Tom´s Story

by Claudio Hernández

  Finally, after a long wait, a pang of pain in her stomach brought her back to reality. She was obsessed about the last words Tom had uttered. Would he owl be true? Was it true what the psychiatrist always explained? She almost believed it as she returned to her room, swaying over flaccid, thin legs curved by protruding bones with black stockings that adapted to her slender legs.

  And as she lay down on the bed, the idea that Tom had meant something for the first time returned to her mind. It was nothing good.

  The idea of the existence of something under the bed had been hovering in her head until sleep invaded her.

  What if the owl was Tom? What if he had used the knife to nail a cat in someone's door, as it had happened several times? She had seen his bloodstained hands once.

  And as she fell into the abyss of drunken unconsciousness, she did not realize that she had not asked Tom where the knife was.

  The next day, when she woke up, she would think it was all because of the alcohol and would bomb Tom again with insults, and even think about locking him in the room with rats and dust. Not in the room where the Christ carved in wood was.

  That was a possibility that had come true many times.

  The next day she would ask him about the knife, although in a way she did know where it was...Or so it seemed to her.

  33

  Did Tom really know where the knife was?

  A vague and thick memory, like an opaque cloth, revealed a hand movement wielding the knife and nothing more. Was Tom beginning to "recognize" his other identities? Or was it the new identity taking over Tom?

  He was about to see clearly. Or was it his mother's harassment that convinced him that he was to blame for everything?

  Beyond that, Tom would not remember anything else, at least for the moment .Identities did not connect to each other, and neither of them leaned on each other. Tom was, in every moment, a different person. When he returned to be Tom, all the magic had disappeared. Until it did not happen.

  34

  The next day was exalted. Stella had got up hitting her leg with the door and screaming. The screeching dry scream had awakened Tom in the other room. Her face covered with long, grubby hairs, she burst into Tom's room, discharging all her fury at him, as if he were responsible for her stumbling upon the door.

  She had cursed him, yelled insults at his face, and tugged a strand of hair from Tom as he backed into a corner of the room. However, something must have struck her in the gleam of his eyes. She left him in peace the next five minutes, leaving the room limping and blaspheming.

  But the litany did not end there. Tom had entered the bathroom. His face was reflected in the fogged glass, but he could guess the blood stain on his face. If he had not seen it, he would not have remembered it. But now Tom had seen it, and that was enough for Tom to break into a sudden attack of screaming.

  Momma Stella had climbed the stairs two by two, her long, rickety, curving legs, and just reaching for him, she had scratched him again on the other cheek.

  Tom looked alarmed at his bloody hands, and his eyes had turned into two large, disjointed balls, and his mouth was a gigantic grotesque O in a scream that only Stella could stifle.

  Flop, momma's open hand landed on his right cheek, forcing him to back a step of his huge animalistic body, as momma called it. A moment later her long, crooked fingers were drawn on his cheek.

  Her neck was covered with veins that were terribly swollen, and her eyes were disengaged. Her hand was trembling and her stomach ache manifested. Tom had dropped into a corner of the bathroom, whining like a five-year-old boy, his hands clenched and his cheeks bleeding. A minute later, momma Stella had pulled the fucking hair off her forehead and climbed down the fucking stairs blaspheming and cursing her son.

  An eternity later, the scent of fried eggs slipped upstairs.

  Tom sniffed the air like an animal. He showed a faint smile and a mark in a corner of his mouth. He got up and followed the trail of the smell of fried eggs. The memory of dried blood was behind, and Tom had become another. The ease with which Tom could forget things was irrepressible to his psychic condition. Just like a child, Tom forgot things easily.

  He climbed down the stairs clumsily and headed for the kitchen.

  "I'm huh... hungry momma."

  Stella turned to him with a dismissive look in her emaciated eyes.

