Twist 5

FIVE The bus rolled across the European countryside through the dark winter night. It was absolutely calming to be among innocent travellers, pretending to be one of them for the time being. In a matter of hours he would be in Paris, anonymous. He’d been lucky. They vice world was small and it liked it that way- it meant that everyone kept tabs on everyone else. Once in a different place, he would be released back into the vast benignly uncaring mass of humanity that didn’t know a thing about him. Once in Paris he was met and greeted by an old friend who had lived there for years. Carl had a British passport, lived in that realm of privileged people who never had to think about things like visas and work permits. Steve would need to start thinking about such things if he were to have a chance here. Carl was a journalist, but he had connections with teachers here, and could hook Steve up with teachers in the city from foreign parts who would explain what the deal was with getting the necessary papers. There was good money in it anyway, up to 200F an hour. You certainly wouldn’t be on less than 150. Despite the high life Steve had been living, the money sounded acceptable. They sat up in Carl’s little flat in Montmartre, talking on and on. It seemed incredibly strange that they should be together again, after all this time and space apart and going in all sorts of different directions. Steve’s journey into the underbelly of Eastern Europe, Carl’s photojournalistic forays into India, South-East Asia and Central America. As he entered the flat, Steve noticed a hand-scrawled sign tacked to a wall. It said Stop: Smoking Drinking Fucking Eating bad food Steve asked him about this. “Yeah, I’ve given all that up. The only person I’m fucking these days is myself.” “I wish I could say the same. I’ve been fucking myself too, though. Myself and others. In a pretty big way, really.” “As if you’re the first to say or think that.” “Yeah, of course. Fucking yourself, that’s one of the things that makes you human, isn’t it? I’ve been asking myself lately ‘what is a human being?’ You know, animals, when they have sex, they do it to reproduce, apart from the odd, more intelligent than average species that has discovered sex for pleasure and recreation. Humans do it for all sorts of reasons besides. There’s pleasure, there’s power, money or the desire to inflict or receive pain. So our motivations are more complex. Same goes for when human beings kill. Animals kill to eat. Humans kill each other, in large numbers because of religion and race, greed and politics. We’re the only ones who do it. We’re the only ones that imprison each other, addict each other on drugs and consumer products, organise pedophile rings and suchlike. Not that that’s anything new, but I still feel disgusted by it. I suppose that when people ask ‘Where is the humanity?’ you can say that it’s there in the torture and the trade and the the exploitation, the greed and the hypocrisy. It’s easy to see where the humanity lies.” “So what’s been your contribution to humanity?” “Well, I started a business, a little business trafficking whores from Russia to Poland and from Poland to Germany. It was good. I mean, it was easy and the money was pretty nice. Anyway, I really like women and I enjoy working with them, especially if I can profit from exploiting them sexually.” “Right.” “Anyway, I ran into a bit of a glitch. I left Poland eventually and got to the Czech Republic, mainly because I wanted to do porno movies, or at least invest some of my profits in them. Legally and culturally, it’s easier to do porn in Prague than it is in Warsaw. The Czechs are really laid-back about sex, they don’t much think there’s anything wrong with pornography and their girls are so willing to get it on in front of the camera it just isn’t funny. Everything looked like it was going great until I got an email from Poland. Christ knows how they got my email. Anyway, they said they were going ot track me down in Prague for crossing them, for steaing their girls and selling them on to other operators in Germany, cutting the Polish operators out of the profits. Unless I came forward with $20 000 in a heck of a hurry, and there’s no way that’s going to happen, even if I had that kind of money just sitting around for a rainy day. So I’m here, and I need to lay pretty low for a while. You know?” “Ah, I think so. Do you think they’ll find you here?” “I don’t think they would unless I decided to start working in the sex biz again. Then the degrees of separation start to shrink. Quite a lot.” “So you better not get involved I guess. Anyway, I don’t want you getting whacked and bleeding all over these carpets. They cost money to replace.” “Yeah fair enough.” “Oh Steve, I thought you were such a nice boy.” “Me too. Stuff just happens and it happens. It’s like little steps. First there’s the porn, then the hookers. After a few years of being into both a little too much, I thought to myself ‘I’m a big sucker here. I’m paying and paying and everyone else gets the profits.’ So I figured on getting myself a cut of the action. I thought to myself ‘Why not?’ after having spent so damn much on it. So one thing led to another, until things got real, real hairy. “Right.” “Yeah, right. Now I’m here. Man I need a little safety and protection.” “I can do what I can.” “Thanks brother.” * Later that day he went out to the markets and bought a bunch of fresh vegetables and herbs. Carl had asked him if he wouldn’t mind making something cleansing and spicy, for a cold he was trying to shake off. Steve bought some basil and garlic, fresh chillies and ginger as well as zuchinnis, eggplant, mushrooms and onion, some tofu, soy sauce and rice. Carl had the barest pantry Steve had seen in a while. He whipped up a vegetarian stir-fry in the tiny kitchen. “Man this is delicious. You’re a fackin brilliant cook.” “That’s alright. Gotta be good at something, and teaching and pimping aint it.” * The following day he slept in, having woken repeatedly through the night, tossing and turning for an hour or so before returning to more nightmares. Carl returned from his all night job in the press office at 9 in the morning and went straight to bed, saying he’d be up around sunset. Steve was still lying in the little sleeping bag in the sitting room when Carl returned and was awoken by his entrance. He realised that he wasn’t going to sleep any more, so decided to go out after showering and breakfasting, despite the fact that he felt far safer here than he did out there. Out on the street it was