Rawi Hage - Cockroach

The wind off the water was colder on the bank of the river. I gave it my back and looked at the old city, with all the churches, the old houses, paving the way for high-rises. I wondered how I had ended up here. How absurd. How absurd. The question is, Where to end? All those who leave immigrate to better their lives, but I wanted to better my death. Maybe it is the ending that matters, not the life, I thought. Maybe we, like elephants, walk far towards our chosen burials.

I walked back home.

On the way I passed by the Copa, a dim bar on St-Laurent. I looked through the window and saw Shohreh there with a few other friends of hers. Her girls’ night, as she calls it. And no men are allowed to interrupt. I once bought cheap cocaine for Reza there, from Derrick the drug dealer, a brute who hardly said anything. Reza had complained to him about the quality of his product, and the guy had taken back the bag of drugs and told him never to show his face there again. So Reza had to look for another dealer. He begged me to go and ask for Derrick. When they ask, What Derrick? you answer, Big Derrick, he said.

Big Derrick showed up when I asked. Go to the bathroom, I will be there in a minute, he told me. And he found me between the mirror and the pissing walls. Twenty bucks did not impress him. Where had this guy come from? I wondered. You never saw him at the pool table or the bar. It was as if he had some kind of secret room with shelves of white powder and a large scale. In time I learned it was better not to say thank you to the bastard because he would think you were a student, and he might ignore you if he was waiting for an important call. The Big Motherfucker, Reza called him.

I finally made it home, took off my socks and underwear, and washed them in the tub. Then I covered myself and slept.

I SAT ACROSS FROM Genevieve. She smiled at me. She had this caring smile, almost a pious smile, as if she were on the verge of a spiritual orgasm, like that of a nun married to Jesus. Actually, she did remind me of those nuns from my childhood who were married to the rebel from Nazareth. One in particular, Soeur Marie-Josee, passed by every Friday to collect money for the poor at my school. And every time she said the name Jesus, she sighed and that exact same smile appeared on her lips. I could still hear the jingle of her metal can filled with coins. I never gave money. Why should the poor give to the poor? my mother used to say.

Do you still smoke? Genevieve asked me.

Yes, when I can get a cigarette I smoke it, of course.

I was talking about drugs. In your blood test it showed that you smoke drugs. This is confidential information, but I am asking because drugs could be related to the episodes you experience sometimes. Do you smoke drugs?

I do, when I have the money or when someone offers them to me.

What kind?

Hash. The occasional line of coke if I am lucky.

Genevieve buried her notebook in her lap and wrote something. She said, You should be careful with heavy drugs. They might be triggers.

For what?

Episodes of delusion or delirium. Have you experienced those?

I stayed quiet.

You should tell me if you do.

No, I’ve never had that happen, I said.

You’re sure?

Yes.

How is work?

Good.

Busy?

Yes.

You like it.

The food is good. I get fed.

Made any friends?

I’m too busy; I can’t really talk. The owner is always there, and very demanding.

Have you seen his daughter again?

Yes.

Is she well?

Very.

You say it in a funny way.

I caught her playing with herself.

What?! Where?

In the basement.

And she saw you?

No, but I let her know that I saw her.

It seems as if you like people to know that you’re watching them. Is that true? Or does that only happen when it is a woman?

I’m not sure what you are asking me.

Do you want women to like you?

Do you like me? I asked.

Yes, you are likable.

Why?

I think you are bright.

So you like bright people?

Yes, I am always impressed by them.

So why do you surround yourself with patients? Are patients bright? Or are you trying to make everyone brighter? I asked.

I care for all people, bright or not. And then some I like.

So you like me?

Yes, I do.

Why don’t you show it? I brought you flowers. I showed intimacy, like you wanted me to. Now it is your turn.

We are in a professional relationship here. My interest in you is purely professional and it will never transcend that. Listen, I am trying to help you, and I’m doing everything I can to help you. Doesn’t that count for something?

That is your job.

Yes, but I wouldn’t be so patient with you if I did not see hope for you. Do you understand the magnitude of what you’ve been doing, breaking into people’s houses?

I was silent.

Genevieve changed the subject. Tell me more about your mother’s family. What about your mother’s father?

He was a bootlegger.

Alcohol?

No, tobacco.

All his life?

No, he worked in a factory as well.

What kind?

A cement factory. He shoved cement into a large industrial oven, very hot.

How many kids did he have?

Many.

How was your mother’s relationship with him?

She adored him.

And her mother, your grandmother?

I’m not sure. My mother did not talk a lot about her parents.

Was there violence in the family?

Violence was everywhere.

Right. Well, I’m not interested in the war for now. I am interested in your family’s genealogy.

Yes.

Yes what?

Yes to your question about violence.

Who was violent?

My grandfather beat my grandmother when he got drunk.

You saw it?

Yes, once.

And what did you do?

Nothing, I froze. I was a kid. What could I do?

Right. Okay, let’s talk some more about Tony. What did finally happen between you and Tony?

He managed to take my sister and her baby back to his house.

You couldn’t stop him?

No, he came when I was away at the beach. I used to go with friends to the beach. We used to jump from a high rock.

Was that dangerous?

Yes.

Because the rock was so high?

Well, you had to be careful. You had to land in the water between two other rocks.

And did you land every time in the water?

No.

Ah. So. . is that how you got the scar on your face?

Yes.

How did all of this make you feel?

Jumping?

No, the fact that your sister went back with Tony.

Well, I’m not sure. I think she wanted to go. But when I heard that he pulled her by the hair, I was determined to kill him.

You kept a gun all that time?

Yes.

Did you have a licence for it?

A licence, doctor? You make me laugh sometimes.

I do? I’m glad I do.

Well, things were different there. There were not so many laws.

Tell me more.

About?

Tony.

Well, I went to Abou-Roro.

Abou-Roro?

The thief.

Oh, yes. Here, I have it here, written down.

I told him that I wanted to kill that bastard and asked him about the best way to do it. He did not answer me. Instead he said, So your sister is working for Joseph Khoury, I heard.

Yes, I said.

I thought he already had two salesgirls in the store.

What are you trying to say? I asked.

Listen, don’t take things personally. I am just trying to help.

Help?

Yes, if you think a little, you’ll realize that the old man has money. Right? Revenge and honour are good, but if you can get a little money out of it, it is better, no?

What do you have in mind?

I could tell you, but you might get all offended.