“I think he’s really an interesting talker.” Leaning as if to touch, devour, this dusty man in his vacant trance. “And I think Elmer is a sad name. Terribly sad.” Then to Susan: “He talks just like a French movie or something.”
“Man she’s right, that’s true alright.”
“Terrifically symbolic, you know.”
“It was a real experience, I’m telling you, listening to him there in the car.”
“I’ve been thinking of painting the climax of this one story he was telling us, it’s about . . .”
“Hey, yeah! Tell them about the time you went hunting!”
“Nono,” he mumbles, “no.”
“Yeah, c’mon. He went hunting once. C’mon, it’s really poetic.” His delicate hand patting, pushing at the trembling arm. “Tell them, eh? Doctor Crackell is a teacher of poetry: he’d love, he’d really like to hear it. Wouldn’t you? C’mon. Please!” Leave him alone, why don’t they. Leave him alone, they’re always bugging, clutching out and it’s jeez, terrible the way they keep him here. To entertain for chrissakes! Those shivering hands fascinating, his clumsy eyes that search. And search. Because of their selfishness, the police for heaven’s sake, his charge compounded. Leaving the scene.
“Was burned over a couple or three years back.” Tentative voice and sudden cough: rapidly licking his lips. “But the new growth climbed and was green all over the stumps. The birds had come back and everything.” Pausing, and what are they trying to do to him? “That’s good moose country. Very good moose country. Couldn’t shoot one of them though, I could never.” Dropping his mouth, sucking into the cup; slouching and drinking. “You’re all young, you young people. You’re very rich and I’m very poor, you’re all young and innocent and.” Christ this is embarrassing! Avoid, look away from their eyes; your shoes, look down or anything! “She had them put me in.” Lucan, desperately say something, say:
“I think he should be taken to the police station.” Briefly, but then they ignore and only Susan, for chrissakes, only Susan seems to know. Poor. Her funeral and what fantastic insensitivity to bring him here!
“Paddling, I remember I was paddling and the bush grew thick as hell to the rocks all piled and jumbled on the shore: birches, white birches and evergreens and as I came round, as I came round this point, I saw. I saw him suddenly. There, as close as that!” His arm thrown out and we turn: yes I’m sure it’s the same one watching us. “That counter, close as that counter!” Me. He watched me that way as drunken, descending I came in failure. Hour by hour. “A moose, a great bull moose, so strong and with a head of antlers like a man on fire. Oh! Oh! You’re young with your lives ahead, so you don’t know. I startled him, I. Yes, Elmer Workman frightened him because I am a man.” Tears thicken his voice, the eyes; what kind of sentimental crap is this? “Powerful swimming, rising to the shore, water pouring from his back, God he was beautiful! He stumbled because of the rocks under his goddamn feet, he stumbled and then he was gone. God!”
“Antlers like a man on fire. Gee that’s beautiful.”
“What about the deer, tell us about the time you shot the deer.”
“It really is, I think I’ll try and paint that.” Churning stomach for they’re so, so goddamned pretentious! Selfish bastards can’t see, they don’t know. Lucan’s second coffee finished; he shifts in his chair trying to get comfortable, trying to relax for this is stupid and I’ll just pop into the john.
“Don’t know why I did it, I don’t know how, but I saw him, suddenly I saw him there in the new growth and before I knew it I’d shot him. And I killed him!” His head shaking; he stares at clenching hands, his cup. “With a sideways leap he fell into a thicket and all the birds were about my head: my friend cheered, he slapped my back and went running ahead, but I just stood there. Hearing the echo of my gun and the forest’s breath.” He savagely rubs his eyes, this foolish drunk and his pathetic fallacy, good Lord! How prophets were made for chrissakes. But it’s the, Lucan wiping the table’s edge, the reasonable man, the thought-out move. Resting his elbow on the clean surface. That finally counts for something. Yes. “I’ll always remember to my dying day. God! Terrified, you just can’t know. Walking. Stumbling on charred remains beneath that surface growth. You can imagine eh?” Snuffling in through his nose, a wet nasty sound. “I knew just what I’d find in that bush, I knew, and the sun was so hot and I was sweating with the flies and, and.” The tears again well up and Jesus one spills out and dribbles down his cheek! He wipes it from the corner of his mouth. “There were. And you know I’ll never forget.” His voice and staring eyes. “There were tears of blood in the palm of his hoof.”
