‘Have you packed your gear?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you are leaving me? Not just going to the airport.’
Martin spoke firmly. ‘You invited me for a brief stay. “At least for the week,” you said.’
‘But things changed. I fell in love with you.’
Martin felt unable to offer any response that would be acceptable to Bella. He remembered a quote from The Magus: an answer is always a form of death. He was also irritated that there might be a melodramatic scene. Nevertheless, it would be best if he heard Bella out.
Bella raised her voice and spoke more rapidly. ‘I declare my love for you and you say nothing. Nothing! That says everything Martin. You don’t love me, Martin. Never have!’
Bella offered an invitation for Martin to rebut. Allowing him time to defensively declare that he had loved her, did love her or would love her but…but, if he offered her a but that would shape a skeletal framework for his spinelessness. Martin remained silent, despite his increasing sense of frustration at Bella’s neediness.
Bella climbed out of bed and knelt as a supplicant in front of him, holding him around his knees. ‘Martin. Sunny. Please don’t go, I beg of you.’ Her grip tightened and he felt her hands shake and saw tears run down his trousers. Martin stepped away despite being aware of risks of escalation. He just did not want a scene. He needed to get to the airport.
Bella moaned. ‘I’m so fucking worthless. Unlovable. Useless, useless, useless! Everyone rejects me.’ She was rubbing his legs, pleading and humiliating herself. But Martin, the man and the doctor viewed by all as distinguished by his empathy, felt no wish or need to stroke her head, to lift her to her feet and to hug her, or to offer reassuring words. Not because he was no longer bewitched by her beauty – although her haggard shape and tear-stained face now compromised her radiance – but because he detected an aura of masochism, and he had no wish to provide any complementary sadistic component.
After minutes of crying and pleading, Bella stood up and walked towards the bed, but turned before she got there, flinging the plate first and the cup second at Martin. He ducked and the plate smashed into the wall behind him, while the bacon slid down the creamy curtain. The cup missed him but some of the coffee hit him in the eyes and he was transiently blinded.
Bella pounded his chest, screaming at him. ‘You fucking bastard! You cheap shit! Your wife goes away and you look for someone to screw for the week. And when your wife’s back you’ll tell her you love her and how you missed her and never get round to mentioning that you’ve been trying to slam your dick into me ten times a night. And so proud of your dick. You know what? There were times when I didn’t know when it was in! You’re so fake!’
Bella slumped to the ground. She moaned and reached out to grab Martin by his legs again but this time he was able to step away from her before she made contact. He spoke quietly.
‘Bella. I too can’t reconcile my behaviour.’
He went to the bathroom to wash the coffee off his face and the stains off his shirt. Opening the bathroom door slowly, he wondered whether he would come under attack again. She was not in the bathroom. Martin headed for the living room. She was not there. He picked up his luggage bags, his medical emergency bag, and wrapped his coat around some clothes that needed washing. He was feeling increasingly stressed and, as he did not want to go back into depression again, he swallowed the last two of the unmarked tricyclic tablets, and walked to the entrance hall. The hall light beamed down. Bella was lying in front of the front door, her head resting on it, while her eyes – no longer glowing but now Martin viewed them as malignant black panther eyes – fixed on his approach. She was naked. Her legs were spread widely apart, effecting a cloacal barricade. She spoke quietly. ‘You fuck me or you fuck off. The options are mutually exclusive.’
Martin was alert to her metaphor. If he were to walk out he would have to walk over her and all she thought that Martin judged her to have on offer.
It was the first time Martin had ever seen Bella fully naked. No clothes, no necklace, no ankle bracelet and no fingerless gloves. Her wondrous olive skin now a paler tan. And then Bella slowly rotated her arms, as if about to give a blessing. Martin could see the source of the blood that lay on the floor around her, oozing from her arms, onto the marmoreal entrance hall floor. He moved quickly to judge the urgency of the situation. Each arm had half a dozen fresh cuts but he also saw old scars, each arm having been extensively scarified. Her perfect body not so faultless. He picked up the tomato knife lying on the floor and threw it behind him. His brain reverted to medical mode and he assessed both the current risks as well as the potential scenarios. He chose not to search the bathroom for antiseptics and bandages as Bella might harm herself again if he left her. The parapet could be reached in seconds. While there were obvious risks if he were to treat her. And the bleeding would settle in several minutes. It was all quite exasperating as he would need to leave for the airport soon.
