Against God (6 page)

- That thing’s pointless! It’s all an illusion! A lie!

the wall, this time she’s stopped smiling, this time she gets up on her elbows,
this time she too is angry and tells you you’ve had too much to drink, you’d
best leave, you blink then, giggle idiotically and you stammer an apology, you
fetch the condom and you return to the mattress saying you will use it, fine, no
problem, you even start to bend toward the mattress, but Andréane pushes you
away, decrees that it’s too late now, you’ve spoiled the mood, she accompanies
her words with a small cold bitter laugh, avoiding your eyes, and you stand
there motionless for a moment, and you stare at her, lying right there, naked,
and your erection has disappeared, your penis dangling between your thighs, you
nod scornfully then and ask if she thinks that’s the way things work, finally
she looks at you, she’s puzzled, she doesn’t understand, you tear into her, she
thinks she can bring a guy home just like
that, and if things
don’t go her way, too bad for him, he can just leave, his tail between his legs,
isn’t that right, she sits up on her elbows, glares, she tells you again to go,
it’s an order this time, but there’s no stopping you now, standing above

- You think you’re stronger than anyone else? That you’ve got more rights? Did ya
ever think that some day, things just might not go your way? That things can’t
always go the way we want ’em to? Like you might bring a maniac home one night?
What about that? What if I was just that, a maniac? A psycho? What would you do
then, eh?

her, but Andréane has had enough, Andréane tries to get up, but you give her a
violent push, she falls back, outraged, starts to get up calling you a bastard,
a frustrated bastard, so you give it to her, a swift slap, across the face, she
falls back a second time, and this time she says nothing, this time she feels
her cheek, this time she stares at you in terror, lying on her back, and you
mimic surprise, you hiss in a grotesque singsong, oh! that was unexpected, eh,
totally unexpected, she has no idea what’s about to happen now, the little
tease, does she, and the girl starts to scream, the girl calls for help, her
screaming makes you wince in annoyance, prompts your hand to grope toward the
desk, spurs you to grab the first thing your fingers encounter, the bedside
lamp, you drag it toward you, the power cord stretches, pops out of the wall,
the room is plunged in darkness, Andréane’s screams increase two-fold,
fucking screams, screams that might very well be an echo of
those uttered by your wife and children in their final moment, is that why her
screaming drives you out of your mind, is that why you clamp your free hand over
one ear, why you raise the lamp above Andréane yelling at her to shut her trap
or you’ll hit her, she stops screaming, she sobs, but you’re still brandishing
the lamp, you bellow you could shatter her skull with it, then what would she
do, hey, what could she do, had she ever even thought about that, she begs you
not to, and you throw the lamp at a wall, and cast around you, like a man rabid
and blind, and you grab hold of the glass table, hoist it up, the knick-knacks
fall to the floor, a shrill tinkling like a rain of crystal, and you resume your
position above Andréane, your legs planted on the mattress on either side of her
body trembling in terror, brandishing the glass table above her, you shout to
drown out her sobs and her entreaties, you

- Or how ’bout the table. That’d be worse! Ever thought of that? The thing is,
will I do it? Hey? Who can say one way or another? Who? Not you, not me! No one!
Specially not him! Specially not th . . .