“You see, didn’t I tell you? Isn’t that a marvellous story!” She turns excitedly, her face a night flower and there are gaps between her teeth. Why do people encourage. Wide-fingered dirty nails, and he’s rubbing at his head, I know that feeling well, Lucan Crackell years ago and; why this pleasure from chaos in the young? Tremors growing from their silence round this man; breathing wetly, mumbling tears and God! I’m glad I didn’t stop, boy! Lucan Crackell driving with Oswald, Oswald and this, this creature? Wheewwh! I’ve enough as it is, I’ve got horror enough without. Reads a bit, picks up a phrase or two and they think he’s. Worthwhile for chrissake and poor Susan here, poor girl, I’ll. Lucan smiling and shaking his head to show this lovely girl he knows. To show her that he. Cares, she’s so. Vulnerable.
“Why is everyone so cruel, why can’t they.” Oh boy and cringing for we’ve come to this. “Why can’t people love each other?” Breathing his tears, wetly in his voice; we’ve come to this maudlin, we’ve come. Naturally for chrissakes, one thing after. “You’re young so you don’t know. You young people can’t know for love has gone from this world of today. The great lady. People can be good and true, they used to be, you know. They used to be. Good and true people.” Stupid blear-eyed face and his cheeks are wet! I’ll have to, I simply have to get out of here, I’ll go to the, yes to the washroom and that will make me feel better. “The great lady in her furs and the poor woman from steerage, arms about each other and they sang. Why can’t people always be like that? Loving each other and the ship went down.” Breaking uncertainly, mucus, his voice and this is too much:
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer to thee
Even though it be a cross
That raiseth me
Still . . .
Running tears beside that bulbous nose, terrible, jeez! But at least he’s stopped. Singing. “Oh such a beautiful spirit there, such a beautifulbeautiful spirit.” Scrambling, pushing back my chair, rising with a nod or something, anything, because this whole scene is fantastically embarrassing, crazy. With Oswald there in the door, clearly detailed; slowly he’s taking off his coat.
Though like the wanderer
The sun gone down
High forehead and why, even from here I can see snow crystals melting in his beard, why does he move so slowly? Goddamn this singing and his drunkenness, goddamn their faces dumbly smiling, drinking as they smoke and listen! Jesus. Quickly nodding abruptly quickly away from this, from him and it’s that way I remember very well, down the hall. “It’s all gone from the world, you know that? Gone, all gone all.” Muddy feet to those glistening bones, walk straight for heaven’s sake, with dignity! For I’m older, much older now and just the man. Free from the wind and its bare schoolyard with swings and bike racks propping the drifted snow. Repented yes, and I’m sorry Lucan that we’ve been so long in telling you. Those birds that are now his hands and I must be, it’s obvious that I’m just the man. Senate acceptance and all. Takes time, you understand. That’s right, shoulders up and into the hall and out of their sight. And that’s a relief. E’en though it be a cross. Whose feet are those behind me, in the shadows there?
“Just a minute please.” The waiter and this shock as if the years return: uncertain standing, but he must. He must mean me
, though I’ve done nothing, nothing at all. What have I done?
“Yes?” A yes in this hall with darkness in the eyes.
“Your friend. It’s your friend.” Blank my face must be for I don’t. Am I afraid? I don’t understand. “We can’t allow it. There’s a law.” Directed somewhere else, his voice worried as another comes to blot the doorway’s light. Silhouettes and their talk’s strange past. Oh god this underlife comes on, this sickness: mice in loose whispering walls and the belly, the haunches of a rat, absurd with its tiny head. What are they jabbering about, who do they think they are?
“Which friend, and what about him? What do you want with me?” As many rats as people in a city and undoubtedly, they’re dropping. Wetly from the stairs and boxes here beneath my feet.
“The singing gentleman. The crying one.”
“That drunk? Good Lord! He’s not, he’s certainly no friend of mine, I’ve never seen him before.” They can’t, oh how can they think that creature’s a friend of mine? Drawing myself up and patient injury in my voice. Yes, a man of substance. “Look, I’m here for a funeral and I didn’t even want to come, you understand? Responsible business, you understand? I’m representing the University of Western Ontario. I don’t even know these people, I don’t know who that is. I’ve never seen him before.” Relax a bit and exert the charm to ease me free. “The fact is gentlemen I’m, I’m working today.” Perhaps they’ll see this smile, my friendly teeth. “Just like yourselves. Now if you’ll . . .”