Martin walked backwards slowly and, maintaining his watch of Bella, called Dave Bradbury on his mobile, and was relieved to get through immediately. He spoke quietly, hoping that Bella could not hear.
‘Dave, Martin here. I need your urgent help.’ He offered no apology for any inconvenience and didn’t offer Dave a chance to speak. Just gave him the address of the apartment block and asked him to get there as fast as possible. He returned to stand in front of Bella, relieved that the blood had ceased to flow. She looked at him steadily but said nothing. They were in limbo. Hell’s border.
The knock at the door stirred Bella. She shuffled herself laterally on her bottom to allow Martin to open the door. Dave stepped through the door tentatively, and was clearly shocked by the sight of the blood and a knife on the floor. Martin was hovering some metres away rather than comforting or attending to the woman.
‘Martin! You’ve done an abortion? Now you’re compromising me. Getting me here makes me complicit, you fool!’
Martin glowered at Dave. ‘No.’
Dave backed away from Bella, before turning to look directly and severely at Martin. ‘What the fuck is going on here, Martin?’
Martin spoke impassively but so quietly that Bella would not have heard him. ‘This is Bella and she’s just reprised a scene from Fatal Attraction. Out of the blue, she’s cut herself.’
Dave grimaced and swore again. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Bella gave him a basilisk stare. ‘You don’t have an extensive vocabulary.’
Dave turned to her. ‘I’m Dave Bradbury. I’m a doctor and Martin is a friend of mine.’
Bella smiled at Dave. ‘I once thought Martin was my friend.’ And then she unleashed a vehement stream of invective. ‘But it was all bullshit. He just wanted to fuck me. As soon as his wife flew out he was into me. And now his wife’s getting back he’s off. Just wanted me as unemployment benefit for his dick. He’s a total scumbag.’ Bella was sobbing as she spoke. ‘He took me in. I fell in love with him and I was sure he loved me. He promised me everything. He asked to move in with me and I let him. He promised me a future.’
Dave turned on Martin. ‘You’ve been living here?’
Martin looked Dave directly in the eye. ‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve been having an affair?’
‘Yes.’ Martin appeared to have no misgivings.
‘My God, mate. You? I really feel like giving you a kick up the slats.’
Martin grimaced. ‘I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss my private life…’
‘It certainly appears to be the place.’
‘Dave. I need to get to the airport. In light of everything I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to treat Bella. I doubt whether the cuts need suturing. Just cleaning and bandaging should be sufficient. But I need you to make that judgment, not me, and assist her.’
Dave shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’m really astounded, Martin.’
Martin said nothing, simply patted him firmly on the shoulder bef
ore he picked up his bags and walked towards the door, skirting around Bella, who remained sitting, sobbing quietly.
He looked at her dispassionately. ‘I have to go now, Bella.’ He closed the door behind him, firmly but gently.
Bella yelled after Martin. ‘You conceited prick!’
She then stood up slowly, took the robe Dave had found for her, pulled it loosely around her and then swayed slightly. Dave went to support her but pulled back. Bella headed towards the dining room table, where she slumped in a chair. Dave sat opposite her.
‘There’s some antiseptic and bandages in the cupboard over the stove.’
Dave collected them and returned to his seat. Slowly Bella laid her arms on the table, her eyes down and her body slumped, a posture of abject resignation. As Dave cleaned the blood off her arms, he observed layers of old scars, mostly horizontal. He wondered how Martin, Martin of all people, could have become involved with a woman carrying so many scars, those on her arms almost diagnostic of her psychological scars.
Bella spoke slowly, her eyes following Dave’s cleaning of the wounds. ‘He said he loved me for myself. That he loved me enough that he was prepared to leave his wife. It just doesn’t make sense. Do you think he could be on drugs?’ Her voice rose. ‘Do you think that could be it? I did see some bottles in his bag and he could be quite crazed at times. Could he be on ice?’
