Dimitris
The pain wakes Dimitris. A hatched pain that was difficult to pinpoint. He is spread-eagled on his back, eyes wide open. The room is immersed in a gentle penumbra. Behind the closed shutters, the hot light of day pulses angrily and creeps through the slats of the warped wood. He is alone in the bed and there’s no sounds in the house to be heard. They must have gone out Dimitris surmises, it’s probably late.
Turning his head to the left, Dimitris spies the alarms clock from a swollen eye. Ten to nine. Not that late after all. He thinks of sleeping a while longer but the pain is too great. The hand goes out to pull back the covers, only to crunch back in anguish, the body in coursing spasms of agony running from his feet up to the pounding head. Rivulets of salty sweat form and are instantly joined by a streaming teardrop from the healthy eye. His mouth feels dry, opening with difficulty, tendrils of saliva stretch between the caked lips, the tongue thick and swaddled in cotton wool.
‘A strong coffee and a piss is what I need’. Next to the alarm clock he notices a glass of water in clear view, with two tablets alongside. This small but considerate gesture makes him smile. A move that triggers fresh explosions of pain across his face, the jaw and ear throb with the memories of last night’s blows. He rolls over to one side only for the blows to rain down on his body again, across the back, shoulders, on the legs and arms, seemingly with the same vigour renewed/previous violent impact.
“Cunts” Dimitiris manages to gasp as his heart beats furiously. That shaking fear from the night before was urging his bladder to release its load. ‘Come on’, he mutters to himself. His body is mutinous though, refuses to move and experience any new pain. It felt better there lying in bed. ‘It hurts this way too, come on get up’ Dimitris growls raising his head from the crushed pillow. It’s the head’s turn now to add another throbbing layer of discomfort to the bodily aches. Bright stars and black holes swirl at the corners of his vision, a personal cosmos of multi-coloured pain.
“If you get up, you can take a long piss, have a coffee and take some painkillers,” he slowly repeats out loud, moving first one leg and then the other. He sits on the bedside. “In fact, codeine instead and let’s chase that espresso with hasish then we can crawl back into bed, okay?” No, it wasn’t working, every movement was like a knife pushing deeper into the wounds. He also really needed a piss now; the bladder was proposing a fresh concentration of pain that neatly overlaid the bruises from the beating.
‘It’s the beer’s fault he thought ruefully and be merciful you didn’t piss yourself when they were beating the shit out of you’. He manages to stand up. Just for half a second though before bending double and clutching a hand to the heaving belly. The stomach was screaming. It was those clinically precise kicks from when he was lying on the floor doing a passable impression of a foetal baby. His eyes watered fitfully again as his mind and body relived the sharp pains from the beating, He wiped actual tears from with the back of his hand and searched for some pants without finding any. No clothes either. Well, for the time being what did it matter? He walked away from the bed still doubled up. The bathroom had a sickly pleasant smell of lavender and sandalwood. The shiny wall tiles glinted back his sunken and harrowed face, contrasting with the general sense of fresh order.
He dragged himself over to the kitchen. Everything was clean with an air of quiet peace. Shutters were pulled back enough to get an idea of the soaring temperature outside. The heat was beating a relentless staccato against the balcony window, casting a hazy pool of light across the room. Shining glasses beamed back the morning light at him from a drying rack. He found the mokka next to the gas rings, as well as a packet of coffee. A cup with a single spoon lay alongside. A tube of aspirin stood vigil; it’s cylindrical form overseeing his packet of tobacco and lighter nearby. A note from Lalla propped up against the sugar jar completed the kitchen counter scene. Looping, broad handwriting. “Stay if you like, rest your body, I’ll see you later” Directly below this, sloping Lalla “Kisses” alongside the name and phone number of a doctor “Just in case”.
The house gave Dimitris a feeling of warmth; he savoured the domestic tranquillity. The calls and laughing of the children in a shaded street below only made the inner silence even more enchanting. They were playing football. You could guess by the calls. He swallowed two codeine and washed it down with a glass of water. With the second glass he sent down two aspirins from the tube thoughtfully placed on the counter. With the third glass he watered the herbs on the balcony. The smell of basil immediately filled the room. He liked that smell, the aroma of warm meals and healthy living.
He switched on the radio and sat at the table with the steaming coffee. The morning reports equably narrated news with its daily reserves of violence, death, hunger and hate. Deaths in Ukraine, followed deaths in Syria. Deaths in Iraq followed deaths in Afghanistan. More deaths next door in Pakistan. Natural this time thanks to a deadly mudslide. Even the natural disasters were manmade though, grim reflections followed sombre analysis’s followed angry ranting person, the voice from the street.
Dimitris changed the station, this time the narrative was the same succession of events framed in a more jaunty perspective. A news bulleting detailing a grisly rape story was followed by the polished tones of Miley Cyrus inciting people to do what they wanted, it’s their party. He switched off the radio and lurched back on the chair, there was always the counter portal to access, detailing fresher levels of misery in searing bulletins that were sent from the digital trenches. Missives from the frontline, a roll-call of injustices across the globe, butchered students, hunger strike deaths, fresh kidnappings, another water. He quickly slurped the last remnants of his coffee before a combination of physical and mental nausea forced him to retch again.
He drank a second cup of coffee smoking a cigarette; the hash also seemed to have vanished at some point during the night’s adventures. He winces, having hoped for the curative powers of the compressed resin to relieve some pain. Feeling old Dimitris shores himself up against the table, like a retired seadog who’s physical prowess has gone, only to be replaced by rants, stories and a perpetual turning on oneself, struggling to focus a new identity into being. With effort, Dimitris limps over to the sitting room, towards the record player. Music, he needs some music. Santana, Howling Wolf, Orbital, Lee “Scratch” Perry, Public Enemy, Ojos de brujo. He smiles admiringly, less painfully this time, at Lalla’s eclectic tastes. The hands linger over the extensive folk blues collection before settling on something befitting the mood, a Flamenco number from back in the day. Cameron de la Isla. The voice of Andalucía's favourite junkie saint fills the empty house.
“volando voy, volando vengo
por el camino yo me entretengo
enamorao de la vida que aveces duele
yo no soy quien soy ni los que me quieren"
Despite the fatalistic blues of the words Dimitris falls asleep again, pondering on their meaning as the music washes over him. ‘I’m not who I am nor what they want me as turning in the mind’ On opening his eyes again, Lalla’s face is above his, bathed in a halo of light. The shutters are now slightly parted, a beam of light is infiltrating the room. Lalla’s figure steps back and is backlit against the rays. “How do you feel?” he hears the shape say.
Dimitris scans the crumpled sheet above his bruised body. The pain was still pounding, blending her next words into the sonic throbs beating against his ears. He shakes his head without answering, fresh sweat dripping from the temple.
“You’re boiling” She mutters, removing a cool hand from his feverish brow. “Maybe you should take a step back” genuine concern filters into her voice, just give up the <OBJECT> and we can return to our normal lives.
