The Heart's Invisible Furies

“Lots,” I told him. “But we pretend they don’t exist and no one ever talks about them. That’s how we do things in Ireland. If you catch something, you go to the doctor and he gives you a shot of penicillin, and on the way home you go to confession and tell the priest your sins.”

“It can’t be as bad as you say,” he said, and I was about to give him more details when he stopped short in the street so abruptly that I had already walked on about fifteen feet before I noticed he wasn’t there and had to double back to find him again.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” I looked ahead and saw that familiar giant in his fur-trimmed overcoat walking toward us, deerstalker firmly in place on his head. I would have pulled Ignac into the nearest doorway but at that same moment the man looked up and saw us and broke into a wide smile. A moment later, he was standing in front of us, his arms open wide as he embraced his former charge, who froze in his master’s arms.

“And there was me thinking that you’d drowned in the Amstel,” said the man. “I thought you’d gotten so stoned you’d fallen in before I could push you. Either that or you’d run off with some Russian oil tycoon and forgotten who’d taken care of you all this time.”

Ignac opened his mouth to answer, but I could tell that he was terrified. I took him by the arm and pulled him back a few steps.

“We have to go,” I said.

“And who’s this?” asked the man, looking me up and down, a mixture of good humor and menace. “I don’t think we’ve met, have we? I’m Damir.”

He extended an enormous hand toward me and despite myself I shook it briefly, so as not to cause any trouble.

“We have to be somewhere,” I said.

“We all have to be somewhere,” he replied with a smile. “Tell me your name. I told you mine. Have some manners, my friend.”

“Cyril,” I said. “Cyril Avery.”

“Well, Cyril. Let me ask you a question. Are you a capitalist or a communist?”

I frowned, uncertain what he was getting at. “I don’t think I’m either,” I said.

“Then you’re a capitalist,” he replied. “Most people are if they’re honest with themselves. And the nature of capitalism is that we look after ourselves first but when we buy a service or a product we pay money to the shopkeeper who provided the goods. You know this, yes?”

“I didn’t buy Ignac,” I said, not even bothering to pretend that I didn’t understand where he was going with this. “And he’s not yours to sell anyway. We don’t live in a time of slaves.”

“Don’t we?” asked Damir, laughing. “I wish I could agree with you on that.” He stared at me for a moment before turning back to the boy. “Where have you been these last months anyway?” he asked, his tone growing a little colder now. “Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” said Ignac.

“Just because you’ve found your own tricks doesn’t mean—”

“I haven’t turned any. Not in months. I don’t do that anymore.”

The man frowned. “Who told you that?” he asked.

“What?”

“That you don’t do that anymore. You make it sound as if it’s a decision you can make for yourself.”

“It is,” said Ignac, and Damir burst into a beatific smile. Anyone passing us on the street might have thought we were the best of friends. “I paid you for everything that I did. I want to stop now.”

“And I want a house in the Bahamas and Bo Derek on my arm,” said Damir with a shrug. “And instead I have a grotty flat near Erasmuspark and a woman who only makes me hard when the lights are off and I don’t have to look at her ugly face. You still work for me, Ignac. I say when that’s over.”

“It’s over now,” I said, and his smile faded as he turned back to me.

“And you can shut the fuck up, faggot,” he said, poking me hard in the shoulder with one of his fat fingers. “This is between me and my—”

“Whatever he did for you,” I said, raising my voice and feeling my heart start to pound in my chest. “I’m sure you got your money’s worth. He doesn’t want to do it anymore, all right? There must be plenty of other boys you can exploit instead.” I paused and softened my tone, hoping to appeal to his good nature, if he had one. “Can’t you just leave him be? He wants a different life, that’s all.”

“There are hundreds of other boys,” said the man, reaching down and running a finger across Ignac’s cheek. “But none quite as pretty as this one. Well, you must understand that, Cyril. You’ve been fucking him for three months, after all. So you owe me…” He looked toward the canal and his lips moved silently as if he was trying to calculate. “I’d need a paper and pen to be accurate,” he said. “I’ve never been very good at mental arithmetic. But I tell you what, I’ll work out a figure and send it your way. I don’t want to overcharge you.”

“There’s nothing like that between us,” said Ignac. “I just live at his place, that’s all.”

“And you expect me to believe that, do you?” asked Damir, laughing. “Let’s not play each other for fools. Tell me, do you like living with this man?”

“Yes,” said Ignac.

“And you want to continue doing so?”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“All right then. That’s not a problem at all. I have no objections to such a happy arrangement. But he will have to pay for the privilege. You belong to me, after all. Not to him. And you, Cyril Avery,” he said, turning back to me, “you have a debt toward me. And all debts must be settled. Such is the nature of capitalism.”

“I’m not giving you any money,” I said.

“Of course you will. Ask Ignac what I do to people who don’t pay me what they owe. It’s not pleasant. Now.” He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I’m afraid I have another appointment. But I’ll be in touch. Goodbye, Cyril. And you, Ignac. Stay out of trouble!”

And with that he pushed between us and kept on his way. We watched as he disappeared around a corner and Ignac turned to me with a terrified expression on his face.

“I knew it couldn’t last,” he said. “Nothing ever does.”

“If you mean living with me and Bastiaan,” I said, “then trust me, Ignac, that’s not going to change.”

“Yes, it will. He won’t stop until he’s taken every penny from you. And even when you’re broke, he’ll still ask for more. He’ll never leave me alone.”

“How many boys does he have on his payroll?” I asked.

“A couple of dozen. Maybe more. The number changes all the time.”

“Then he’ll be busy with other people. He’ll forget about you. He’s just angry with you for walking out on him, that’s all. I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again. Anyway, he doesn’t even know where to find you.”

“Amsterdam is a small city,” said Ignac. “And you gave him your name.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said, not believing a word of this.





Two Towers and a Ship Sailing Between Them

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