  "Then sit down, you fool!" She mumbled as she lifted the frying pan. "Let's see if you choke, you bastard." She tilted the frying pan and the fried, shapeless eggs slid from the frying pan, landing with a flop on Tom's plate, which had been there since last night, and the day before, and so on...Momma did not wash Tom's plate. For momma, Tom was an animal and there was no need to wash his plate. That was his job, and Tom wiped the plate with bread and somehow left it clean.

  In a glass in which a fly had been trapped, momma had poured milk. At least the milk was in good condition, and she gave him some expired cereal.

  Beside the glass, there was a pill of Sedum.

  "Let's see if you die."

  Tom ducked his head and began to wet bread in the amorphous fried eggs. He sipped milk, and the fly that was floating in the depths of it floated for a moment and stopped at his lips, jerking its wings spasmodically. Tom passed the back over his mouth and looked inside the glass. He saw that the fly was struggling through the cereal.

  "Momma, there's a fly in the the the muh... milk."

  "So what?"

  "It is... it's drowniiiiing momma."

  "Well, let it drown" she said as she poured herself a glass of bourbon. The stomach ache reminded her that she should not drink more, but she ignored the pain and brought the glass to her lips. Her lips were dry and cut; strips of flesh were visible. Bourbon dropped into her stomach like a flame of living fire. She raised her hand to her stomach and bent slightly as Tom, at the other end of the table, ignored her and tried to get the fly out of the glass. Stella had already stopped drinking beer.

  "Flyyy. Come here."

  Stella raised her eyebrows and held a heave.

  "Screw you! You're a retard and a fucking pig." She stammered unintelligibly and poured herself another drink, the last of that morning as there was no more bourbon left in the bottle. She lifted it to her lips and all of it burned in a terrible pain.

  ... It does not matter, old witch. Keep on drinking like this; you'll soon be dead, old hysterical witch.

  In spite of everything, she drank it and drank it without question. She really needed it, even though every drink was like a bullet burning in her stomach. Something was pushing her to do it. She would soon get out of this fucking world, and problems would end at that point. But she had sworn she would take Tom with her when that moment came. She would take him by throwing him out the window or whatever when the moment came. But that never happened. Stella was a hysteric and had to calm her nerves somehow. She had taken Sedum sometimes, and it somehow calmed the pain. She felt like floating in a fluffy cloud. But she had tried alcohol again and had once fallen face-first to the ground, trapped in an alcoholic coma that lasted twelve hours. Scared Tom had stayed by her side without moving all that time and had miraculously survived a nervous breakdown,

  Maybe just when momma was out of circulation, she felt really good.

  Tom caught the fly and lifted it between his fingers, watching it curiously as it struggled through his stubby fingers.

  "I have it, momma." He still did not stutter significantly. Not yet.

  Stella returned to reality and wrinkled her face in a gesture of sudden disgust. She picked up the empty bourbon bottle and threw it into the trash can that was at the far end of the kitchen. Stella had shuffled toward it as the pain hid behind her gut. But she needed more bourbon, and now she would go buy it. Hell, she would go now.

  A minute later, Tom watched her through the window as she crawled down the street with her arms crossed like a long magpie wandering in the abundant sun of that morning, like many others. He smiled when he noticed that momma
had not combed her hair, and it looked like long spider legs protruding from her hollow head.

  He set the fly on the table and sipped milk as he stared at it in silence. After this, he took the Sedum pill.

  When at last he lifted his head from the glass of milk, he showed his milk-smeared lips, like lime-colored lips, and remembered.

  He remembered how hard it had been to nail the cat on the Candrall's door.

  Was Tom mastering the identity disorder he suffered? Did he know now that he was Tom at times and sometimes someone else? Did he know it was him who made these aberrations to the cats he found?

  No. He only remembered something very vaguely, like a very dirty curtain in front of his eyes, but he was very close, closer than he thought.

  He was going to tell Amelia about it.

  35

  William's identity appeared again, or rather seized Tom for a few minutes. Under the effects of Sedum, William was excited to see the half-naked bodies that appeared on his computer screen. One by one, the images of those muscular bodies shining under the sunshine or the light of spotlights of a photography session paraded before his eyes. Now he knew how to search things on Google. But not yet the tits.

