Philip Palmer - Debatable Space

Now I was beautiful. But psychologically maimed. To this day, there are times when I cannot bear to touch anyone. Even now, I become hysterical if I see someone peel the skin off a chicken; and blisters and skin abrasions cause me to have panic attacks.

But I internalise all these phobias and fears. I try not to dwell. I self-therapise.

Secretly, though, I consider myself to be a monster, a horror – a flayed beast. Nothing will ever persuade me otherwise. But I have an inner cesspool, where all my bad thoughts and fears go. There dwells the monster. There my hate broods and simmers.

And there too my guilt lives. My guilt at having a child born in an artificial womb without a father to a mother who was nearly two centuries old. My guilt about never being there, never suckling my baby, hardly ever changing his shitty nappies, rarely rocking him to sleep. Peter was “born” when I was just a few years into my job at African Aid. He was only four when I was flayed and hospitalised; and in the years that followed I was consumed with hate and rarely even spoke to my growing child.

When Peter was eight, I got my skin back, and became a promiscuous alcoholic with a phobia about touching people. I had screaming rages a lot in those days, and if truth be told, I have memories of smacking Peter and telling him cruel stories to hurt and wound him. Those were my mad years. I can make excuses, but I cannot turn back the clock.

Peter became a wild teenager. I forgave him everything. He was my baby, my boy. I lavished him with love. I paid his bills. I bailed him out of trouble. I forgave him, again and again, for all his misdeeds. I did my best by him.

So, am I really to blame? Is it really all my fault that my oh so beautiful baby turned into the most evil human being who has ever lived?

I watch myself die. Alby swirls over me. It’s almost affectionate in its delicacy. Then he swirls away.

I am on fire. I scream and scream in agony. I fall to the floor and roll around, trying to extinguish myself. My bones char, my skin melts. I die in utterest agony.

The agony ends. I reset the CD-Rom. I press Play. Once again, I watch myself die. Alby swirls over me. It’s almost affectionate in its delicacy. Then he swirls away.

I am on fire. I scream and scream in agony. I fall to the floor and roll around, trying to extinguish myself. My bones char, my skin melts. I die in utterest agony.

The agony ends.

I reset the CD-Rom. I press Play. Once again, I watch myself die. Alby swirls over me. It’s almost affectionate in its delicacy. Then he swirls away.

I am on fire. I scream and scream in agony.

I press Pause.

I freezeframe on my death’s-mask face.

I must stop doing this. It’s extremely bad for me.

I press Play. Once again, I watch myself die…

Lena

“We’re calling it a Resurrection Party,” Flanagan says, with that annoying twinkle in his eye.

“I’m not dead,” I say sternly. “I was never dead. You killed a simulacrum.”

“ He didn’t know that. Your precious son.”

He’s still smiling. I keep my composure. I try not to let him see I am on the verge of hysteria.

“Who knows what he knows?” I retort, sulkily.

“He thought it was you. He watched you die. He let you die.”

“He did the right thing.”

“His own mother?”

“You can’t negotiate with terrorists. You cannot give in to kidnappers. These are fundamental principles of law enforcement.”

“But you’re his mother. You gave him life.”

“Not much of a mother.”

“But all the same, he let you die.”

“What do you want from me? Forgiveness?”

“I want your support.”

“I’m still your prisoner. I’ll do whatever I’m told.”

“But what if I released you? Let you go?”

“Captain Flanagan, don’t taunt me. Your stupid plan has failed. You’re now a fugitive. The Cheo will hunt you down and kill you slowly. Savour tonight, because it may be your last.”

“Nothing has changed. This was the plan. The plan has worked.”

“This was the plan? What? That you didn’t get your ransom payment?”

“We don’t need a ransom payment. We steal what we need, pickings are rich, we have no need of the Cheo’s ransom money.”

“But you said you wanted prisoners released…”

“And so I did. But they’ll have been executed by now. We asked for the release of all the prisoners due to be executed this month: 410,000 or so of them. They are all dead by now. That’s a month. Every month, half a million people die.”

“You’re ranting again.”

“How can you let this happen? How can you sleep at nights?”

“I am hardly to blame.”

He pauses, reining in his anger. Then he says, “You’re free to leave. Your ship is prepared.”

“I’m free?”

“Yes.”

I’m astounded.

“On what conditions?”

“No conditions.”

“Is the ship boobytrapped?”

“No it is not. You have my word on it.”

“I’m free to go?”

“Your liberty has been restored.”

“Very well.”

“But…”

“But what?” I say, angrily. I fix him with a furious, scathing stare. But he looks at me, calmly, almost reverently. I see in his eyes a trace of… is that awe?

“You’re free to go, but I want you to stay. I want you to help us.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“Our cause is just. And we need you. Lena, you are a hero to us. We need you to be our saviour.”

I snort at his purple prose. But at the same time, I feel exalted and delighted.

“What do you mean, saviour?”

“I offer you my ship, and my captaincy.”

“ What?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re deranged.”

“I’m desperate. Without you, we are lost. We need you.”

My head, by now, is whirling. “Then why the hell did you execute my simulacrum?” I snarl at him.

He looks at me with a tender, respectful gaze. And, in the gentlest of tones, he says, “To prove to you that your son doesn’t care if you live or die. There is no bond of love now. So join with us. Lead us. Help us kill the Cheo and depose his empire of evil.”

I am stunned, and speechless.

He is no longer smiling now. He stares at me, awaiting my answer.

But I cannot give an answer, I cannot even speak. I gesture for him to leave, my throat dry as ash.

When he is gone, I stare at the wall, stunned, my heart pounding. What is his game? What the hell is he playing at?

What should I do? You must say no.

Why? Because he’s asking you to be a terrorist! A pirate!

Is that so bad? You know that it is.

It has a certain… glamour. Lena!

It would give me a role and a purpose. You would be declaring war on your own son.

I’m sure there is precedent for that. Well, indeed, there is. If you’d like me to enumerate…

No. Don’t be a sucker. The whole thing stinks. It’s a trap of some kind.

Of what kind? That makes no sense. How could he trap me, by surrendering to me his ship and crew? You’re sinking into paranoid ramblings. You have to say no.

I……………………………

I suppose you’re right. You are right. I have to say no. You are tempted, though.

Yes! You want power again.

Of course. But you must say no.

Then I will. I’ll tell him no. I’ll spit in his face. The arrogant bastard!

Today she spat in my face. Then she called me a bastard, and damned me to hell.

I am cheered and exhilarated. I know that I’m winning. I’ve got the little bitch wrapped around my little finger.

She thinks she’s cleverer than me. And she is! By many factors. But I’ve got the measure of her. I can play her like I play my guitar. I can pluck her every string.