The Tumours Made Me Interesting (10 page)

Arthur returned with a piece of kitchen drawer which he snapped over his knee. He started to frenetically rub the two pieces of wood together.

“You hang tight, Bruce. I was a scout. I can start a fire with anything. Once I set the Liberty Bell on fire by throwing a blanket over it.”  

It wasn’t long before a spiral of smoke floated toward my nostrils. Arthur was getting excited and hooting like an owl. The rubbed piece of drawer was starting to glow with heat.

“Would you like me to light it for you?” he asked in between hoots.

I nodded with all the strength my neck allowed. Arthur started jabbing at my face with the piece of drawer. The first jab burned a hole through my cheek. I wailed in pain, almost dropping the cigarette. He regrouped and went in for another go. This jab seared through my forehead and knocked against my skull. I could feel the skin around my poke holes bubbling.

“This isn’t going well,” said Arthur.

I nodded but maintained a healthy level of gesticulation that urged him to get the fucker lit. The next poke kissed the cigarette tip and I sucked like a thirsty rat. The smoke didn’t just enter me, it became me. The tumours were so proud. They were pairing up and dancing to the sound of the churning fluids in my body. If I had to live with them inside me, it made sense to please them. Fiona was right – my tumours were so special. I was special for having grown them.

I felt Arthur’s hands slide beneath my armpits and raise me from the carpet. I was dragged toward the couch and placed gently down. My pants were being tugged down in reluctant jerks. “What are you doing?” I slurred.

“Have to get you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

I wanted to fight against the indignity but I didn’t have the strength. He was wiping at my arse with a moist towelette.

“I don’t know what on earth your bowel has evacuated, but it’s pink!” He edged closer. “And it appears to contain whispy veins.”

I remained silent, resolved to my immediate fate. Arthur kept wiping, only stopping when a knock at my door startled him. He dropped the towelette and moved to answer it. “What are you doing?” I whispered. “Don’t answer the fucking door. I’m not wearing pants.”

Maybe I wasn’t producing sound because he slung that door open like I didn’t exist. I tried to ball up my body in an effort to hide my shame. A small pony tailed girl wearing a white summer dress skipped inside. She was holding shattered bits of plate in her cupped hands.

“Excuse me, mister,” she lisped. “You dropped some plates out of your window. Thought you might want them back.”

Arthur patted the child on the head. “Isn’t she adorable?” he said.

“The plates are broke. I can fix it for you but I’ll need some thread.”

“Who taught you how to stitch plates together?” asked Arthur.

“My mother. She taught me how to do everything.”

“Where is your mother?”

She slunk her head forward. “She’s gone.”

“What happened?” I managed to say.

“Plate killed her.”

I sat up straight, almost like the past 10 minutes hadn’t happened. “Which plate?”

She held up her hands and showed me the broken bits of window-tossed plate. “The one that fell through your window, mister.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Belinda Garbo Mayfair.”

“Belinda… I killed your mother.”

She started to giggle. “You big silly! You’re not a plate.”

I massaged my temples, trying to assimilate what was happening. “No, Belinda. I’m not a plate. However, I was the one who threw the plate. Therefore, I killed your mother.”

She dropped the shards and stared at me with doe eyes. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, Mister. That was my only mother. She was going to buy me a lizard.”

“I don’t suppose you have a cigarette lighter handy?” I asked, trying to ignore the fact I was a murderer.

Belinda touched her pointer finger against her chin and began to scratch like she had the pox. Soon another finger and another had joined the first and she raked them liberally across her pale little face, leaving red trails of pressure behind. Then her eyes lit up and she raised her hands to the ceiling.

“I think I know where you can find a lighter, Mister,” she finally said.

“Where?”

“Look in my hair. Before my mother died, she said most things were in my hair.”

I tried to ignore the mention of Belinda’s dead mother as I foraged about her pony tails. It was like a magician’s suitcase. I kept retrieving items that no hair should contain. I found a stuffed parrot, a foam comma, a guide to fjords, bread and finally, a lighter! At this point, I could have wasted brainpower wondering how and why any of this was happening. Instead I lit another cigarette, fell back on the couch and tried to clear my mind.

