George
George had scrambled up the stairs and now stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost dangling a half-empty bottle loosely from his hand. He had a nefarious look on his face. He glanced at the old man sitting straight up on the bed. There was something eerie about him. A foreboding. What had he done in that alley back at the hospital? He had torn at least two guards to pieces and possibly more after he himself had been electrocuted. It had looked almost like he drank from them. Squeezed them like ripe fruit.
“What happened back there?”
“Where?”
“In the back alley. The guards.”
“I bit them. Bled them.”
“Yeah, but...”
He wanted to ask but didn’t know exactly what to ask. Bit them? You can’t take down a grown man by biting him. Can you? He studied the old man. Had he changed? It was as if he was less scrawny than when they left the hospital. He had his left hand on the woman’s knee; just sitting there on the bed. It occurred to George that there was a possessiveness in the gesture. Blind eyes pointing straight at him. All the benevolence in the world could not hide the message. Stay away. He let his eyes pan over the woman once more. She lay there stiff with fear, looking up in the air.
“I will go and have a look at the store. I left some bread in the kitchen, if you are hungry.”
George sighed as he straightened up. He went over to the window by the bed and opened it. He looked down at the bound woman with an inscrutable look and shuffled back out into the hallway.
“What do you want?”
The woman’s voice was trembling with fear. Her face was red from long dried tears. The touch of anger that had filled her voice earlier had vanished. There was just anxiety.
“I am not sure what George really wants but all I want is to be free. Where is your husband?”
“He died. He left me for ano... he fell off a building.”
She sniggered.
“You pushed him out over another woman?”
“No, he actually did fall. I just didn’t feel very sorry about it, that’s all.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So you run a store on your own?”
“Yes. I have a woman helping out on Fridays. I always have a lot of bouquets to tie on Fridays. Saturday morning is where men go home from their mistresses and need to apiece their wives.”
“That is very cynical of you, Liza. You were one of them.”
“Yeah, I know. Snivelling idiots - both of them.”
She laughed.
“How did you get those burns if it wasn’t your house?”
“The sun. I get sunburns very fast.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The sun doesn’t burn that fast. It is not even high summer yet.”
“It is true. That is what took my eyes as well. Many years ago.”
“That’s the stupidest explanation I ever heard.”
Alessandro sat a while in thought and then stood up and walked to the window. Holding out his left arm, he opened a flap of the curtain. At first, nothing happened. Then the skin started reddening. Very slowly at first, then increasingly fast. Liza had her neck craned back to be able to see his burning arm. Her eyes showed a sense of awe but she didn’t say anything. Alessandro withdrew his arm and closed the curtain. Blisters had formed on the lower arm. None too alarming for a normal burn but plainly visible.
“You don’t look like an albino. What are you?”
“Sensitive. That’s all. Sensitive.”
“You take me for a dumb Dora, do you? Sensitive! Shish.”
“No, I don’t think you are dumb. How about the hospital? You said you had talked to the hospital.”
“What? Oh, yes... at the apothecary. The chemist was already on the telephone, talking to someone at the hospital. They had been informed of a fray somewhere, with several wounded. He... the chemist... said one was wrapped in rags... you were wrapped in rags.”
“So you told them of us.”
“No, I didn’t. I think I wanted to. I never got around to it. But he saw you! The chemist saw you abduct me. It is just a matter of time before they come here.”
“I know we can’t stay. I just can’t move very well without George.”
“Loosen me and I can help you. I promise I won’t turn you in.”
“You do the same as George does.”
“What?”
“Your voice changes when you want something. It is very obvious.”
“What the hell do you expect? That I yell at you while asking?”
“You just did.”
He chuckled as he sat down on the bed again.
“I think you are a good person, Liza. But that doesn’t mean that I trust you. You see, I don’t think that you think the same of me. And it is that exact thing we need to agree upon to build trust.”
“But... can you imagine what it is like? Being tied up like an animal.”
“In fact, I can. I have been strapped down with leather belts every day for many, many years. For fear of what I am.”
“Sensitive!”, Liza sneered. “Right.”
She peered at the old man. She was blinded by rage, she knew that. But she had never done anything. All she had done was being friendly. And now she was lying here, tied up like a pig for the market. The old man turned his head and looked at her with his blind, unseeing eyes.
“I will untie you. But I want you to promise me not to flee or fight as long as George is in the house.”
“You mean that I am allowed to fight when he is gone?”
Her voice was thick with sarcasm.
“Yes, you are. You won’t have to, but yes.”
“Then I promise.”
Allesandro laid his hand on her clavicle. The coolness of his skin was comforting but having his hand so near her throat less so.
“I want to believe you Liza but I don’t. Not quite. You must trust me, that what I say is the truth. I will you no harm. This was not my doing.”
“I know. I promise you I will remain calm. But if your friend gets near me, I will run!”
“Will you, now?”
George was leaning against the doorpost with his hands in his trouser pockets. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. The draft from the window must have drowned his breath while standing outside. He was fingering something in his pocket.
“I found a little persuader in the shop. You shouldn’t leave those things around loaded. Don’t you know that most murders are committed with the victim’s own gun?”
“George... we don’t have any business with this woman. We are out now. There is no reason why we stay together. We could just...”
“No, you are right. There is no reason for you to stay here. Can you buzz off yourself or do you need a guide dog to get down the stairs? Oh, don’t get up Alex! I really do have a gun in my hand...”
He produced a revolver from his pocket, well aware that the blind man would not see it. The heft of the metal alone was reassuring, though.
″...even if you can’t see that I am holding it. You can hear it, can you not?”
He spun the cylinder and watched with content as the old man turned his head ever so slightly. Yes, he had recognized the sound of the ratchet.
“It is time you left us alone. I don’t think I want you in the house, actually. You must leave completely. The shop is facing east. That should be ample shade for you to get away in without being cooked.
“Okay. I will leave, George. Let me get up.”
George raised the gun and pointed it straight at the old man’s head. He stepped backwards, up against the wall and watched him closely as he began to rise from the bed. Then it was as if he transformed in mid-motion. The old man had risen to a standing position but not yet straightened his back. Now, suddenly his legs appeared to give in and his torso spun towards George. The speed was unimaginable. George could feel the metal of the trigger against his index finger and the pull from the tendons as he squeezed it. The outer phalanx of his finger started bending as he squeezed. He drew his shoulder backwards attempting to have the heavy revolver track the impossible apparition coming towards him. There was a brief tremor in the pistol as the coil released and the hammer began to move. The primer ignited, releasing the first hint of sulphur and then the charge exploded, propelling the bullet out of its case in a bellow of smoke and noise. Before the round had even left the barrel, his right arm came off. The first sensation was one of amazement; how could an arm even go missing? The old man had grabbed his forearm with both hands in one impossibly fast motion. Grabbed it and twisted. Like when you tear the wings of a roast chicken, ligaments and muscle reached their limits and snapped. Then came the elbow joint. First, the radius tore free of its socket and then the ulna came off. The synovial membrane burst its fluids into the elbow capsule, making a popping sound; a childish approximation of the foregone shot. Amazement was beginning to give way for a new and strangely contradictory sensation of arousal and pain. George’s brain was frantically trying to muffle the nervous system by an endless production of endorphins. Pain and joy. Pain and joy. Then, as the outer dermis ruptured and his forearm separated, his brain finally responded to the pain and the sudden drop in blood pressure and simply shut down. Gaping briefly at the ceiling and the hole from the bullet and the severed limb hanging there in mid-air, he passed out and bleeding profusely he collapsed on the floor.