‘So she did love you,’ I said to him. ‘You loved her too. Right?’
He didn’t answer.
3. THE CONFESSION
Most crooks lie to the cops, I suppose, but not me. Even if the law lets me off the hook, it won’t make any difference. I’m a prisoner of my body, and that’s a life sentence.
People will forgive terrible crimes so long as you repent, because they find those same crimes in their own hearts. They’re afraid, and forgiveness allows them to avoid confronting their fears.
Here I am, sitting in the interrogation room, the policeman looking at me, pen in hand, all ready to write down anything I say. You gave me a hint: ‘We’ll go easier on you’. I could take the hint, say I’d killed her by accident. That’s what you want me to do. I could find an excuse, blame it on the system, on society. I know you’re on my side, that you want to forgive my rebellion. But I wasn’t rebelling. Rebelling doesn’t solve anything, even if it feels good at the time. You might as well try to wash away cancer with a bath.
The night the cops brought me home, I woke up in the middle of the night, sobbing. Mum held me in her arms and stroked my face. She wasn’t wearing much, just thin pyjamas, and I could smell her armpits. When I was small, Mum was always sweaty. She would lift her top to give me milk from her sweaty breasts. That night I wanted to suck from her breasts again.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I want to drink your milk.’ I nuzzled her like a piglet.
‘Silly boy,’ she laughed. ‘Drinking your mother’s milk at your age? You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘I’m serious,’ I said.
‘That’s enough.’ She pulled away from me. ‘I know you’re really upset but just go to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll start trying to find you a wife again.’
But I didn’t want to marry another girl. I didn’t dare look at my Mum any more.
The following evening, I clambered on to the bed and lay on my side. I could see her shadow chasing mosquitos through the net. The net billowed and her shadow moved with it. I shut my eyes.
When she got into bed I turned my back on her and shifted away. She quickly fell asleep, but I couldn’t. I turned over and looked at her. She was lying with her back towards me. Her body was still young, still slim. She never had another child. She worked hard and didn’t eat much. Her waist was so slender it looked like it might snap when she leaned forwards. You wanted to reach out and touch it.
I held back. I touched myself instead, and waited to see if her pyjamas would come open again. But that night her buttons were done up tight. I had to use my imagination to bring myself off. The next day I was afraid Mum would find out what I’d done. But she didn’t seem to notice. And my pyjama bottoms dried off.
The next night, I did it again. And the third and the fourth. But it wasn’t enough. I moved closer to her body, bumped against it. It shrank away slightly. But she didn’t wake. I leaned closer. Mum slept on. I put my leg on her body. I was dizzy with pleasure. Still, she didn’t wake. How could she be in such a deep sleep?
I came on her body, crying out ‘Mum.’
The body stirred slightly. But she slept on. It was as if she was dead. I actually hoped that she was dead. Now that I was satisfied, I could die too.
Very gently, I wiped my come from Mum’s body.
The next morning she got up as if nothing happened, though that morning she took a shower and changed her clothes. But she changed her top too, and I hadn’t got anything on that. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. She cooked up some rice, brought it to me, told me to start eating and started clearing up.
‘Mum,’ I said, ‘do the washing up when we’ve finished eating.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Mum!’ I shouted.
‘Don’t call me Mum!’ she screeched.
Of course she knew. I was stupid to have hoped she didn’t.
But I’d always called her Mum. Maybe I’d always had those feelings for her too. She was the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Once she took me to a department store and sat me on top of a counter to rest her back. One of the assistants shouted at her. She looked like a slut with her makeup, her ludicrous pencilled eyebrows. I didn’t want a girl like that for my wife, I wanted my mum. I loved my mum.
A few days later, Mum said we should go for a walk. After carrying me for quite some distance she stopped at a massage parlour. Perhaps a massage might help, she suggested. The whole place was painted red, you could hardly see the women’s faces for makeup but the flesh on show was clear enough. I knew what was going on straight away.
A girl led us into a cubicle smelling of stale perfume and cigarettes and men. Mum put me down on the massage table, gave the girl a look and said she was going shopping. I wasn’t bothered about going to a prostitute. People do all sorts of things these days — husbands, fathers, workers, good citizens. Sex is just a physical thing. No big deal.
She put her hand on my cock. It was like lightning. Not that she wasn’t gentle. She was very young, very young and very gentle. I only sat there, so she took off her clothes, just like that, to reveal a body that was the kind of body I’d been dreaming of.
My dick stood up like a rifle. Now I could be a soldier, I could throw myself into battle.
She slithered on top of me, moving softly, like a snake. She licked my nipples and took hold of me, to guide me in.
But was this what I really wanted?
I jerked violently. She fell off the narrow table.
‘You really thought I’d do it with someone like you?’ She sneered. ‘If it wasn’t for your mother … ’
When my mum came to collect me she was really embarrassed. She went bright red and carried me out.
‘What a dreadful place,’ she said. ‘I thought they’d do you a proper massage.’
But all I wanted was to love, was to be loved. This was nothing to do with anyone else. My mum had been willing to give herself to that decrepit old man so I could get a wife, so why wouldn’t she give herself to me? Mum would never deny me anything, she was the one who loved me most. And I was going to love her back.
That night she turned out the light, got into bed and lay still with her back towards me. I wanted to go inside, deep inside. She must have known what I wanted, but what could she do? As she pretended to be asleep, I took off her pyjama bottoms. She resisted a little, but she didn’t turn over.
I was going to hell.
Straight to hell.
I entered her.
She quivered and stirred as if in her sleep, shifting position slightly. That made it easier for me. Everything was going fine. I even convinced myself that she’d given in. Maybe she was even pretending that I was another man. I could pretend she was another woman, but I didn’t want to. This was the only woman I wanted.
I cried out ‘Mum!’
She must have heard, but she didn’t stir. I had to say it. I wanted this person, not a hole, not flesh. This was my mother.
So long as she kept her eyes shut she could pretend it wasn’t happening. I was just using her, just using her once, that was all. No big deal. But my mother was a coward. She was determined not to wake up.
I couldn’t hold on any longer.
I came.
The next morning I asked her if she slept well.
‘Yes.’ She looked dazed. ‘I was very tired yesterday.’
‘You mean even an earthquake wouldn’t have woken you?’
A flicker of despair on her face.
‘No. And if I die, then I die, and that’s that.’
‘What will I do if you die?’
‘That’s why I’ve got to find you a wife,’ she said. She hadn’t mentioned that for a while.
‘An idiot,’ I sneered.
She smiled sadly.