cool, clear and quiet, the air filled with a classically European calm. When he walked the streets of a European city, wandering into its nooks and crannies, its eternally calm, quiet corners, he always got the feeling that all his night-time insomniac anxieties had been for nothing. It wasn’t like he mattered either. Even if he were eradicated, the space would remain. Warsaw, defiant city of storms and turbulence, was nevertheless an oasis of calm in most of its neighbourhoods. The populace had been exterminated, they’d weathered unbearable, excruciating pain, and yet life had returned there. He knew deep down that his suffering wasn’t much in the general scheme of things, against the whole tortured history of Europe and the rest of the world, he’d had a pretty cushy ride. Mediaeval terror and deprivation, World Wars and all sorts of other lesser conflicts. Concentration camps in the name of freedom. After wandering aimlessly for more than an hour from block to block, and jumping onto Metro trains taking him around different precincts, he sat down in a small bar that was already, at 11:30 in the morning, half-filled with drinkers. The unbroken calm of the Paris street was cheerfully blown to bits by the riotous proclivites inside. Steve ordered a beer and lit a cigarette. He returned to the flat at 7 in the evening, having strolled all day around Paris. Carl was up, drinking a cup of tea. Steve asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner. He said ok, offered to treat Steve this time. Steve had cooked such a nice meal last night. I don’t mind, Steve insisted, least I could do when you’re putting me up here. But he didn’t press the point and let Carl pay. They went to a cosy bistro. These Paris places are so tiny, Steve mused to himself. So tiny and so sweet, like little dolls. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell Carl that this would be their last meal together ever. They talked about the old days and about their future plans. Steve had to fudge and pretend not to know too much, saying he’d see where things took him. Nothing concrete so far. They returned to the flat and drank tea before Carl left for the press agency. Steve set his alarm clock for 7 am, knowing that Carl would be back at around 9. He fled the flat before seeing him again the next day, leaving him a note on the living room floor, explaining, or at least trying to. He boarded a bus to Berlin, got himself a Polish visa the next day, moved on to Warsaw. Polish customs stamped his passport with the usual indifference. Years worth of tourst visas in there didn’t appear to arouse the suspicion that maybe he was here for more than a holiday. The bus rolled on through the visibly poorer Polish countryside. Back in dreary Warsaw, the hard Polish winter greeted him, wrapped its misty arms around him. He called Zaneta, one of his old, casual fucks, from a phone booth. Not home. He called her mobile, explained that he needed a place to stay. She agreed, but first she no doubt was getting ready to give him a roasting about why he’d neglected her for so long, only calling once a month blah blah. Don’t worry babe, he’d say. I’ve finally come to my senses and realised what side my bread’s buttered on. When he reached her place some hours later, after wandering aimlessly around in Warsaw, she was home already and dressed for the occasion, in a sheer long see-through dress. Perfume emanated from her body, an expensive, fashionable, pungent modern stench. “About fucking time you got your act together and came back to Poland,” she said. “Well, I finally decided to see sense and realised that the most sensible thing was for me to stay here with you.” “You know, I’m really happy to hear that. I’m relieved. I want commitment from you- I can give you a lot, but I want something back in return.” “You got it. I’m in now, really. No more games and running around. Baby, you really got me.” They lay down on the bed. He tried to muster up as much enthusiasm as possible when he had sex with her, making all the usual outrageous promises that men make to women before, after or during copulation. He slept in the next day, slept deeply for once as he knew he no longer had to fear any thing. He spent the day out, taking in the sights for what he hoped would be the last time. He returned to Zaneta’s flat at 7:30. He didn’t expect her to be back there until around ten in the evening, which gave him plenty of time. He went into the bathroom and picked up his razor, removing the cartridge from the holder. He took a pair of scissors to it, crushing the cartridge and extracting one of the blades. The second blade and the debris of the cartridge he took into the kitchen and deposited into the bag that hung on the doorhandle which they used for rubbish. He then returned to the bathroom and inserted the blade into the flesh of his wrist, cutting into the vein. First the left wrist, then the right wrist. He watched the blood drip and spurt from his open wrists. He was surprised at how pretty it looked. He watched it flowing down and felt hypnotised by the sight of blood flowing down and out of him. He was standing, looking in the mirror, and rubbed his hand through his hair. He placed a hand on his wrist and let the blood flow into his hand, then rubbed it onto his face, rubbing in circles and playing about, making patterns, criss-cross patterns across his cheeks, circles on his forehead. He picked up the razor again and slashed himself across the stomach. The gash there appeared as a magnificent sight. He slumped into the bathtub and turned on the water. * Zaneta arrived early, at 8:30. Her private student had cancelled. She was surprised by the fact that the only sound in the flat was the sound of running water. She then noticed a trickle of water flowing out from under the bathroom door. She opened the door and screamed. Steve’s head was still above the the waer and, when she reached him it appeared that he was still breathing. She placed her hand on his chest- there was a faint murmer. She pulled her mobile out of a handbag and called for an ambulance. “Tak, tak. Nie moge poczekacz juz po prosze. Juz!” She placed her hand on Steve’s head and pulled him to her chest. Steve, baby, why you do this I don’t understand baby please don’t leave now I just want you to live and please tell me what’s wrong Steve don’t go yet please don’t go I want you to keep going baby please. You didn’t tell me nothing Steve oh God why didn’t you tell me about this I just don’t understand please talk to me and tell me why you do this oh God oh God.