A Million Versions of Right (10 page)

“This is great! Thanks!” I can’t think of anything more appropriate to say. I feel light, as if a chronic constipation has been relieved. Nadia strides over with her arms spread wide, wordlessly imploring me for a hug. I fall into her arms and loose myself in her idiosyncratic odours, the odours that you only recognise and appreciate with time – individual like a fingerprint. We retreat to the bedroom and fuck painfully. Desperately.

* * * * *

After dinner we’re both relaxing on the couch; Nadia with her head on my shoulder watching television and me staring at the headphones, which I have now removed from the packaging. I try them on, prompting Nadia to reposition her head. Unconsciously, she doesn’t want to get in the way. The headphones feel incredibly comfortable. After a few seconds I barely know I’m wearing them. I can’t wait to lie back in bed and drift off, beautiful sounds feeding my starving ears.

The late night news possesses a hypnotic monotony that has lulled Nadia to sleep. I roll with it by gently nudging her awake and suggesting that bed may be in order. I wave my new headphones at her in anticipation. Barely awake, she smiles at me with genuine warmth and love. The opposite of this smile would kill you dead.

The bed sheets feel cold and smooth against my naked legs and the pre-sleep lamplight fills the room with warm ambience. Nadia and I engage in a mandatory hug, which ends the pre-sleep ritual. Unbeknownst to her, I silently fart several times. This is common. This is love.

Nadia has rolled over onto her side as I plug the jack into the stereo. I carefully place the headphones on my head. I visualise a king being crowned and immediately curse my delusions of grandeur. I turn the stereo on and the mechanical sound of a preloaded CD whirs into life. As I lay back I flick the lamp off, the room is minutely illuminated by the stereo’s blue display. My finger easily finds the play button on the remote despite the lack of light. I could perform every function on my stereo remote in the blackest void. My tactile memory is strong.

My anticipation drags the split seconds out as I wait for the first track to start. My eyes are closed, every atom in my body prepared for sustenance.

Through the left headphone speaker a slapping noise fades to life. It’s not until the meaty groaning begins in the right channel that I become completely confused. I flick the lamp back on and stare at the stereo. The display indicates that the CD is playing. I skip forward a couple of tracks only to be confronted with more slapping sounds, more groaning. I remove the headphones in a mild panic. I strain my ears, hoping that somehow the sounds I’m hearing aren’t originating from the headphones. There’s nothing to hear except the heavy breathing of Nadia beside me. I hold the headphones to my ear once more and there it is, clear as day. The same masturbatory sounds. I throw the headphones down on the bed beside me, while attempting to massage the stress from my brow. My eyes shift back and forward between the stereo and the headphones. I snap myself out of whatever reverie I’m in, intent on justifying the entirely odd phenomena. Without much thought, I pluck the headphone cable out of the stereo. Intensely loud, blastbeat ridden death metal pours into the room. Nadia wakes with a start, unusual for her as she will sleep through almost anything.

“Fuck, Michael! Use the headphones!!!”

I dive toward the stereo’s power button, cutting the sound off abruptly.

“Sorry babe, you don’t understand…”

“Just let me sleep.”

She rolls over, ignoring me, leaving me to deal with the situation alone. I don’t dare make a sound.

* * * * *

I try numerous CDs and every stereo in the house. The sounds differ from track to track, album to album but essentially it’s all the same; a vast cornucopia of wanking. Some of the wanking carries a strange, dignified air that fills me with immediate envy.

I cower pathetically in the corner of the lounge room, which suddenly seems  foreign and foreboding. The occult headphones are plastered to my ears, vexation drowning my brain. The ceaseless masturbation crawls into my ears, pulling me in, ensuring I am part of each and every groan, pant and slap. The physical and mental exhaustion mercifully knocks me out at about 4 am.

* * * * *

Nadia finds me the next morning splayed out in the lounge room, fast asleep. The headphones are still steadfastly attached to my ears. When I don’t respond to her concerned voice she begins to kick me until finally I stir. My body is caked in dry, sticky sweat and my face is stained with tears. In a daze I remove the headphones and stare blankly, right into her eyes.

“What the fuck, Michael?”

Dull shards of understanding and perception emerge as my body tries to reboot. My brain attempts to scan for the appropriate wording to explain myself but I feel as if the wanking has erased everything.

“Have you been here all night? What was wrong with the bed?”

My only response is to feebly hold up the headphones, offering them to Nadia. “Listen,” is all I can say.

Tentatively she takes possession of the headphones while staring at me as if I were a stranger. Her body language places a psychological distance between us and it terrifies me. I watch closely as she listens and starts to hear what I’ve been hearing.

“What the hell are you listening to, Michael? What is this shit?”

She throws the headphones down and gives me an accusatory stare. I prop myself up against the wall, engaging in the conversation against my better judgement.

“It’s wanking, Nadia.”

“Yes! I can hear that it’s
wanking
! Why the fuck are you listening to it?”

“It won’t stop – it’s ceaseless and I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know where it’s coming from’?”

“It’s the new headphones you got for me. Wanking is all they will play. No matter what CD I put into the stereo, it comes out as wanking.”

