Читать книгу An Indecent Obsession - Mudrooroo - Страница 4

When I was holding on to my love subject, that woman, my wife, how could I ever think that I would ever end up in such a place, or how could I realize then that I would need it as a refuge from her. You know, she made me do things that were at first beyond my ken, then there came a wild delight in doing them, a certain cool frenzy perhaps much like her father felt when he worked in that abattoir and struck numberless dumb animals with a bolt to the head before the sledge hammer came down in the final ecstasy of death. Yet, what is killing an animal to putting a human being out of her misery. The former is like squashing a mosquito on one’s arm, the latter more subtle, more ingenious and satisfying. Oh, if I had only got her, but she escaped and is out there living a life while I am rotting away in here. Did I really say that I considered this place a refuge? No, never, a trap she set for me and I am caught.

What matter! I am aware that I digress, but then I always had a fondness for the discursive. Also, they give me tablets to keep me calm, but my mind keeps flashing on and off her. My work is incomplete. I may be on vacation, but all holidays end and then it shall begin again. They cannot keep me locked up forever. No, one day I will be out there, resuming my job as a funeral director, handling corpses as is my profession. Yes, I rest here whetting my revenge. I shall get her and others like her. A man must fight back or he is finished.

Well, as I was discoursing, or scrawling, it does not matter, I am proficient in both the spoken and written languages, as she once laughingly said, this was in my bed after we had just had sex, I would give it the term love now, for that is what I am talking about, true love and the impulse to completely possess and dominate the beloved, and to make an end of her. Well, she said that she would like to write the Australian Psycho obviously referring to that putrid book, American Psycho which she had just read, but which I had flung away in disgust. Who, after all, wants to read about stockbrokers?

‘But why,’ I asked, surprised, for I had found her a bit of a prig when it came to matters of cruelty and lust, even to the tamer varieties of pain in love. She didn’t like it as rough as I wished it to be sometimes. She didn’t like her bruises showing or having inflicted on her long body the marks of my nails or teeth. ‘Well, just that it seems, it seems,’ she was unable to finish. Using the old term, she was a square, and I gave her rather large haunches a perfunctory pat and turned over and went to sleep. Little did she realize then, that in time she would write or have written for her accounts of an Australian Psycho -- I, her once husband.

Well, I have begun, though I have no problems with beginnings, it is the endings that drag on and refuse to effect closure, and so I must go into that beginning which proved my downfall and provided me with this pause . . these three dots, which I am enduring day after day, incarcerated in an Insane Asylum. I prefer the old term or if you wish this mental hospital, or to be politically correct, a Hospice for Mentally Impaired People. If I am here, it is her doing. I will never forgive her for it and one of these days I shall have my revenge. Yes, I will, for walls cannot hold me away from her forever. They will fall down or be blown down in a revolution and then just as the Marquis De Sade, I shall be free to take my vengeance. How sweet will be that day!