I Have Demons

by Adam Christopher

  “How ’bout we end this night with a bang, eh? I think this calls for a little Tammy Wynette and some spicy dancing on my part. Consider it my little parting gift to all of you — including you, kiddo.” The boy took a step back. He didn’t mean to, but it was like his needle-thin body instinctively knew that it was best to retreat. “Yup, this is for you too — I bet at your age, anything would get you off nice and quick.”

  Kay turned around and hunted in a shoebox full of CDs, behind the counter. All the guests in the restaurant seemed frozen and silent — except perhaps Suzette. She fidgeted and stretched her neck to see what Kay was going to do next. Until now, she thought that nothing could beat the thrill she experienced when pocketing stir sticks and sugar packets — enough to now fill an entire drawer in her room. She was coming to the climax of the finale of a long-running soap, broadcast in 3-D. And she was right in the thick of it. But that internal voice of reason and good judgment that often grows stronger with maturity was making itself heard through all the excitement as well.

  Poor Kay is such a hard-working woman, but whatever she was hoping for tonight must have gone so wrong. Suzette looked around at the others in the restaurant. Everyone seemed wrapped in isolated shells of awkward silence. People avoided eye contact with each other. They behaved like an audience that came to a stand-up comedy night but then realized halfway through that the performance was taking an unexpectedly eerie and freakish turn. Kay was fumbling with the CD player at the front as the realization dawned on Suzette that she had to do something. Kay was becoming a pathetic spectacle, and it looked like things were about to get worse.

  Kay turned around from the CD player with something between a smile and a snarl, just as the song “Stand by Your Man” started playing. It began slow and slightly whiny — a humdrum, tawdry country tune working its way up to a melodramatic climax in the refrain. As Wynette ruminated about the centuries-old burden of being a woman faced with men who just can’t help themselves, Kay mounted the counter and stood up straight for a moment, before she methodically pulled off her nylons. The faces in the audience became blurry — blank ovals attached to sad bodies. She swung her nylons over her head like a lasso and gyrated her hips. It’ll land where it lands, she thought. She gave it one last twirl and then let it go. But it didn’t fly far, landing unceremoniously on the tile a few feet from the boy.

  Well that fell flat, Kay thought, disappointed, but she didn’t have much time to mourn her failed gesture of sensuality. Wynette’s voice was curling through the refrain a second time when a slight figure moved ever so precariously towards the stage. A few steps later, she could see it was the old French lady, walking tentatively, with her arms raised on either side to stabilize her, like a ghost hiding under bed linens.

  “Mon trésor, let me join you!” Suzette glanced up at Kay, who towered above her on the counter. Kay looked like Lady Liberty, but would she decide to look down for a moment from her frozen forward stare to hear a request from her people? Suzette whispered, as though she sought to partake in something exciting, and which she also knew was illicit.

  Kay felt paralyzed. This scrawny old lady had stopped her in her tracks. And now she wants what? Kay ran her fingers through her hair and noticed that the texture was thinner again at the top than the last time she had checked it.

  “Well, fuck it. Why the hell not.”

  Suzette pondered for a second on how to mount the stage. Kay pointed to a plastic stool next to the cash register. Suzette hurriedly made her way over, climbed the wobbly stool — oh, the head nurse at the home would never approve of this; if only she could be here! — took one big step, lifting her leg up to an angle that she had thought to be surely impossible and suddenly found herself on top of the world. She looked at her public and smiled graciously. They sat there so still. What a disciplined lot, what a wonderful audience! Everyone seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation of the next act. Suzette almost forgot about Kay, but she came to her senses as soon as she turned to the waitress standing next to her. She didn’t seem quite as tall now, nor nearly as confident. Wayward strands of hair were clinging to her sticky forehead. She looked tired, confused.

  “All righty then, I guess it’s all yours honey…” Kay waved her hands, seemingly in defeat. This was enough to bring Suzette crashing back to reality and to her mission here.

