Chapter 9 IX

Chapter 9

Days went by and I had no alternatives. I accelerated the classes and got used to asking for money. My appearance was horrible, as if I were a doll placed on a stage to be pitiful. Dirt ate away at me from my neck to my ankles. I needed to take a shower.

Begging for no one to recognize me, I managed to scrape together just enough money to buy a sandwich. I felt guilty for letting Rachel do the dirty work. We were the same. Even if she was hooked up to a machine and I was conscious.

Since I hardly had any conversation with Bill, I spent many hours on those streets where I was not known. Classes with Mr. Redman had become daily and we played "Knocking on Heaven's Door" by Guns and Roses. Those were good times, but I felt it was time for me to leave. I knew my real family was far away, but at the same time it was a betrayal to just disappear. A strange force was telling me to hold on a little longer, that everyone was going to be okay.

'Mr. Redman, it's absurd that you're still living on the street, why should you still be playing? I feel good, I'm reluctant to play music, but then everything goes back to the same thing. I'm sinking into misery'.

'Anna, I offered you a job at the university, but you don't dare. You're more worried about what they might think. That's because you have empathy. You should think more about yourself.

'Selfishness is a two-headed monster, Mr. Redman.'

'Wow,' he laughed. 'Call me Greg, stop that standoffish treatment.'

We played a few chords and, as we finished, I said:

'I need to buy that plane ticket.'

'Look, Anna, I'm not going to be the one to forbid you. If you're broke, I can pay for your trip. I don't want you to suffer. But today I talked to the city council.'

'I don't need sympathy. No more. Getting into a homeless program will only make me realize how low I've fallen.'

'Let me finish,' he replied, grimacing. 'Wouldn't you like to get a contract to work as a musician in Dublin?'

'You've got to be kidding, right,' I said arching an eyebrow.

'Not at all, Anna, it's in your hands.'

'I...'

'You don't need to tell me now. Think about it. I'm sorry I can't accommodate you. My house is full and I can't throw my wife and children out,' he apologized.

'Never mind.'

What did it matter to be just another part of the set, just another day, as if my body were painted on a concrete canvas? I would resist, at least as long as my heart didn't stop. It was the pain that was embedded in me.

I managed to catch a glimpse of Rachel, though she responded in monosyllables, lying as she was on the hospital bed.

'Hello, beautiful. You're going to be all right,' I said, grabbing her hand.

She watched me with her magnetic blue eyes.

'Yes, yes,' she merely stammered.

That was good enough for me. Even if she was missing several teeth, I found her truly beautiful. In Norse mythology, the moirai have the whole trajectory of a person decided. Cloto, the little one, chooses the material. Some destinies, like that of the reserved Rachel, have their lives made of hemp and wool. Others are left with gold and silk. Laquesis is the one who moves the wheel. I wondered what those two were doing with me. Atropos, the one who cuts the threads with her scissors, had it in her hand to end all my suffering. But perhaps fate had something better in store for me.

Bill hadn't changed to begin with. He was moving through the bushes looking for cigarette butts. Sometimes he disappeared. When I asked him where he was going, he would tell me in his deep voice:

'To order some bread at the bar.'

A few Samaritans were the ones who sustained that nightmare, giving hope that he could stop being one.

Before I knew it, I was performing with a drummer, another guitarist and a singer. We had gigs at Temple Bar and Flanneries. By day I would stand in an inconspicuous spot on Grafton Street and improvise songs or do covers of my favorite bands.

I would never have expected that. But I cursed the night when the pub was more crowded than usual. We played so well that we were asked for an encore. When the applause ended, we were replaced by a dj. It was then that I stared at one of the tables. Three couples were sharing kisses, laughter and beer. Monica and an unfamiliar girl, Jack and Erika, Beth and a tall guy I barely noticed. They had resolved their family and love drama. As I picked up the wires, I wished the earth would swallow me up. We all dissimulated, but I was glad none of them came to talk to me.

I went back to my den, fearful that more people would recognize me. I was looking forward to my first salary as an artist so I could pay for a plane to London. I was needed at home. But I didn't want anyone to give it to me. It had to be something clean. Huddled in the tent, I imagined I was traveling on a carpet over the clean Dublin sky, measuring the dividing line of the River Liffey, the one that split the city in two halves. It was a sweet dream, as much as the pain of my ribs digging into the fabric would allow. Bill was snoring near me, but his sound was lost in the wind and rain, forming a melody as perfect as it was bittersweet.

I dreamed that Rachel recovered, but I didn't have it all together. I looked forward to each new performance, which was preceded by a shower at the town hall facility. It cleansed my soul, bad memories and scars. But the deterioration continued, with its soundtrack intact.