“There are laws.” What? The new one, taller, Bowing with the politeness they have. “Unfortunate laws, and the authorities don’t like us.”
“They don’t like us anywhere. They think we sell opium, they think we keep our lettuce in the toilet.”
“They say we put cat meat in the Won Ton, have you ever heard such an insulting thing? It’s a lousy life. The health inspector is always gumshoeing his nose into something.”
“We have trouble getting waiters. It’s difficult, you understand, to get good Chinese waiters here in Stratford. Now our uncle is in Hong Kong, but do you think they’ll let him come and help us?” Consumed, I’m. Consumed, Hong Kong and lettuce in the. What are they, why do they tell me this, for chrissakes? “Hoo! You have another think coming if you think our uncle can get into Canada.” His voice strikes out and it’s airless here, that’s the trouble, that’s why the head and stomach. That’s why I feel unwell. “And he is a most respected gentleman.”
“So you ask your friend to stop singing, please?” And these men persist. “Tell him he’s lucky to be Anglo-Saxon and he shouldn’t take advantage of it.”
“But he’s not my, I’m telling you I don’t even know him. And furthermore I have to.” Nodding at their shadows, shrugging as I begin to move. “I’m just on my way to the.” Waving my arm in this murky goddamn hall, turning again but Jesus! Gentle his hand restraining on my arm. Leave me alone! A sudden kick, that’s the thing, smash into his jewels and an elbow for the other one, that would fix them. Quickly, a savage elbow blow across the jaw, like Cagney in that . . .
“Wait a minute, don’t go.” Heavy breath and it isn’t doing me any good at all. “You don’t know what it’s like. You are a university gentleman, a professor.”
“Excuse me. It’s been very interesting but I’ve driven all the way from London and I. I have to go. Excuse me.” Breathing quickly, hurry! Stumbling on the uneven floor with his voice behind.
“It is our livelihood sir, it’s important to our business!” Not so loud for chrissakes, not so. They’ll hear you in the other room. “So ask your friend to stop singing please?” Closing the door, locking it, pushing the bolt and this is absurd. I don’t know. What to do and I must. Lucan’s darting eyes in the mirror and am I alone? Carefully into the squatting position, fingers unwilling on the floor it’s pretty dirty and peek. Under these two cubicles for telltale feet and sagging trousers. There’s nobody else! Good. Straightening arrgh! Bending has brought the evil rush of blood to my head, good Lord, or from it: Lucan awkward to the wall and leaning, breathing deeply because of the pressure and cascading light. A most unpleasant feeling, yes; very unpleasant and perhaps water, a splash of cool, this water will help. Gushing force and clear, but just as I’m about to, that tapping on the door. “Excuse me please.” His tentative voice.
“Yes. What do you want, I’m just . . .”
“You are not angry sir?”
“What? Oh no, no I’m not angry, I just have to, to ah.” Soak my face in water, that’s all, for my dizziness and pain. I wish to hell you’d go away.
“We don’t like to offend the customers but there are these laws, you understand?”
“Yes.” Resigned and. Suck. Staring at my image in the glass for there’s no escape.
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t hear you. There seems to be water running, are you alright? I can’t hear you very well.” Good bloody grief but. Oh. Wrenching the tap shut and I mustn’t in this silence be too.
“I said. Yes. Yes. I . . .” What, now what? I’ve forgotten what he. Said for chrissakes! “I said yes.”
“Thank you sir. Do you think you could. We’d be desolate, very unhappy to think a customer was angry. Could you open the door please?”
“No. No I can’t. Open the door I’m.” Naked, horribly naked or something and I’m growing this hump, I’m. This very ugly hump. “I’m not angry, I assure you. I don’t need to open the door, I understand you see, and I’ll certainly speak to him. Yes I’ll explain it all, yes I understand, I’ll.” Jesus Christ! Open the? “No I couldn’t possibly.” Away, away fuck off you sneaky Chinese bastards! Hypodermics and innocent girls . . .
