The Lunatic Messiah

  Ganesh was a favourite restaurant of Joe's, or at least it was, back when things like that seemed important. It was small and cheap, and had replicas of sitars and tablas on the walls, as well as the obligatory framed picture of the Taj Mahal. It was its very shabbiness that Joe liked, and the fact that the food was genuinely spicy and not a watered down version for Westerners. Mary hadn't wanted to come, and to Joe's mind she seemed to come to this decision when he mentioned that Harry would be bringing a date, but he couldn't say for certain. He’d eventually talked her into it, although she seemed determined not to enjoy herself. She had dressed up nicely, far nicer than a restaurant like Ganesh warranted, and put on a small amount of makeup. She sat opposite him now, idly chewing on a piece of papad and sipping at her water.

  'What time did you say?' she said finally, when the silence became too much to bear.

  'Seven o'clock,' Joe replied.

  It was six fifty eight by the clock on the wall. Mary reached across the table and straightened Joe's tie suddenly.

  'What's the matter with you?'

  'Well if Harry's bringing a date that we've never met then I want to make a good impression. Your tie was crooked,' she replied, although Joe could tell from her expression that she was far more worried about Joe's erratic behaviour than his tie.

  He took another piece of papad and dipped it in the pickle, before again looking at the clock.

  'Four seconds, three, two...'

  Harry walked in the door as Joe mouthed the word "one" and Mary hit him across the arm.

  'Best behaviour,' she whispered as Harry approached, with a young blonde trailing close behind him.

  Joe's face broke into a broad grin when he saw the girl. She was a student, or at least she had been. She'd graduated the year before with honours, and one of her teachers had been Harry Tudor. Joe tried to recall her name. Susan something?

  'Hi, Joe, Mary,' Harry said, kissing Mary on the cheek and shaking Joe's hand briefly. 'This is Anne.'

  Anne, who was not called anything remotely similar to Susan raised her hand in a brief wave and smiled.

  'Hi.'

  Harry pulled her chair out for her and she sat down with a smile.

  'You don't have to do that, Harry.'

  'Of course I do. A beautiful woman should be waited on hand and foot.'

  Joe snorted derisively and they both looked at him with distaste, as did Mary.

  'Oh come on, Harry. Don't be so sleazy.'

  'I'm not being sleazy,' he protested. 'I'm being chivalrous.'

  'Well perhaps you are. You're handsome. Sleaziness only becomes chivalry if the person doing it is handsome. The ugly are always sleazy. I certainly couldn't get away with half the things you say.'

  Harry seemed offended, and he looked to Anne for some kind of support, but she just nodded.

  'He's right.'

  Harry just sat down and raised his hands in a "don't blame me" sort of gesture.

  'What can I say? We live in a superficial world.'

  'I'm starting to think that might be true in a far more literal sense of the word than you imagine,' Joe replied.

  Before anybody could ponder this, Joe turned his attentions to Anne.

  'I believe we've met before when you were a student at Finchwood.'

  If Anne was embarrassed by this she showed no sign of it, but Mary's eyes widened at the revelation.

  'Of course, Mr Finch.'

  'Call me Joe.'

  'Joe.'

  'Well, we haven't ordered yet. I was thinking we could just order several dishes and share if that's okay with everyone. Do you like spicy food, Jane?'

  'It's Anne, and, yes, I love spicy food.'

  Mary forced a smile as Joe called over the waiter and ordered a variety of dishes. The waiter didn't even bother to write them down. He simply nodded and headed back towards the kitchen.

  'So, what did you study at Finchwood, Anne?' Mary asked in her best politely-interested voice.

  'Theatre and philosophy. But I also took a course in European Literature. That's how I met Harry.'

  'Theatre? So do you want to be an actress?'

  Anne nodded.

  'Ideally yes. I've applied for NIDA, but what I really want to do is be in films. At some point I hope to go to Los Angeles and try and get an agent in Hollywood.'

  Joe, who was sipping a glass of water as she said this, coughed as he suppressed a snorting laugh. Harry glared at him.

  'I'm sorry, Catherine, I'm not making fun... It's just that you hear so much about people trying to make it in Hollywood and they end up being waitresses.'

  The smile faded from Anne's face.

  'It's Anne, and yes I am aware of that. The thing is, you need to know somebody, and I have a friend whose cousin knows a producer who works there.'

  'Of course. What does he do?'

  'It's mainly straight to DVD stuff, but I figure if I can make my mark there then bigger roles will follow. I'm not expecting to become a star overnight.'

