be, how grateful? How clever they will think you, and how they'll show their friends the gift, giving you credit?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Then sort this tale out. A man fills a suitcase with toys and goes out onto the street to give them away. Why?"

  "He wants to take the children home."

  "No."

  "He has been bad and wants to placate the parents."

  "No."

  "He wants to change his reputation."

  "No. Do you give up?"

  "No!"

  But although Andra guessed for three days, the answer did not come.

  "Well?" she said at last. "Well?"

  "He gave the presents to make the children happy," said Marvo. He had tricked her again.

  It was his latest obsession. At a party, he counted the people, saw there were twenty-three. He said, "I would like to guess that there are two people here with the same birthday." As he did not know everyone, the other guests thought this was unlikely, and said so. Only Andra was quiet, having been stung a couple of times already.

  They went around the room, announcing their birth dates, and Marvo was proved correct.

  "It's mathematical," he told Andra later. "It was fifty-fifty that I would be right, and luckily I was."

  Marvo performed magic compulsively. At a small café, he entertained a boy with a sheet of newspaper and a glass. Firstly, he bought the boy a glass of lemonade.

  "Drink up, drink up," he said. "It's time to smash that glass."

  Andra knelt up behind him in the second booth. She ran her fingers through Marvo's hair, said, "What a bully."

  The boy finished his lemonade and Marvo removed a sheet from the newspaper.

  "Thinking of buying a house lately?" he asked the boy. The boy grinned and shook his head.

  "OK to use the real estate section then." Marvo tipped the glass over his head to see if there was any liquid left in it, and a few drops wet him. He glared at the boy, who giggled.

  Marvo moulded the newspaper over the glass. "Do you think I can make this disappear?" he said. The boy shook his head.

  "You don't believe me?" Marvo said, mock-hurt. The boy shook his head harder. Marvo lifted the glass behind his head and pointed to the table.

  "Feel the table. No trap doors? No secret compartments?" The boy ran his fingers over the table carefully. He shook his head.

  "Right. Let's vanish this glass." Marvo placed the glass back on the table. He raised his hand high and smacked the glass with a bang. He flattened the newspaper – the glass was gone!

  The little boy's eyes were wide with delight.

  "Where is it?" he asked.

  "Gone to get filled up with lemonade again," said Marvo. "Can't you see it under the table?"

  The little boy looked but he didn't find it. Marvo shaped the newspaper again and raised his arms.

  "Are you sure it's not on the table?" He lowered the glassshaped newspaper. "Sure?" he said. "Well, I guess we don't need the paper any more." He lifted away the paper and there was the glass, filled with lemonade!

  He made a coin stand on end in his fingers by placing a pin behind it and resting the coin on the pin.

  He made two straws repel each other by pretending it was science.

  He took a small ring threaded on a piece of string. "This is the shower ring from my very own shower," he tol
d people, giving details of how he lived. "I like a shower at night and in the morning. I like the taste of shower water as it comes warm out of the spout.

  "You hold this end, you the other," he said. People always wanted to help Marvo. The ring hung in the centre, and he threw a handkerchief over it.

  Marvo fumbled under the hanky, then removed it; a match was threaded through the ring.

  He asked one of the people holding the rope to remove the match; the rings fell free. He said, "Well done."

  He always guessed which crayon a person picked, when he visited the kindergarten. He turned his back, and someone chose a crayon. They gave it to him behind his back; he had a feel, then gave it back. When he turned around, he placed his hand on the forehead of the person who picked the crayon. Then he guessed the colour.21