Chapter 10 X

Chapter 10

"Homelessness is still a problem," said a very serious announcer on the small radio station Bill was listening to. He had a transistor that a scrap dealer had given him, after he had sold him all kinds of wires, toy boxes and pieces of iron. With that and some snacks his friend gave him, fat Bill had more than enough to survive on.

And what else can I say? Music lessons went on, gigs became more frequent and I continued to embarrass myself on the street. I lived like an artist, with applause, admirers and fans, and then I would go back to my burrow until the next day. The best and worst of two worlds.

One day Bill came over in the wee hours of the morning. He wasn't as drunk as usual. To tell the truth, it was the first time I saw him so sober. But he had a halo of concern in his eyes.

'What's the matter,' I said.

'Rachel, she's dead.'

'What? No! Shit!'

To the rest of the world she was a junkie with no future. To me, a tear in the soul. The only time I'd ever seen a dead guy had been...Ben. My brother was engulfed by cancer. He didn't smoke, he didn't drink, he hadn't merited death. The doctors had talked about probabilities, quality of life, treatments. But one day he disappeared, and since then I had to live with his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps the only good thing about living as a pauper, not having a mirror in which to see my own sorrows.

But, now, his invisible shadow accompanied me wherever I went, just like Rachel's. I didn't need to see my reflection to know it. We keep a bit of every look, every breath, every person who passes through our lives, however clumsily and on tiptoe.

In my backpack I still kept the wet books. In my luggage, clothes to throw away. I was showering thanks to Redman, who had also given me some of his daughter's T-shirts and jeans.

'I'd bring you more, but I don't want her to protest.'

'It's okay. They'll end up ruined anyway.', I said.

'As for the apartment, the council has said that...Well, they've made things complicated.'

'Aren't they going to grant it to me,' I wailed, in an innocent voice.

'I'm afraid I have no answers. They're delaying the whole thing, they say it's not their job. You know the "I work for this department and charity is not my speciality" thing.'

'I don't want sympathy.'

'So you want the ticket to London?'

I didn't mean to be arrogant, because self-assurance lasted until he, or I, mentioned the flight.

Wherever I went, I felt like in "The Waste Land", by Thomas Stern Elliot. Sterile and meaningless.

At Christmas, my parents called to see if they could pay me a visit.

'Are you really coming all this way, Mom?'

I was lucky. She was easier to negotiate with. She wasn't as stubborn as Dad.

'But daughter, we miss you,' she adduced, holding back a veiled cry. 'Are you going to stay there?

'No, I'll be back soon,' I caught myself replying.

'When?'

I fell silent for a few seconds.

'In June.'

'Six months. Enough time to get my life in order. What was I planning to do until then? 'Take advantage of my contract as a musician. Find a room. 'Find love? 'Ridiculous purpose when you're running away from even yourself.

I went to Rachel's funeral in black clothes that Redman had given me. I felt like I was in someone else's body. I had asked Redman to show me a picture, to which he had happily agreed. 'Blonde, like Rachel and like me, light-eyed. I was all of them. My tears mingled with the rain in front of the headstone. I got really wet, because I wasn't carrying an umbrella.

Then it seemed to me that someone shouted 'Ana' in the distance. A dark-skinned boy, wearing a trench coat of the same color and sunglasses. I had barely caught a glimpse of him when I saw Kate.

She didn't look good.

'You this way?'

My way of asking was most stupid. She ducked her head.

'Yes, that was my sister.

'What?'

'She disappeared from my house. We couldn't do anything.'

'I'm really sorry.'

I stroked his arm.

'No, you don't have to...'

He left the sentence half-finished. Erika and Jack walked past us. They stopped, expressed their condolences to Kate and pretended I wasn't there.

I had the word on my lips, but it wasn't the place or the time. For the second time I was free of them. Only a slight look of self-satisfaction on Erika's part bothered me.

"'And Monica?", I was tempted to say.

I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was mingling with Ben's memories in my head. Her crawling form under the sheets accompanied me all the way back to my hideout, which I made on foot.

I curled up under the threadbare sheet and reflected on my sex life. I hadn't had a relationship since Monica. I thought about her and the images of both of them naked were grotesque to me. I started to touch myself, but was stopped by Bill's snoring in the tent. "'Shit,' I laughed to myself, 'What would he have thought if he'd noticed?

I didn't find him attractive at all, but at least he respected me. He had told me about his ex-wife and son, who were in Romania. I knew the story, the yellow photos and old Bill's frustrated face. As a young man he had been just as bearded, but his quietness must have been valued by her.

I took advantage of a lull to keep touching myself. I was no longer attracted to Monica, although it was significant that I had started with her image, followed by a picture of Jack making it with me on his bed. Once I'd got excited, even more by the thought of Erika protesting about our idyll, a fiura emerged strongly on the scene. Harlan, the Indian - was he the one who had called out to me in the distance at the funeral? I squeezed my nipples and pussy hard, grabbed a piece of paper with another hand and gasped until I was ecstatic. Bill was sleeping peacefully. I lay on my back, ashamed of myself, and thought of Mr. Redman's promises. "'Tomorrow will be another day.