Howard was shaken awake by the pain that wracked
his face. His left cheek was swollen, left
eye wouldn't fully open, his throat hurt and
he could hardly move his knee. The memories
of his skirmish with Drijk flooded back. His
stomach sank sickeningly when he conjectured
what Drijk would do to him in the future.
'Oh
fucking shit!' he croaked.
He staggered to his feet and limped around the
room, dodging the boxes and clutter, deep in
the grip of foul thoughts and depression.
He climbed out of his bloodstained clothes and
groaning he staggered downstairs to the bathroom.
He spat a grim soup of old and new blood into
the sink and looked into the grubby shaving
mirror. His left cheek was bruised disgustingly
and there was a blackened swelling under his
eye.
To compound his troubles, his cash flow was
in crisis. He limped to his car and drove to
the campus where the University branch of his
bank was situated. He endured an unpleasant
encounter with the incurably pompous manager
of his bank account. For some reason the manager,
who perched like a grey parrot behind a hefty
desk, stated his wish that Howard would become
more frugal with his expenditures. Howard promised
he would pay off the overdraft once he had secured
a job, pointing out how the economic boom had
caused a panic recruiting spree amongst employers.
With patronising words to the effect that Howard
should be exorbitantly grateful, the bank manager
unenthusiastically increased Howard's overdraft
limit by another two hundred pound increment.
Howard clenches his fist with indignation.
'Your bank is writing off Third World debts
of hundreds of millions and you grudge me my
overdraft!'
The bank manager looked startled - just for
a second he actually scowled - and then recovered
himself. He shook his head patronisingly and
embarked on a droning exposition of why it was
important to manage one's finances with assiduity.
A few sentences into the advice-dispersing manager's
discourse Howard looked at his watch and excused
himself from the interview. Back at the house
he found no company. He killed time in solitary
misery. By the evening he could find little
to do to suit his offensive mood. From the top
big pile of glossy women's magazines stacked
in the corner of the lounge he grabbed a NeoWoman
magazine and settled down on the sofa to flick
through its syrupy features. He read an article
extolling sunbathing and explaining in less
than medically authoritative terms why the rays
of the sun were
really good for you.
The female writer, whose tanned face beamed
from the top of the page, enthused how the sun
nourishes both skin and soul, how the sun makes
you feel great and how it is so natural to bask
in its lovely, health-giving warmness. To endorse
this philosophythe article was adorned with
pictures of deeply tanned beauties who exposed
their smiley, fake-white teeth.
Gallie arrived and Howard peered up and gazed
upon her with sheepishness. She expressed horror
at his wounded face. Once she was reassured
that Howard was "
OK" she slipped
a
The Moody Blues tape into the player
and slouched on the sofa.
'It's soooo unlike Karen not to keep in touch,'
she moaned.
'She's shacked up with her new lover.'
Gallie sat bolt upright. Her interest was so
peaked she might have heard tidings of an imminent
nuclear attack.
'Ohhhhhh gosh! Really? Who? When? Soooo where
is she? Did you see him? Why didn't you tell
me this before?'
Howard rubbed his swollen throat.
'I forgot,' he muttered hoarsely, remembering
his promise to Karen not to mention her fling
with Dominic.
Gallie pressed so hard with further questions
that Howard wondered if her instincts told her
he knew more than he was letting on, but he
gave no further intelligence about Karen's new
lover.
***
*****
***
The following morning Howard awoke to find his
neck to be so stiff he could barely twist it.
His throat was raw and the Anglo-Saxon phrase
he attempted to mutter did not rent the air
asunder with the intended blast of poisonous
pulsation, for no sound was emitted from his
burning larynx. His voice was lost.
He continued his procrastination and neglected
course lectures. His accumulating burden of
coursework remained untackled. He drove to the
Students Union building. For the entire duration
of his visit he watched out for Drijk with the
vigilance of the paranoid. The bar was crowded
with lunchtime students who huddled in groups
around tables, drank coffee and ate fast food.
Alone in a darkened corner Howard suspected
that toxic chemicals were leaching from the
styrofoam cup into his coffee. He changed a
five-pound note to ensure that he had plenty
of coins for the arcade machines.
Little did he know it but Howard was living
in the golden age of the arcade computer game.
The late eighties were the fleeting era before
cheap home gaming consoles could compete with
arcade games for fast, gorgeous graphics. Some
of these arcade games in the Students Union
were beloved relics such as
Donkey Kong
and
Asteroids. Others were newer but
ageing, like
Daley Thompson's Decathlon
(notorious for being the second biggest cause
of wrist sprain amongst male students),
Hang
On,
Gauntlet,
Nemesis,
Ghosts
'n' Goblins,
Dragon's Lair and a
sit-in
Star Wars game with its at-the-time-impressive,
matchstick, 3D vector graphics. Best of all
were the mind-blowing, state of the art games
like
Space Harrier,
Contra,
Out
Run,
After Burner,
Street Fighter
and
R-Type. Howard marvelled lovingly
at their huge, voluptuous sprites and alluringly
rough musics and sound effects.
But whereas once his reactions were pike-like
in velocity and his anticipation was as sharp
as that of a mongoose, now his play was blunt
and crippled. Where once he was as able to wriggle
out of a tight spot as effortlessly as a corrupt
City trader and destroy his foes as invincibly
as a meathead movie action-hero, now he succumbed
to the feeble fire of mere cannon fodder. Where
once he didn't care if he lost a life because
his heightened senses meant that he died infrequently,
now every life was dear to him, and he lost
them on the
easy levels. He made all
the random errors of the novice player. His
coins depleted. Game over.