  'Straight to DVD? Are we talking about pornography, Margaret?'

  'Joe!' exclaimed Harry and Mary simultaneously.

  'My name is Anne, and, no, we are talking about feature films,' she replied tersely.

  'Well I think it sounds marvellous. It must be nice to have such a sure idea of what you want to do at such a... young age,' said Mary.

  Anne warmed up again and spent the next ten minutes chatting about the type of films she wanted to do and her favourite actors and actresses, none of which were remotely surprising. Joe didn't even feel the urge to make any further sarcastic comments, as the girl was too tedious to converse with. She occasionally touched Harry's arm when making a passing reference to him, but other than that the conversation was centred almost entirely on her. Joe had to admit that she was beautiful, but only in the modern glamour magazine sense of the word. A still photograph of her would have been beautiful, but in person she seemed unnatural. Her lips and cheeks had been injected with so many nerve toxins that she looked like she was having an allergic reaction to a bee sting. It was a huge relief when the food finally arrived, and Joe looked upon the table of naans, vindaloos and raitas with satisfaction. Not only was he about to enjoy his favourite food, but Anne had finally stopped talking. Everyone began to eat in silence, which is usually the sign of either a very good meal or very bad company. In this case it was both. Finally, once Joe had polished off the last of his bread, he decided that the time had come to tell his news.

  'I don't know if you're aware of this, Harry, but Paul came to see me today.'

  Harry shifted in his chair. He had obviously heard.

  'Well I told you that he was fielding complaints.'

  'Well he had a few more today, and the short version is, I was fired.'

  Mary's fork dropped to the plate, and Harry's food paused halfway to his mouth as he waited for her reaction. Anne continued to eat.

  'You were fired? What do you mean you were fired? What did you do?' Mary demanded.

  'I was fired because I strayed from the syllabus.'

  'Well to be fair, Joe, there was more to it than that,' said Harry.

  'Well there was a bit more to it than that. I had to be physically restrained by two male students.'

  'You what? I didn't hear about that.'

  'Yes, Harry. I was trying to get a straight answer out of Gabriel Armaita and apparently I was a little too vigorous in my questioning.'

  Mary placed her head in her hands, her distress plainly visible on her weary face.

  'Oh Joe. What have you done?'

  'I tried to warn you, Joe. I told you that Paul was having a hard time with these complaints and you go and do something stupid like that. Did you want this to happen?'

  'I'm dead in four months anyway. I'd have had to retire soon regardless.'

  'Exactly!' said Harry. 'My point exactly. You could have retired rather than forcing his hand. This way you've forfeited your pension. What's Mary going to do now?'

  Mary stil
l had her head in her hands, but Joe couldn't tell if she was crying or not. He had to assume that she was, as it was what she was liable to do in situations like this.

  'I think I should...' Anne said.

  'You stay right there, Bessie. It's fine.'

  Anne shut her mouth and sat with her hands on her lap, like a schoolgirl who's just been told off, which is practically what she was. Mary looked up angrily. She was not crying.

  'You were always so selfish, Joe. It was always about you.'

  'About me? What about the baby, Mary? Do you remember that?'

  'Oh Joe, don't,' pleaded Harry, but it was too late to take back what he had said, so he kept going.

  'Do you remember what that was like? I didn't want to return to the house because I knew I'd just find you wallowing in self pity. I did everything for us then.'

  'So what?' spat Mary with sudden venom, 'So what? You don't know what it was like. I wanted to have a baby so badly and to find out that I couldn't was devastating. I think I had every right to wallow in self pity, as you put it.'

  'It wasn't just you! That's my point. It wasn't that you couldn't have a baby, it's that we couldn't have a baby. Do you think I didn't want a child?'

  'I'm the one who was... incapable. You could have had a baby. There was nothing wrong with you. I know you resented me for that, so don't you dare deny it.'

  Anne pushed her chair back.

  'Sit down, Anne!' snapped Joe, and she did as she was told, perhaps because it was the first time he had used her correct name.

  Harry didn't notice her. He was looking at Joe in disbelief.

  'I didn't resent you for that, Mary. It wasn't an option for me to have a baby. You're my wife. I loved you. I said till death do us part and I meant it,' Joe continued.

  'You loved me?'

  'I love you. I meant to say, I love you.'

  'Joe. This isn't helping anything. You're both under a lot of pressure at the moment and it's understandable that...' Harry's voice trailed away as Mary looked at him.

