Mortaumal - 8. Fystie Returns

An hour later, Mort was still wide awake, beginning to sweat. The idea that something bad was about to happen kept rolling round in his head. He got up to walk around and noticed the light was on in Leo’s room. He poked his head around the door. Leo had thrown the bedclothes back and was lying on top, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

‘Can I come in? I can’t sleep.’

‘Leo patted the bed beside him. ‘Thinking too much?’

Mort snuggled up against his protector and draped his arm across his chest. ‘I can’t stop worrying that something horrible’s going to happen.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know... just something.’

‘There’s always something horrible happening somewhere, so you’re right, I guess.’

‘I mean to us. At least... when I was in my own in bed I felt like that, but now I’m with you I don’t. I feel sort of calm and happy.’

‘It’s odd how simply being with another person can make you feel good.’

‘Yeah... but I can’t think of anyone apart from you I’d like to be with.’

‘You’re right. It has to be someone you like and trust.’

Mort yawned. ‘I love the smell of your armpits,’ he said sleepily.

Leo pulled up the sheet, and within a minute both had been claimed by the god of sleep.

The following morning, refreshed and excited, they collected Amy and a heavily drugged Fystie from the Airport.

Back home over coffee and croissants, with Fystie asleep and Mort outside somewhere, Amy apologised for having left Leo to do most of the caring for their son over the last few years.

‘I hadn’t realised what an almost insupportable emotional drain it is,’ she said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘I’m not as strong as you, and now I’m even more lost. I know I won’t be able to cope.’

The problem facing them was a faulty heart valve. Surgery was indicated, but because of existing complications, that was accompanied by a risk of making thing worse. His CP symptoms seemed to have plateaued, although they’d never retreat, but his current opiate dosage was already unacceptably high and could also result in very unpleasant mental consequences. Fystie was determined not to have the operation, and had become violent when she tried to persuade him. That was one reason she had slightly overdosed him with painkillers and sedatives for the flight.

‘What’ll happen if he doesn’t have the operation?’

‘He’ll get a heart attack and die.’

‘If he doesn’t want the operation, then he doesn’t have to have it. It’s his life.’

‘How can you say that? He’s much too young to make such a decision.’

‘Would you want to go on living if you were like him, Amy?’

‘But he’s used to it. We’re his parents, not god. Only god can give and take lives.’

‘Which god are you thinking of? Humans have invented thousands. Or have you elevated our politicians and soldiers to the status of gods? How many innocents have they murdered this week somewhere in the Middle East?

‘They’re accidents.’

‘Don’t be more stupid than usual.’

‘Now you’re picking on me! If you’re so smart, you talk to him and decide.’

‘I will. And will you abide by my decision?

Amy hesitated, frowned, took a deep breath, shook the hair out of her eyes, straightened her shoulders and admitted she couldn’t take any more. Her ex lover had followed her to Brisbane, she’d stayed with him in a hotel, and decided to go and live with him.’

‘When?’

‘Before the end of this week.’

‘What about Fystie and Mort?’

‘Mort’s not our responsibility, he’s been great for Fystie, but I don’t like him. There’s something creepy about a boy who is always so thoughtful and helpful. And he’s far too honest and free with his opinions.’

‘And Fystie?’

‘I’m not strong enough, Leo. You know that. I’m not getting any younger, and Rob won’t wait forever. I can’t build my life around the needs of a crippled, sick son who could die at any time, especially if he refuses the treatment doctors suggest.’

‘So it’s Fystie’s fault?’

‘Stop being such an arsehole! Always putting it back onto me. Everything’s my fault.’ Tears began to flow freely. ‘Oh I hate you!’ She sat, cheeks wet, searching fruitlessly for a handkerchief.

Leo sat silently and wondered why men would never learn that women can cry at will, and deliberately don’t carry handkerchiefs so they can make men feel manly and useful by providing one when they switch on the waterworks.

After a minute of no response, Amy rounded on her husband; eyes as dry as his, voice a low-pitched snarl. ‘You are the most horrible, selfish, egoistical person I’ve ever met. Too weak to play football, a totally useless fuck, too stupid to get a real job, so had to flash your pretty body to all the sex-starved females in town, and now you’re a fucking prostitute! I must be a saint to have put up with you for twelve years. Well it’s over! You’ve just told me you’ll take responsibility for Fystie and his decisions about any operations he might need, so I’m now free. I’m going to pack.’