As Howard entered the house in Napoleon Terrace
his torments were compounded by frustration.
Gallie asked if there was any news of Karen.
Howard opened his mouth to speak but a quiet
hiss was all that emerged. Gallie fussed over
his missing voice. He refused to consult a doctor.
'Dominic's gone back to Sue hasn't he? Weeeell,
Sue is
welcome to him,' muttered Gallie,
changing the subject.
Howard shrugged, having no desire to correct
Gallie's error. She lit a cigarette and puffed
at it as joylessly as a child forced to eat
unbuttered cabbage.
They were startled by a knock at the front door.
Gallie trotted down the hallway and opened the
front door latch. She returned into the lounge
looking perplexed, followed by Sue, who was
saying she had popped round on her way to the
Union disco and that her mates had gone ahead.
Upon seeing Howard's battered face, she put
her hand to her mouth.
'Oh,
Howard! What on
earth happened?'
Howard greeted her with a self-conscious half-grin.
Sue's wild, raw beauty depressed him now. Gallie
explained that he had lost his voice after a
fight with Drijk. As the girls talked about
him as if he was elsewhere, he rolled his eyes
and sighed irritably. A stiff neck, bruised
face and sore throat were bad, but the torment
to his pride was insanely bitter. He didn't
like playing the role of an impotent victim;
of a wretched loser; of a dumb paragon of sympathy.
'Oh poor, poor Howie!' gushed Sue. Her soppy,
patronising voice resembled that of a nursery
school teacher soothing a tot with a grazed
knee.
Howard gestured, "
Oh it was nothing"
to the best of his ability. He tried to dismiss
the incident by affecting an air of quiet dignity.
The plan backfired when a sudden shooting pain
in his neck made him wince.
'He will get over it soon, poor thing,' burbled
Sue.
Howard gave up all hope of retaining a shred
of self-respect.
'I'm sorry about my chucking my Martini at you
the other night!' said Sue cheerfully.
Howard groaned and looked at his wrist. Gallie
raised both eyebrows. Her face lit up with fascination.
'Well, it seems funny now,' laughed Sue, 'but
Howie here played a little practical joke on
me and, you know, I lost my sense of humour.'
'Go on!' implored Gallie.
'Well his joke was about Dominic you know!'
At this revelation Gallie's smile stagnated
into a mild grimace.
'Dominic?'
Sue seemed almost encouraged by Gallie's discomfiture.
Her ravishing eyes sparkled madly.
'Well, Howie, bless his dear heart, tricked
me! He told me that Dom wanted to go out with
me now that he's split with
you.'
'Oh?' mouthed Gallie inaudibly, as if gulping
air.
'Well, Howard's clever trick didn't work because
I knew full well that Dominic's erotic attentions
were lavished on
another, and still are
as far as I know!'
'Ohhh? Another you say? Who?
Who?' mumbled
Gallie.
'Gallie, you look so pale. Are you alright love?
Oh God! You
don't know do you?'
'
Know?' gasped Gallie.
Howard was utterly alarmed at the extent of
Gallie's fascination in Dominic. His depression
deepened.
'Howard! You
haven't told Gallie?' said
Sue with excitement in her voice. 'She doesn't
know!'
Howard pointed to his throbbing throat to remind
Sue he was still literally dumb. Then he shook
his head. Sue lit a cigarette and blew a jet
of smoke towards the ceiling.
'Gallie you poor thing! You still love Dominic
don't you?'
'Noooo, not at all,' whispered Gallie. 'I don't
care
who he's going out with. Everything
we had going just fell to pieces. I don't care
for Dominic any more.'
Gallie rummaged about in her handbag, pulled
out a tissue, and snorted into it. Sue's pretty
face contorted into a caricature of sympathy.
If sympathy could ever have a de facto definition
then that definition would not be found within
the covers of a dictionary but rather in a portrait
of Sue painted as she consoled Gallie.
Sue offered to make some coffee. Gallie contended
to make it but Sue insisted on her right to
the chore and went into the kitchen.
Gallie glared accusingly at Howard.
'So Howard, who
is Dominic dating?'
Howard said nothing, relieved at this point
to be physically unable to speak. His respite
was short lived as Gallie thrust a pen and paper
into his hands. With a shaking grip he reached
towards the paper with the pen and drew a vertical
line. Then he stopped.
'Gooo on!' beseeched Gallie.
Howard then added a chevron to form a 'K'. Gallie's
eyes stared wide with horror.
'Karen?
Karen???'
Howard nodded apologetically. Gallie looked
mortified and angry. Her voice was pleading
rather than querulous.
'Oh Howie, why did you not tell me? You knew
all this time! Why did you not tell me?'
She dashed up to her room. Howard and Sue perused.
Gallie could be heard crying through her bedroom
door. Sue pleaded but no access was permitted.
She gave up and left to attend the Union disco.
Howard sat alone in the lounge. He smoked in
misery and dwelled on how Drijk wanted to kill
him and how Gallie hated him and loved only
Dominic. Jacintha hated him. He scratched his
face. He was nothing but a pathetic virgin in
the eyes of Karen, Dominic and Greg. He looked
at the skin under his nails. His old and new
wounds united with his mental distress in a
symphony of pain. What had he done against the
conscience of the Universe? Had he offended
some Divine Creator? The dominion of his consciousness
was invaded by fear. Was he really so evil that
existence should feel like a knife in the eye?
 | | | | |
| From: |
Knorr | Subject: | 2002-04-20 10:36:40 |
| | | | |
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