A Glittering Chaos Read online

  His father said nothing.

  “I was fourteen when your father took me from my home,” his mother said. “But times were different then. Life was different then. There was nothing wrong with it. But now they’re using that to say that your father has a thing for fourteen-year-old girls.”

  Hans looked at his father. His father’s expression was pleading, asking for forgiveness and some tiny modicum of understanding and kindness.

  Hans shot to his feet. “You’re sick, both of you,” he shouted. “Maybe she ran away. Maybe she saw you both for who you really are and she ran away.”

  He rushed up to his room and lay on his bed, crying.

  When he woke the next day, exhausted by his grief, his father was gone.

  “He’ll send money,” his mother said, without expression. “No matter what you think, he’s a good man and I love him. I went with him when I was fourteen because I loved him then and I love him now. I could never doubt him. Tell me, do you honestly believe your father could kill your sister?”

  Hans just looked at her. “I don’t know what to believe any more.”

  “Hans,” she entreated him, “you and I are all that’s left of our family. And maybe one day your father will return and who knows, your sister too. But in the meantime, it’s only you and me.”

  The rest of her family — her parents, her brother, his wife and their two children had all died in a fire on the farm — something had gone wrong with the wiring and the farmhouse had burnt down while they were sleeping, before any of them could wake and escape.

  “Hans,” his mother appealed to him again, “you are my son.”

  But he was silent and he left to go to the tree house where he stayed for two days.

  When he climbed down, it seemed he had resolved the greatest of his loss and pain.

  He returned to school. He studied hard. He was politely respectful to his mother. He never enquired about his father. And he learned to laugh again with his peers; he learned to present the façade of a happy popular heroic leader, full of bold tales and bright ideas.

  And when Melusine first saw him, she having wandered into the wrong cafeteria in the wrong building on campus, the thing she noticed most about him was that he was laughing. He was a beautiful blond god and he was laughing with his head thrown back, with a group of admirers gathered around.

  Needing to bask in the rays of his glory, she forced her way into the centre of the group, to ask that laughing blond god where the Arts and Letters club was, and he took her by the arm and showed her personally.

  And before they reached their destination, he’d asked her out for dinner and after that night, they were inseparable.

  She saw instantly that he could be the sun to light her darkness.

  Your eyes, which administer heaven, I can only speak of darkness.

  Ingeborg knew. And Melusine did not want to end up like Ingeborg, dead at forty-seven, alone, her life snuffed out by suicide or accident, the truth had never been proven. Melusine thought that if she could only stand in the glowing light of Han’s sun, that she would be able to navigate the bleak journey of life without disaster. Ingeborg had been vocal about marriage smothering the female voice, but Melusine felt certain that it would save her.

  Hans told Melusine about Kateri on their first date. Reaching across the table to grab his hand, she said she admired him for being able to pick up the pieces of his life and carry on.

  Hans had shrugged. “What else could I do?” he asked her and then he told her he had gotten them a couple of sought-after tickets to an obscure art show that she had mentioned she wanted to see. And back then, at university, Hans’s optimism had not been forced. He had felt happy. He liked his chosen career and he felt certain that he would enjoy a happy and contented life with Melusine, with the perfect family at his side.

  But it was not to be and he knew that he was to blame for this failure, him and his dark secret. He had hidden from himself the real reason for his secret addictive needs, convincing himself that he simply needed a good marriage and a fulfilling career in order to stop needing to satisfy that hunger, the hunger that forced him to cut off his breath daily while he masturbated and orgasmed to the blackness of hypoxia, losing consciousness for a perfect moment, and in that perfect moment, joining his beloved Kateri.

  He could laugh with others and appear fully functioning and joyous, even mad-capped and enviable as long as he had his private time with Kateri. He had assumed, wrongly, that Melusine would take her place and that he would no longer have the need for secrets.

