‘Your boot…’
She was leaning towards him again, whispering. Kane blinked. He could feel her breath on his cheek. He automatically moved forward –
Stay, you fool!
– and began to remove it.
‘No, sorry, that was…’
Great amusement ‘…Exactly!’
Elen turned towards the window again. An extremely long silence followed, and then, ‘What an amazingly generous offer!’ Pause.
‘I honestly…’
Delighted laugh ‘…I really don’t know what to say.’
Pause.
‘No. No. Don’t be silly. Not at all.’
Pause.
‘I’m sure Fleet would just…’
Pause.
‘He’d absolutely love it.’
Kane brusquely tucked his sock inside his boot, then inspected his bare foot. He felt uneasy at the sight of it –
Bare/Raw/Nude
– but wasn’t entirely sure why he should feel this way. It wasn’t a terrible foot, all things considered (he appraised it, dispassionately), although it didn’t look quite…there was something…uh…
His mind turned, briefly, to his mother’s feet – her magnificently messed-up dancer’s feet, her scarred and brutalised dancer’s toes – and then to his earliest memories of Elen –
ELEN GRASS
Chiropodist
– down on her knees, tending to them.
A powerful, erotic charge coursed through him –
Oh God –
Not…
He glanced into his lap, chewing on his lower lip, his eyebrows rising. He tucked his hands between his legs and tried to think of something else –
Anything
He gazed up at the fly again –
One circle, two circles, three…
– then he smiled, pensively (as if struck by a divine insight) –
Play
It’s just playing –
Surely?
‘The human mind,’ an officious voice promptly informed him, ‘can only disengage itself from the magic circle of play by turning towards the ultimate.’
Huh?
‘I read the first few chapters late last night,’ Elen murmured, ‘and it was so sad – so beautifully written – I could hardly bear to put it down…’
Kane turned – still eager for distraction – towards Elen’s small, grey, metal desk. He carefully appraised it. The surface-area was chaotic. There were piles of papers – order forms, patient files, receipts – three pairs of scissors, two boxes of disposable gloves, a tray of sharp-looking silver implements –
Yik
– a large, open, plastic, screw-top jar of sterilising fluid, a book –
?
– its cover partly concealed by a terrifying black and white photograph of a young boy who had fallen prey to a severe case of ‘Hammer’ toe.
‘Absolutely…’ Elen was still smiling as she spoke. A very long pause followed, hemmed in by another soft laugh.
Kane squinted at the book’s spine: The Lily of Darfur, he read, then –
Urgh
But of course…
– he almost snorted, out loud.
‘Okay. Sure. I definitely will. And thank you.’
Pause.
‘No. I really mean that. I wouldn’t just…’
Pause.
‘I know. ‘
Pause.
‘I know. Thank you.’
Kane leaned back in the chair again. He slowly shook his head. He flexed his foot. Behind him he heard the splash of running water –
Tap?
He half-turned, surprised that the phone conversation had come to an end. Elen was drying her hands, fastidiously, on a paper towel.
‘Right,’ she said, tossing the towel into a flip-top bin which was neatly stationed beneath the sink, ‘let’s have a proper look at this foot of yours, shall we?’
Kane leaned forward, anxiously. ‘I didn’t actually…’ he started off. Then he stopped, appalled.
Elen was pulling up a tiny stool and perching on it, grabbing a hold of his foot and lifting it, confidently, on to her lap. Her hair was casually tied back now, away from her face, revealing the early stages of a black eye (a bloodshot white, a puffed-up eye-lid), and a nostril (on that same side) which was also inflamed, bruised and daubed (deep inside) with tiny remnants of dried blood.
‘Ah-ha…’ she chuckled, immediately honing in on the problem area. ‘Well here’s the culprit…’
She glanced up. ‘It’s tucked in underneath the arch, which is fairly unusual for a wart – you generally find them forming on the pressure points…’
She carefully inspected the rest of the foot. ‘No secondary growths,’ she murmured, ‘which is great…’
As she spoke she pulled on each of his toes (keenly inspecting the gaps in between them). He tensed up. He remembered his mother playing a similar game with him as a boy –
This little piggy went to market
This little piggy stayed at home
This little piggy had –
‘Warts are such fascinating things,’ she was saying. ‘And really quite mysterious. Their aetiology can often be extremely baffling. Some vascular growths are caused by trauma, others are simply viral – although even then they’re pretty amazing: their incubation periods can extend anywhere up to twenty months – that’s the best part of two years…’
She reached out and grabbed a tiny scalpel from a tray on her desk, then readjusted Kane’s heel on her lap –
Don’t think about her lap
– drew in close –
Don’t think about her mouth
– and scratched away at Kane’s foot with it. He felt nothing, right up until the point when he felt something –
Ouch!
