The Keepers (8 page)

“
I understand,
your being uncomfortable at being summoned on a Sunday afternoon.
But we need to talk.”

“
Talk then,”
Rikki said, striking a match and lighting the cigar. The smoke went
into his mouth and out through the room, radiating out suspense as
if a movie. This was not his intention and he decided to
halt
smoking until the business of why he was
‘summoned’ was cleared up. He held it between his thumb and index
finger. He realised, by the sound of the air-conditioner humming,
that it had been quite a while since either of them spoke. He
sighed away the intrigue.

“
Rikki, what’s
wrong?” the president asked, finally.

“
Nothing is
wrong
,”
h
e
said.

“
Don’t come
with that. Take off your glasses, there’s no sun in here. Now
you’ve been off the radar this past month. Abigail-
”

“
Abigail knows
nothings,” he said, by chance holding back from roaring but
angrily. “She knows nothing,” he repeated more calmly. He did not
take off his
sun-glasses.

“
I don’t care
what you think- if she knows or not. Abigail says you look
horrible. That you getting messed on cocaine and hookers. Listen
eh-,
” h
e paused, smoked his cigar and let
out the smoke with a sigh.
Then with
, his
elbows resting on the desk, the hand not holding the cigar rubbing
his temples he said “Your sales have dropped boy. No you ain’t
selling no more.”

Oh I see
this.
Rikki thought.
He’s trying to let me off in the way where I am the bad
guy.

He dunked the cigar into the
ashtray on the table, leaned back into the chair and asked curtly
“How much money did I make this label?”

“
You made us a
lot. But,” he removed his hand from his temples and pointed his
index finger at Rikki
,
“
b
ut, old boy Rikki, we made a lot of
money for you too. I’d say we are about equal, home-boy. Wouldn’t
you say?”

“
I see where
this is goin. I don’t need you, I don’t need any of ya’ll. You
think there ain’t no other record labels out there who’d take
me?”

“
Tone
down
,” The president
said
calmly. “Honestly Rikki, yes, there is no
reputable label out there that’d take you. My advice – quit making
music; you’re an old dog, your days are gone. You had your fun,
but, didn
’t you
right?”

“
Yeah well
what-ever- I ain’t over. This is not done
,”
h
e
replied indignantly not
sure if he could suppress his anger much more.

“
With us, the
label, you are done. But because we like you, how about a
compilation of the greatest hits?” The president said mockingly to
add salt to a wou
nd.

“
Just so you
can make more money off me huh?” he asked not expecting an answer.
He did not get one. “If there’s gonna be a compilation of that
sort, it ain’t gonna be by you.” He stood up, looked the president
straight in the face and said “I should have seen this coming. The
contract. I thought you were just being nice, but you had me. But
it
’s
not the end of me. No it
isn’t-“

“
Rikki,” The
president interrupted “Riki, Rikki, Rikki. You signed it. There was
no defined time for the duration of the contract. You should have
read it. And now, I terminate it. Legally, that is, without any
cost to me.”

During that sentence, the
president saw how tense Rikki seemed and he pressed the panic
switch underneath his desk for security to come up.

Rikki sighed
and rested his hands on the table, he reached for the ashtray, took
it and sent it whirling way to the window behind the president,
cracking it
-the window-
and then plunged
over the table onto the president, with his knees on the
president’s shoulders. The cigar flew into the air, hit the window
too, and landed on the carpet. With one hand he held both the
president’s hands and with the other he held him by the collar and
rattled him shouting:

“
I aint of
over! This ain’t over! I am Rikki!, I am the best!” And at that
moment two security guards came rushing into the room, went around
the desk and seized Rikki by the armpits. He was still proclaiming
his eternity when they forcefully removed him from the
president.

“
Take this
piece of shit out of here!”
the president
shouted as loud as to be above Rikki’s proclamations and the
security guards escorted Rikki out of the building
. He
looked up at the sky, thought about the mistake the president had
done.
F**k him
.
He walked back to
his car, entered and then left the premises with assurance in his
head and mind that they would regret letting him go.

“
Abigail,
Abigail, Abigail please pick up
,”
h
e said sadly to himself as the ringing sound on
the phone went on without anyone answering. It was the first time
in a long time since he had used words like please and
such.

It had been
this way the whole week since his dismissal. After being
forcefully
thrown out
that Sunday, there
had been a glimmer of hope, a hope that told that everything would
go on well, that
they
had done a mistake, a hope that told that
they
would regret that mistake. But
with the power and influence that the president had, none of the
reputable labels had even considered setting up a meeting with him.
They had all told more or less the same story; that they would call
him back, that
their
agents were currently in meetings or busy. They had even
given him false hopes by telling of his unique style and such
things- but he had never went any further than speaking to
secretaries. And now he wanted to speak to
his
secretary. To try and keep her
from leaving him. But the phone just kept on ringing.

F**k. F**k.
F**k. I am Rikki. I do not get ignored
,
h
e
said in his mind.

The week had been horrible. The
drugs and alcohol made him think too much and bitter, and the
prostitutes, now that he, for the first time in a long time, had to
beg, left something incomplete in him. The ejaculations and the
screaming and laughing women usually sent euphoria and made him
feel alpha but now, after the realisation that he was not
all-needed, after they occurred, depression sunk in.

Fine, I don’t need them.

“
I said I
don’t need them!”
he said aloud to
himself.

“
You
don’t
?
”
The Voice
asked in his head.

Yes I
don’t.

Do some lines and you’ll feel
better. You are better. You are Rikki.

He took out a
packet from his pocket and ‘did the lines’, rolled a bank note and
inhaled them through his nose. The cocaine kicked in and
The
Voice
became more audible. And less
friendly.