  There were still no tears in her eyes, which was far more frightening than if she'd been bawling. Very calmly she wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked at Joe, silencing him with her demeanour.

  'If you honestly believe that, Joe, then why did you say that this tumour is happening to you? If you die, then it happens to me as well. Don't you dare call me selfish when all you've been able to think about for the last month is yourself.'

  Joe was about to speak again, but then he realised that there was nothing he could say to that. It was true, after all. One situation parallelled the other and in both cases, he had acted badly but to have it spelt out so plainly was horrifying. The room was beginning to lose focus again, and the three people around the table started to blend into their surroundings, so that they were not so much separate objects, but one large two-dimensional image, with none of the components any more significant than the others. Joe was aware that Harry was speaking again, but it was hard to make sense of what he was saying. Something about Dr Pontius...

  'I know the surgery is dangerous, but Mary and I have been speaking to Dr Pontius and he's concluded that the pills are having little effect on the tumour. He's starting to suggest that maybe it would be better to have the surgery sooner rather than later.'

  The room was spinning, or rather, it felt like Joe's head was revolving freely on his neck. He could see the other diners behind him, most of them quietly eavesdropping, and then Harry and Anne swung back into view, Harry looking earnestly sympathetic and Anne looking increasingly uncomfortable.

  'Wait a minute, you've been talking to Dr Pontius? What have you got to do with anything?'

  'I'm your friend, Joe...'

  'I didn't want to go there alone. I couldn't face it, and you refused to even discuss it,' Mary said.

  'Wait a minute. I don't need to have the surgery. There's another way. I've seen it.'

  'Seen what?'

  'I've seen the tumour. Mr Grey. I can get to him when I'm sleeping. You have to wait until I talk to him.'

  As Mary's head slowly revolved past him, Joe could tell that she didn't believe a word he was saying. She had that same look on her face that Gabriel had had. She thought he was crazy, and if he was honest with himself, he knew that he probably was. As his head swivelled around again to the diners behind him, he recognised the people he had seen in the cafe several days earlier. A group of about six people, all dressed very formally. One was wearing a top hat and a monocle, and carving up a roast turkey whilst the others quaffed wine. As far as Joe was aware, Ganesh was not a restaurant that offered roast turkey. His head swivelled back around to Mary.

  'Joe. Dr Armaita said that if he judges you mentally incompetent then we wouldn't need your permission. We could do the surgery anyway. But I don't want to do that.'

  Mentally incompetent? Crazy sounded far better than that term. Crazy was less clinical and more accurate.

  'It won't come to that, Joe. But you have to help us. You have to work with us on this,' Harry was saying.

  One of the diners, a younger man in a tuxedo with a white woollen scarf hung around his neck suddenly seemed to choke on something. He grasped at his throat and began coughing violently, much to the indifference of the other diners. Harry slid into view again.

  'It's not as dangerous as you think. Pontius said that whilst there is the possibility of complications, the chance of anything fatal is surprisingly low.'

  'There could be paralysis...' Mary started to say, but Harry stopped her with a glance.

  The choking man passed out face first onto his plate, and the man in the top hat laughingly pulled his limp body up onto the table, sending condiments and glasses flying. One of the women, the one who had urinated in the cafe, was in hysterics at the sight, and poured a glass of red wine down her throat, most of it running down her neck and onto her chest. When she was finished she threw the glass against the wall where it exploded.

  'We're just saying, that you should think about it. It sounds bleak to say it, but there's nothing to lose and everything to gain.'

  Anne was looking away towards the door and planning an escape, but she disappeared from view like a figure on a carousel as Joe's head continued to rotate. The man in the top hat had torn open the front of the unconscious man's shirt, and had taken to carving him up along with the turkey. He buried the fork in the chest, and began to slice huge, bloody slabs off the body. Joe felt his dinner rising up into his mouth as the man dished out the meat. The woman who had drunk the wine was now allowing one of the other men to pull down the front of her formal gown, and he was massaging her breasts with one hand, and drinking straight from the bottle of red wine with the other. He began to pour it onto her, as she accepted a lump of the raw flesh from the fork of the carver. She shoved it into her mouth, allowing the blood to run down her chin, and chewed it as the carver continued his work. Joe stumbled to his feet, bumping the table and spilling a glass of water as he did so, which Anne was quick to catch.