  He was ashamed of his wedding night. He could only perform the most perfunctory of acts. Fortunately for him, Melusine had known no other. And then, soon into their marriage, something happened that he had never intended at all; he found release by rubbing his wife’s feet in the same way he had rubbed Kateri’s, and soon he needed that nearly as much as he needed the erotic asphyxiation.

  Yes, he had ruined Melusine’s life. He was guilty as charged. Except that the poor woman had no idea — although he knew that even she had noticed the steady decline in his emotional well-being, as the reality of juggling the discordant aspects of his life took their toll.

  “You never laugh any more,” she said to him with increasing and irritating frequency. “When we met, you were always laughing. It was one of the things I loved about you the most.”

  How could he possibly answer that?

  “So then, give me a reason to laugh,” he would reply, knowing that it was a cruel thing to say and no real answer at all.

  “You see, it’s not so simple, is it?” he would say in response to her accusing silence and he would have to leave because the sadness in her eyes was too much for him to bear. He was guilty but incapable of explaining, and all he could do was take the mantle of his self-hatred and leave her feeling perplexed and hurt.

  He had recently participated in an online class reunion and he had been transfixed by the collection of photographs that catalogued the loss of his youth. Even to his own eye, what was left of his wheat-gold hair had turned an unpleasant grayish white, and he was much thinner, bony, and his very skin seemed thinner, like brittle paper vulnerable to rip and tear.

  He recognized, in the photographs, a familiar gesture; the way he would flick the mop of thick hair back from his eyes with a toss of his head, and he knew that while he still affected the gesture, there was no longer a reason for it. His robust good health and glowing beauty had been replaced by skeletal pallor and he bore the fluorescent stain of a marked man.

  And he knew what it was that had leached the life from his blood, and from his bones, and it wasn’t the lack of sunshine and it wasn’t work. It was his addiction, his craving.

  If only he could find Kateri. Just for a minute, a fleeting minute. He needed to ask her if she was all right. He needed to ask her where she was. He needed to ask her if she forgave him for leaving her alone that day and he needed her help so that he could carry on with his life. Because, this way, he was dying.

  And that was why he had come to Las Vegas. To the Plaza hotel at the Fremont, which was hosting the biggest psychic fair in the world. He had figured, hoped, that he could get an answer there, he had to.

  He had been extremely upset when Melusine insisted on joining him for the trip. Why did she feel the need to assert herself now, of all times? He felt it was most inconsiderate of her. Perhaps she had thought the trip would be a catalyst to rekindling their love, or be some kind of second honeymoon, not that they’d had much of a first. After he had proposed, he had talked of going to India or China and he had even mentioned Africa, but when it came to booking the tickets, he had suggested they wait for a few months and enjoy the wedding festivities with their out-of-town friends and relatives and then have their honeymoon later. She had been disappointed, wanting to be romantically whisked off away to be alone with him, and in any case, she did not have any friends or relatives from out of town to look forward to seeing; she had grown up in the universit
y town where they had met. But he had persuaded her and later, she never mentioned the lost adventures of their missing honeymoon.

  And so, while Melusine is off admiring the marvels of the Grand Canyon, Hans is lying on his bed at the Plaza. He can hardly bring himself to leave his room, as much as he wants to ask the psychics for counsel. All he wants to do is stop the breathing and find orgasm, again and again. He is in a dangerous place and he knows it.

  He can picture his wife on her tour. He knows she will be amazed by the spectacular beauty of the wildly eroded desert because, although she would not think this of herself, it’s her nature to embrace new things with enthusiasm, and he wishes he was the right man to be at her side.

  He thinks of her, with her boyish long-legged beauty; if he were there, no doubt he would be the envy of every man. And her smile — Melusine has a smile to stop traffic, she has no idea. Her mouth is small and full and she is slightly buck-toothed, with the one top front tooth crossing the other ever so slightly. He still finds her smile wonderful after all these years; it is shy and inviting, slightly unsure, and he knows that if he were any kind of normal man, he would not be able to stop kissing her. He can see that which he would desire if he were not so damaged, but his damage is like an unbreakable glass wall imprisoning him from being the man he could and should have been.

  He knows that Melusine believes herself to be a plain woman. He knows that. But she is lovely, with a perfect body and slender graceful hands, and her shy smile, and her almond-shaped eyes; cat’s eyes, sleepy and sensual. He even loves her neat cap of dark curly hair. He never thought he could love a woman with short dark curly hair but he does. And he loves her upturned nose that is slightly too long and a fraction too sharp at the end but perfect nevertheless.

  And when he learned of her vow to remain a virgin until her wedding night, he was further encouraged that she was the right partner for him. Her breasts were bigger than he would have liked but she was not keen to show them off, which suited him fine. He tried to avoid ever seeing her naked or even in her underwear, preferring her to remain clothed, which allowed him to fashion her with Kateri’s body, albeit an older Kateri.

  He hopes that he has managed to satisfy her adequately throughout the years. It has become easier with Viagra, but he has been afraid to try too much by way of departure from his customary routine in case of humiliating results. In the early days of his marriage, he found that he performed better if he held his breath and he did this repeatedly with effective result, hoping that she never noticed his silence.

  He is lying in his room in The Plaza and he forces himself to get to his feet. He must get going. He is here to save himself, save his marriage and save his life. After seeing the shocking photographs at the reunion, he had worked out a plan to save himself, a plan that Melusine had unknowingly tried to interrupt by coming on the trip, and he blamed her for his inability to put his plan into action until now. But it is the third day since they arrived and he has to get going.

  He needs to see the psychics, and then he needs to get some sunshine and he also needs to put some meat on his bones. He needs to stop masturbating and focus on the task at hand.

  He had booked a room at the Desert Rose Resort for Melusine at the other end of the Strip, hoping that she would believe his explanations of a demanding conference schedule and that he would be able to carry on with his itinerary uninterrupted. And she had obliged. Now, it was up to him.

  He gets up and forces himself to go down to the conference hall and begin his search.

  8.

  AND, COME END OF DAY, Hans is even less enthusiastic to see his wife than she is to see him. While Melusine enjoyed a wonderful day exploring the Grand Canyon with Gunther, Hans was dissatisfied. As far as he could see, the whole psychic setup was a sham, a carnival of practiced shysters preying on the lonely and the desperate who had no other place to turn.

  He had forced himself to go into the main conference center where they had set up shop and that is exactly what it was: shop. They were selling lies and empty promises, offering fool’s gold and maps to rainbows’ end. He could see right through them.

  He questioned them and they offered to light candles of healing to balance his chakras, they offered to look into crystal balls and read cards. Stuff and nonsense.

  He wanted to give up but he had only seen a third of them and he told himself there was still hope. There had to be hope.

  But later he returned to his room in anger. He tightened the noose with fury, punishing himself and seeking a black orgasm, a treat for all his hard work for having to suffer those fools.

  But he could not orgasm, his penis was tired and unwilling and he was betrayed by even that. He prepared himself to meet Melusine, even making up a few anecdotal stories about his day should she ask. He wants to get back to the hotel before she does, and have a shower. He is mindful of making the pretense of a single hotel believable.

  He is irritable as he takes a cab back.

  He lets himself into the room which looks untouched. Housekeeping has made the bed and the entire area is neat and tidy.

  Hans looks around and wonders about his wife. Who is she? Where does she really live, inside her head?

  He opens her drawers more out of idle curiosity than any real interest and looks through her t-shirts and sweaters. All very neatly packed.

  Next, her underwear; all perfect, matching bras and panties of fine lace. He takes out one of her panties; he is glad she doesn’t wear thongs or G-strings, he finds them so ugly. Her underwear is feminine and shapely, cut high on the leg. He sniffs at her underwear, it carries the soft fragrance of hand-washed items.

