This allegorical story deals with beauty, truth and honesty, three values that are hard to find in a superficial world. If you care about such things, you might find it interesting, though if you want an adrenaline rush, watch a DVD instead.
Living with Cecil
Jolene sat on her unmade bed and watched her goldfish swim in circles, trying to escape the confines of its fragile little world. It looked as miserable as her; she loathed the squalor of her room. The mattress took up most of the floor, the rest of which was buried under piles of faded magazines, dirty sheets and unwashed clothes. Rain ran down the filthy window, blurring her view of the city beyond.
She had not had breakfast yet, though it was almost midday now. As she got to her feet she looked at herself in the mirror on her bedroom door. She was a large, ungainly girl, with greasy black hair and an acne-scarred face. Everyone thought she was lazy and stupid, and none of them gave her the chance to prove that she was nothing of the sort. While she was being turned away from the most soul-destroying jobs, truly idiotic girls who happened to be beautiful were building brilliant careers. Jolene shook her head in disgust at herself and the world at large.
She left her room and walked down the hall, wondering if she should make the effort to look for another job. That would involve showering and putting on a change of clothes. After that, she would have to go out and endure the familiar routine of looking for work and finding none. At best, she might be interviewed, and go home waiting for a phone call that would probably not come.
Suddenly Jolene stopped in her tracks. She heard her mother’s voice in the lounge room, but no-one was replying to her. This was strange, to say the least. Who could she be talking to?
Jolene crept down the hall - and recoiled in shock. Her mother Ruth sat on the couch with a plate of chocolates in front of her. Beside her sat a strange young man Jolene had never seen before.
He was fine-boned and effeminate, with a face like painted porcelain. His large blue eyes had long dark lashes, and his head was crowned with golden curls. He wore a sheer black bodystocking, black slippers and nail polish. His delicate feet traced meaningless patterns over the dull wine-stained carpet.
Jolene could not determine his age. He might have been twelve or twenty. Although he had a boyish figure and no trace of body hair, he looked calm and self-assured. As Jolene watched, Ruth stroked his thigh and took a chocolate from the plate. She placed the morsel in his mouth and caressed him as he sucked on it. When she had finished she looked up and saw her daughter in the hall.
“Good morning, Jolene,” she said. “This is Cecil. Say hello.”
“Where did he come from?” asked Jolene.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” said Ruth. “I’ve told you not to be so rude, especially in front of guests.” She patted her companion’s arm. “It won’t happen again, my dear.”
Jolene watched her warily. Ruth was as tall as her, but thinner, with bony hands and piercing eyes. Her face had aged considerably while Jolene went through puberty, as if it had been as traumatic for her.
Ruth turned back to her daughter. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
Jolene sighed. “I’ve got no plans.”
“Good,” said Ruth. “Don’t make any. Petra’s coming over soon, and we’ll be drinking cabernet. You won’t be getting any, though. You’ll be staying in your room. Am I making myself clear?”
Jolene fought to control her temper. She rarely bothered anyone, and resented being spoken to as if she was an irresponsible child. But what could she do? Ruth bought her food and gave her lodging. She had no right to complain.
“Yes, I understand,” she said.
Her voice was mild, but her anger remained. Cecil seemed to sense this, because his lips bore the faintest hint of a smile. Or was she simply imagining it? She could not read his true emotions.
“I’ve known Petra for thirty-two years,” said Ruth, “and we have been best friends all this time. Are you listening, Jolene?”
“Yes, of course I’m listening.” Jolene braced herself for the coming ordeal.
“Petra was with me when I almost died. We were at a swimming carnival, and I was running near the pool when I slipped on a wet patch and fell in. I must have hit my head on something; the teachers said I sank like a stone. They pulled me out immediately, but it took them a while to resuscitate me.” She gently caressed Cecil’s hair.