  “No, no! You’re not done yet, my dear! You know it’s the finale that everyone here will remember most from the performance, from this gift that you gave us this evening. We could have all had our turkey in silence, just filling our stomachs with food to survive and going home from this … this evening chore. No! You gave us more. You shook us up and woke us up!” Suzette’s pupils were a vivid indigo blue, staring at Kay with impassioned intensity.

  Kay put her hands on her hips and stared, bemused, at the little old woman next to her on the counter.

  “Are you for real, lady?” She glanced at the blank oval faces, still sitting motionless atop all these ill-proportioned bodies. Something in her wanted one of those ovals to nod at her, discretely indicating that it was okay and that they agreed with the old woman’s assessment. Everything would be just fine. But she got nothing. She looked for the boy but couldn’t find him. He was missing in action. Typical.

  Suddenly, Kay could feel a cold, bony hand gently wrap itself around her elbow.

  “Mesdames et Messieurs, the final act tonight is a simple but lovely ballroom dance featuring the enchanting Mademoiselle Kay!” A beaming Suzette turned from her public to Kay, who still had an expression of disbelief painted on her face. “Dear, go turn off that CD and set the radio to 98.4 FM. We’ll still catch a bit of The Flying Forties Evening Lounge. It’s music from before your time, but you’ll just love it!” Suzette was whispering, as though she was sharing a secret tip that she didn’t need the whole world knowing about.

  Kay stood frozen, just staring at the energetic old lady. Then she turned to the CD player sitting at the far end of the counter. “Well, it’s no skin off my back…”

  The smooth, dreamy sounds of the forties seeped into the restaurant, like warm water rolling up to all four corners of a porcelain tub, filling a previously cold space with a coziness that gives you goosebumps. She could hear the deep, sensual voice of a chain-smoking woman singing, but for some reason could not make out most of the words, except for the refrain:

  Climb down to me from your star,

  Through your fields of satin, carry me afar.

  Soothe me with your cool midnight embrace.

  Free me from this entangled web of lace,

  Let me saunter with you on the soft surface of space…

  Lost in the refrain, Kay didn’t even notice that the old lady was leading her through the steps of a ballroom dance. Her grandmother was the last person to lead her in the box step — almost four decades ago — on the middle of that ratty old Persian rug in the den, the one sprinkled with breadcrumbs, grape seeds and the odd safety pin. She had so much patience. Feet together. Watch where you put your weight. Left foot forward. Check your weight again. Now the right. Feet together. Now do all of that backwards.

  Suzette flowed. Kay was choppy. Suzette was barely conscious of her movements; they came naturally. Based on the expression on her face, her beautiful blue Boeing 747 had just landed safely in some distant, dreamy world and she was waltzing homeward bound over the tarmac. Kay was very much still here in this world, but something had changed. At first, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Was it the plastic counter that felt somehow wider than it should — a veritable, grand dance floor? — No, it wasn’t that, though it was a bit surreal and she couldn’t quite explain why they hadn’t fallen off the narrow strip yet. The room around her was dark, but she could still make out those ovals attached to deformed bodies. Those bodies seemed more relaxed than before, the ovals softer. She could swear that what before looked so severe was almost like a soft round ball of putty.

  The music gradually disappeared into the
distance. At first, it washed up softly against the restaurant’s foggy windows, before evaporating for good. Someone had turned the lights on, because now Kay could clearly see what was before her. Elmer and Moustache were sitting side by side on the bench facing the counter. Elmer seemed to be grinning, while Moustache twirled that toothpick around in his mouth with enviable skill. The Charbonneaus stood near the washroom door, arm in arm, with an expression that seemed to be a mix of bewilderment and muted pleasure. The boy, standing with some wires dangling from his hands, looked at Kay with a self-satisfied, artful smirk.

