Thirteen Crucifixions, 66

“This is, of course, strange phenomena.  I only wish that I knew what to make of it all.  I’ve since moved here to Tofino, from off the beach.  A couple with a bed and breakfast are putting me up for next to nothing in exchange for services rendered.  I still drive to the beach every day.  The need for solitude presses on me.  Constantly.  No one here knows my name or identity.  My name is Tom and I’m from New Brunswick.  They don’t know that I’m a doctor.  It seems widely assumed that I have some sort of mental illness.  But people here are very kind, to me anyway.  I do not know what to do next.  I think fondly of you, and often, but I cannot return.  I am sorry I left so suddenly.  It appears I was in the midst of some sort of breakdown.  I still haven’t recovered.  My last day with you, I woke up with a distinct sense of having forgotten myself.  That was when I knew that I must leave.  I felt awful about your mother.  And I, a physician, but we often are the most useless towards our nearest and dearest.  Forgive me, I trust much for her recovery.  I did appreciate the strain you were under.  I felt powerless to do anything, to be anything helpful to you.   I can easily use as an excuse my often staggering caseload at the clinic, that never-ending stream of knife and gunshot wounds, drug overdoses, alcohol poisoning, malnutrition, head and body lice, fractures, tuberculosis.  There but for the Hippocratic Oath went I.  My sleep is still disturbed.

            Now that Martin is gone I am as truly alone as I can be.  I miss his warmth.  I’m afraid I was a bit much for him.  But he was very good to me.  I would have happily become his lover.  He said no, he kept on saying no, though had it not been for his blasted spirituality he might have relented.  He was very good to me, nursing me out of my four day drunk in Victoria.  He stayed by my side throughout the DT’s.  I owe him my life.  His family has a cabin by Kennedy Lake where we spent a week together.  I was, I am, madly in love with him.  With a man, you say?  And Carol, why not?  But this is where my heart particularly breaks for you, first of all because I have not forgotten you nor do I love you any less; and because of Stan, your ex, and also on account of your brother.  My poor fluff-ball of a pussycat, you must at times wonder what it is about you and homosexual men.  Except I am not homosexual.  Martin is a complete surprise for me.  In his way he is quite masculine, though I’m sure he’s gay.  He will not tell me.  I have even asked him, specifically, and he simply looks at me with calm rationality.  He has the most amazing eyes, second only to yours.  Vast, deep grey Celtic eyes that absorb everything and reveal nothing, apart from their own peculiar dazzling light.  Did I tell you he’s only eighteen?  And I at least old enough to be his dad?  Would you, by chance know his family?  His last name is Moriarty.  His father is extremely wealthy—he owns a chain of budget department stores, American of course.  Martin is kind of a free lance saint, or so it seems.  Not the soul-saving kind.  Catholic.  I think you roomed with his sister for a while.

            He is impossible to read.  Unlike you, Carol, who are merely difficult.  But Martin is beyond obscure.  Perhaps this is what underlies my erotic fascination with him.  He is a male, but men for me are pretty easy to read.  Women are difficult, but that is why I love women.  But Martin?  Is there a third gender?  And if there is then he is it.  Perhaps he is of another kind?  Some are.  I believe that, among humans dwell a peculiar class of beings who are in relation to other humans in much the same manner as we are to the Great Apes.  Light years ahead of us, and possibly even from a different planet or dimension.  Thus I would describe Martin, who doesn’t even appear to know that he is unusual.  He lives in a tiny attic room in a great old house in James Bay.  He is very poor and spends his days usually working in a drop-in centre and soup kitchen.  He is very gentle with people, regarding each individual, no matter how destitute or unattractive with tremendous deference and respect.  In all my years practicing medicine in the Downtown Eastside I have never encountered such as he.

            I didn’t tell you about the first time I saw him.  I was just about to start drinking, having only just arrived in Victoria. He was sitting on a rock, underneath the garry-oaks.  A small bird was perched on his knee.  He wasn’t feeding it.  It just stood there like it was part of him.  Carol, I have never known anyone like this.  Where do such people come from?  Are they people?  But he has a mother and father like the rest of us.  I have asked him about this.  Martin says he recalls distinctly, as an infant, being surrounded by white shining beings, beings of light, he believes.   One touched his forehead, another his stomach, another his right hand, another his left, another his genitals, another his right foot, another his left.  In school he was considered gifted.  He sings beautifully—his voice has a five-octave range with special strengths in the tenor and counter tenor.  He would be beautifully suited for the early Baroque and late Renaissance, say the compositions of Gabrielli and Monteverdi.  He wants me to see him again in Victoria.  I’m still not quite finished here.”