“While I was near death, I heard music. I don’t know how it happened, but I remember it distinctly. I sometimes hear it again when I sleep, but when I wake up I always forget it. It sounds a lot like whales singing: slow, sad and mysterious. It’s haunting, but it never scares me. It always makes me feel at home.”
Jolene had heard it all before. What was Ruth trying to prove? Was she implying that she had some special affinity with the sea? That made no sense; she had nearly drowned in a chlorinated swimming pool. And what was that nonsense about whales? Weren’t they meant to be extinct?
Cecil eyed her mockingly. Ruth’s hands moved down and stroked his chin.
“Naturally, everyone wanted me to share my story after that. I didn’t want to talk about it, but in the end I mentioned the music. And then my classmates laughed at me. They thought I’d made the whole thing up!” She took a chocolate for herself. “Only Petra believed me. We’ve been best friends ever since.” Jolene wished that she was deaf. She had heard enough of this.
“Petra was a frail girl, and when she was eight, she had a stroke. Her parents rushed her to hospital, but she was gone for several days. And while she was in a coma, she experienced a roaring sound. Then it faded into silence. Darkness. Total nothingness.”
“And then she saw a brilliant light and - ”
Jolene tuned out altogether. She knew this story off by heart. To put it briefly, Petra floated off to some never-never land filled with resurrected grandmothers and smiling gameshow-looking types, all standing around in a beautiful garden, exactly like the pictures of Heaven she had seen in Bible class. These lovely people had told her that she was still too young to die, so poor Petra floated back down to her body and woke up in the coma ward. Jolene wished that she had died, because then she would be spared the pain of hearing this tale again and again. Ruth could hardly mention her friend without coming back to it.
“And hearing about this only confirmed my adamant faith in life after death.” Ruth’s voice had dropped half an octave. “I don’t just believe in it. I know it exists.”
Even though she did not show it, Jolene was appalled to hear her mother say such stupid things. She firmly believed death was final, and if people started seeing things after losing consciousness, it only proved that they were sick. More tellingly, their stories were invariably comforting. None of them ever woke up in terror, having just escaped from hell.
Cecil kept his eyes on her. Despite her cynical world view, Jolene almost found herself believing he could read her mind. What were his thoughts on life after death? She wanted to know, but dared not ask; though he was barely half her size, his presence was intimidating.
“I’m going to get changed,” Ruth declared. “Remember what I said before. When Petra gets here I want you in your room.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jolene sighed. She did not want to be around when Ruth and Petra talked about the afterlife and spirit guides. She would rather look for work; if she found it, she could move. That was all she wanted now.
Ruth stood up and left the room. Cecil remained where he was, and Jolene sat down a safe distance from him. Cecil watched impassively, but even now he did not speak. He might have been a beautiful boy, but his gaze was almost reptilian.
She had distrusted him from the start, and now she positively loathed him. She knew that he was mocking her. Why had her mother brought him home? He was at least twenty years younger than her. Ruth seemed attracted to him, though. Could they be having an affair?
Whatever the truth, she found him disturbing. The longer she watched him, the worse it became. His very beauty was to blame; beside him she felt like a foul bloated monster. He was definitely smiling now, as if he could sense her discomfort. He picked up a chocolate, languidly examined it, then slipped it between his lips. Instead of chewing, he let it dissolve, watching Jolene as he did.
She tried to break his wall of silence. “How did you meet my mother?” she asked.
Cecil did not answer her. He took another chocolate and sucked on it contentedly. Jolene eyed him enviously. She had been without chocolate for the last month; she was trying to lose weight and clear up her skin. Watching Cecil gorging himself on the stuff was pure torture. She tried to talk to him once more.
“I’m sorry if that sounded rude. Are those chocolates any good?”
Cecil simply kept on smiling. His large blue eyes gleamed malevolently as they slithered over her. Jolene’s discomfort gave way to resentment. She threw all pleasantries aside.
“Can’t you answer me?” she asked. “I’m trying to be nice to you, and all you do is sit and stare!”
Cecil swallowed the chocolate, leaned back on the couch and broadened his smile. Jolene wondered what her mother saw in this haughty little creature. She had one last try at conversation.
“My mother might love your silence,” she said, “but I’ve had enough of it. Why don’t you want to talk to me?”
Cecil didn’t even blink. He was obviously not deaf, for he reacted to her voice. But how much did he understand? Was he a speechless idiot who only smiled at what he heard?
Jolene believed otherwise. His manner was too calculated. He knew exactly what to do to make her feel uncomfortable. If that was what he wanted, though, why hadn’t he said anything? She was used to being teased, but experience had toughened her, and words were not the only weapons she used to exact revenge. Jolene rose and towered over her unwelcome little guest.
“Speak, you painted little moron!” Cecil shrank away in fear. He knew his good looks could not save him. She would smash his pretty face in if he did not answer now.
“Jolene!” Ruth’s voice was sharp with anger. “Are you being cruel to my darling boy?”
Jolene lowered her fist and turned. Her mother stood in the hall behind her. She wore a medieval dress with long sleeves and a lace-up bodice and had flowers in her hair.
“What were you fighting about?” she enquired.
“I didn’t do anything,” said Jolene. “He was the one who started it.”
Ruth frowned. “What’s come over you? Cecil wishes you no harm!”
Jolene glanced at him; he was still smiling, but he no longer looked malign. He might have been one of the angelic beings that populated Petra’s heaven.
“I want you in your room,” snapped Ruth. “Petra’s due here any minute!”
Jolene realised she was beaten. She could not argue with her mother; if Ruth threw her out, she had nowhere to stay. She dared not even leave the flat for fear of being locked outside.
Hoping her goldfish could endure another afternoon with her, Jolene slunk out of the room. She shot a final glance at Cecil; his malign smile had returned.
She had not even eaten breakfast. As Jolene passed her mother’s door, she tried to make sense of the morning’s events. What was Cecil doing here - and how long would he be staying for?
***
Employment Express was intensely depressing. It was a tiny agency above a squalid row of shops, and everything in it was falling apart. Patches of mould discoloured the ceiling, and rainwater seeped down the leprous grey walls. The staff were as miserable as their clients, being too old to work but too poor to retire. Jolene knew them all by name because she was a fixture too.
She scanned the ancient monitor in front of her for vacancies. Nearly every job on offer called for skills she did not have, and the others were too far away. The senile creatures around her chewed on pens and browsed though magazines. None of them took any notice of her; they had written her off as a hopeless case, something that was best ignored.
Jolene gave up and went outside. It was raining again, and she had no umbrella, as her last one had broken a few days ago. The cold wind lashed her mercilessly as she trudged back to the station. By the time she arrived she was soaked to the bone, and her sneakers squelched with every step.
She took cover beneath the awning and waited for her train to come. The wind raised goosebumps on her skin and water pooled around her feet. Although she was uncomfortable, she hardly wanted to go home. Her mother was bad - but Cecil was worse.
Apparently Ruth had adopted him. He had stayed with them for six days now, and still he had not said a word. When Jolene demanded an explanation, her mother had refused to give one. She assumed Ruth was having an illicit affair with her much younger stepson, though from what she had seen, Cecil had no interest in sex. He spent his entire life eating, sleeping, and watching television with a kind of aloof indifference, as if he was above everything he saw. At night he shared a bed with Ruth, and when he woke up the next day, she dressed him in his tight black clothes, combed his hair and painted his nails. She took great pleasure in caressing him, especially in front of her daughter, but this did not seem sexual either. It certainly brought Jolene no joy. Her hatred of Cecil had only increased, and she did all she could to avoid him.
As repulsive as he was, she could not drive him from her mind. He raised far too many questions. What did her mother see in him? He was not remotely masculine, which led Jolene to suspect he was suffering from some hormonal imbalance. She had read up on this topic, but nothing she found had satisfied her. Most of the disorders that arrested male development made their victims flabby and lethargic. Cecil was slim and alert, and moved quickly when the need arose. Although he was smaller and weaker than her, he somehow seemed more highly evolved.
His mental state was even more bewildering. At first Jolene thought that he might be autistic, but his sinister demeanour convinced her this was not the case. Judging from his veiled expressions, he understood everything he heard. Although he never voiced his thoughts, she was certain he could speak. He radiated arrogance, and clearly viewed her with contempt. Jolene hated him for it. She would have far preferred an imbecile to the malicious little parasite who had won her mother’s love.
Jolene checked the station clock. Her train was running late again; it should have arrived fifteen minutes ago. Her fellow commuters impassively waited, lost in their own private worlds. The sickly artificial light cast shadows round their weary eyes and drained the colour from their faces. Most of them were going home, having finished work for the day, but none of them seemed happier for it.
Jolene tried to count her blessings. The city around her was filled with lost souls who were older and sicker and sadder than she. They, in turn, were better off than residents of failed states and nations torn by civil war. She really had no right to complain - but the knowledge that others were suffering only made her feel more miserable. She could do nothing to help them; it was hard enough to look after herself.
***
When Jolene finally got home, Ruth was sitting on the couch, listening to Shadowglade, one of her favourite neo-folk bands. Cecil was beside her, as usual; Ruth was gently stroking his thigh and running her fingers through his hair. As Jolene shambled into the room, tired, cold and miserable, Ruth switched off the music and turned to her.
“Good evening, Jolene,” she began. “Why have you come home so late?”
Jolene sighed. “I’ve been looking for work.”
“Without success, no doubt,” said Ruth. “You look as if you’ve crawled out of a drain!”
Jolene pulled off her sodden coat. “What do you expect?” she asked. “I’ve been walking around in the rain all day!”
“That shouldn’t make a difference,” said Ruth. “The sun still shines above the clouds. If you can concentrate on this, you’ll have a job in no time at all. Exercise won’t hurt you either. It clears out negative energy. Besides, you need to lose some weight.”
Cecil smiled maliciously. Jolene eyed him hatefully, taking in his slender limbs, his narrow waist and flawless skin. Her anger at her mother flared.
“I’m trying, damn it!” she exclaimed. “You can’t expect me to be perfect! Cecil isn’t working either. Why aren’t you going off at him?”
“Calm down, Jolene,” Ruth replied. “Cecil is a sensitive soul, and I won’t allow you to upset him.”
“You haven’t answered my question.” Jolene placed her hands on her hips. “Has Cecil ever had a job? Is he looking for one now? And has he done one useful thing since you decided to adopt him?”
“Oh, come now,” said Ruth. “Be kind to my boy. Can you really see him stocking shelves or serving customers? He deserves the best from life, but he won’t find it in the workforce. He’s got it right here with me.”
“And what’s he ever done to earn it?” Jolene wasn’t backing down. “All he does is eat and sleep! Can’t you see he’s using you?”
“He isn’t using me,” said Ruth. “You simply can’t appreciate him.” She took a tea-cup from the table. “What have I got here, Jolene?”
Jolene frowned. “It’s a cup.”
“Of course,” said Ruth. “What’s it for?”
“You drink from it.” Jolene’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this got to do with Cecil?”
“Just listen for a change,” said Ruth. “Why aren’t I drinking my tea from a mug I bought from a two-dollar store? It would do the job just as well - but I’ve always made a point of surrounding myself with beautiful things.” She held the cup up to the light. “Look at the lovely golden inlays on the handle and the rim. They don’t make the tea taste better, but they’re aesthetically pleasing, and therefore they are justified. Cecil doesn’t need a job. He’s here because he’s beautiful.”
“Is that all you care about?” asked Jolene. “Why should his appearance matter? I think he’s a waste of space!”
“That’s ironic, coming from you.” Ruth put the tea-cup down again. “You’re obviously jealous of him. You shouldn’t be so judgemental. After all, you’re unemployed, and you’re certainly not aesthetically pleasing. You probably think that it isn’t your fault, but it all comes down to karma. You should do more for other people. If you prove yourself useful in this life, you might get to be beautiful in the next.”
“Lay off the new-age crap!” yelled Jolene. “Look at your precious little boy. Don’t let his pretty face deceive you. Underneath it, he’s a monster! If karma exists, he’ll come back as a cockroach! Will you find him aesthetically pleasing when I’m scraping him off the sole of my shoe!”
Ruth’s expression hardened. “You’ve got no right to criticise him! I’ll have you know he makes me happy - and that’s more than you’ve ever done! You don’t even know what happiness is! Cecil could show you, but you won’t let him! You’re too used to being miserable!”
“What else could I be with a mother like you?” Jolene turned and left the room. Ruth hurled more garbage after her.
“You can’t blame me for who you are! I’ve tried to help, but you won’t listen! I know I’ve been a perfect mother. This must have come from your father’s side!”
Jolene had never met the man, but she did not blame him for leaving. At times like this, she almost wished that he had done so earlier. She would have been no worse off if she had not been born at all.
***
Jolene pulled off her sodden clothes and gave herself a long hot bath. She closed her eyes and relaxed, leaving the world of matter behind and becoming a being of thought alone. It was a beautiful sensation, but unfortunately it could not last. As the water cooled it faded, departing with the rising steam.
Jolene climbed out of the bath and looked at herself in the mirror. Was she really as ugly as Ruth liked to claim? Although she was no supermodel, there was something reassuring in the swell of her breasts and the breadth of her hips. A more charitable mother would have said she was voluptuous. Some men preferred their women that way. Hers was a robust, earthy beauty, the beauty of a fertility figure. If she ever wanted to have children, a body like hers would prove itself useful - and in that sense it was beautiful.
Ruth had very different ideals, and the more Jolene thought about them, the more perverse and unwholesome they seemed. Cecil had a pretty face, but he was no more useful than a fragile china doll. From a biological standpoint, Ruth’s love for him was futile. Their union would produce no children. All trace of it would fade in time.
All this should have been obvious. Jolene felt better about herself, but she doubted anyone would care. Most of the people around her seemed to share her mother’s tastes, and she had always suffered for it. Whenever she applied for work or met a potential partner, she was turned down in favour of some vapid little whore. It seemed the whole world was insane; youthful sexuality now dominated marketing, but more people were single and birthrates were falling. Even love had been replaced by shallow self-gratification. Jolene knew there was no future in it, but this made her life no easier.
Would she ever meet another dissenter? Surely there were other people who shared her unconventional views. Religious leaders were quick to condemn materialism and hedonism, but the most successful churches had embraced these same ideals. No doubt the new-age quackery that Ruth and Petra subscribed to was a direct response to them.
Jolene had never wanted the love of some high and mighty god. She would have far preferred the love of a human being like herself. Was it really wrong to value someone she could see and feel more than something she could not? It made enough sense to her, but in this too she was alone.
Jolene sighed and dried herself, then put on a fresh change of clothes. She walked into her bedroom, closed the door, and silently regarded her goldfish. It was more beautiful than useful, but it was not palpably malicious - unlike the parasitic creature Ruth had brought into her home. Although he did not speak to her, she understood him well enough. They would never get along, and one of them would have to go.
***
Cecil did not go away. Ruth spent her free time with him and ignored Jolene altogether, unless she felt the need to insult her. Jolene avoided both of them and concentrated on looking for work. Eventually she found a job stocking shelves in a local warehouse. Her hours were long, the pay was abysmal, and she was the only girl on the floor. The manager expected her to quit within a couple of weeks, and was pleasantly surprised when she stayed. She had already proved her worth, showing far more dedication than any of the young men there. While they squandered their earnings on weekends, Jolene saved as much as she could. She wanted to live in a flat of her own. As soon as she had found one, she would never see Ruth or Cecil again.
