Darren Shan: Procession of the dead

"I had to fend for myself from an early age. My mother rarely thought to feed me, change my clothes or wash me. She should have had an abortion. If she thought motherhood might prove the saving of her, she was wrong. She went on shooting up and selling her body while I crawled through mounds of garbage, scavenging, fighting cats and dogs for scraps of meat and potato peelings.

"When I was four I started stealing from her clients. I'd sneak into the room while they were busy fucking, scour their pants and coats, take what I could find. I was a sly child. I had to be. One night my mother caught me and beat me for going behind her back and not sharing. After that we worked together-she fucked them, I stole and we split the proceeds seventy-thirty. It was the closest I ever got to her.

"One night a customer realized what was going on. He kicked up a storm. He was a politician or a judge, someone with influence. He said he was going to put an end to our evil ways. So my mother pulled a syringe out from under the bed and stabbed him. He staggered away, gasping, shocked, over to where I was standing. He fell and looked at me pleadingly, fear in his eyes. I picked up his belt and strangled him."

There was a long pause. "When we were dumping the body, I cut a piece of skin from his leg and kept it, much as Indians kept scalps. I lost it after a few months but I've always remembered the feel of it as it dried, the taste when I put it in my mouth and nibbled.

"Anyway, this went on for some time. We killed a couple more-each time it seemed like an accident, but I think we let it happen because we enjoyed the buzz. My mother introduced me to drugs, tried to hook me, so she could take more of my money. But I was no fool. I saw drugs for what they were and avoided them.

"One night we killed a hooker's man. Bad mistake. She paid a call with some of her friends. They cut my mother to shreds before my eyes. It was slow and bloody. I watched it all. They let me go with a minor thrashing-I was a child and they thought my mother had killed alone. From that day on I lived by myself. Life was hard, I took many beatings, I was raped a few times-but I survived. I kept going and refused to give in. I was a few months short of my sixth birthday."

I'd seen a lot in my time and heard even more, but never anything to match this. Nothing that came close. I listened with awe and horror.

"I was a violent, backward child," he went on flatly. "My mother never taught me how to speak. I spent most of my early years avoiding people, slithering around the alleys at night like a mute, lonesome rat. I could understand what others said but I couldn't respond, except to grunt and shake my head. I was an animal. I didn't wash, I wore rags, I had no friends, I fought anybody I could.

"Fighting was my only release, the only time I felt good. I was a fierce fighter, even though I was only seven or eight. I had strength enough to beat grown men. I developed quickly, toyed with clubs, ropes, knives, guns. A man came to me one day, a shopkeeper I'd often stolen from, and offered me money to leave him alone. I learned about protection that day and never looked back.

"I discovered the glories of women when I was eleven. The streets where I lived were throbbing with prostitutes and junkies. I only had to reach out and grab. I liked sex-it was almost as pleasant as fighting. I fucked a lot after that, every time I got a hard-on. I didn't understand the concept of waiting.

"One day a couple of prostitutes asked me to be their pimp. I was tough, as I said, but backward. They thought they could manipulate me. They were wrong. I demanded nearly all their money, beat them if they misbehaved, fucked them more often than their clients. But there was nothing they could do about it. I was like a boulder on top of a slope-once pushed, I couldn't be stopped.

"My biggest problem was money. It clung to me and I couldn't get rid of it. By the time I was fourteen, I had more than I knew what to do with. I had no interest in cash but I knew that others would kill me for it if I just sat on what I had. I hid wads under stones around the city. Many would be stolen, or I'd forget where I left them. I didn't care. It was only money. I could get more whenever I wanted. I knew nothing of banks and business. I'd learned to speak-just about-but I still couldn't read or write.

"Because it was expected, I invested in guns, drugs and whores. I opened brothels, established drug factories, traded weapons. Everything I touched turned to gold. Success hounded my every move. I took over gangs, killed their leaders, won men's allegiance even though I didn't care for it. I was growing into a force, attracting attention, lawless and otherwise, but I was still a wild beast. My temper was getting out of hand. I fought nonstop, attacking every possible target with a fury born of frustration and self-hatred. I was spinning into an abyss of my own making. An early grave beckoned. I'd fostered powerful enemies and taken no steps to appease them, to hold the gangsters at bay, to win over the money men. Everything was poised to crash down around me.

"And then I created Leonora."

He was back to the mystery at last, and I was glad. I could have listened to his story all day and night any other time, but now I was growing impatient. I couldn't see how it tied in with the Ayuamarcans or my not being human.

"I needed a mentor," he said. "I recognized that, even though I knew little else. I believed I could do something if I had the right teacher. I had to learn to express myself clearly, read, plan, act meaningfully. I was amassing a fortune and I needed to know what to do with it. Men were stepping forward, offering their advice and services, but I couldn't tell the pearls from the parasites.

"One night in bed I thought of what I needed-a woman who could mother me, who'd love and care for me more than life itself, who'd never grow impatient, who would be wise and knowing. She'd know how to deal with money, where to invest it, which men to listen to, who to trust. With her help I'd formulate ideas, plans, dreams. She would nurture and direct me.

"As I lay on the verge of sleep, thinking of such a woman, I saw faces, then naked people. They floated through my mind like ghosts. Hundreds, maybe thousands. I searched for a friendly face, panning from one to the other. Finally I settled on a handsome woman, kind and wise in appearance. I thought this was the type of woman I'd choose if I could. She seemed right.

"As I studied her, I idly wondered what she might be called. Something exotic, surely. Leonora, I decided. Leonora… Shankar. I don't know where the name came from. It just popped into my head. A fitting name for what would have been a fitting mentor. If she'd existed.

"I fell asleep thinking of her, all the things she'd teach me, what I could do with the help of such a woman. The next day, walking at random, I found a shop." He paused and his fingers drummed the window. "Or I was led to it more probably. It was nothing to look at, tucked away in a dirty side street. There was no name or sign hanging outside. The window was full of puppets. They were pretty. I moved closer and pressed my nose against the glass like a street urchin. Then, with a shock, I recognized the face I'd been dreaming of the night before. My brain churned. As I tried to make sense of it, a man emerged from the shop and bade me enter. I was wary, but then I saw another man inside, taking down the puppet I'd been staring at. My curiosity got the better of me and I went in.

"The man who'd welcomed me shut the door, put up theclosed sign and led me to the rear of the shop. In a dark room with strange symbols scrawled on every wall, two more men waited. Both were blind, dressed in robes, and spoke in a foreign language. They performed a ceremony I couldn't understand and involved me in it. I went along with them because, once again, it seemed right -it was as if I was still dreaming.