Leo waited till he heard her bedroom door slam, then signalled to Mort who had been listening from the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry you heard her nasty remarks about you.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about, the feeling’s mutual.’

‘What do you think about Fystie’s operation?’

‘The same as you. Only he can decide, and whatever he wants is fine with me.’

‘Even if…?’

‘Even if.’ The brave words didn’t stop tears pouring down his cheeks.

It was midday before Leo could get any sense out of Fystie. Amy had walked to the local shopping mall to have her hair done, and Mort stayed in his room, leaving father and son to make their decision without being reminded of him.

Fystie wasn’t in pain, and his head was clear. Not wanting to influence his decision, Leo didn’t tell him Amy wanted nothing more to do with her son.

‘Fystie, you know I love you more than anything on this earth, and will do anything I can to make your life as happy as possible.’

Fystie looked down as if thinking, then gazed out the open window, avoiding his father’s eyes. ‘Remember the day at the beach when that fat kid drowned?’

‘Yes,’

‘His father was right.’

Leo knew what was coming, bur pretended he didn’t. ‘In what way?’

‘He said someone should put the poor bugger out of his misery. Meaning me.’

‘OK. How can I do that?’

‘I’ve had enough, Dad. I know what it is to love, because I love you and Mort, but I also know I’ll never find a woman to love me. I’m often in pain—real pain that blacks out everything until I no longer exist except as a ball of fire. I look ridiculous—my mouth hangs open, I dribble, my tongue gets in the way when I talk, I’m all twisted, I spasm and usually can’t even feed myself and have started shitting and pissing in my pants. My heart’s fucked, yet they want me to get it fixed so I can go on and on and on and on. I had a visitor in the hospital, a fat religious git. One of those silly white collars. He asked me how I felt, so I told him. Guess what he said.’

‘Poor boy, pray to god and he’ll make it better?’

‘Almost. He said I was an inspiration for everyone of how to suffer and not give in. He told me suffering is the way to heaven, and we are all instruments of god’s purpose, and my purpose was to suffer, so I should be proud because god only chose strong and good people to suffer, and I’d get my reward in heaven. I was feeling sick so couldn’t laugh, instead I pretended to have a really bad spasm and sprayed spit all over him, screaming and all the rest so he ran away and called the nurse.’

‘Well done!’

‘So, when can I go?’

‘Whenever you like.’

‘Now?’

‘It’s nearly one o’clock. I’ve a couple of things to do first; how about one thirty? We’ll go for a drive and if you’re still certain, that’ll be it.’

‘Excellent. It’ll give me time to say goodbye to Mort.’ Fystie smiled, his eyes cleared and suddenly he looked healthier than he had for days. ‘I feel so happy, Dad. I can’t tell you…’ He sighed, heaved himself to his feet and shuffled off to find Mort, who was waiting in his room, deliberately not thinking in case he cried.

Leo had been preparing himself for this day for some time—since the episode on the beach, in fact, so it only took a few minutes to prepare the car, print some prepared letters, place them in sealed envelopes, and telephone Marshall.

Mort had cried, but not too much. He was happy for Fystie, said he’d have made the same decision, promised never to forget him and think of him every time he wanked, which made Fystie laugh. He was laughing a lot, Mort noticed, but it wasn’t hysteria, it was relief, as if an intolerable burden had lifted, enabling him to walk straighter, speak more clearly, as if for the first time in ages he had hope; which made perfect sense. He was hoping for release from life imprisonment and torture.

Holding back his tears until the car was out of sight, Mort ran to his room and flung himself onto the floor where he was convulsed by great wracking sobs that seemed to tear out his heart. First his grandfather, now Fystie. When he calmed down he noticed an envelope on his desk. Inside was a short note. Dear, Mort. Pack up everything you want to keep, call a taxi, and go to Marshall’s. He’s expecting you and will explain. All my love, Leo.