  Outside, Joe pulled a packet of Acobapoc cigarettes from the inside of his jacket pocket. He had bought them that afternoon, as they were the cheapest brand he could find. He lit one and inhaled deeply, suppressing the need to cough. With that single drag the world came back into focus, and he was again standing on a street corner, in the city of Sydney, a living human male. One more drag and he was coughing, the macabre scene from inside the restaurant becoming little more than a fading memory, as in a dream. Soon after, the door swung open and it was Harry, looking sheepish.

  'Hey Joe. Mind if I bum a fag?'

  'Harry, what you do in the privacy of your own home is none of my business.'

  'A cigarette, smart arse. Give me one.'

  Joe handed over a cigarette and cupped his hand in front of the flame as Joe lit it. They both stood smoking in silence for a minute.

  'That was pretty cruel,' Harry said finally.

  'I know. I don't need you to tell me.'

  They both smok
ed again for a bit longer, and Joe flicked his butt into the gutter, where it sizzled instantly in a small puddle that had gathered there from the rain of the previous day.

  'I'm just saying, that's not like you. Not like you used to be. Have you given any thought to this surgery? Any thought at all?'

  Joe laughed.

  'Of course I have. I can barely sleep at night from thinking about it. Sometimes I just lie there for hours and imagine a circular saw eating into my skull.'

  Harry was about to speak again, when the door to the restaurant swung open forcefully. Anne was standing there, her hands on her hips.

  'Harry, I want you to call me a taxi,' she said.

  'Fine, Margaret. You're a taxi. Now fuck off, grown-ups are talking,' Joe said.

  Anne looked incensed, and then pulled her handbag up over her shoulder.

  'Harry, don't call me again,' she said, and strode off down the street doing her best impression of a woman scorned.

  Harry went to run after her, and called out her name a few times, but she didn't turn back, and he gave up the pursuit quickly. He threw down his own cigarette butt next to Joe's feet.

  'Thanks for that, Joe. Thanks a lot.'

  'Oh come on, Harry. What are you doing with a girl like that anyway? How old is she, twenty one?'

  'She's twenty two.'

  'She's a child. She was a student. Your student. You warned me about my behaviour getting me fired, and now I'm warning you.'

  'I wasn't dating her when she was my student...'

  'It isn't appropriate.'

  'You're telling me something's inappropriate? That's a good one, Joe. Nice. But you're right, she's not for me. The sex was phenomenal, but I could barely stand to be in the same room as her if we had our clothes on.'

  Joe didn't bother to respond, largely because the idea of Harry with his clothes off wasn't something he wanted taking up space in his brain. Harry reached into his pocket suddenly, and pulled out a small black box, covered with artificial leather.

  'What's that?'

  He handed it over.

  'It's a retirement present. I was going to give it to you in there, but I don't suppose it matters now.'

  Joe opened the box, and laughed when he saw the contents. It was a gold Rolex.

  'A gold watch! You really thought hard about that one, didn't you?' he said.

  'You're welcome,' replied Harry miserably.

  Joe took it out and slipped it onto his wrist.

  'Thank you, Harry. Seriously. It's fitting that you gave me a cliché. My life is full of them these days. Is this a real Rolex?'

  Harry's mood lifted slightly and he smirked.

  'Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how much a Rolex costs? You know how much money we make.'

  Joe couldn't help but laugh and Harry patted him on the shoulder and then pulled open the door with one hand.

  'I'm going back in. Mary's been left sitting there alone,' Harry said, 'but I want you to promise me that you'll at least consider the surgery. For everyone's sake.'

  He went back inside, leaving Joe to kick at the side of the footpath with his toe.

  Later that night, after Mary had gone to bed, Joe crept out into the backyard to his shed. He worked for several hours into the morning, building the vertical poles that would form the tracks for the blade. This was the hardest part, to make a pair of tracks that were even and wouldn't catch. He sanded the grooves that he made with the roughest sandpaper he could find, but even after an hour or more of work, they still looked uneven. He managed to attach the uprights to the base and added the upper support, but the whole structure just looked flimsy. He pushed it with his shoulder, and the vertical poles leaned almost to a forty five degree angle. He wished that instead of cryptic messages, somebody had left him detailed guillotine blueprints, or perhaps even an Ikea guillotine kit and an Allen key. That would have been a lot more useful. He sat down in the corner and looked at what he was making. Despite the fragile nature of the structure, it was very clear what it was, and he knew that there was no way he could have the surgery at least until he'd finished this request. He had to see where this was leading, even if it was somewhere he didn't want to go.

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