  Suzette found herself beaming as she faced her audience and tried to catch her breath. She was looking right above everyone’s head, just past an adoring crowd that seemed to have multiplied in number quite nicely. Two spotlights went on at the very back, illuminating the two of them for the whole world to see and marvel at. Surely the night nurse would walk over to her window wondering where on earth that light and thunder of applause was coming from! She would retrieve the phone from her purse and frantically text the head nurse at home using that language of abbreviations that serves as the mother tongue of young people these days.

  “Honey, I think we can get down from here now…” Kay was still squinting when she turned to Suzette, who clearly inhabited another realm. “The damned high beams on that car in the parking lot are about to burn a hole right through my cornea.”

  Kay hopped down from the countertop. She summoned the boy over to help her get Suzette down as well. But she could have probably lifted the old lady down on her own — she felt like a giant. As soon as the two were down, everyone in the audience encircled them.

  M. Charbonneau cleared his throat for what seemed like an eternity. His vocal cords must have been rusty. “You can really dance, there! Both of you!” Mme. Charbonneau clutched her husband somewhat awkwardly and nodded in agreement.

  Elmer scratched his head. “Yup. You gals put on quite a show for us now … quite a show, I say…”

  The boy chuckled quietly to himself as he looked at Kay. It seemed like the cat had caught her tongue again. He might as well relish the moment.

  “You should ask the boss man if he’ll let you put on a show like that every night. Bet it would help business. You know, even some younger dudes would get a kick out of you when you’re like that…” The boy mouthed the word “hot” and he pointed to Kay for all the audience to see.

  Kay put her hands firmly on her hips. “You little prick, you ... you and your little buddies can’t even begin to imagine what I can do!”

  Kay glanced over to her partner. Suzette’s eyes sparkled. “Marvellous, marvellous!” She took in the little semicircle of fans and friends around her. She had met them only a few hours ago and she hadn’t even exchanged a single word with some of them. But she knew them, they knew her and, after what they experienced together this evening, they were connected — all part of something together.

  “All right folks, thanks for coming. We better lock up now. Come visit us again, eh.” Kay walked over to the cash register. Elmer glanced at Moustache for a second before he spoke to Kay.

  “So, you know, you’d have to wait an hour to catch the bus at this time of night. We can give you a lift. Truck’s parked right around the corner. No sweat…”

  Kay smirked. “Look at that now, we’ve got a Good Samaritan here tonight!” Moustache slapped Elmer on the back of his head and returned to chewing on his toothpick. “Well, if my dancing partner is up for a little drive and is willing to keep us company, I might just accept your offer.”

  Suzette felt as though she had just hit the jackpot. At this rate, it would be well past midnight by the time she got back to the home. Just imagine the face of the night nurse! Everyone is going to hear about this.

  “Holy crap,” the boy muttered sarcastically. “You need a chaperone?”

  “Listen sweetie, you never know with buddy here what he’s really looking for, right?” Kay threw a set of keys to the boy, who barely caught them in time.

  Elmer moved up closer to Kay. “No need to think dirty, now. All I want is a tuna melt next time I come … on the house!”

  Kay was counting a stack of twenties in the cash register. She responded without looking up. “Better watch out with all that tuna you eat. That mercury won’t do you any good!”

  Suzette looked up — everyone seemed to be towering around her.

  “Mercury!” she exclaimed, as though she had struck gold.

  Before she knew it, they were all squished up in a rickety pickup truck, shoulder to shoulder in a row, Suzette right in the middle, with Kay on one side and Elmer, clearly in charge behind the wheel, on the other. It looked like Moustache, pushing up against the passenger door, would go flying out any minute. When they pulled out of the lot, that nice young man was untangling earbuds attached to his phone and the Charbonneaus sat behind fogged-up windows in their car. As they turned onto the deserted road, she could see Mr. Moon sitting in that oversized, rich navy-blue wing chair. It looked like he was drinking Campari and soda on ice. But for the first time, she saw that attached to his shiny, corpulent body were the puniest spaghetti legs. He dangled them, like an idle child, over the universe.