His knee stiffened.
‘Did you feel that?’
She gazed up at him, concerned, her scalpel held gracefully aloft.
‘No. No. It’s fine. I’m just…’ he scowled, ‘a little ticklish, I guess.’ ‘Ah…’ she nodded and returned to her work. He remained hypnotised by her injuries. The nostril, especially. He wondered what it would feel like if he touched it with his tongue –
Would it taste of iron?
Salt?
Would it sting?
‘Okay,’ she leaned back, decisively, ready to make her assessment. ‘So we can freeze it out, or we can burn it out. The choice is entirely yours.’
Kane dragged his eyes away from her nostril –
Go on –
Ask…
‘How did you…uh…’ he swallowed, nervously, ‘treat Beede’s?’ he wondered.
Coward
He could’ve sworn he saw Elen wince – just slightly – at the mention of Beede’s name – but then she looked up at him with a frank smile.
‘We tried both techniques,’ she explained, ‘but your father’s wart was very persistent. It didn’t respond particularly well to either method.’
‘Oh,’ Kane frowned, discouraged.
‘His was an exceptional case, though,’ she insisted.
Go on –
Just…
‘So how did…uh…’ Kane forged on, doggedly. ‘How did you…uh…get rid of it in the end?’
Gutless
‘In the end?’ Elen hesitated. ‘In the end we just charmed it away.’
‘You charmed it?’ Kane was surprised.
‘Yes.’
She inspected his foot again. ‘You have lovely feet,’ she said, ‘thin feet, very graceful, just like your mother’s. Although hers were typical dancer’s feet…incredibly muscular. Extremely…’ she frowned, searching for an appropriate word ‘…extremely characterful. Covered in old corns and bunions – a total mess – do you remember?’
Kane stared at her, blankly –
The word…
He grimaced –
What was that word he’d used?
That strange word?
Co
n-con-con…?
‘Kane?’ she repeated. ‘Your mother’s feet – do you remember?’
‘She looks for a weakness…’
‘Kane?’
‘…She senses this feeling of hurt within you, this…this…’
Kane blinked. ‘Well perhaps you could charm mine away,’ he volunteered.
Elen gave this suggestion a moment’s consideration and then, ‘Okay,’ she shrugged, ‘I suppose we could always give it a whirl…’
She placed down his foot, stood up, dropped her scalpel into the bottle of sterilising fluid, pulled aside her apron and her overall then shoved her hand into her trouser pocket. She felt around for a while before withdrawing a ten pence piece. She inspected it, thoughtfully, then closed her eyes and squeezed the coin, tightly, inside her fist.
Kane peered up at her –
She’s so beautiful
I could just lean over – right now – and…and…
He puckered his lips –
…hitta
He started –
Hit-ta
‘Hold out your hand,’ she said, opening her eyes. Kane didn’t respond at first. He was still in a daze –
Hit-her…
Hit her
– because he suddenly had a clear memory of exactly that – of hitting her –
No!
Of hitting Elen –
No!
– and of taking a deliberate pleasure in it. They were in a wet room. A white room. They were alone together…
And he knew – he was certain – that this was what she expected – what she wanted – that there was a long history between them, a well-established protocol.
But she was messing around with it – with him – and he didn’t like it. ‘Don’t take my son,’ she was pleading, ‘I’ll do anything you ask – anything – if you’ll just leave the boy alone.’
‘But you always do anything I ask,’ he reasoned, implacably.
‘Kane? Your hand,’ Elen repeated.
Kane blinked. ‘Oh…’
He held out his hand and she pressed the coin into his palm, folding his fingers around it like an aunt giving a child some money for their birthday.
‘There,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve bought the wart from you,’ she smiled ‘and now it will disappear.’
Kane gazed down at his hand, bewildered –
Con…con…con…
– then he slowly opened his hand and he inspected the coin.
‘Is that it?’ he asked, flatly.
‘Why?’ she grinned, pulling back. ‘D’you think it’s worth more? D’you think I’ve undervalued it?’
Kane didn’t answer. He continued to inspect the coin –
Con…con…congruity?
‘The traditional amount is a penny,’ she was explaining. Kane stared up into her bruised face –
That two things are in sync?
In parallel?
He drew a deep breath, ‘So how…?’