“So I guess we need to call the police,” I said.

Belinda sat next to me with her head mashed against my arm and asked, “Why do you want to call the police?”

“I killed your mother. I think they’ll wanna know.”

“Please, Bruce,” implored Arthur, his hands clutching at my leg. “Don’t inform the police. I’m an unlawful tenant in your home. They might ask questions.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Somehow I think they’ll be more interested in the corpse outside.”

I shook my leg free of Arthur’s desperate hands and patted Belinda on the head. I was walking toward the phone, contemplating prison when I heard someone yelling Belinda’s name just outside. I turned with a start to face the sound. It grew louder and was soon accompanied by heavy, resonant footsteps. I could hear whoever it was fall against my landing. I scrunched my face in agitation and, very cautiously, opened the door. Standing before me was a stern looking woman with blood drizzling down her face. She was wobbling about on unstable feet and trying to flash me a courteous smile.

“Excuse me,” she warbled. “I’m looking for my daughter. I saw her run into this building.”

“Mummy!” yelled Belinda. She brushed past me and embraced her mother.

‘You’re not dead,” I said, feeling my body melt as it filled with relief.

“What do you mean ‘dead’?” the woman asked with bug eyes.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your daughter here said you’d been killed. Why don’t you come in so I can take a look at that head wound?”

The woman started to shake and whimper. She placed a hand on each of Belinda’s shoulders. “What do you mean ‘killed’, dear?” she asked.

“The plate hit you in the face, mummy. You died.”

Her shaking intensified and she pushed by me, seeking someplace to lie down. I guided her toward the couch where she fell with a fart.

“I can’t be dead,” she cried. “I was going to buy my daughter a lizard.”

“Umm… I don’t think you’re dead. Maybe just a little concussed.”

Her eyes widened and her fists balled. “Are you calling my daughter a liar?”

“Why would you call me a liar, Mister?” Belinda asked.

“No, no, no… I wasn’t doing anything of the sort. I was merely suggesting that your obvious mobility and vocal capabilities might suggest you were still alive.”

I felt like I’d just accused an overweight person of being pregnant. Both Belinda and her mother were crying and it was clear to me that nothing I could say would resolve the issue. I looked toward Arthur, hoping to receive support but he just shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t want to be dead,” said the woman.

“I don’t want you to be dead either, mummy,” replied Belinda.

The woman stood up and glared at me. Her eyes reminded me of my grade 2 teacher, Ms Heinz. Ms Heinz would make me eat crayons whenever I didn’t wet myself like the rest of the children in her class. The way she stared had me stuffing crayons down my throat without a second thought. I simply had to obey them. As this bleeding woman stared at me now, I knew instinctively that I was about to agree with whatever she said and if she insisted upon her death, I would believe it.

“My daughter is NOT a liar, sir! If she says I’m dead then, unfortunately, I am. And please, for the love of all things remotely decent, put on some pants!”

I glanced down at my exposed genitalia and then toward Belinda. I felt like such a dirty pervert. I don’t even like seeing
myself
naked, yet here I was, pantless in front of a child. My inner thighs were stained with anal leakage and my pubes were clogged with cigarette ash. I made a dash for the bedroom, looking for something (anything!) to cover me. The first thing I found was a placemat I’d been gifted from a work colleague at a Christmas function. I stapled it into place and marched back into the lounge room.

Arthur approached me and ushered me back into the bedroom.

“I was thinking,” he whispered, “considering you were somewhat responsible for this poor woman’s death, she and her daughter could stay with you for a while.”

“You do know she’s not actually dead, right?” I said.

“Absolute nonsense! I understand you must be experiencing some guilt over these events, but that little girl has such honest eyes. I can assure you that we have ourselves a dead woman in there and we have to do the right thing.”

I popped another cigarette and rejoined my new arrivals.

“So, do you two wanna stay here tonight?” I asked with resignation.