“What shit are you on right now, Mike? You’re scaring the hell out of me.”

“I fucking
wish
I was on something. At least then there would be a fucking explanation.”

Nadia continues to stare, clearly unable to process what I’m saying. Painfully I stand up, using the wall behind me for support.

“Look, I know alright! It’s crazy, I’m going mad! I am completely willing to accept the fact that I’ve snapped and this is all some fucked up hallucination.”

Nadia slowly shakes her head involuntarily. Tears slowly creep from her eyes.

“Nadia please! Prove to me that this is a hallucination. Take the headphones, get them to play music.
Please
, prove that I’m going mad. I need a shower; I’m going to be late.”

I limp away, leaving Nadia behind to wrestle with the situation. I need to wash away the stink of my undoing.

* * * * *

I’m working up the strength to start pouring abuse at the blank wall in front of me when I receive a phone call from my supervisor. I hold the phone to my ear half expecting to hear masturbation. Instead I’m subjected to Dean’s intolerable smarm.

“Hi, Michael. Dean here.”

“Hi, Mr Hayes.” A familiar sense of dread always accompanies these chats.

“How you travelling, Michael?”

“Fantastic, never better.”

“Good to hear. We need to have a chat, Michael.”

“About what, sir?”

“Best not to discuss it over the phone. Come to my office this afternoon. Does two sound good?”

Silence at my end.

“You still there, Michael?”

“Umm… yes sir.”

“Two pm this afternoon. Does that suit you?”

Mr. Hayes hangs up before I have a chance to yay or nay the proposition. I’m hardly in a position to bargain but even farcical democracy is better than nothing.

Whenever someone asks me for a chat my defences tweak automatically. It feels like my internal organs are coming loose and rattling around my torso. The simpler they ask, the more devastating the result. At least that’s been my experience. I envisage absurdly melodramatic scenarios in my head, one of the worst being Mr Hayes questioning me about ‘
all this masturbation you’ve been listening to
’ and then whipping my bare arse with rhubarb. Most of the scenarios usually follow a typical, ‘
you’re fired
’ type trajectory and result in me walking home forlorn. There’s usually an equally forlorn looking puppy following me. We don’t befriend each other, I think he’s just attracted to the scent of my misery. I picture myself explaining the job loss to Nadia and watch as the guts of her financial security are violently ripped away. I watch her walk out the door, in too much of a hurry to put pants on. She’d rather expose her shame to the world than spend a second longer with me. She walks along the side of the road, thumb jutted out, imploring the perverts of the world to give her a ride – to take her away from me. A car load of horny men pull up beside her. Nadia enters the car without as much as a glance back in my direction. I never see her again and my life enters a period of total ruin.

I have this nasty habit of letting my imagination sprint away from anything resembling logic. By the time I’m even partially aware it’s usually too late. The damage has been done.

2 pm will arrive with funereal dread. I spend the remaining hours before the ‘meeting’ staring blankly at the wall I’m supposed to be abusing. I cast my mind back to the headphones and have an unusual urge to use them. There’s something about their masturbatory consistency which appeals to me. It seems ordered somehow. Despite the confusion and discomfort, when I put on those headphones I know exactly what I’m going to get.

* * * * *

“It’s your readings, Michael. You don’t appear to be eliciting any response whatsoever from the walls you’re testing.”

My teeth grit as I suppress boiling rage. Mr. Hayes sits calmly across from me, a passive perversion accentuating every hate-filled chunk of his being.

“Can you explain these results, Michael?”

His smile momentarily disappears and I become aware of the unnatural fluorescent light bathing his office.

“I follow every procedure to the letter including the abuse to non-abuse ratio. Perhaps there’s no response to get.

His smile returns, brighter and more sickening than the office lights.

“Michael, Michael, Michael… I’m disappointed in you. Are you to tell me that you have no belief in Astenburger’s theories?”

Of course I have no fucking belief
, I think. My answer is only slightly more tactful.

“Look Mr. Hayes, I’m just doing my job. Mine is not to question why.”

I notice his eyes bulge. In a flash he gathers his composure and attacks with more rehearsed bullshit.

“Any man worth his salt should question
why
on a minute by minute basis.” He places his hands in his pockets and begins a slow walk around the office. “Did you know that in your department you remain the only employee to have sustained a zero result?”

 “No sir, I did not know that,” I say feebly, without any thought of defending myself.

“How does it make you feel?”

”Fairly ambivalent either way, sir,” I say coldly, devoid of emotion.

“You really need to shape up, Michael. I’m officially putting you on notice. You have two weeks to get your act together. Am I understood?”

I nod gravely.

“Excellent! You may leave now. I sincerely look forward to seeing you here again under more positive circumstances. Please believe me when I tell you that I don’t
like
doing this sort of thing. I guess in reality I’m a bit naïve, Michael. I have this unquenchable ideal that we can all work together harmoniously.”

A revolting smile crosses his smarmy face as he extends his hand out toward me. Against my better judgement I shake it. I coat his palm in my nerve-induced sweat.

* * * * *

“YOU FUCKING CUNT! YOU FUCKING CUNT!! YOU MOTHERFUCKING CUNT!!!’