I said, “It’s my turn now, is that it?”
“For what? Rotating the chores?”
“I know how this works Lisa, you tell me a story... then I reciprocate and...”
“The fuck you talking about mister? You think I want to trade pieces of my momma for some of your memories?”
To my astonishment, tears were rolling down her face and she muttered, “You bastard, you jonny fish...”
They kept changing the rules. No sooner had I got a handle on the game, they moved the flaming goal posts.
Thing is, I did have a story: I wish now I’d told it to one of them. I dunno which would have understood the best... but I ought to have gone for it. Here’s the story, less heralded now alas.
As a child in the beginning, I couldn’t understand what they were saying to me. Then, I could understand but I didn’t know how to respond. Finally, I could understand and reply and wanted to do neither.
Autograph books had a short burst of popularity in our neighbourhood, like hula hoops. Course, you could never get within spit of anyone famous so the book got full of bus conductors, milkmen, anyone who could write. My mother’s sister had been good to me. Prevented my dad from thrashing me on more than a few occasions. She wrote in my book, “The cause of many a silent tear.”
And broke my heart.
I grew up believing I’d hurt the only person ever to show me kindness. That weighed heavily on my soul and undoubtedly affected my behaviour. Only very recently, I’d found the book among old things. The pages were mildewed but legible. Who the fuck was Reg the Milkie or Tim the Postie. Christ they were nobodies then and not even remembered now. The Tab Hunters of Brixton I guess.
... and then.
My aunt’s entry.
God in Heaven, I felt the blush of anguish, of early shame. Then I noticed the very corner of the page was turned in. I straightened it and there was written:
... onions.
It took a moment for the penny to drop. She’d been joking, it was only a piece of humorous whimsy. So I had lived a large portion of my life on misunderstanding.
Well... yes.
Have I thus learnt to look more carefully. Probably the result is that I check the corners first, long before I get to read the message. I know the Waltons would have liked this story which is verdict enough.
Lisa asked, “Can you trust Dex?”
“What?... I thought you liked him.”
“Jeez, wake up boy, I like Big Bird, you think I want him along on a kidnapping?”
“You get along like soul mates.”
“Dex feeds me what I want... myself. He’s a mirror, reflects back the best of me.”
She took her hand mirror from her bag, checked her face, said, “Dex is a type. Huge ego. Other people’s feelings, thoughts don’t touch him. He’s not capable of love or remorse. His existence is based on other’s weaknesses. The perfect urban predator.”
“You’ve been reading my Digest.”
“No Nick. Just surviving in London. See this mirror, turn it over and what is there? Just a black space. That’s the very essence of Dex, it’s a place where light has never reached and never will. The total absence.”
“You’re describing pure evil.”
“No honey-chil’. You ain’t listening. I just got dun telling you wot BLACK is. With your Dex, his tone, his voice, gesture, look like they change but it ain’t nothing, it’s empty. He be the hollow man Mr Tom Eliot look for.”
“Or like in Apocalypse Now?”
“Yo’, Nicky, don’t try to mix references with me. Y’all pit cinema agin my readin’. When yo’ gonna learn boy?”
Before I could reply to this attack she was off again.
“You watch TV Nick. You’ve heard of Armed Response. Bear it in mind baby.”
“OK Lisa, I’ve listened to the lecture. Compelling it may be but it has one big flaw.”
“What dat flaw?”
“Me. You said he reflects the other person. When he’s with me, all he does it give me lip.” She laughed out loud.
“Yo’ Nicky. Planet Earth calling. Dat dee whole beauty of it. He give yo’ back wot yo’ most admire. Sass and savvy and right up to dee line he bring you. Sheet Nicky, dat where you live.”
I replied pathetically, “That’s not true.”
“Oh, it’s true baby, yo’ know dat. In yo’ heart, yo’ know. When the time comes with dat Dex and dat time is surely coming. Yo’ all distract that boy first. Get him go make coffee. Then yo’ come up behind him quick and yo’ cut dat mother-fuckhah’s throat. Cut it full. Y’all hear what I’m saying?”
“Enough Lisa, you’re losing it... I won’t listen to any more of this garbage.”
“Y’all heard me, I said — ‘Full’... do it proper and do it proud.”
That morning the phone rang early. Did I still have my van? Yup... wanna do a moving job... definitely. Would need two men. I told Lisa, she turned her head away, asked, “What colour are my eyes?”
“You’re kidding me. It’s seven in the morning and you’re bringing me this.”
I didn’t know and she said, “You don’t know.”
“They’re brown.”
“Blue, with green flecks. Very striking.”
“C’mon Lisa, what significance has it?”
“Oh nothing... if nothing’s what you feel for a person.”
“Gimme a break, OK.”
“You won’t know then what colour eyes Dex has got.”
“I don’t.”
“Neither does he... have any colour. They are dead eyes.”
“Lay off the poor hoor. I have to work with him today.”
She concluded with, “The Sudi seek a joining of the mind and intuition which illuminates. This brings love.”
“Yeah that too,” I said.
Dex was pleased to join me in the day’s work. He quickly changed into old jeans, work boots, plaid shirt and... I dunno where he got it... a white hard hat.
As he climbed into the van he was whistling “YMCA”.
The job was in Camberwell and as I drove, he punched my arm... in a friendly gesture. His accent sounded like Jimmy Stewart.
“Gee Nick, this is great, us driving off to work, brothers-in-arms. Buddies in the moving racket. Already Nick, I feel very moved.”
Another playful punch, a little harder.
“Gosh, ain’t this swell. Dos honchos heading out there... ARRIBA ZAPATA.”
“Don’t punch me again Dex, OK?”
“Gotcha. No punching... OK... how about heavy petting. Whoa, sorry big fella. Thing is, I love ya big guy, that’s the holy of it all.”
He was silent a moment then, “Remember all those buddy movies... two guys on the road. Scarecrow... remember that, bet you like ol’ Gene Hackman. No frills, no shit kinda guy, yeah. You and me, we’re like Kerouac and Cassady. With Lisa as Maggie... whatcha fink partner?”
“We’re here. This is it.”
An elderly lady was being moved into sheltered accommodation. A lot of her furniture was old and awkward. As we manoeuvred items to the van, a teenager on a skateboard whizzed right up to us... flip
turn
till his next run.
Dex said in a high cheerful voice, “Doesn’t bother me... bother you Nick?”
“No, we’re nearly finished anyway.”
“No one’s bothered. Not even the old biddy who’s losing her home. It’s a wonderful life.”
We got the gear all locked down and I got back into the van. Dex said, “Haif a mo’.”
He walked over to the kid. Threw up his right arm. The kid’s eyes followed. Dex gave him an almighty kick between the legs. Then he picked up the skateboard and flung it back into the van.
I was too surprised to comment.
I put the van into gear and Dex said, “Weren’t you just the teeniest... weeniest bit bothered?”