A Glittering Chaos

by de Nikolits, Lisa

  He utters a sob. “It was the same time. I’m all alone, Juditha. All I have is my empty bed and my dead sister. I can’t bear to go to sleep at night. Why do you think I’m drinking so much? I have to.”

  “No you don’t, Hans,” Juditha says. “Oh Hans, what am I going to do with you? Listen, you’re an addict; addicted to the foot rubs and to the sexual release of masturbation. And now it’s like you’re in withdrawal and you equate the loss of your wife to the loss of your sister. Don’t you remember, you told me about what happened in Vegas when you were making love to Melusine and she thought you tried to strangle her? And now you’re taking that image, of you making love to your wife, with your hands around her neck and you’re transposing it onto your sister because you’re filled with grief and loss at having driven Melusine away. Can’t you see that?”

  “No. You’re wrong. I tried to strangle Melusine because I once strangled my sister and now that’s how I achieve sexual and emotional satisfaction,” Hans says in a flat voice. “You’ve got it completely the wrong way around, Juditha.”

  “But your sister’s alive,” Juditha insists, and she sounds almost desperate. “Come on, Hans. We’re so nearly there. Don’t give up now. Don’t do this now. Please.”

  “I’m trying not to give up,” Hans says, with his eyes closed. “But I can’t escape the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth. Oh, Hans. You’re worrying me. I feel like you’re in such a dark place.”

  Hans thinks she has no idea. He wonders if he should tell her about his latest, other, problem. But they’re nearly out of time. He’ll have to save it for their next conversation.

  She senses something. “Hans, what else? Tell me. We can talk for longer this time, please Hans, tell me, what else is going on?”

  He hesitates. “I … well you know I do the eye exams for the school kids?”

  She immediately senses what is coming. “Yes, I do. What happened?”

  “Nothing. Yet. It’s just that when I’m alone in the room with the girls, the fourteen-year-old girls, and it’s dark and they’re reading the letters off the wall, well, all I want to do is touch their feet. I just want to hold their soft naked feet, just for a moment.”

  “Dear god,” Juditha says. “Hans, this is going to get you into real trouble. Do you hear me? The nightmares are just your mind playing tricks on you because you’ve lost your wife but this, wanting to touch young girls’ feet, Hans, that’s sexual abuse. Listen, Hans you need to take a leave of absence from work. And then you need to find a doctor. Tell him you’re suffering from exhaustion and that you need some rest and help.”

  “Yes, right, and then who’ll pay your bills, Juditha? Don’t tell me you’ll take me on pro-bono.”

  “I couldn’t afford to do as much work with you as I am doing now, but I would never abandon you, never.”

  “Isn’t that what they all say? And yet look, out the door they all walk. And you will too.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Hans,” Juditha says very softly. “You’re in deep trouble. Forgive me for not having seen this sooner. The war on your soul is overtaking everything. Your ego is running rampant like a vigilante who would die rather than surrender. I’m very frightened for you. Please, we’ve known each other for a good amount of time, enough that you should trust me. And we’ve done deep work together. You must stop drinking and you must find help.”

  He is quiet. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

  She is relieved. “Fine then. I’ll talk to you once you’ve seen your doctor. Call him now and call me tomorrow at the usual time. Oh, Hans. I’m sorry. I should have been more aware of the toll this was taking on you.”

  Hans is suddenly very tired of talking to her. All he wants to do is sleep.

  “I must go,” he says. “Our time is up. Goodbye, Juditha, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He hangs up the phone and goes out into the receptionist’s office. “I’ve got another migraine,” he says. “I must go home. Please cancel all my appointments. I’m very sorry.”

  “You should see a doctor,” the receptionist says. “Forgive me for saying this, but you look terrible. Shall I phone and make an appointment for you?”

  Hans sinks down into a chair. “My head hurts too much to think,” he says. “I don’t want to see a doctor. I’m just going to go home.”