shout yourself hoarse, but panic releases her legs all of a sudden, she kicks
out blindly, whimpering, her right leg strikes your left knee, a cry of pain,
loss of balance, a fall sideways, your hands slacken, an attempt to regain your
balance, but you catch yourself just in time on the desk, you manage to stay on
your feet, a sudden silence in the
room, no more sobs or
cries, your eyes turn to the mattress, Andréane’s silhouette in the darkness, a
motionless silhouette, and the dark shape covering her face, the table, the
small glass table that you let fall involuntarily as you tried to regain your
balance, you rush to the wall, hit your shin on a chair, grope for a switch,
flick it on, a lightbulb on the ceiling vomits its garish light across the room,
now you see everything so clearly, Andréane’s bloody face littered with glass
shards from the shattered table, a myriad of cuts including two deep ones on her
forehead and another large one across her throat, all the blood seeping
silently, and worst of all the stillness, total and immutable stillness, you
open and close your mouth several times, you draw near, you bend over, take her
wrist, check for a pulse, let her hand drop, then you straighten up, you moan,
slowly you place your hands on your head and you remain there for long minutes,
your features twisted into a hideous mask of terror, an expression unlike
anything I have ever seen on your face before, finally you begin to move again,
you sprint out of the bedroom, you head for the front door, you open it, you
look left and right, a deserted residential street, the neighbouring balconies
empty, the other apartment windows in darkness, you shiver with cold, you’re
still naked, you close the door and return to the bedroom, you pull on your
pants looking all the while at Andréane, you put on your shirt your eyes never
straying from the body, you slip on your socks your gaze locked still on the
corpse, your breathing slow but laboured, your jaw clenched, you leave the room,
wander through the dark apartment, and finally, sighing,
you drop onto the couch, your arms dangling between your legs, you remain
motionless, waiting, resigned, then you drift off to sleep, a dreamless sleep,
you open your eyes, sunshine through the windows, you frown and get up, the wall
clock reads seven thirty, you look around, dubious, then you return to the
bedroom, Andréane’s body still there, doubly lit by the lightbulb and the
sunlight, the blood no longer flowing, the blood has dried, you return to the
hallway, your bafflement grows, you pull on your boots, open the front door,
take a few steps onto the balcony, biting cold but magnificent sunshine, you
lean against the wrought iron railing, two passersby ignore you, a car motors
by, you observe it all with astonishment, then steps can be heard coming down
the stairs, a man from the apartment above walks by, barely spares you a glance,
you say hello, your eyes full of defiance, and he mumbles a sleepy greeting in
return, without slowing down, reaches the street and walks away, you follow him
with your eyes for a good long while until he disappears at the end of the
street, you look around once more, stand there, your hands on your hips, your
head cocked to the left, a few folks on the sidewalks, cars, the day-to-day, you
let out a snicker then both incredulous and brazen, return to the apartment,
grab your coat from the floor, slip it on and without a glance backward at the
bedroom, you step outside, take the stairs, walk down the street, stare
insistently at each person you pass, then you stop for a quick breakfast in a
café, seemingly lost in thought,
dreaming, then a taxi, stop
back in front of your new place, you walk into your apartment and sit down on
your lopsided couch, motionless, pensive, twenty minutes, a knock on the door
then, you turn to the door then, you nod slowly then, both resigned and
disappointed, as though knowing it couldn’t have lasted, so you walk to the door
with a heavy tread, you open it, but you’re so surprised to see Mélanie that you
look past her to make sure there is no one else, she asks you what’s happening,
you utter a sound that is as much a snicker as a groan and say, that’s just it,
nothing’s happening, silence, she looks at you, silence, slowly you state that
she has no idea what you did last night, but she doesn’t want to know, she
shakes her head, quickly she switches subjects reminding you she has somewhere
she wants to take you today, you ask where, she says you’ll see, you make a face
and yet you agree, and she says she’ll give you ten minutes to get ready but you
say you are ready, she looks surprised, she stares at you, dirty hair, shaggy
beard, rank, wrinkled clothing, but she makes no comment, she herself is wearing
her paint-spattered pants, so you grab your coat, you follow her, you get into
her car, the two of you drive in silence for a good long while then finally you
speak, without looking at her, you tell her that if she knew what you did last
night, she wouldn’t want to help you anymore, but she brushes your comment off
with a careless wave, reiterates that it isn’t just you she wants to help but
herself as well, that’s what you have to understand, she insists, but her words
bring you no comfort, you squirm in your
seat, you grimace,
you look unwell, you mutter it would be better if you got out here, but she
tells you you’re almost there, you’re somewhere in the east part of the City,
faded buildings and stores, some of them dilapidated, the Honda turns down a
small street ending in a cul-de-sac, then you stop, a large two-storey house,
exterior walls bearing black marks, like burns, you walk toward the front door,
the yard is strewn with all kinds of debris, shards of window glass, charred
planks, various tools, you step over the threshold, a large room undergoing
renovations, four or five people, adult men and women, busy painting, patching,
hammering, pop music coming from a CD player in the corner, most everyone greets
Mélanie and smiles, and Mélanie greets most everyone and smiles, she asks where
Father Léo is, a guy plastering a hole in a wall tells her he’s in his office,
Mélanie walks to the stairs, but you hesitate, don’t budge, reluctant in front
of all these people, so she returns to take your hand and guide you, her touch
makes you start, but you don’t pull your hand away, you follow her, you climb
the stairs and arrive at another smaller room, more people working, here the
renovations are further along, lively, garish colours, posters showing current
movies, bands, stars, Mélanie takes you into a small room at the back, two men
consult a plan spread out on the desk, one of them is older, in his sixties, in
black clerical dress, a Roman collar, Mélanie approaches, you drop her hand but
follow, the priest looks up, greets Mélanie, happy, smiling, tells her the
living room is almost done, Mélanie takes in the room
and
comments on how great it looks, the young people will love hanging out here, the
man with the priest walks away, then Mélanie introduces you, his name is Léo,
Father Léo, she tells the man of the Church that she met you recently and wanted
to show you all this, Father Léo shakes your hand warmly, looks you right in the
eye, asks if you’ve come to join the group, you give a feeble handshake, say
nothing, wary, so Mélanie adds she hasn’t yet explained what goes on here, the
priest nods without taking his eyes off you, an incredibly kind gaze, then
someone calls for him from an adjoining room, he excuses himself, leaves the
office, you stare at Mélanie, a question, almost an accusation, in your eyes,
finally she explains, this group of volunteers has been working for the past two
months to rebuild the Youth Centre that burned down last summer, it was the only
place where underprivileged youth in the neighbourhood could get together, but
the government refused to put any money toward renovating the house, so Father
Léo’s group sprang into action, the group took over the renovations, everything
is done on a volunteer basis, but you have trouble understanding, you ask what
the group is exactly, Mélanie adopts a respectful admiring tone, full of
compassion, a couple of years ago Father Léo created a sort of association to
welcome anyone suffering or striving to give meaning to his or her life, the
group always gets involved in community projects, always for society’s outcasts,
always on a volunteer basis, like last year when the group launched a huge
fund-raising campaign to help out the library in a
school for
severely disabled children, you listen but your wariness remains, your wariness
grows, you ask Mélanie how long she has been a member of the association, she
says she’s known about the group for several months, that she came from time to
time but always hesitated to become truly involved and it’s only over the past
few days that she has genuinely participated, all of which is spoken with