“Well if you’re sure you’re not angry.”
“No. No I’m sure.”
“We thought you’d understand. That’s why we spoke to you. A university gentleman and you looked so. If I can say so. Understanding.” Silence. That’s the ticket, don’t say a word and quickly the tap on full. These loud splashing sounds for a while but don’t underestimate them; they’re patient devils. Dousing coolness, delicate at the temples and around the ears so I can’t possibly hear and that feels better. Taking some, rolling it around the mouth for freshness: Lucan chewing a mouthful of water, gargling a bit, but with care. Don’t overdo it and gag, that wouldn’t be very nice. Wet hands to the back of my neck and pause: I think they’ve gone away. A brisk rub with this towel to invigorate the whole head. Get the blood moving; brighten the eyes and skin. Listening carefully. They have, they’ve given up, there’s not a sound. Good. Good. Now on to the business at hand; relieve this sickness in the bowels and I’ll be a new man. Ready for anything. I only hope it isn’t going to activate my piles. Bracing the door with my hip and bending to examine the seat, yes that’s alright. Not too pitted or anything. Out of my coat and hang it up straightening the sleeves. You get a lot of cracks or pits in a toilet seat and God knows what filth’s embedded, nasty diseases and. Everything. Pulling out a few sheets, carefully rubbing, polishing a little and it looks clean enough. What’s that? Bending, there. Floating, aah! Paper and I didn’t think. No! He must have meant the tank. Lifting the porcelain top; lettuce leaves, among the strings and levers? No. Rusty float. Be impractical here, there must be another closer to the kitchen. Back out to shut the water off, I’m sure they’ve gone: I’d try to see but the keyhole’s full of dirt, and anyway, it’s dark out there. Embarrassing wow, to stare right into, into another eye. Jeez! Back to my cubicle, undo the old belt, jinglejingle, masculine bending the knees. Anyone, anyone with half a brain would know he couldn’t be my friend. Worlds apart, we’re. Yow it’s cold! But that’s alright, they only live at body temperature. He’s unobjective, sentimental, hopelessly. Whoops! Careful. I wonder if anyone’s listening? Door’s closed of course, but maybe. See if there’s a peephole anywhere, a cold Sax Rohmer eye watching Lucan Crackell in this undignified position. Some kind of an air vent but it
looks pretty safe. Twisting around, as best I can, but there’s nothing else. Relaxing and the really unpleasant thing is they brought him here. Shaking head in disbelief. Trying to, relaxing but there doesn’t seem to be. Just making me. It really makes you sick, the selfishness of these people. Feel worse, that’s all; dropping pressure deeply in my gut.
Leaning forward, straining flat against the earth and sighting down the barrel at figures on the hardbaked path. Or hand grenades, lobbing them, their savage voice with dust and shrapnel bursting as I roll and move. Pow! Pow! It’s Oswald, Good Lord! Returning my fire from that other hill. Clear-eyed Lucan Crackell, but with a certain fear, a sickness as he scrambles agile to these rocks and waiting. Peers in caution to the wood’s green edge. You heard her Oswald. Cold-staring, dangerous eyes and at his first threatening move I drop to my knee and out with the right arm smash, like this, under the old breastbone. Diving hard!
Obviously a cruel presumption but what’s more, it’s illegal, that’s the thing. Illegal. Rubbing at the belly, perhaps that will help. Pushing downwards with still fingers. Quite apart from the impact, the chaos in her day, and that’s bad enough God knows, there’s the police. Jeez, what are they going to? Tense Lucan, easy. Relax. Serve him bloodywell right! Gratuitous pain and tension that he brings.
Mewling and stretching, a child in clothes grown small, sweet Rose. Walking in painted halls with cool stairs easy beneath the feet and nothing comes of it. Did you tell? Did you tell? Long night’s wait for their praise, and then a mirror beyond this door in sudden light revealed. Oh God! Suck!
Or like Yves Montand in Wages of Fear, rock in my hand and there, crowbar threatening, cowardly. Put it down, drop it in the scorching sun. This clash of wills. I’m warning you and clattering among the boulders at his feet as he gives in completely and I throw the rock yes as hard as I fuckingwell can I burnitwithallmystrength and it smashes crushes his face and collapsing he falls in bursting blood and bone.
Five Legs Page 12