Oliver Benjamin
fan of popular catchphrases. Let’s hear some more. Encore!”
The kid turned away. “You hear what you want to hear.”
“Bravo! Fortune-cookie wisdom. Don’t stop now! Maestro!”
But then he turned back and peered savagely into Colin’s
bloodshot eyes. “You think you’re smart, fatboy. Sitting there,
drinking yourself dumb. You’ve probably never worked a day in your
life.”
“It just so happens, my feral little friend, that I have an important
job. My job is to ennoble joblessness.”
“You have a trust fund, don’t you? You live off your parents.”
“I live on a sum of money fairly redistributed from the greedy
rich to the needy poor.”
“You stole money from your folks,” the boy said.
“In a manner of speaking,” Colin answered him, turning to Yak,
“Apparently my life story is now gruel for the starveling masses.”
“I didn’t…” Yak said, but the boy interrupted,
“He didn’t tell me anything, man. Anyone can see that you’re an
overgrown baby. Sucking on your bottle like an infant. You think you
know so much about the world, but you’ve never even left your crib.
This place, this room, is a cradle. A nursery school. Well here’s the
lesson for today, baby: Stop sucking on mommy’s tit, get off your fat
ass, and start walking somewhere.”
Colin stood up ceremoniously, put his drink down, and then
lunged at the bantamweight boy. He found himself clutching only air.
A small, hard fist struck the side of his head and he tumbled, finding
himself once again on soiled ground. Like a revealed hand of bad
cards, he lay shamefully where he fell.
Shuffling footsteps and grumbled conversation informed him
that the provocateur was leaving. After a while he heard only the
rhythmic sounds of Sprout’s cleansing ritual. He did not move. The
venom had rendered him cataleptic. Thin saline rivulets drew
warpaint designs on his coffee-stained cheeks.
Sprout continued working at the mess, wiping away at the
world’s slow stain. The boy had cast a pall on the room and it was up
to her to remove it. She came upon prostrate, paralyzed Colin, and
when her rag touched his flesh she did not stop cleaning. He was as
filthy as anything and required the same ablutions. Dipping the rag
in the bucket of cool water, she stroked his face and arms and
smoothed back his greasy hair. She focused all her concern on this
beached sea-creature, removing his shoes and washing his feet,
151
 |
 |
 |
 |