Belinda beamed a smile so white I squinted. Her mother nodded in a solemn kind of way that continued to pump me with guilt.

“I will gladly accept your offer, sir. However, I would request indefinite residence. I’m no longer alive, so my presence is moot. My daughter on the other hand, needs to be cared for. She doesn’t eat much and she self-maintains, so it will be very little stress upon you personally.”

I watched this woman’s animated body and considered her request. I inhaled the remaining half of my cigarette in one suck and felt vomit exit with my exhale. Arthur stared at me with pleading in his eyes. He really wanted this to happen. Maybe he had the hots for the mother. Belinda kept beaming that smile until her whole face glowed.

“Why the hell not! I’ll go see if the Stotson’s have any spare blankets and mattresses”.

The three cheered as I ducked through the wall hole. I felt so needed. I felt so important. I felt so fucking ill.

9.

A
cold sensation on my abdomen plucked me from sleep. I kept my eyes stubbornly shut, determined to ignore the encroaching day. The cold sensation kept shifting. Something was being pressed against me. The blankets had been tugged away and my whole body was seizing up in the cold. My eyes clamped shut even tighter. I refused to allow my day to begin. I felt something brush against my skin. Little tickle demons burrowed inside me and started pulling on my laughter strings.
Mustn’t laugh,
I thought, even as my lips started curling into a grin. The demons kept burrowing, tweaking my nerve endings. The laughter flew out of me like an exorcised phantasm.

“You’re awake, Bruce.”

I surrendered to the day and opened my eyes. Fiona was sitting at my bedside. She had a stethoscope pressed against me. She looked stunning. This woman didn’t go to sleep at night… she carefully packaged herself away. She looked just like a doll.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Go back to sleep if you like. I’m here this morning for several reasons.” She held up a carton of cigarettes. “I’ve brought these for you. Figured you’d nearly be out of that packet I gave you.” I nodded like a hungry dog. “Would you like one?” I nodded again and watched Fiona retrieve a cigarette, place it in my mouth and light the beautiful bastard. “I also wanted to check on your little babies – hence the stethoscope. They sound so healthy, Bruce. They’re beating like hearts. I want to dive inside you. It takes an immense ability to grow tumours of such… vitality.”

Fiona had a way of making me feel so proud of my situation. In less than 24 hours I’d gone from feeling sorry for myself to feeling good about myself. I had the best fucking tumours.

“Oh, by the way,” Fiona continued. “I’d like to introduce you to some friends, today. They’re good people. You’ll like them.”

I groaned like a moody teen. “I don’t wanna.”

“And afterward, perhaps we can go back to my place.”

She arched an eyebrow suggestively and brushed a hand over her breast. I was visibly aroused. Fiona glanced at my cock and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?”

I sat up and brushed a plume of dandruff from my hair. I had been cooking a fart all night and I was too tired to concern myself with social etiquette. It flew from my arse like a gas dragon and circled the bedroom.

“I can see the gas,” remarked Fiona in awe. “It’s like a revolting rainbow!”

“My flatulence has been growing more intense by the day,” I bragged.

She pressed her lips against my forehead and said, “You’re beautiful.”

The flatulent rainbow slowly dissipated. I stroked my stomach in appreciation. Fiona was pinching her nose shut, but that slight, alluring smile still remained. The sunlight spilled through the window. It was going to be a good day.

Fiona wasn’t very forthcoming with information about the ‘friends’ of hers I was meeting. I sat in the passenger seat and watched her watching the road ahead. The radio was switched to throat.fm – all throat singing, all the time. The vocal contortions filled the car, soothing my insides and quieting my brain. The slightest hint of breeze crept through the driver window and caught Fiona’s hair. She was growing more beguiling by the minute. Her skirt appeared to be growing shorter each time I looked, but I’m willing to pass this off as an optimistic hallucination. More than anything else, though, it was her skin. I could see my fuzzy reflection in the pristine smooth, porcelain white of her thighs. Hers was a body better suited to polishing than washing. I imagined the slightest impact breaking her shell and revealing the hollow space within.