- In just three days, you can’t imagine the good it’s done me . . . Not that it’s
wiped out my suffering, it’s just shown me that . . . that suffering isn’t my
only purpose, that I can do more . . .

glowing pride, then your wariness turns to disdain, your tone scornful, if she
thinks you have any intention of joining the group, she’s wasting her time, and
as you head back downstairs, you hear her ask what you will do with your
suffering, but you don’t answer, you reach the bottom, you cross the large room,
then you stop a second, observe with sullen curiosity the people at work, their
serenity, these people who wave politely before returning to the task at hand,
then you feel a presence behind you, you turn, it’s Father Léo, still smiling,
he asks if you too are suffering, actually, it’s more an assertion than a
question, you shoot back a question of your own, what does he know about it, but
he doesn’t back down, he says it’s plain to see, and that’s surely why Mélanie
brought you here, you say nothing, out of the corner of your eye you see Mélanie
coming down the stairs with another man, both of
them carrying
a desk, you point out you barely know her but the priest says that’s immaterial,
and his voice is a

- Knowing each other doesn’t matter, recognizing each other is what counts. All
people suffering intensely recognize each other.

babbling brook, peaceful and reassuring, and Mélanie sets the desk down,
Mélanie turns her head to you, gives her customary smile, where sadness and
gentleness meet, you look away then, avoid Father Léo’s eyes, then you walk to
the door and outside, aimless wandering, mired in your murky thoughts, one hour,
two, the streets bustling on a Saturday lunch hour, a crowd parts before you,
flows around you like a current around debris, you walk into a fast food joint,
three hamburgers, two orders of fries, two soft drinks, return onto the streets
slick with black slush, mild temperatures, the sky overcast, this time you have
a destination in mind, you look for certain streets, find them, stop often,
hesitate, start up again, then finally you recognize yesterday’s neighbourhood,
your stride confident now, reach a residential street, duplexes and triplexes
everywhere, but the closer you get to the apartment, the slower you go,
tormented, you notice three patrol cars in the distance, one blocking the
street, you approach the perimeter, two cops are stopping people from going any
closer, three curious bystanders watch from nearby, staring at Andréane’s
apartment, people coming and going, likely detectives, serious, grim-looking
men, you come
to a standstill next to the onlookers, carefully
observe the two cops as they stop passersby, but they pay no attention to you,
blasé, indifferent, finally you ask what happened, your voice sounding strange,
too shrill, one of the cops says he can’t say, one of the onlookers tells you
there must have been a fatality, he saw a stretcher taken out earlier on, you
turn to the cop again and insist, as though