A cold dread enveloped the young man as realisation of the consequences of what was happening seeped into his consciousness. Scarcely daring to breathe, not daring to think, he grabbed a suitcase, took his notebook, clothes and the few mementos he treasured of his grandfather, Fystie and Leo. His laptop because it contained all his photos. After a quick look round the room, followed by a scan of the house to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, because there was no way he’d return if Leo wasn’t there, he telephoned for a taxi.

Marshall was waiting upstairs in his apartment. He shook Mort’s hand seriously and led him to a sunny bedroom with a view over the park.

‘This is your home now, Mort,’ he said gently. Put your things wherever you like, use the bathroom through that door if you need to, and when you’re ready, come and have a bite of lunch with me, you must be starving.’

Mort nodded, unable to speak. He wasn’t feeling hungry. Wasn’t feeling anything. He dumped his things on the floor. Then stood at the window for a while, seeing nothing. Then investigated the bathroom—a different one from the other night, this one was empty of anything personal so it must be his private one. He used the toilet. Washed his hands. Dried them on the large green towel. Then wandered out to the kitchen where Marshall was sitting reading. He looked up and smiled.

‘Scrambled eggs?’

‘Yes please.’ Barely a whisper.

The meal looked and smelled delicious; tomatoes, eggs, chips, fried apple slices and a handful of nuts, followed by strawberry yoghurt. They ate in silence.

‘Coffee, tea or milk?’

Mort grinned. It was astonishing how a full stomach seemed to make bad things less bad. ‘You’re wasted as a lawyer, you should have a restaurant... you could be cook and waiter.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ Marshall said with a sad smile. ‘Do you feel like talking?’

‘OK.’

‘Do you understand what Leo has done?’

‘He’s helped Fystie to die so he won’t be sick any more.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Leo has also killed himself.’

Ice filled Mort’s entire body. In his heart he had known, but refused to let the knowledge penetrate his consciousness. His eyes grew very wide. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. He closed it again and managed a whispered, ‘Why?’

‘Because he would be convicted of murdering his son, and would have spent the rest of his life in jail being beaten, raped and tortured by guards and other inmates.’

‘But Fystie wanted it.’

‘That makes no difference to the law. It is a criminal offence to even tell someone how to suicide, let alone help them to do it. Fystie had no hope of ending his own life, so as Leo loved him, he helped him. There was no way he could have concealed that, so it was either allow himself to be branded a criminal murderer, or join Fystie in leaving a world he didn’t like much. He wasn’t a happy man you know. He always put on a cheerful face, but like loads of people he wasn’t sorry to quit this life.’

‘How did he do it? When? How do you know he has? Perhaps Fystie changed his mind!’ We should find them and…’ Tears that had been refused exit by sheer willpower, broke through and Mort lay his head on his arms, sobbing silently. When the worst seemed to be over, Marshall placed a hand on Mort’s shoulder. The youth sniffed. Rubbed angrily at his eyes and looked up. ‘He has done it, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes. After leaving you he drove to a secluded spot about half an hour away, they both downed large doses of Fystie’s opiates and sleeping pills, then Leo connected a hose to the exhaust pipe, put it through a window, sealed the gap and ran the engine. He always said he would never let Fystie take the journey alone, so I imagine he took him in his arms and they talked till they fell asleep. The carbon monoxide replaced the oxygen in their blood and they would have died painlessly and peacefully. I know they died, because Leo rang me just before he started the engine. He said he’d ring back in twenty minutes if Fystie changed his mind. He hasn’t rung back and it’s now three hours since he rang, so I think all has gone according to plan. We should be happy for them.’

‘I am... I think. But I’m so sad for me! The only three people I’ve loved all killed themselves! I wish they’d taken me as well.’

‘I understand. I’ve sometimes wished I had Leo’s courage. But such feelings come and go. It will always hurt, but after a few years it will hurt less and you’ll find other people to love who will love you. Meanwhile, this has all been rather sudden and... Leo was concerned about you. He was planning on divorcing Amy, but then he wouldn’t be allowed to foster you, so I said I’d like you to come and live with me.’

‘I imagined I’d go to Todd and Lanky in an emergency.’

‘Are you disappointed?’

‘No! I like them, but I noticed they were always pleased when we left. They tried to hide it, but I think they prefer being alone.’