 

            Three times Glen had read this entry.  Indeed his eyes, as of their own volition, began scanning it again.  He tried to shove it aside.  His coffee wasn’t quite finished.  Chris topped it up for him.  “Waiting for Carol?”

            “I am actually.”

            “She’s not in till three.”

            “We’re having lunch.”

            “She’d might as well live here.  And how about you.”

            “Yeah, I like hanging out here.”

            “I’m still looking for another server.”

            “Maybe.”

            “How’s the Pitstop?”

            “Thrill’s gone.  It’s where I work.”

            “It isn’t you?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Working there.  It’s not your kind of place?”

            “But it is.”

            “No.  Really?”

            “But you are, Blanche.”

            “I never would have guessed.  Your sister works there?”

            “It’s all in the family.”

            “Do you actually like it there?”

            “I work there.”

            “But, honestly, did you ever actually like the Pitstop?”

            “My sister’s there.”

            “And of course you like your sister.”

            “I love her, actually.”

            “But if she didn’t work there?”

            “Then I don’t know.”

            “Could you picture yourself in there if she didn’t work there?”

            “There are other people there that I like.”

            “Are they gay?”

            “I haven’t asked any of them about their sexual preference.  Why are you asking me all these questions?  Is this an interview?”

            “I just want to get a good sense of you.”

            “Why?”

            “I think you’re interesting.  When would you like to start?”

            “When do you need me?”

            “Tomorrow?”

            “That’s too soon.  Marlene has me scheduled for the next three days.”

            “How many hours do you work every week?”

            “Varies.”

            “Can you live on it?”

            “Just.”

            “But two shifts here might.”

            “When can I get back to you?”

            “Call me tomorrow evening if you can.”

            “Here’s Carol.”

            “Hi Chris”, she said, removing her Ray-Bans.  “Glen!”

            “What’s up?”

            “I’m ready to commit homicide.”

            “Derek?”

            “Don’t mention that name in polite company.”

            “What happened?”  Glen was stirring his coffee with a harshly tinkling spoon.

            “Nothing yet.”

            “What’s going to happen?”

            “I’m pregnant.”  She started weeping.

            “What?”

            “You heard me.”

            “Derek?”

            “The Virgin Birth’s already been done, so it wasn’t God.”

            “Does he know?”

            “I’m telling him tonight.”

            “How do you think he’s going to take it?”

            “Christ, I don’t know.  With luck he’ll be gone tomorrow.”

            “He won’t welcome the news?”

            “He hates kids.  He’s such a child himself.”

            “What are you going to do?”

            “I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”

            “How do you feel?”

            “Sick, constantly for the last few days.  The doctor doesn’t like it.  He thinks I should…end it.”

            “What do you think?”

            “I don’t know what to think.”

            “What do you feel?”

            “Torn.”

            “What should you do?”

            “End it.”

            “And you’re still telling Derek.”

            “I want him to leave.  He doesn’t need to know anything.  I’ll just tell him, hey buddy, yer gonna be a daddy and watcha gonna do about it?”

            “You can’t just tell him it’s over, let’s end it?”

            “He’d only start crying and then I’d give in.  I can’t resist a man’s tears.  Especially someone so pathetic and miserable.”

            “Do you think it’ll work?”

            “It’s worth a gamble.  Glen, this relationship is slowly poisoning me.”  She was starting to cry again.  “Sorry.  I know you don’t like scenes.  This is so abnormal.  It’s perverted.  I can’t stomach any more.  You know, last night, he asked me to shit on him.  I said no, I’m drawing the line.  Then he starts getting all petulant and weepy and then I wanted to kill him.  I told him to leave.  He wouldn’t and then I commanded him.  He likes to be bossed and humiliated, you see, so then I told him to leave, naked.  And… he did.  So, he’s standing in the front yard with nothing on. Thank God it was the middle of the night.  So then I threw down his clothes and told him to go home.”

            “How did he take that?”

            “He loved it.  He wants us to do it again tonight.”

            “Oh Gawd!”

            “Glen, how do I get rid of this creep?”

            “I can see your options are going to be somewhat limited.”

            “Can you excuse me for a minute while I make a phone call?   While I’ve got the nerve I’m booking an appointment with the Everywoman Clinic.”

            “About the pregnancy?”

            “Ending it.”

            “Carol, are you sure?”

            “No.  But I have to do it.”

            “Then you know what to do.”

            “Be right back.”