Ruth did not congratulate Jolene for her self-sufficiency. She grew steadily more abusive, as if she resented the fact that her daughter was holding down a job at last. Now that Jolene was earning money, buying food and paying bills, Cecil seemed more useless than ever. Ruth praised him incessantly, as if he needed reassurance, and spent long hours pampering him, retouching his makeup, repainting his nails, and grooming his lustrous golden hair. She bought him silver jewellery and rubbed his skin with scented oils. Cecil never thanked her for it; he simply lapped up her affection. Jolene had never been treated so well, but she did not say anything. Whenever Cecil tried to provoke her it was best to ignore him.
Jolene worked six days a week, and spent her Sundays in her bedroom, reading books and listening to music. She hardly ever watched TV because the set was in the lounge room. Whenever some interesting documentary or thought-provoking film was on, Cecil would come mincing in and put on one of Ruth’s DVDs. He was obsessed with The Lord of the Rings, and regularly watched all three films in a row. Jolene had little time for them. Amongst all the blood and thunder, fierce battles and bombastic speeches, there were only three notable female characters, one of whom was an airbrushed elf and another a gigantic spider. Beauty was always a sure sign of virtue, and those who strayed too far from it were only fit to be destroyed. The films might have done well commercially, but she thought they were morally bankrupt.
One Sunday Ruth gave Cecil a bath, complete with floating candles and oils. This suited Jolene perfectly, as an award-winning documentary was on. It described the rise and fall of civilisation on Easter Island, which was used as an analogy for the likely fate of the world. Jolene thoroughly enjoyed it, and attacking a big block of double-blend chocolate further enhanced the experience.
The narrator was discussing the statues when a freshly painted and perfumed Cecil walked into the room, picked up the remote, and put on The Return of the King. This was too much for Jolene. Without stopping to think she snatched the remote. Cecil started in surprise, for she had never been so bold.
Jolene laughed triumphantly and returned to Easter Island. She leaned back on the couch with a smile. Getting her way had been so easy!
Cecil had recovered somewhat, and made a grab for the remote. Jolene jerked it away, and he clutched at thin air. His delicate face darkened with anger. Then he threw himself at her, sinking his long nails into her forearm. Jolene gasped, more in rage than pain, and hurled him savagely to the floor. Still smarting from the sting of her wounds, she slapped him hard across the face.
Cecil shrieked in terror. Jolene recoiled at the sound. She had never heard his voice before; it was so shrill it was scarcely human.
Ruth came running into the room. When she saw Cecil clutching his head she whirled to face her daughter.
“What have you done to my darling boy?”
Jolene raised her arm. It was bleeding, but not excessively so.
“Look at what he did to me!” Her voice was filled with anger. “I only wanted to watch my own show!”
Ruth shot a quick glance at Cecil. He unleashed another frightful scream.
“That’s no excuse!” Ruth clenched her fists. “Give Cecil the remote control!”
Jolene wilted visibly. Her victory had been short-lived. She picked up the remote control and reluctantly offered it to Cecil.
Cecil declined to take it. He pursed his lips and glared at her.
“Look at what you’ve done!” yelled Ruth. “You’ve hurt his feelings! Say you’re sorry!”
“I’m sorry,” Jolene dutifully said. “Go on! Take your stupid remote!”
Cecil still refused to touch it. He impetuously rose and left the room.
Ruth raised an accusing finger. “What have you done to upset my boy?”
“I’ve told you already,” said Jolene. “I wanted to watch a documentary, and he put on a DVD!” It sounded so pathetic, she thought, but she still felt she was in the right.
“Cecil can watch whatever he wants.” Ruth’s voice was soft, but menacing.
“That’s what you’ve been telling me.” Jolene’s anger flared again. “I’m not going to let him, though. He’s been watching the same stupid films for months. Don’t forget this is my home too!”
This time she held her mother’s gaze. It was Ruth’s turn to back down.
“Okay, Jolene,” she finally said. “You can watch your show this once. But if anything like this happens again you’ll lose the TV altogether. Am I making myself clear?”
Jolene nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Ruth opened her mouth to speak again, but then she had second thoughts. She left the lounge room for the kitchen and started to prepare a meal.
Jolene allowed herself a smile. She had finally had her way. Satisfied, she sat down to watch the rest of her documentary. She had only missed a couple of minutes and looked forward to what remained.
***
By the time the programme ended, Jolene’s good mood had returned. She felt like going for a walk and went to her bedroom to fetch her coat. As she put it on she glanced at her fishbowl. At once she realised that something was wrong.
There was no water in the bowl. It had been emptied over her bed. The goldfish lay on the wet mattress, its stomach torn open, its entrails removed. As Jolene stared at it in shock a sudden fury descended on her.
“Cecil!” she screamed.
Her mother appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on here?” she enquired.
Jolene pointed to her bed. “That little freak has killed my fish!”
“For heaven’s sake, calm down,” said Ruth. “Don’t be so hard on the poor boy. Remember how you didn’t let him watch his favourite movie? He has every right to be angry with you!”
“Oh yeah?” screamed Jolene. “I’ve had it with him! It’s time you threw him out on the street!”
“Just get over it!” yelled Ruth. “It was only a stupid fish. If you don’t want to live with Cecil, that’s fine. You can start packing your bags right now!”
“No way!” Jolene held her ground. “Can’t you see what your Cecil has done? That boy has driven us apart!”
Ruth fought to control her rage. “Don’t you dare belittle him. He’s a sensitive and intelligent soul, and we’d all be better off if we followed his example. Humans would be far more pleasant if they never voiced their thoughts.”
“Don’t give me that new-age crap!” yelled Jolene. “Just tell me how having that arrogant little creep around has helped us!”
“You’ll never understand,” spat Ruth. “You’re the one who’s wrecked our family! You can’t blame Cecil for your problems! You know he’s never done anything wrong!”
“That’s a lie!” yelled Jolene. “Cecil is a parasite! How can you say that he sets an example? He’s no use to anyone! Why are you so nice to him? He doesn’t deserve to be treated so well. He shouldn’t be living with us at all! He belongs in an institution!”
“How dare you criticise my boy!” Ruth seized her daughter by the arm. “You’ve gone too far this time, Jolene. I want you to get out now!”
Jolene pulled away from her. “I’ll leave on my own terms,” she said. “Just don’t come calling me for help when you realise what you’ve done!”
“I told you to get out!” yelled Ruth. “You have two minutes! Nothing more!”
“Fine.” Jolene glared at her. “You won’t see me for the rest of the day. And I’ll have a new home by the end of the week!”
“You’d better.” Ruth turned on her heel. Jolene closed the door behind her. With a disgusted grimace she scooped up her goldfish and its innards and threw them into the bin. It was a miserly way of saying farewell, but she had to get out fast. If Cecil had killed her goldfish, what else might he be capable of? Could her mother be harbouring a potential murderer? Cecil was weak and effeminate, but the thought of him entering her room without her knowledge frightened her. She needed to get a lock for her door.
She picked up her wallet and walked down the hall. When she reached the lounge room she paused for a moment. Ruth was sitting on the couch, and Cecil was on her lap. They were watching The Return of the King, a three-hour endurance test that started like a horror film and ended like a soap commercial. Unwilling to subject herself to any more depravity, Jolene turned and left the flat.
***
Jolene walked to the hardware store and bought a brass lock for her door. Although it was late in the afternoon, she did not want to go back home. She would have liked to see a movie, but none of the ones that were currently screening held any appeal for her. Instead she decided to keep walking, though she had no destination in mind.