His foot spasmed –
Jeesus!
– ‘So how much did you pay Beede for his?’ he winced.
‘Beede?’ Elen seemed surprised by this question, as if the idea of buying a wart from Beede was quite preposterous. ‘Good God, no,’ she chuckled, walking back over to the sink, ‘I didn’t buy Beede’s wart. You couldn’t buy a wart from Beede…’
Con…con…congruity?
Con…con…congruent?
Kane’s brain began buzzing –
Con…con…congruere –
It hiccoughed –
Ruere…
He blinked –
To fall?
Ruere…to ru- to ru- to…to ruin?
Kane frowned. He turned. ‘But I don’t understand…’ he muttered.
‘Don’t understand what?’ she asked, pumping some soap on to her palm from the dispenser.
‘I don’t understand what the difference is…’
To fall
To ruin
‘…I mean between us – between me and Beede…’
Elen reached out her hand to turn on the tap and in that same instant Kane was flung, unceremoniously, back into that cold, white room – that wet room – and she was clawing, terrified, at his neck, his cheek, and he was swiping her away from him, laughing, because it was, it was –
Funny!
Her fear –
Hilarious!
Delicious!
– then suddenly he was in another place – a darker place – but it was still the same memory, the same transaction, the same idea – and he was tying her to a bench. And she was screaming. She was furious. And he was applying a gentle blade to her. There was a doctor. There was a servant. They were bleeding her together. They were letting blood. They were definitely in cah…ah…ahh…ahhh!…Caaa-HOOTS!
Kane sneezed himself back into the red, leather chair again. He stared down at the coin, his nose prickling, his eyes tearing-up, shocked.
‘Bless you,’ she said. And then: ‘I suppose I just thought it might be a little too straightforward for him,’ she murmured, ‘a little obvious – a little crude, even…’
What?!
‘But not for me?’
Kane glanced up, livid.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Elen back-pedalled, ‘it’s more of a generational thing,’ she tore off her apron, ‘Beede’s very old-fashioned.’ Kane gazed down at the coin again –
Coin –
Cuneus –
Kunte –
Cunt
– he shuddered.
‘And the problem with his foot was much more severe,’ Elen tried her best to mollify him as she screwed the apron into a tight ball and dropped it into the bin, ‘much more serious.’
‘Is it because of my line of work?’ Kane demanded, paranoid. ‘Is it because I’m a dealer?’
Elen didn’t answer him. A small strand of her hair had become caught around one of the buttons on her overall and she was struggling to disentangle it.
‘Does that just make you automatically assume,’ Kane continued, furious, ‘that I’m the kind of person who thinks pretty much anything can be bought and sold?’
Elen freed her hair then unbuttoned her overall, pulled it off and folded it up. It was almost as if she hadn’t heard him.
Kane turned the coin over in his hand. He felt cheap – dirty – paid off. ‘You think I’m fickle…’ he murmured, ‘feckless, superficial – just like he does…’
Still, no response.
He twisted around in his chair. ‘Elen?’
Her name felt odd on his tongue as he spoke it – like a dirty thought; like a swearword.
Elen was placing her carefully folded overall into one of the open cardboard boxes behind the chair. She straightened up. ‘You can put your boot back on again now,’ she told him, turning to inspect her reflection in the small mirror above the sink, ‘the treatment’s over.’
Kane leaned forward and grabbed his boot –
Boat
‘So how did you finally get rid of it?’ he murmured, shoving his foot back into it –
Boat
– then feeling himself pitch, unexpectedly, to the right –
Wooah
‘Pardon?’
Kane pressed his lips together for a moment, feeling unstable, slightly nauseous, clinging on to the chair’s arm for support.
‘Beede’s w-wart,’ he stuttered.
‘I used a rather more traditional technique,’ Elen explained, apparently oblivious, ‘involving an Ash tree and a pin. You push the pin into the tree, then into the wart, then back into the tree again…’
‘And that’s it?’
Kane struggled to focus.
‘Pretty much. I mean you say a few words…’
‘What do you say?’ he gasped.
‘Uh…You say…’ she frowned, arranging her hair over the bruised side of her face, ‘you say, “Ashen tree, Ashen tree, please take these warts from me…”’
‘Ash,’ Kan
e murmured, drawing a deep breath and then grabbing for his laces and pulling them stiff. He glanced up as he pulled and saw a huge sail tightening behind him. The wind that blew into it – a hot wind, a dry wind – filled the sail with a deafening clamour, a thunderous babble –
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