Dave focused on bandaging the arms. ‘I doubt it, Bella. He’s not the type. But then what the hell do I know about Martin?’ He shrugged his shoulders.
Bella smiled. ‘Thank you, Dave. You have such gentle hands and you have been very kind. I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.’ She hesitated. ‘If there are any problems with the cuts, I mean, if they need a review or stitches, would I be able to see you? At your practice, of course.’
Dave looked at her firmly as he packed up some of the bloodied bandages. The next thing this Circe would be asking was whether he was married. ‘You’ll be right, Bella. They won’t need suturing.’ And then, feeling almost as angry at Bella as at Martin, he served her a finite facile farewell. ‘Have a nice day.’
MARTIN’S DRIVEN STATE
Having only an hour to get to the airport, Martin chose the fastest route. But he caught most red lights while an accident in the Lane Cove tunnel had traffic backed up on Epping Road. His agitation escalated as the risk of being late increased. And he was further irritated by thoughts of Bella having creating such a scene. He just had to be there to greet Sarah. He couldn’t risk staying on Epping Road. So he turned left onto Delhi Road, a rat run diversion that would bring him onto the Pacific Highway. Perhaps the Freeway would be a free way? He drove faster. And he rang Dave.
‘Dave. Did you get out of there OK?’
He grimaced as he cut across Dave.
‘Of course I can explain. She made me feel like Eros. It was far more than sexual. To Plato, Eros was the power that binds all things, the god underpinning man’s creative spirit, his search for knowledge, and his drive to find meaning to people’s existence. What!’
Martin scowled and became irascible.
‘Stop interrupting me while I’m interrupting you. I’m not rationalising! And if I’m being didactic it’s because you’re being a dumb shit. Plato, P-L-A-T-O, described how Eros causes people to yearn for a mystical and passionate union with another person. It’s been a revelation! My life instinct has been ignited. I now truly know Eros! I’ll now be able to dedicate myself to union at multiple levels. To others and with life’s possibilities. I will pursue arête, a nobler life, and even ensure a greater union with Sarah. Yes, Sarah will benefit…’ Martin glowered as he banged the phone on the dashboard. ‘You fucker! I thought you were my mate!’ He tried to ring the airport in the hope that Sarah’s plane might be late. The phone was dead. He had broken it.
As he headed down Delhi Road, he realised he was passing the Northern Suburbs Crematorium. Where he and Sarah had buried Edina’s ashes only weeks previously. And at that moment he heard Edina. Her voice was just outside his head and crystal clear.
‘Hi Martin. You certainly look as if you are in a hurry!’
Martin would forever remember that apocalyptic moment. Edina, his gentle mother was speaking from – and beyond – the grave.
‘Martin. Sunny. I’ll be your GPS navigational system. You concentrate on your driving and just trust me.’
She always sought to guide me through life, thought Martin, and now she’s my Navman!
He sped up. After crossing Fullers Bridge he saw that the lights had just turned red. He was about to jam on his brakes.
‘It’s OK, Martin. There are no cars coming. Pedal to the metal, boyo. Then a fast hill climb.’
And so he went through the red light, confident of Edina’s judgment.
Martin joined the Pacific Highway at Chatswood under Edina’s precipitous instructions and did not see the flash of the red light camera. He planned to take the access road to the Freeway but Edina’s voice cut in, somewhat raised.
‘There’s another jam on the Freeway and another in the Harbour Tunnel. Stay on the Pacific and get onto the Bridge at North Sydney. I’ll get back when you get through the toll to direct the next stage. Faster!’
Martin accelerated. He sped along the Highway, cutting in and out of cars as he passed them, and down to North Sydney. Edina had been right. The Bridge looked relatively clear while there was a bank-up at the Tunnel entrance.
As he drove across the Bridge, he switched from lane to lane, slowed by three cars aligned in parallel lanes and blocking him. He tailgated each alternately, becoming increasingly intolerant and agitated. And then Edina offered her advice, quietly chuckling.
