Cockroach (24 page)

My sister jeered, climbed outside the window onto the balcony, pulled out the money, and balanced on the edge of the rail. Behind her the moon looked large and full. She looked like a bat-woman about to fly into the city's lights. This is what my father gave me, evil one, the bat-woman said. You take one more step and I will release the bills against the full moon and fly after them.

I sat under the coconut tree. I ordered the special: two beers for the price of one. The tree gave me shade from the spotlights. I drank. I ordered some more beer and finished it all.
After that, I went outside. Somehow the cold weather felt irrelevant. I strolled, and my breath smoked against the freezing city walls. I broke into a run and cut across streets and slipped down the slope towards St-Catherine, all the while looking behind me. I had that strange feeling of being chased. So I ran as if I was being hunted by giants who could pick me up and ponder me, then drop me and make my blood splatter like roadkill, like an insect splashing on a car windshield. I zigzagged, frantic, scanning the sky for any shadow of a giant's shoes or rolled-up newspapers that would suddenly land on my head like a collapsed roof, like ten layers of sky falling to earth. I sucked in the coldest winds, the cruellest air, and jumped like a storm in front of car tires cutting the wet asphalt, the red light, the brick houses, the curling spiral Montreal stairs that might well lead you up, if it was your lucky day, to a winter party where you would surround yourself with rings of smoke, curved toes, rolling French R's, knives carving triangles of brie in front of Eurotrash with foreign beers in hand and wearing Italian leather shoes. I reached Chinatown, passed through its arches, and asked the dragon that guarded the gate to spit fire on me, to warm my chilled face, my wet toes.

Hélas,
the dragon replied with a heavy accent, all my fire was exhausted last night on grilled ducks that now hang in the steamy windows of restaurants with dirty floors, hot woks, and solemn, quiet faces slurping whatever is fished out of bowls with chopsticks.

I reached Notre-Dame Church, and then walked down to the old terrain of the circus. I looked at the ships docked at the
city port. The long promenade was empty, no American tourists strolling with sugar cones, looking like moving icebergs, no five-handed jugglers, no lovers locked together by their fingers, no eternally smiling clowns, no bicycles, unicycles, or tricycles, no caricatured faces drawn with charcoal on ten-dollar canvases. The tourists were away, the sailors were away, and there was only one crazy creature to be seen crossing through the cold night.

I DRAGGED MYSELF
to see Genevieve again. I did not feel like seeing her. Talking about your mother when she is gone is not a decent thing to do.

I entered the health centre and informed the elderly lady at the desk of my presence. I picked up a magazine and looked around at the posters on the wall. One good thing about waiting in these health-care places is watching the nurses, therapists, psychopaths, cleaners, and secretaries that pass by. They all look equally preoccupied, some rushing, some even brooding. I could never figure out who was who. Who was hearing voices and who was making them, who was trying to stop them and who was suppressing them? But when you sit and wait, everyone knows what you are here for. Everyone knows that you are going to confess something — something evil that was done to you, something evil that you did. Still, the past is all in the past. If you sit, wait, behave, confess, and show maybe some forgiveness and remorse, you, my boy, you could be saved. Jesus shall appear from behind one of those office doors in a skirt and
stockings, holding a file of lives in his hand. Jesus will lead you, walk in front of you, swinging his ass up the hallway. And you, my boy, you must not even dare to wonder how Jesus will look naked on top of the desk. Do not wonder what he thinks of you. Jesus is very sensitive to men's looks. He can detect your innermost thoughts by the twitch in your eye, by the slightest wink and stare. And Jesus will tell you straight up, Son, if your right eye is causing your downfall, pluck it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into hell. Jesus, unlike working-class waitresses, does not need a shield. Jesus knows every thought in your head; he knows well that you, my boy, want to make him confess as well. But Jesus is strong-willed and is on his way towards you, smiling at you, leading you to that familiar chair, that small table, and he will be asking you how your days were, and your nights, starting with the bad weather and finishing with your cold mother.

Have we met any more giant insects? Genevieve asked me. What was it again — a spider?

No, no visits from the cockroach.

That is good. No? Don't you think it is good?

What is good?

That you did not have any more visitors, Genevieve said, and made quotation marks with her fingers. Let's go back to your family.

Where did we stop last time?

You were plotting to extract money from the old man who was involved with your sister.

Yes, Joseph Khoury.

Yes, go on.

Well, I visited my sister at the store. It was the lunch hour and I asked her if I could take her for a falafel sandwich at the corner. She was very happy. She rushed to the back and got her purse, fixed her hair in the mirror; she even pulled out some lipstick and covered her lips with red. She held my arm and we walked to the store at the corner. She talked to me about work. When I asked her if the old man was treating her well, she nodded and said that he had a big heart. Then she said that the two other girls who worked at the store were nice to her as well. She was in charge of making coffee in the back room. We offer coffee to all the good customers, she told me. In the afternoon, there are these older men who come and sit around Joseph's desk and talk and smoke cigars. One of them does not take sugar, because he has diabetes, the other likes it sweet, and Joseph and the girls like it medium. I make three different kinds, she smiled.

When we sat down, I said to her, Have you thought about leaving your husband?

He is the father of my child, she answered, and her smile disappeared. Her bubbly face changed.

You should leave him, I said to her.

She shook her head, slapped her hand on the table, and said, To go where? To live where? I can't stay in our parents' house. It is too small . . . with the baby. And I can't stand our mother and father fighting all the time. Our father, the other day when I was staying there for the night, he came back at one in the morning. I had to pick him up off the floor and
throw him on the sofa, he was so drunk. If I left Tony, where would I go?

If he hits you one more time, I said, I am going to kill him.