  He wonders what it would feel like to wear a pair of her panties and it’s a thought that both horrifies and arouses him. His penis is awake now. He imagines the peach lace rubbing against his soft skin; the fabric would be rough and tantalizingly scratchy. He places the panties carefully back in the drawer

  He opens the last drawer and finds her swimsuit and socks. And a giant black dildo.

  He is transfixed. Ah, so she does have a secret life. He tries to imagine her with the dildo and he can see her having one orgasm after another, arching her back up in joy as she comes again and again. He is a little disconcerted that she has chosen such a generously endowed model.

  Clearly his well-lubricated sexual acts with her have not worked as well as he had hoped.

  He looks at his watch and decides he had better get on with his shower. He showers, shaves and gets dressed. Then he sits in the living room reading one of her German magazines, waiting.

  And Melusine, when she opens the door, is taken aback to see him there.

  Yes, he had said he would take her out for dinner, and they had made a plan. But she was hoping that perhaps he would be too busy or change his mind.

  She wants nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and think about her day; think about Gunther and how it had felt to hold him in her arms while he cried. She wants to think about eating ice cream while sitting on a wobbly rock on the edge of the most beautiful canyon in the world. And she wants to think about the day ahead and the possibilities that it might hold.

  So she is not in the mood to see her husband and they look at each other — two strangers in a room — two strangers who have lived together for over twenty years and who have raised a son.

  “I’ll go and take a shower and get ready.” Melusine says, breaking the silence.

  “Take your time. No rush.”

  By the time she has done her makeup, she is ready to face the evening. “Where shall we go?” she asks.

  “I’m thinking we go to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville,” Hans says when Melusine sits down next to him, and she is astonished.

  “Of all the places,” she says, “I never thought you’d choose that one. But yes, that would be fun.”

  “Shall we take a cab?”

  “Let’s walk,” she says, “we can always cab back. It’s such a great night, it’s perfect out.”
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  Hans would have preferred to take a cab but he defers to her.

  They walk down the Strip and once they get the card-bearing lowlifes out of the way, they begin to enjoy themselves and Melusine marvels at the brightness of the jewel-like neon.

  “Let’s get lots of neon for our house when we get back,” she says and he snorts.

  “I just wish we could take some of this sparkle back with us,” she says, “some of this shininess.”

  “Shininess?”

  “Yes. Everything shines and glitters here.”

  “Ah, back to your love for glitter. I never knew that.”

  “Neither did I,” she admits. “Although actually when you think about my Christmas trees, they’ve always been very sparkly.”

  “This is true. I wonder if Jonas will come for Christmas dinner.”

  “He said he will. He said he might bring Nika. I’m really surprised they are still together.”

  “She looks like a street punk,” Hans says and Melusine agrees.

  “We shouldn’t judge her on her appearance,” Melusine says. “Sure, she looks different to all the other clean-cut girls he dated but if Jonas likes her, she must have something special. We must give her more of a chance. She’s an orphan; her parents died when she was just ten. Oh Hans, I do miss my boy.”

  “I know you do.”

  “When he was little he loved to help me bake,” Melusine says. “But then in his teens he just got so withdrawn. Remember when he was fourteen? He slept all the time. I couldn’t get him out of bed.”

  “And then that long time smoking marijuana.”

  “Ah, so you know about that then?”

  “Of course I do. I hope he’s done with all that now.”

  “Everybody goes through experimental stages,” Melusine says and Hans looks at her.

  “Everybody?”

  She shrugs. “He’s a good boy,” she says. “I trust him. He’ll be fine. We did a good job with him, Hans, we did.”

  Hans thinks for a moment. “I don’t know if I was such a great father,” he admits. “Have you ever seen him being spontaneous or having fun or laughing at anything or doing something just for the hell of it? I haven’t and I feel as if I should have shown him how but instead, he learned his seriousness from me. I failed him.”