I had started sleeping again.
Dreamless nights: I was sleeping much better now. At night I would shove the coffee table against the door frame and put the two huge armchairs face to face. In the past seven years, with Fred and I sharing the tiny caravan, I had to sleep on my single chair, twisted between the worn out arms, with a spring under my arsehole pushing up to get in. With Fred gone, for the first time, I could stretch again. That was almost as good as a proper bed. When I got up the next morning I felt like jumping all over the place. Waking up rested: what a luxury.
A few days after my brother's death I was woken up by someone shaking my shoulder vigorously. I opened my eyes. Bent over me against the daylight, my uncle was filling the whole visual field, his face drowned in its own shade, grey dawn light weakly glowing through his hair. He was dripping wet. He looked like a purposeful Poseidon, his head crowned in shining silver.
Rain was battering the caravan roof.
"I guess you disposed of the body didn't you? I thought I told you to bring it to my place." His voice was low and growling, like something huge moving inside a deep cave.
"You thought well" I said. "You did tell me."
"And? Is there a reason why you didn't follow my instructions?"
I was starving.
"Listen Val, is there a reason why you are here? I need to eat right now and to be frank, I care little for your wounded pride."
I am not afraid of Val. His looks are godly but his eighty-year-old body is human. He straightened up.
"I came to tell you that I know where the phone call was coming from. I also wanted to check on Fred's body. The phone is more recent than I first thought and if I am right, there should be some visible clues on him. Where did you bring him? Not to that horrible place in New Cross?"
"So you know whom he was talking to?"
"No. I said I knew where the call was coming from. Not who was making it."
"I don't get it."
"The phone call that killed you brother was coming from the Ghetto."
"This is ridiculous."
This angered him some more.
"I am a telecommunications specialist. I don't see how you can dispute my conclusions. The origin of the call your brother picked up is Canary Wharf's Ghetto - you can triangulate the signal if you want, I personally have all the evidence I need-. The phone call killed your brother, I also know that, and I know how it did it. It would have killed you exactly the same had you picked it up, even though you don't have any French, unlike the rest of your family."
This is another one of his favorite topics. We come from Wallonia. We should all speak French. It is a question of duty, of honor. I have lived in London my whole life. I care little for honor or duty and, with Fred dead, I do not care for family any more.
"Why are you interested all of a sudden? You've never liked him, you've never been able to exchange two words with him. You kept treating him as if he was some sort of spoiled child. Why try to do something for him now? What's in it for you?"
"You will have to make an effort. You will have to talk to me nicer than that. You will have to listen more carefully to what I am telling you. You don't seem to understand: I am telling you that your brother is dead and that the Ghetto did it. The Ghetto!"
"You always blame the Ghetto for everything."
"They are to blame. In this case I have hard evidence. That phone call..."
"You would blame them anyway, wouldn't you. I don't see why you hate them so much."
"They made their choice. They abandoned us. They abandoned the human race."
"They had an opportunity and they took it. Come on, they are our children!"
"They are not mine. My child is here with me"
"Oh yes, and he's doing so well isn't he? He's a drug addict."
"Well, at least he is trying to cope with his condition. No one said it was easy to be a human being."
"But what's the point? What is the point, Val, of staying a human being when you have another solution? What is the point of going through all this, this ordeal? See where that led my brother? He was so depressed he couldn't even eat properly. If he hadn't died he would have ended up killing himself."
"How dare you make fun of this, how dare you! THIS IS WHAT WE ARE" - Val started shouting - "WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS! THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT, THIS IS WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE, THIS IS WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO STAY! HAVE YOU GOT NO PRIDE, YOU AND YOUR BROTHER? HAVE YOU GOT NO SELF-RESPECT? YOU ARE A HUMAN BEING! DON'T YOU WANT TO FIGHT FOR THAT?"
"I would have done what our children did, had I had the opportunity, and Fred too. But you know like I do that we were too old."
I hate it when days start like this. Straight from bed, an argument. For God's sake, I was famished. I didn't even know if I was really angry or if it was caffeine withdrawal. I was trying to get up to push him outside, but something moved behind Val. When I saw what it was my legs refused to lift me.
At the caravan door, his old depressed body standing well upright, his hair that shiny blond they had lost to age these past twenty years, his jaws and fists clenched, his eyes -both of them!- nailed to a spot two feet above my head, my brother was breathing deeply, heavily. I could not tell whether he was struggling for air or trying to control an inner fury. Rain water was pooling around his feet. He was soaked, but alive! My uncle turned around.
"I thought he... I thought you were... he was... I saw him! You told me! You told me he was dead!" he thundered at me, out of himself with indignation.
"He was dead! You were dead! I brought you to Depford! I threw you on these two hunks! I poured perfume on you! Our flask of Fahrenheit!"
But my brother wouldn't answer.
"Well, he isn't dead now" Val said. "If he isn't now then he wasn't before. Death is not something people recover from, you know."
There was nothing I could say to that, except open my arms to mark my puzzlement. Twenty years of boredom. Twenty years of utter dullness since the rise of the Ghetto. After all this time I had no other desire than to die peacefully in the midst of my beloved books. Then the phone call. And now this: zombies. Good, healthy looking zombies.
Val sat down at my sides. Out of his backpack he picked up our phone and put it on a pile of books.
"Well, that just confirms what I thought" he said.
Dreamless nights: I was sleeping much better now. At night I would shove the coffee table against the door frame and put the two huge armchairs face to face. In the past seven years, with Fred and I sharing the tiny caravan, I had to sleep on my single chair, twisted between the worn out arms, with a spring under my arsehole pushing up to get in. With Fred gone, for the first time, I could stretch again. That was almost as good as a proper bed. When I got up the next morning I felt like jumping all over the place. Waking up rested: what a luxury.
A few days after my brother's death I was woken up by someone shaking my shoulder vigorously. I opened my eyes. Bent over me against the daylight, my uncle was filling the whole visual field, his face drowned in its own shade, grey dawn light weakly glowing through his hair. He was dripping wet. He looked like a purposeful Poseidon, his head crowned in shining silver.
Rain was battering the caravan roof.
"I guess you disposed of the body didn't you? I thought I told you to bring it to my place." His voice was low and growling, like something huge moving inside a deep cave.
"You thought well" I said. "You did tell me."
"And? Is there a reason why you didn't follow my instructions?"
I was starving.
"Listen Val, is there a reason why you are here? I need to eat right now and to be frank, I care little for your wounded pride."
I am not afraid of Val. His looks are godly but his eighty-year-old body is human. He straightened up.
"I came to tell you that I know where the phone call was coming from. I also wanted to check on Fred's body. The phone is more recent than I first thought and if I am right, there should be some visible clues on him. Where did you bring him? Not to that horrible place in New Cross?"
"So you know whom he was talking to?"
"No. I said I knew where the call was coming from. Not who was making it."
"I don't get it."
"The phone call that killed you brother was coming from the Ghetto."
"This is ridiculous."
This angered him some more.
"I am a telecommunications specialist. I don't see how you can dispute my conclusions. The origin of the call your brother picked up is Canary Wharf's Ghetto - you can triangulate the signal if you want, I personally have all the evidence I need-. The phone call killed your brother, I also know that, and I know how it did it. It would have killed you exactly the same had you picked it up, even though you don't have any French, unlike the rest of your family."
This is another one of his favorite topics. We come from Wallonia. We should all speak French. It is a question of duty, of honor. I have lived in London my whole life. I care little for honor or duty and, with Fred dead, I do not care for family any more.
"Why are you interested all of a sudden? You've never liked him, you've never been able to exchange two words with him. You kept treating him as if he was some sort of spoiled child. Why try to do something for him now? What's in it for you?"
"You will have to make an effort. You will have to talk to me nicer than that. You will have to listen more carefully to what I am telling you. You don't seem to understand: I am telling you that your brother is dead and that the Ghetto did it. The Ghetto!"
"You always blame the Ghetto for everything."
"They are to blame. In this case I have hard evidence. That phone call..."
"You would blame them anyway, wouldn't you. I don't see why you hate them so much."
"They made their choice. They abandoned us. They abandoned the human race."
"They had an opportunity and they took it. Come on, they are our children!"
"They are not mine. My child is here with me"
"Oh yes, and he's doing so well isn't he? He's a drug addict."
"Well, at least he is trying to cope with his condition. No one said it was easy to be a human being."
"But what's the point? What is the point, Val, of staying a human being when you have another solution? What is the point of going through all this, this ordeal? See where that led my brother? He was so depressed he couldn't even eat properly. If he hadn't died he would have ended up killing himself."
"How dare you make fun of this, how dare you! THIS IS WHAT WE ARE" - Val started shouting - "WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS! THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT, THIS IS WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE, THIS IS WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO STAY! HAVE YOU GOT NO PRIDE, YOU AND YOUR BROTHER? HAVE YOU GOT NO SELF-RESPECT? YOU ARE A HUMAN BEING! DON'T YOU WANT TO FIGHT FOR THAT?"
"I would have done what our children did, had I had the opportunity, and Fred too. But you know like I do that we were too old."
I hate it when days start like this. Straight from bed, an argument. For God's sake, I was famished. I didn't even know if I was really angry or if it was caffeine withdrawal. I was trying to get up to push him outside, but something moved behind Val. When I saw what it was my legs refused to lift me.
At the caravan door, his old depressed body standing well upright, his hair that shiny blond they had lost to age these past twenty years, his jaws and fists clenched, his eyes -both of them!- nailed to a spot two feet above my head, my brother was breathing deeply, heavily. I could not tell whether he was struggling for air or trying to control an inner fury. Rain water was pooling around his feet. He was soaked, but alive! My uncle turned around.
"I thought he... I thought you were... he was... I saw him! You told me! You told me he was dead!" he thundered at me, out of himself with indignation.
"He was dead! You were dead! I brought you to Depford! I threw you on these two hunks! I poured perfume on you! Our flask of Fahrenheit!"
But my brother wouldn't answer.
"Well, he isn't dead now" Val said. "If he isn't now then he wasn't before. Death is not something people recover from, you know."
There was nothing I could say to that, except open my arms to mark my puzzlement. Twenty years of boredom. Twenty years of utter dullness since the rise of the Ghetto. After all this time I had no other desire than to die peacefully in the midst of my beloved books. Then the phone call. And now this: zombies. Good, healthy looking zombies.
Val sat down at my sides. Out of his backpack he picked up our phone and put it on a pile of books.
"Well, that just confirms what I thought" he said.
