‘Sounds like my kind of world. But I’d prefer living in a nightmare.’
‘It does cause a little bit of confusion. Sometimes you have to think for a minute before you can be sure if something’s happened to you or to the protagonist of a TV show. But that’s no big deal, right?’
‘Not at all,’ I answered right away. TV show, reality, who cares? Comfort, feeling good, that’s all that matters. And I almost never get to feel that way. I’m always just… bored.
‘Okay, so when you get one, you feel good? Comfortable?’
‘Yup. I think it has something to do with endorphins. The other day my tooth hurt so bad I could barely think, but once I turned the TV on, it went away.’
‘En-what-now?’
‘Opioids in your brain. Apparently if you keep jogging consistently for more than eight weeks, your brain suddenly starts producing tons of them. Daddy told me running makes him feel so good that he can’t give it up. He’s away on a trip right now, and he stuffed his suitcase full of running shoes and jogging clothes. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Old people have so much energy. My ankles hurt just thinking about it. But with the device, no more need for running.’
‘Older folks are amazing. They’ve got so much energy, so much stamina. They go to work every day, and somehow they still find it in them to have love affairs. My mum had a steady stream of them until recently. Her ex-husband had a wife and four kids, and she was actually envious! It drove her crazy. And Daddy’s second wife…’
Which made me remember. HIS pipsqueak girlfriend. Were they still engaged? Were they going to get married? I was intensely jealous now – just like our parents’ generation would be. I had never known an emotion like it before. Is envy always the last emotion standing? (Things like respect and awe are long since gone. Everyone lives in a happy-go-lucky depression – they only take life half-seriously, you might say.)
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Your girlfriend…’
‘Oh yeah, I was about to tell you. That’s all set!’
‘I heard you were seeing her again.’
‘I am. Just to talk. She went and got herself pregnant.’
‘At the hospital? Were you the donor?’
‘No, no, no. She went natural.’
‘Gross.’
‘It’s a quirk of her metabolism. I couldn’t believe it at first, but I guess it’s true. She’s no liar. That much I know.’
I lie all the time. I talk all kinds of bullshit. Something black began to stir deep inside me. ‘But… this happened because of you?’
‘She says she only dates one person at a time,’ HE said, dodging my question. ‘She says her head gets filled up with thoughts of that person, and here’s the thing, she trusts me completely. She says things like, “You’re a good person,” and “I’ll never betray you,” and “We’ll be together forever.” ’
‘Bullshit. You’re making this up.’
‘I told you, didn’t I? I mean, I seriously wonder if she’s an angel or something. Her vitality, the force of her sexual desire. I don’t think she would die even if you killed her. So I want to try it to find out.’
‘I’m hanging up.’
My head hurt. I wanted to get into bed.
‘Wait. I don’t want a kid. I want to slip quietly into oblivion, all by myself. I have to do something about her. Help me.’
‘If you’re going to talk her out of it, do it on your own.’
‘I’m no match for her, physically. Listen, please, can you come over today? Right now? I’m begging you.’
The screen flared to life, and I could see that HE was kneeling with HIS forehead pressed to the ground.
‘Please, say something. I love you, for starters. You’re my angel – no, my devil, my lovely devil. I mean it.’
HIS (father’s) apartment was fully mechanized. Everything spick and span.
‘This way.’
HIS room was especially clean, airy and pleasant. Seemed like a nice place to spend your time. A video camera was set up in one corner.
‘What do you record?’
‘My daily life.’
‘And you watch it later? Wow, must be riveting.’
‘Sometimes.’ HE adjusted the lighting, temperature, and fan.
‘You clean a lot, huh.’
‘It passes the time.’ HE put on a tape. It showed the square near the Koma Theater. ‘It’s from that day. I got the guy to make me a copy.’
The murder played out again on screen.
‘Doesn’t have much impact, does it.’
‘Right? If I don’t keep reminding myself that “this really happened,” it seems so lacklustre. But the angle’s bad and the camera shakes, so it’s really not like a TV show either. This has been copied so many times, see how the picture quality’s degraded? Makes it feel so much more authentic.’
‘The parts you can’t see all that clearly stimulate the imagination.’
‘Exactly. Now this I bought the other day. It’s a document of someone’s suicide. Apparently the guy was up to his ears in debt, and he made this so his family could sell it and pay off the loans. And it was a hit. Want to see?’ HE switched out the tape.
A sober-looking middle-aged man was making introductory remarks. He was about the same age as my father (hadn’t Dad committed suicide!) and they looked pretty similar, but of course it wasn’t him.
‘He sounds so matter-of-fact.’
‘Right? Makes it seem so real.’
The man on the screen said, ‘OK, here we go,’ then drank something that must’ve been poison from a bottle.
‘What is that?’
‘He was trying to be so meticulous, but he forgot to say. Now that’s truth.’
Even in this day and age, we still revere truth. But at the same time, we devote ourselves to the task of erasing the distinction between truth and fiction.
‘Is it fertilizer?’ It was a serious question, but HE apparently took it as a joke since the man didn’t look anything at all like an agricultural worker. ‘I never knew you had such a cruel streak.’
‘I like to keep you on your toes. Ah, to be Terence Stamp,’ HE said coquettishly.
‘Who?’
‘Come on, The Collector.’
‘Of what?’
‘It’s a movie. He plays this amaaazing guy. By the way…’
HE searched my face. I looked away, and when I looked back HE was still staring at me. I had a sudden premonition and crossed my arms in front of me. ‘No, don’t kill me!’
A faint smile touched HIS lips.
‘…Not you,’ HE crooned. ‘You’re not pregnant. She’s on her way here.’
‘But, that’s…’
‘I can’t do it alone. It would be too exhausting. I need you to hold her down, since I’m sure she’ll fight back.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘I think it’ll be simplicity itself once we actually get going. Wringing her neck or whatever.’
‘If I were the pregnant one, would it be the other way around? Would you get her to help kill me?’
‘Probably, yeah. But so what? Think of it as a TV show. Pretend you’re an actor.’
‘I don’t think I can get myself into that headspace.’ ‘I’m going to tape it, too.’
What the hell is HE thinking?
HE took both of my hands in HIS and sat down. ‘Once it’s over, it’ll be like nothing even happened. You can’t hide your sadistic side from me. And didn’t you tell me that when you were a kid, your mother tried to kill you a couple of times? Like Mary Bell.’