  “Let me drive you,” she offers but Hans shakes his head.

  “The other partners won’t like that,” he says, “and you know that. They’re already angry with me because my patient list is down. The only people I see these days are the school kids. I know I haven’t been pulling my weight but I’m not well. I wouldn’t be surprised if they kick me out soon.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” the receptionist says reproachfully, “they’re very fond of you, we all are. They’re worried about you too, if you must know. You’ve lost so much weight and your skin’s a bad colour and you have these terrible headaches. Let me drive you to the doctor.”

  But once again, Hans refuses her help. He gets to his feet and fumbles for his keys.

  “I’ll be better tomorrow,” he says. And he is sure that he will be, because he has had an idea that he is certain will help. He is going to get his own kind of medicine.

  25.

  HANS WALKS SLOWLY out of the office and gets into his car. He drives to the poorest part of town, a seedy area filled with rundown motels that offer rooms by the hour.

  He parks his car and looks around. He has never picked up a prostitute before and has no idea how to go about it. But he does not have to wait or wonder for long.

  A woman in her early thirties comes up to him; she is wearing battered brown cowboy boots, an ill-fitting denim mini-skirt and an unbuttoned purple satin blouse that reveals a lacy orange bra.

  “You looking for company?” she asks.

  “Yes, but you’re too old.” Hans is brusque. “I want someone about fourteen.”

  The woman gives a phlegmy laugh. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble, honey, talking like that. I think what you meant to say was you’d like a girl who looks about fourteen. Don’t want to get caught for rape, now do you?”

  He nods. “So, do you know anyone who looks about fourteen?”

  “Yes. Go into that hotel there on the corner, tell them Rosalind is fixing you up and ask for Room 215. Got it?”

  Hans heads over the hotel and does what she says.

  He takes the stairs to the second floor, not trusting the elevator. The place smells of tired unwashed folk who have been down on their luck for a while; it is as if he has fallen into a bin of unsorted clothes at the Salvation Army.

  He opens the door to the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. The room is as stale and musty as the hallway and there is the added hint of bug spray and cheap furniture polish, although he is at a loss to see what would warrant polishing. He thinks that he should feel nervous but he does not really feel anything at all.

  There is a knock at the door and a girl comes in and Hans is instantly disappointed. Apart from being the right age, she couldn’t be more different to Kateri; she has short black hair with crimson streaks and dozens of piercings. She reminds him of Nika.

  “No,” he says, “you’re all wrong. I’m sorry but I need a pale blonde girl your age with no piercings, no thick make-up and no tattoos. I want a clean girl.”

  The girl shrugs and vanishes.

  Hans looks at his watch. He is not sure what to do. Should he go downstairs and find Rosalind or will the gothic girl give her the message?

  He decides to wait for a bit.

  Fifteen minutes later a new girl sticks her head around the door. She is younger, platinum blonde and skinny and from the looks of it; she has just given her face a scrubbing and she is not wearing any jewelry.

  “Good.” Hans nods and waves her in. “Much better. Come in. Would you mind washing your feet for me?”

  The girl goes into the bathroom wit
hout comment and washes her feet in the basin.

  Then she comes back and starts to undress.

  “No, no, keep your clothes on. Sit on the bed, like so, a little propped up.”

  He gets her organized and then he sits on the bed, cross-legged and takes her feet in his hands.

  She does not say anything.

  Hans tries very hard. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend that the girl is Kateri but he cannot. The room’s putrid funk is too strong and more importantly, the girl’s feet feel all wrong; they are callused, cracked and hard, particularly around her heels — and she has strange toes, with the second toe much longer than her big toe and all her toes splay out slightly.

  “For such a pretty girl, you’ve got very ugly feet,” Hans says accusingly after a while, when he realizes this exercise is in vain. “Let’s try something else. Lie down, I’ll show you how.”

  He positions her and then he lies down next to her, with his forehead almost touching hers.

  He closes his eyes.