“
Rikki, Rikki
Rikki. The ’I am’ guy. A god
,”
The Voice
taunted.
The Voice
, now with Rikki
high on cocaine, sounded sarcastic, cynical and overall sinister.
Rikki wondered if he realised these things now because he was high-
whether when sober, this maliciousness of
The Voice went
undetected by him.

His heart-rate
thumped harder and harder, his face started sweating and he felt
like something was moving underneath his skin and what with the
heart-beat going on, feeling like a hammer on his temples and
occipital bone – yes the heart beating felt like a hammer –
The Voice
took advantage of his panic.

“
Rikki!”
The Voice
shouted, startling
Rikki out of his mind, having him screaming in agony and fear, his
hands automatically reaching his cheeks and forehead and scratching
furiously. He collapsed onto the kitchen still scratching and
screaming.

“
The whore of
mammon. That is what you are Rikki, a whore. A slut with an open
wet cunt, whore.”

“
I am not a
whore!” He shouted loud. “I am not a whore!” he
repeated.

The Voice
ignored him. “
Thou cannot worship
two gods. And thou had a choice and thou chose and thou now
self-destructs. You will die Rikki,”
It
said matter-of-factly.

“
I will not
die! I will not die! I will not die
!”
he went on incessantly and
feverishly, shouting and scratching at the floor. He was lying
between the kitchen wall where the phone hung and the kitchen
table. The blinds were closed and only the light escaping where the
blinds could not stop
it
came into the
kitchen giving a dark and gloomy look what with the kitchen painted
brown and most of it wooden. He went on scratching the ceramic
floor and the tips of his fingers started to bleed, and on his face
were scratches and the skin was peeled off from where he had
scratched making his face multi-coloured in yellow, brown and red.
He looked horrible.

“
You look
horrible. Rikki. Yes you do. You are pathetic. You are scornful,
you are no god. You sold your soul. Did you not. Did you not say “I
will do anything for money” did you not Rikki?”
The Voice
laugh
ed
it’s sinister
laugh.
“And now, will you die? For
money?”

The questions reverberated
through his mind. Time seemed to slow and then speed up again. He
felt his heart thumping, then he did not feel it and felt it again.
He started to notice the coldness of the floor, the brown hue of
the kitchen and the blood stains on the floor.

I
promise
,
h
e said pathetically as
the effects started easing, regaining some control of himself. A
foul odor emanated from him. He smelled it.
I promise.
h
e said again.

“
You’ve
crapped yourself you vile- you’ve pissed yourself you noisome
excuse for an entity. Look at you now. Rikki the god on the floor
with shit and piss in his pants. Knocked out by cocaine. You make
me laugh. I own you now. No one will save
you
.”
Then there
was silence, a stillness, peace, after all the loudness and
confusion, the rapid heartbeat and
The Voice
. Just silence and he lay there on the floor waiting for
It-
The Voice
- to speak again, but it did
not come back.

“
I will save
myself.”
Dammit how much did I
take?
he asked himself. He went to the
fridge and took out a bottle of water.

I promise, I
won’t ever do cocaine anymore.
He opened
the bottle and drank all the water in one gulp and went his
bedroom, narrowly missed seeing himself in the mirror and fell on
his bed to sleep.

-

Pain. F**king
pain. Where is it coming from? Pain. Pain. Pain. My heart. F**k!
Pain! No I am not dead. I am not. This is just pain. It’ll pass but
where is it coming from. Pain! What did you do to Chantel!? F**k
her! Then you left her. It was yours! It was yours. The child is
yours. But she left. She’s gone. No! No! No! I don’t want to see
her. I don’t. Pain. It’s on my body, it’s on my face. Yes my face.
It’s burning. F**k. And the smell. What? Is that shit. Yes, look it
is. On the left, on the right, on top and on the bottom it’s all
shit. It’s in you, here look. Spit it out, it’s in your mouth. What
the hell would you eat shit for? No, shit is not to be eaten. It is
bad. You are a child. You have to learn. Your mother told you. Yes,
my mother told me not to eat shit. The sun is hot, it’s burning and
it’s burning the shit into me. Is it pleasant? You like the shit
going into your skin, don’t you, you perverted piece of shit? No I
don’t. I do not like such things. I should not. It is bad. Yes it
is. I should wash this shit off me. I should hose it down. No,
don’t touch your eyes with those shitty hands. But I have to- to
remove the shit from my eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. Is this what your
parents wanted from you? Shit? Where are your parents anyway? Where
are my parents? I don’t know. Your father tried with you. He really
tried. You wouldn’t listen. No, you wouldn’t. Dammit,
R
i
kk
i, w
ake up and wash this shit off.

He woke up.
The room smelled foul. Made worse to him by the fact that the foul
odour came from him. But somehow, oddly, it felt fitting. It felt
like it was the way it was meant to be – to be dirty and foul like
an animal, like a beast. It comforted him, such comfort as would a
baby feel when in the arms of a loving mother. The best comfort in
the world. He thought about his mother, the last time he’d seen
her- that day when she left him at his father’s place and never
came back. It was a memory imprinted on him, one that was clear as
though it were happening at the moment. She dressed in her white
dress, matching her white skin, matching her light blue eyes,
matching her light blonde hair, matching him. She was perfect to
him and has remained such ever since but, he had asked himself over
and over again, would she have been more perfect if she had not
left. Would she take her role as a mother and wipe him clean now,
would she love him, did she ever love him, did she cry when she
left him there on the porch telling him she would be back at six
o’clock. No, she did not cry. She had assured him, she had even
kissed him, but there were no tears on her face. Just that
beautiful smile. It was weeks, with so much inquiries to his
father, that his father had finally told him the truth that he
would never see her again. Then he had stopped whining altogether,
as if the only thing that had been vexing him was the uncertainty
of whether his
mother
was coming back or not. His father tried.