Would you kill the father of my child? My sister raised her voice. Would you? Great. And when my daughter Mona grows up and asks me where her father is, I will tell her, Your uncle put a bullet in his head. Is that why you invited me to lunch?

She was about to stand up, so I grabbed her arm and asked her to stay. She sat still. She cried. Then her hand reached across to touch my arm.

My little brother, you are my little brother, she said.

I stood up and got the food. I put the tray on the table and put her share in front of her.

We ate, then she smiled and said: Rima, one of the girls at the store, asked about you.

Which one?

The one with the long dress.

I did not notice her.

Come back with me. I will show her to you.

And what am I supposed to do with her?

Do whatever you like.

Right, and then what will you do when she starts crying and blaming you?

You are planning on making all the girls cry for the rest of your life?

Only those that like me.

Yes, only those that like you, she said, and she pulled a Kleenex from her purse and blew her nose. Maybe there are no good men in this world, and us women have to endure it.

If he touches you, I said, I will beat him up. Do you understand?

You can't beat him up. He is too strong for you. He will hurt you. You do not even know what he is capable of.

What does he do all day, anyway? Just tell me. You do not even know what your husband does.

He works for the militia, my sister said. That is all I have to know. He brings food.

You are working now. You do not need him. I will give you money, I said.

Let it go, please. Let it go.

You love that brute.

Look, you are not so different, my father is not so different. I am surrounded by men that come from the same mould. Look around. The only decent man I know is Joseph Khoury.

Marry him, then.

What? You little cockroach, how could you say that?

I walked my sister back to the store. Are you working tomorrow? I asked her.

Yes. But don't visit me. Look, come now and I will show Rima to you. Just look through the window. She is the one with the red long dress. She is nice, a very nice girl.

What is her name?

I told you: Rima. You know what? She is too nice for you. Go, my little brother, go away. She kissed me on the cheek and I walked away from the store. I passed the pharmacy, the church, and the parking lot, and arrived at Abou-Roro's back alley.

The man was in his yard, surrounded by his junk — old stereos and machinery. His radio was playing loud. Come on
in, he said to me. Come on in. When are we cashing in on the old man?

We aren't.

Changed your mind? he said.

Yes, forget it. I am not killing the father of my niece.

Abou-Roro had a smirk on his face. He stood up, went back inside, and brought out some fresh almonds and two bottles of Almaza beer. You know where you can find Tony every morning, right? he asked me.

No, I do not know much about that man.

Every day he is in Abou-Fares's joint. He spends hours on those gambling machines. The man must be making money somehow.

You followed him, I said.

I know everything.

What else do you know?

He works for the Special Forces. The man is connected. The man is dangerous.

If he hits my sister one more time I will break his bones, I said. I do not care how dangerous or connected he is.

There is some action coming, Abou-Roro said. Are you in?

Talk.

Wait. He turned up the volume on the radio and the entire neighbourhood was now listening to the hourly news. You know the Armenian who does money exchanges on the corner, not too far from the Jesuit garden?

I'm listening.

He is a sitting duck. You know he has a booth there?

Yes, I have seen it.

He does not keep money on him. When he has a customer, he asks the person to wait, and he calls his son, and his son brings him the money from his home. The house is two minutes away.

Okay, I said. So who gets the son?

I get the son. If I go for the exchange, the Armenian will be careful. People know me in this neighbourhood.

Don't you think he will be suspicious of me if I ask for the exchange?

Yes, he will probably be suspicious of you as well.

We need someone else with us. Give me two days, I said. I have someone in mind.

The next day I made some sandwiches and went back to my sister's store. She was surprised, but I told her that my mother had sent me with food. And then I walked over to the girl my sister had told me about and said, You must be Rima.

The girl smiled and said, You must be the brother.

My sister told me that you like your coffee in the afternoon to be medium strength.

Your sister is right, Rima said.

My sister is always right, I said. She thinks that you are very beautiful. And like I said, my sister is always right.

The girl laughed.

I smiled back at her and left the store.

That evening I waited across the street from the store. I watched the old man pulling down the metal door while the girls stood chatting in front of it. Joseph said good night to them, and they all went their separate ways. I followed Rima. Then I darted down a side street and cut across it. I came out
just as Rima was right at the corner across from me. I called her by name. She turned, surprised.

I said, We meet again.

Yes, we meet again.

I chatted her up, and then I told her that I had been thinking about her.

Rima blushed.

I told her that tomorrow I would be at the falafel store at lunchtime.

She nodded, and blushed again.

I walked back to Abou-Roro's alley that same night. I turned up the volume on his radio. And I said in his ear, Tomorrow at noon. How much should we stiff him for?

A thousand dollars is good.

Do you have it?

I will get it tomorrow morning, he said.

The next morning, Abou-Roro whistled from below my balcony. I put on my shoes and walked downtairs. He handed me a big bundle of lira.

At noon, come to the falafel store, I told him. The girl sitting with me will be the one doing the transaction. When I give you the sign, rush back to the corner and wait for the Armenian's son.

At noon I met Rima. I paid for lunch. She was self-conscious and wore heavy makeup that day.

Abou-Roro came in and sat at the table behind me.

I talked to Rima and told her that I was leaving on a trip to Cyprus for a few days. And I needed to exchange some money with the Armenian. But, I said, he and I have had a quarrel. I
explained to Rima that the Armenian's rate was better than the bank's. I could ask my sister to do the exchange, I said, but the Armenian knew her, and he would know that I had sent her. I asked Rima if she could do the exchange for me. She agreed; she was very willing. I pulled out the bundle and said, Just tell him that you need a thousand U.S. But Rima, I added as I laid my hand over her hand, with the money between our palms, please do not give him the money before you make sure you see the dollars in his hand first.

She agreed.

I gave Abou-Roro the signal and he zoomed away.