  But the girl smells wrong wrong wrong and Hans is angry. Despite her efforts to clean herself off, he can smell the remnants of her cheap make-up and he feels nauseous. This was such a good idea and it should have worked.

  He sighs.

  He experimentally puts one hand on the girl’s throat and the other on her mouth and his penis quivers slightly but again, nothing works.

  Hans wants to weep. “Look,” he says, sitting up, “you are wrong and I can’t fix it.” He pays her. “Go. Just leave me alone.”

  She takes the money, slips on her shoes and leaves. She has not said one word throughout their encounter.

  Hans looks around the dingy room. He knows he was rude to the girl but he does not care. It was her fault. He thinks about her nasty feet and shudders. He gets up to wash his hands, running the water to scalding and rubbing his hands for a long time.

  Unsure what to do next, he looks at his watch. He does not want to go home yet but he does not want to stay in the room. He goes downstairs and out into the wintry sunshine. He sees a park bench across the street and he goes over and sits down. The sunshine feels good on his skin and in that moment, he is happy; happy and free. Free from his work and his wife and his worries. The only way his life could be any better at that moment would be if he had a glass of red wine.

  He looks up and sees a liquor store in his direct line of vision. Thinking that he might as well get stocked up for the evening, he goes in and buys four bottles of the cheapest red wine he can find. He has long since decided that he would rather have more of a cheaper brand than less of a favourite.

  Then, without having made any conscious decision to do such a thing, he goes to a nearby convenience store and buys a bottle of cranberry juice. He empties the juice into a concrete planter full of dead leaves and pigeon crud and then he quickly decants half a bottle of wine into the juice bottle.

  He returns to the bench and sits in the fading sunshine, drinking contentedly. The mid-February temperatures are only slightly above freezing but Hans does not feel the cold.

  He wonders what to do about Juditha. It is clear that she will not carry on unless he can pay her and the only asset he has left is his car. He thinks about borrowing from Jonas, borrowing from the college fund that he set up for him. But he cannot figure out a way to do it without Melusine finding out.

  Come evening, he is drunk and he staggers over to his car. He drives home with extra care and immediately makes for his easy chair.

  Melusine arrives shortly after him, and soon after that, his son drops by for a visit. He ignores them both and lies in his chair, wondering if he will be drunk enough by bedtime to be able to have just one good night’s sleep. He thinks that perhaps he should sleep in his chair and avoid the bedroom entirely. Yes, that might help.

  26.

  THE NEXT DAY, Melusine wakes and dresses for work. She walks through the living room and sees that Hans is still in his chair, fast asleep. He has been there all night.

  She shakes him. He stinks of cheap wine and rancid sweat.

  “Hans! Wake up. My god, look at you. Smell you. Go and take a hot shower and use a lot of mouthwash. You stink of booze. You really need to get a grip, Hans.”

  He opens one eye and wishes she would shut up. He eases himself upright. His head is pounding but he feels better. He is delighted to notice that he did not dream about murdering Kateri. He gets up clumsily and heads toward the bathroom.

  “What a great job Healing Lives Ministries is doing,” Melusine shouts after him. “Tell them thanks, from me. Good god, Hans. I’m leaving. Good luck with your day.”

  He closes the bathroom door and stands in the shower. He feels numb, removed from reality.

  He dries himself and shaves, nicking himself in a few places that won’t stop bleeding. He sticks bits of tissue paper onto the cuts and goes into the bedroom to get dressed.

  But even being in there for such a short time is bad for him; he sees Kateri with her eyes bulging as he squeezes the life out of her and he tastes her tongue as she forces it into his mouth with a deathly kiss.

  He retches, grabs his clothes and runs out to the living room to get dressed.

  His hands are shaking as he fixes his tie. He cannot stop seeing Kateri and her eyes turning bloodshot as her veins burst from the pressure.

  He scurries into the kitchen and opens the last bottle of wine. He downs two full mugs and feels slightly better.