  William took off his pants and then his underpants. With his inert penis hanging like a sausage, he sat down again on the chair in front of the computer.

  His legs were open, and his big balls had contracted in a small erection. The model in the screen had gray eyes and a back like a hand carved armoire. His back was to the camera, and he was wearing a short, lowered so it showed part of his butt. He was looking at the camera and showed a chin perfectly balanced with his bone structure. His lips were fleshy, and William became even more aroused, getting a full erection.

  "You are mine" he whispered as his hand slid to his penis. William's identity did not stutter either, but his voice was slightly higher-pitched. It was more feminine voice, and his eyes moved differently. His lips were no longer tight, but loose, and the tip of his tongue caressed his upper lip. “Because I want you with all my body and I want you here lying on my bed..."

  As he looked at the guy on the screen, he started to move his hand under the table...

  36

  The Candralls would have guests that night, so everything should be ready for the first friendly dinner in their new home. Eillen had told Louis that very morning, and Louis had found it perfect. Eillen had met Mrs. White at the store next door—it was not immediately next door, though—as she usually said. So Eillen had started working and somehow had forgotten the incident of the day before. Now she was excited, and Louis had already finished the task of assembling the furniture. The house was just missing a few tweaks, like putting Louis' books or setting the computer. Louis loved writing when he felt inspired and had, more than once, had the strength to finish a novel. However he had never had the courage to send it to an editorial for fear of being rejected. Now he seemed to have enough strength to write again and try his luck.

  The sun had rushed through the day and had already given way to the moon that somehow watched from up there as if it were hanging from an invisible spike.

  The heat had now become a dense, sticky cloud of heat. Outside, the adjoining streets were filled with couples strolling under the influence of the crescent moon.

  Samantha had been a relentless assistant all day and now needed a shower. It was half past eight, and the Whites were about to arrive.

  Samantha was once again, of course, the object observed at distance when she stripped naked to shower. At the other end of the garden, someone began to discover the doom of masturbation.

  A moment later she disappeared behind the door and reappeared fifteen minutes later, covered in water droplets shining under the light of the bulb. She had not yet put on curtains, much less realized that someone was continually watching her from one end of the garden.

  At nine o'clock, the bell rang at the Candrall's.

  Eillen hurried to open the door.

  When she did, her face was covered with a veil of surprise.

  "Hi! How are you? You’re on time."

  "Can we come in?"

  Eillen smiled broadly.

  "Of course!"

  Mrs. White was a tall, thin woman with bony hands. She was about sixty years old and had white hair in a bow decorated with a striking pin. She wore a youthful dress with a red roses print. It covered her slender body and somehow showed a cleavage that suggested her saggy breasts.

  "This is my husband" Mrs. White announced with a broad smile on her lips, as she stretched out a hand with long fingers decorated with large rings.

  Mr. Tood smiled openly and, as he bent his head to kiss Eillen's hand, he showed her an incipient bald spot. Mr. Tood was an obese man of over two hundred pounds. His hands were stubby, and he was sweating copiously down his neck and chin.

  "It's very hot tonight" Mr. Todd said, withdrawing his hand. Todd White was the kind of person who likes to meet a lot of people. He was a bright, cheerful guy who loved to make jokes. As this was the first visit, he certainly did not know if he could start with a good joke. Anyway, he was sure that they would have a pleasant evening.

  "Come on in! Come in!" Eillen stepped to one side. “Don’t stay there at the door. Come in."

  Mrs. White was the first to cross the threshold of the door. When she did, her dark eyes traveled quickly through the corners of the house with skillful curiosity.

  Mr. Todd simply looked around at the sofa, since he intended to sit down at once as he was simply exhausted.

  "Can I sit down?" Mr. Tood asked with a smile on his lips.