  I Have Demons

  “You like it sweet…” Father Solomon’s words formed an observation, not a question, and they came out more sardonic than he had intended. The dour-looking man sat across the antique coffee table. The round table’s dimension was small enough for you to feel the other person’s breath on your skin after a heavy sigh. He didn’t say a word. The thirty-something man with deep-set eyes, pronounced eyebrows and a worn-out face seemed fixated on the last drops of tea, which he stirred methodically, the steel spoon tapping rhythmically against the nearly empty porcelain cup. Steam rose from the teapot as Father Solomon replenished the cup. For a moment, the man vanished in the fog — Earl Grey serving as a protective, piping hot bergamot-scented haze.

  ***

  “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us. Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us. Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: grant us peace…”

  The age-old mantra, repeated by few, slid off the walls of the nearly empty, overheated chapel. Most days, Father Solomon was completely alone with the Divine, with only the muffled, but continuous, noise of cars, buses and people scurrying about on their lunch break, beyond the walls. This day he had company. Lifting up the host, he proclaimed mechanically: “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to His banquet…”

  The pasty white host, rising above the altar, blocked out a man fidgeting in the last row. He took off his toque, revealing dishevelled hair, and coughed violently. The woman sitting in the row directly before him turned her head slightly to the side. She wanted to catch a glimpse of this stranger behind her, but surely this wasn’t the time. They say that idle hands are the devil’s workshop. But so is frivolous, self-serving curiosity.

  A female voice mingled with a deep male voice, the latter now more pronounced than before.

  “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed...”

  The host, now transfigured, landed gently on the woman’s tongue, the thin bland wafer all but dissolving into the fissures and crevices. The man, a sunken face hiding behind a black beard, walked up with determination to Father Solomon. In a resolute gesture, the man crossed his arms over his chest, with his hands touching each shoulder — an unmistakable sign that he was not prepared to participate in communion, requesting instead a blessing from the priest. He stared at the priest with an eerie severity as Father placed his hand on the man’s forehead.

  “May God continue His good work in you...”

  Mass, after having weaved carefully through readings, psalms and prayers, reached its crescendo during the Eucharist and then wrapped up hastily. Father Solomon hovered over a stubborn green votive candle next to the altar.
It just wouldn’t be blown out. Inspecting it closely, he was startled when he realized that Mrs. Turner, a woman ever mindful of appearing proper, bundled up in a dark winter coat and wearing a head scarf, was standing next to him, peering with immense curiosity into that obdurate candle too.

  “Father, there’s a strange man over there. He’s not leaving.” She almost whispered this to him, gesturing to a blurry figure sitting in the background.

  “The Church is full of strange men, Mrs. Turner.” Father Solomon blew out another candle. This one conceded defeat without a fight. “As a matter of fact, I heard that once there was this odd man who raised a corpse from the dead, just by talking to it. Fancy that...” Father Solomon’s words were laced with sarcasm. The old Mrs. Turner was often too English for her own good.

  “Oh, what ever would we do now without the good father’s humour and his charitable nature!” Mrs. Turner smiled and adjusted the purse that dangled uncomfortably on her shoulder.

  “Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I assure you, Mrs. Turner.” Father Solomon spoke without a smile. He was conscious of it and knew he ought to soften up a bit. Once, a parishioner even asked him out of concern if he was unwell or just an overall malcontent.

  Mrs. Turner clearly wanted to make conversation, but there was something oppressive in the air, and Father Solomon felt impatient today.

  “Well then, I’ll be off I suppose. Oh, and before I forget, you know I’m in Toronto for the next few days, Father. My sister has taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid...” Mrs. Turner shook her head, but seemed otherwise resigned to the situation.

  “I am sorry...” There, that sounded much more compassionate, thought Solomon.

  “Well, we all knew the time was coming, though you never can really prepare, can you now? Of course, we all like to say we do...” Mrs. Turner paused reflectively.