‘Hey Martin. Remember Moses’ crossing of the Red Sea. I’m going to raise my staff, the two red cars will part slightly and you can fang through before the cars close up again. Go NOW!’
At the exact moment that one car changed lanes Martin accelerated through the gap, taking his car to nearly 100 kilometres per hour to ensure that he would be through before the cars rejoined their parallel paths. Martin was ecstatic. Like the Israelites who had broken through to dry ground, he was in the clear. While the sea of cars should have closed again they stayed apart. To let the police car, with its flashing roof lights rotating and siren wailing, access to pursue Martin. Who heard the siren just after Edina spoke.
‘Bummer. The Egyptian army has just got through.’
The police car shepherded Martin to the roadside just after the toll. The policeman stayed in his car, while a policewoman came up to Martin.
‘Sir, do you realise you were speeding? We clocked you at ninety-four.’
‘I’m a doctor, officer. Involved in an emergency.’
‘Why didn’t you phone for a police escort?’
‘My phone went dead.’
‘And the emergency?’
‘My wife’s plane is due soon.’ Martin looked at his watch. ‘It’s actually arriving right now.’
The policewoman looked at him for a few seconds. ‘That’s no emergency, sir. Your licence please.’ Her police partner slowly climbed out of the police car and then walked languidly towards them. What a faux Clint Eastwood walk, thought Martin.
Martin became imperious. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘I have absolutely no idea who you are. But your licence should assist.’
Martin handed it to her diffidently. ‘My licence whence makes no sense. I offer no defence as no offence. You show diligence but have no evidence. I offer no violence nor insolence. But in all my innocence and with deference I must recommence.’
The policeman looked quizzically at his colleague. ‘The oldest rapper I’ve ever heard.’
Martin looked firmly at them, and spoke rapidly. ‘I have to go now. I’m fine. My dead mother is navigating for me and she was always a safe driver.’
‘Your dead mother?’
‘She’s quiet now. Perhaps you’ve alarmed her. Let’s all be peaceful and then she’ll come
back. You can talk to her if you want.’
The policeman opened the driver’s door. ‘Sir, I want you out now. You are under arrest.’
‘Arrest? You jest, I suggest!’ As Martin continued to raise his voice, the officer handcuffed him and led him to the police car, Martin exclaiming, ‘You molest, I protest.’
In the car the policeman ran a check against Martin’s licence and then phoned through to his station.
‘Bob. We’ve picked up this middle-aged guy, speeding way above limit on the Bridge. No previous offences. But he’s got kangaroos loose in the top paddock. Said his dead mum was piloting him to the airport…Yeh…Yep. No, no smell of alcohol…Yeh. OK.’
The policeman turned to Martin who found it hard to sit with his hands cuffed behind him. ‘Your lucky day, sir. The sarge says to take you to hospital, not to the station.’
Martin moaned. ‘The plane. I’ve missed the plane.’
A MID-LIFE CRISIS IN TURRAMURRA
Sarah was through customs early and scanned the waiting crowd as she walked down the ramp, keen to see Martin. And to receive his sunny, warm, welcoming smile. She wandered through the crowd and checked the coffee bars. She then rang his mobile. It was dead. She called their home and the phone went to message bank. Unusual for Martin indeed, but she joined the taxi rank and while wending her way through – as well as during the forty -minute taxi ride – rang Martin and home several times. When she entered the house she was aware of a musty smell. Captain leapt all over her, excited but agitated. His drinking bowls were completely empty and he appeared desperate to get into the back yard. There was no note from Martin. She dropped her bags in the kitchen and played the messages on the phone. There were more than twenty, mostly perfunctory. The last was disturbing. A woman’s voice, speaking seductively.
‘Martin, it’s Bella here. Your mate Dave has gone and I’m by myself at the moment. As your wife’s away for a few more days why don’t you come around? How about coming for lunch? Cock on delivery as usual. Then I’ll prepare something for lunch and we can fuck all afternoon. Love you.’
In Two Minds Page 14