  He locks the house and gets into his car. On the way to the office, he stops at a convenience store and buys a variety of breath mints.

  He rushes past the receptionist who is asking him how his head feels and if his headache has cleared. “I’m fine,” he shouts over his shoulder, closing his office door behind him.

  He sits behind his desk with his head in his hands. He wishes he was sitting on the bench in the sunshine with his wine.

  There’s a knock at the door and the receptionist shows a young girl in. “This is Hilde,” she says, her hand on the girl’s back, “from the school. She’s here for her eye exam. Are you okay? Do you want me to ask one of the others to do it?”

  “I told you, I’m fine,” he says sharply. “Come in, Hilde. Take a seat in the big black chair. Don’t be nervous.”

  Hilde does as he says. She’s a gangly girl in her early teens, with a high forehead and a sharp, pointed chin. She is looking at him with alarm for no reason he can pinpoint.

  “I’ll be outside if you need me,” the receptionist says to Hilde and she leaves, closing the door behind her.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Hans says, “this won’t hurt. Have you had an eye exam before?”

  “No,” Hilde says in a small voice. “I never needed one till now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m just going to ask you which letters look better to you and you have to answer as quickly as you can, don’t think too much, just answer, all right?”

  Hilde nods and clasps her hands tightly together.

  Hans begins the test. He stands close to her, adjusting the various lenses. Unable to help himself, he glances down at her feet; she is wearing black school shoes with the laces neatly tied.

  He moves the equipment to one side. “Hilde,” he says, conversationally, “if you like, you can take your shoes off. Lots of people find it very helpful; they can concentrate better. Would you like to try that?”

  “No,” Hilde says in her small voice.

  “Oh, come on,” Hans says. “It’s very important that you are nice and relaxed so that your brain can send you a clear message about which letters are the brightest and the sharpest. Take your shoes off.”

  The last sentence comes out as a command and Hilde unties her laces and slips off her shoes and Hans repositions the equipment in front of her.

  “How old are you?” Hans asks.

  “I’m thirteen. Nearly fourteen.”

  Hans nods. “Good. Okay, now let’s try again.” He clicks a few lenses into place and asks her which letters are the sha
rpest.

  He has an erection and he is sweating and he recalls that he forgot to put on any antiperspirant and he knows that last night’s alcohol is seeping through his pores.

  “I tell you what, Hilda,” he says and his voice is hoarse, “I’m going to touch each foot, one at a time, and then you must tell me if this makes you see better or worse. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she says meekly.

  “Very good. All right, so now, with me touching your right foot do you see the letters better or worse?”

  “The same.”

  “They can’t be the same. Let’s try again.”

  He does this for a while, and then he tries her left foot.

  Hilde shakes her head. “There’s no difference.”

  Hans pretends to think for a moment. “Aha. I know why. It’s because you still have your socks on. Take them off and we’ll try again.”

  Hilde obligingly pulls off her socks.

  Hans rubs her right foot. It is slightly sweaty and it is soft and tiny in his hand.

  Her foot is perfect. She is perfect. The sparrow-like bones, the softly rounded heel, the silky smooth virgin purity of her skin.

  “I can still see the same,” Hilde offers.

  “I’m going to try the left one,” Hans says and he caresses the left foot.

  “No, it’s still the same,” Hilde insists and she sounds a little impatient.

  Then Hans does something unspeakable. He darts down, puts her foot in his mouth and quickly snakes his tongue in between her toes, and he sucks, hard.

  Hilde sits bolt upright and screams. Her long piercing cry has the receptionist bursting into the room within seconds.

  “What on earth’s going on?” she asks, out of breath.

  “He licked my toes,” Hilde shouts hysterically, unable to move; she is still wedged in by the heavy equipment. “He put my foot in his mouth and he used his tongue!” She starts to wail in earnest, her face crumpled.

  The receptionist rushes toward the girl and Hans steps aside and sits down heavily in his chair.