‘You notice so much I’ll have to be careful. But you’re right. They’ve only been together for a couple of years and are still getting to know each other’s habits and how to share their lives. It isn’t easy even when there’s just the two, but with a third person always there it would be impossible. Are you sure you want to stay with me? You don’t have to.’

Mort looked away, then decided on a frontal approach. ‘Do you want to have sex with me? Because if you do then I don’t want to stay.’

Marshall’s eyes crinkled a little as if in pain. He should have expected this. ‘The answer is no. Definitely no. The thought never entered my head, but it was very wise of you to ask. Why did you think I might want to?’

‘I saw you fucking Leo last night.’

‘Ah... How naive of me to think you’d stay reading in the other room.’

‘Are you angry with me for sneaking out to watch?’

‘Of course not. I hadn’t forbidden you. It was your choice, so if it had upset you, you would have only yourself to blame. Furthermore, curiosity is good in a man, as long as it’s coupled with a desire for self-preservation and not in pursuit of unworthy goals.’

‘Unworthy?’

‘I can imagine some people with the knowledge you now possess, using it to blackmail me or gain some personal benefit. Lawyers have to be more careful than most of their reputations.’

‘Then why weren’t you more careful?’

‘Mort...’ Marshall paused to find the appropriate words. ‘I liked you at our first meeting. Your grandfather had talked about you a lot, and Leo was always singing your praises. He and I had an agreement that if anything happened to him, I’d take care of you. However, although I knew a great deal about you, you knew nothing much about me. So I wanted to balance the books so to speak, before asking if you wanted to come and live with me. I’m a lawyer whose wife took off with a man who could satisfy her, but my children too have divorced me, mainly because instead of taking an interest in them as children I was so determined to conceal what I saw as my faults I never let them get close to me, so we remained strangers. If I’d been open with them about my sexuality and other things, and not kept myself apart, they might want to see me occasionally.’ He paused, slightly disconcerted to see Mort gazing speculatively into his eyes. ‘I wanted to be honest with you and... I guess I was hoping for a second chance to be a real father.’ He barked a short laugh. ‘Stupid eh?’

‘No.’

‘I was going to let you get used to me gradually, but Fystie’s condition suddenly deteriorated and there wasn’t time for us to get to know each other properly and last night I suppose I was just making sure you at least knew my worst side…’ His voice trailed off. ‘Did I make myself totally ridiculous?’

‘Of course not. You and Leo looked good together and it made me like you.’ He stared deep into Marshall’s eyes, making him look away. ‘I think you’re lonely,’ he said with a slight nod of the head.

‘Many people are.’

‘This morning I had no idea that Leo wouldn’t be coming home.’ Mort swallowed and fought back tears. ‘He hadn’t told me you’d look after me if he wasn’t there, so when you asked if I’d come and live with you it seemed so sudden I was suspicious. People are always warning kids about being abused so you begin to suspect everyone.’ He sat in silence for a few long seconds, then looked up with a slight frown. ‘If you still want me I’d like to stay with you... but... I’m a bit strange, I think. I’ve never had friends my own age... except Fystie.’ An uncertain, tremulous, tentative smile flickered then evaporated as tears began to trickle.

Marshall’s throat constricted and he had to swallow his own tears. Impulsively he gathered the lad into his arms and they hugged in silence until the moment passed.

‘So, young man, what’ll we do for the rest of the afternoon? We can splash around in the Spa on the roof, or do you fancy going to the beach for a swim?’

‘You’ve a pool on the roof?’

‘Only a small one, come and see.’

An innocuous looking cupboard gave access to a flight of stairs that led to the roof.

Mort gazed around in astonishment. ‘It’s a garden up here! This is wonderful. And so private.’

‘I’m glad you like it. It wasn’t private until I put the planting in. The pool’s behind those shrubs.’

‘Mort raced over. ‘It’s perfect. Can I go in? Must I wear togs?’

‘It’s yours too now you’re living with me, so feel free to take a dip whenever you like, and no clothes means less lint in the filters.’

Within seconds Mort had dropped his shorts and shirt and leaped in. ‘It’s warm! That’s brilliant. Let’s spend the afternoon here.’