Jolene trudged through the narrow back streets, passing crumbling terraces and soulless residential blocks. Occasionally she saw the empty shells of much older buildings, and the council had made sporadic attempts to replace them with cheap new developments. The city was a testament to a declining civilisation. Pre-modern buildings were beautiful, if not always practical; modern structures were practical, if not always beautiful; and postmodern architecture was invariably neither. Form and function had no meaning in a deconstructed world.
Jolene had never subscribed to the notion that everything was relative. For all her innate cynicism, she firmly believed in beauty and truth, but she doubted she would ever find them. Her mother was a prime example of where such a search could end. Ruth was obviously deluded - but she seemed much happier for it. Jolene felt she was missing out. There was more to life than work - but how could she invest it with meaning when all she had were abstract notions? She was an unremarkable girl with no skills or qualifications. How was she supposed to succeed where artists and philosophers failed?
Daylight was fading, but she trudged on. Finally she stopped to rest outside an abandoned petrol station. The shop windows were boarded up and the pumps outside had been dismantled. Most of the light fittings were smashed, and the canopy was thick with graffiti. Jolene sat down on the edge of the forecourt and surveyed the dismal scene. A group of scruffy young men who looked about her age were clustered around the far exit, playing what looked like soccer with an empty beer can instead of a ball. There were no goalposts or teams as such; everyone involved was simply fighting for a kick of the can. Two dull-eyed girls in skimpy clothes were leaning against the perimeter wall. Both were smoking, and as Jolene watched, the taller one finished her cigarette and lit a fresh one with the stub. She seemed bored out of her mind, but Jolene stayed where she was. Darkness fell, and the streetlights flickered on, casting a pale glow over the forecourt.
After a while the soccer game stopped. The boys sat down and lit cigarettes. Jolene had never understood why so many young people smoked; everyone knew of the dangers by now. Perhaps they were so tired of life they viewed addiction as adventure, and death as a desirable goal. Jolene saw no point in it; there were less painful ways to go.
Suddenly one of the boys stood up. “Hey freak!” he yelled. Jolene scowled, but as the sound faded, she realised he had not been shouting at her. A sprightly old man of about sixty, wearing a dark plum-coloured suit, white shirt and bright red bow tie, came gliding effortlessly into the forecourt on roller skates. He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the dismantled pumps, moving with a supple sureness that belied his age. His audience began to laugh. “Go home, loser!” yelled one of the girls, and the other started coughing. The old man took no notice of them. He glided about the forecourt, his old-fashioned skates making a hard rattling sound as their wheels whirled over the concrete. Jolene felt a grudging but genuine admiration for him. Here was a man who was deaf to derision, who endured ridicule without flinching for the sake of doing something he obviously loved. It was uplifting but disquieting. Didn’t he realise he could be locked up for being so different?
The old man leaned further forward and raised one leg off the ground, then shifted his weight and spun on his toe before leaping and landing perfectly. He accelerated away and described a long, lazy turn, passing only metres in front of Jolene. She looked at his face as he whizzed past; it bore an expression of enlightened joy, as if he had reached a higher realm. If he noticed her he showed no sign of doing so. Jolene admired him all the more for it.
The man returned to the opposite side of the forecourt, where one of the boys hurled the can at him. It was a poor throw, and the old man ducked easily. He continued his circuit as if nothing had happened. Even though the projectile had missed, the scruffy young louts were now roaring with laughter. Perhaps they had been smoking something far more potent than tobacco.
Jolene could not understand why they were taunting the old man. He was dressed rather strangely, and it was odd to be skating at this hour, but his skill was breathtaking. As he glided past again, Jolene wanted to applaud him. She could have watched this man all night.
Unfortunately, it was getting late, and she did not like the idea of Cecil having access to her room. She also had to start packing her bags in preparation for her move. She watched the old man skate a long and graceful figure-eight beneath the streetlights’ pale glow. The youths were making obscene gestures and yelling sarcastic encouragements. Jolene turned her back on them and began the long walk home.
1999 (revised 2007)