  "Sure. Go ahead!" Eillen announced, pointing to the sofa. "Louis, get out of the kitchen and come and meet Mr. White!" Eillen exclaimed raising her neck slightly in search of her husband, looking around the place.

  A moment later, Louis appeared, drying his hands with a napkin which he dropped on a chair.

  "Louis, I introduce you to Mr. Tood White and his wife, Andrea White" Eillen announced, overflowing with joy.

  Louis hurried over to where Mrs. White stood with a bag hanging from one of her arms, and held out his hand.

  "How are you, Mrs. White?" Louis said as he kissed her hand, holding it with his left hand. "My wife has told me a lot about you."

  Mrs. White overflowed with cheerful mercy.

  "Well, it cannot be that much."

  "Really, it's true" Louis explained as he turned to Mr. Tood. "Excuse me for not introducing me before, but the ladies are first" Louis explained, holding out his stump.

  There was a disturbing glance exchange at the sight of the stump.

  "Excuse me for not getting up, sir..."

  "Louis Candrall."

  "Mr. Louis, the mistake is mine to sit here, but my feet hurt a lot and you don't know how bad this summer heat feels to me."

  "I understand, my friend" Louis said, withdrawing his fingerless hand after shaking Mr. Tood's hand with his left hand. When he let go of his hand, he noticed that the man was sweating excessively, even from his hands.

  Tony was playing on the floor with some pencils, painting some drawings that dad had made for him during that day. Louis had found the time to make some irregular drawings for the child and had felt enormously satisfied, since children do not define bad drawings and good drawings. They simply scribbled and paint on them.

  "This is my son Tony. He's the smallest in the family" Eillen pointed proudly at her son.

  "Oh, he's cute" Mrs. White said, approaching Tony. "How old are you?"

  "Five years" Eillen said, swelling with joy.

  Mrs. White took Tony in her arms and kissed him on the cheek. Tony smiled and showed his perfectly aligned baby teeth. Mrs. White's back creaked slightly as she left Tony on the floor again.

  "I'm too old for this" Mrs. White smiled, putting her hand behind her back. "Time doesn't forgive."

  Eillen gave her a wide smile.

  Tony, on the floor, resumed his task.

  "That's inevitable
. We all get old" Louis said.

  "Tell me about it" Mr. Tood said, breathing heavily from the couch.

  Chumy appeared at that moment, walking quietly with his tail pointed toward the ceiling. His green eyes stopped to stare at Mr. White and, after a moment, he jumped up onto the couch.

  "Look, what a cat" Mr. Tood said. “There’s something hanging from it."

  "What?" Eillen wondered.

  "He means it has balls" Mr. Tood added.

  Eillen laughed.

  "My husband is a prankster" Mrs. White said, slightly flushed, as she beckoned to her husband.

  Mr. Tood shrugged.

  Chumy approached Mr. Tood and tried to lick his face. He pulled it away gently, and a moment later Chumy curled up in his lap.

  Climbing down the stairs, Samantha burst into the living room full of giggles, and Eillen introduced her as her eldest daughter. Her first offspring, Eillen had said with her mouth full.

  There was a whole repertoire of presentations, and finally Samantha took a seat on a nearby sofa. Later, when mom and Samantha were in the kitchen serving canapés, mom had asked her what she thought of Mr. and Mrs. White. She had said she liked them, and mom was filled with pride.

  Half an hour later, everything was ready for dinner.

  But both Tood and White were not any help later.

  37

  Tom had a conversation via Facebook with his cousin Amelia and told her more than the other day. He had told her that at some point he remembered something, which he thought was a knife.

  "Cousin momma sais I knew where naif is" wrote Tom with his particular misspelling. In the little window, the message changed to blue while further down, you could see a few dots dancing rhythmically. That meant Amelia was writing.

  "Your mom is crazy. She wants to hurt you and that's why she tells you those things."

  Tom's plump fingers returned to the keyboard.

  "Yes but I remembrd sumthin"

  "What?"

  "I think I saw the naif"

  "Cousin, you're scaring me."