SPAGHETTI IN LAMOUX PART DEUX

MALUGAIN

I am known as Malugain, named after my Mother’s father. He was a general who fought in no wars and did nothing but service whores and steal from his friends. My mother named me this to remind me of what I should not be. But when your blood is stained with vice you are called to it like the holy are called to church by the sunday bells.

I can not see well. My left eye I lost after a man lost his senses and stubbed a cigar into it. I fear that I deserved this as I had cheated him out of his horses and a vast amount of money. I got my own back when I seduced his daughter. And then his son.

I have a talent for seeing the stupidity of men and very rarely am I one to not use it for my own advantage. I have stolen money from dying men, I have seduced royalty and vice versa. There are no boundaries to my immoral senses. Except my eye. Now as I grow older I find it is harder to see and I fear I am growing blind. My biggest fear is that I will be left to beg on the streets, the stupidity of men left for others to take advantage of. These thoughts send me crazy and I have spent many hours when I should be sleeping with a stupid whore underneath each arm fretting and planning how to stave off my own down fall. I understand the inevitable. It is that there is no one to take care of me that makes me so wretched. And I, I for the first time, feel the limitless hell of loneliness.

I have found my way back to Lamoux. Looking for two things. firstly a man who is rich with both stupidity and wealth. secondly someone I can give this wealth to in return for the caring of my broken body before my inevitable decent into the abyss.

JEAN

I am of a wealthy family. Yet I have lived a life of sacrifice and seen little wealth. My mother gave me to the church as the seventh son is traditionally given. A rare treasure that families seem only worthy to place into the hands of God. It seems it was a blessing as I was not given much in the way of intelligence, or so says the bishop and I would have not gotten far in the world beyond the church walls.

I never leave the church walls. From the bell tower I can see the whole city. From the bell tower I can see the old cemetery that adjoins the church grounds. From the bell tower I can see my love dancing in her small pink dress. practicing her twists and turns. Letting the sunshine flow over her skin.

I stand there against the ancient stone. High above her. my hand caressing myself beneath my robe. Pretending I am dancing with her amongst the cemetery’s dead, making love in the sunshine. Smart enough to talk to her and be the one she loves.

When I have finished I leave her. When I have finished I leave the sunshine and I crawl back down to my solitary room. I read the bible and I curse being the seventh son.

HONDURAS

I was not alone tonight. Tonight I had a fellow sailor with me. We coupled in his bunk after he had written a time on a cigarette that he gave me earlier in the day. Twas before dawn and there was no romance. Just grunts and sweat and then it was over. As I was redressing I noticed he had many books on his shelf. Ones that I had never heard of. I asked him if I may borrow one. He replied that I was able to come down and take what I would at liberty. but first I was to read something for him first. He went to his bed and beneath the hard mattress was a pile of papers. He gave them to me and told me that he had written every word. He then Kissed me. Smiled and told me to get going. I walked with a cigarette to my hole and lay there with this fellows pages on my chest.

I picked up the first one and read it. It was about a Captain of a ill destined boat, a poet and an adventurer named Alexander.

PADRE DANIEL

I wonder at the stupidity of the criminal mind. I own this church. as much as anyone can own anything in this city. I own the wealth that my flock leaves on the sundays. I own their guilt and all their sin. They pay me to keep them. I give a small sum to the Vatican. Enough to keep them happy. But I keep my own well. I own this Church. I own the bell. I own the cellar. I own the idiot Jean who rings the bell. And every now and then there is always a diverted soul who walks in for the first time since their youth and after a brief attempt at discussions of weather they talk of the great sins they have committed. The murders. The rapes. The robberies. And I tell them that the acceptance of God into their hearts is the first step into the kingdom of Heaven. They then tell me what they really want. They tell me they can not escape the tide of time and they are dying. Syphilis. Tuberculosis. Pneumonia. They need someone to look after them, they can not go to the hospitals as they are too full. I tell them that God’s house is open to all and they are shown to the cellar. They are stripped. They are bathed. Any wealth is taken. They are forgiven. They are killed. They are buried in the old cemetery adjoining the church ground.

Another day comes. Another day goes.

Advertisements

~ by yesknow on July 31, 2010.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: