The Gesture And The Need

[AMERICONORMAN]

COPYRIGHT © 2006. JOSE RODRIGUEZ-GAINZA. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

THE GESTURE AND THE NEED By Jose Gainza.

She caressed his long black locks, and softly scratched his scalp. Her face was violently red and she was moist. His head lay atop her breasts as he held her, regaining the ease of his breath. He was wearing a satiated, stubborn smile. It was morning.

The lovers tried as much as possible to begin their mornings in this way. It was a reminder of what could easily be awaiting them at the end of the workday. The act could give them an added energy throughout the day. And they found themselves more patient with those co-workers that nag, that lie, that expect one’s sacrifice, those vindictive ones, those envious, those mediocre—because the lovers possessed this easy reminder that what life was really about was symbolized by the sex act, and not these petty annoyances.

They did not live together, though they loved each other dearly. She ordered him to return the next morning to perform the same ritual. Then they began their day. Jacqueline went to work. The Leinathan had worn off already in her system. And it was fortunate for Cirilo that he was enjoying a week long holiday. And so he was off back to his apartment where he would decide what to do with his spare time, perhaps write another story, like yesterday.

The Leinathan pill had still not worn off and so his body was a little unbalanced though he was giddy. He would make it home, sure, but he knew that perhaps if he were to carry some glass object, he would fear possibly dropping it. Leinathan was actually a safe drug. But it was not available on the market because it was an invention of Jacqueline, a medical scientist. She worked for McNeil Pharmaceuticals. She would not dare to market her secret drug for fear that the government would expropriate or outlaw it.

What Leinathan had the power to do was to intensify the feeling of lust, to prolong the penis’s endurance, and accentuate the vagina’s pleasure, and it kept one feeling giddy afterwards, and longer than usual. She had discovered that the chemical identity of animalistic sex-lust and romantic sex-lust are different. She did not create the drug in order to assist all people to have sex. Her only target market was herself and her ecstasy was her only purpose. Leinathan did not initiate sexual hunger; that had to be initiated by the will of the lovers, but once sparked it turned a sparkle into a pyrotechnic celebration. The drug could not work on those with promiscuous motives; only those whose hunger was backed up by morality because the Leinathan could only react to that unique chemical identity of lovers. The only side effect was that the after effect was the prolonged feeling of just getting off a thrilling roller coaster.

Consequently Cirilo was unashamedly working to be with Jacqueline forever. The boy was livid. He had thought that conquering her was heaven enough but this added fringe benefit sent him past it and into some higher world of Forms.

Cirilo left Jacqueline’s apartment with a smile on his face.

When he got to Ossington station he ascended to wait for the route 63 bus. On a wall across from him was a huge painting with angel children, which was the back wall of a day care. The station was three parallel lines. The middle line was the station building and the other two were the driveways. Cirilo was at the back of the long line of passengers waiting for the bus to come. Next to him were a mother and her baby in a large stroller. She smiled at him and wore eyes of longing. He continued his smile and looked up at the painting again, still enjoying the after effect of Leinathan. Soon the awaited bus turned into the station from a side street.

A male passenger at the back of that bus noticed the unusual demeanour of Cirilo and chuckled with puzzlement. And he noticed the woman with the baby, and he believed that a boyfriend wasn’t with her. The passengers started to board slowly, and as the line began to get shorter, the spectator began to wonder who would help this woman. He had the urge to help her himself but he could not get passed the wall of people that was forming before him at the back of the bus. He stayed in his seat and watched.

The woman asked Cirilo, “Can you help with this stroller,” with an expectant certainty since it was only her and Cirilo left to board,

“I would, lady, but I can’t. My balance isn’t that good right now and I could possibly drop the stroller.”

The mother was stunned and looked around her for help.

An old woman at the front of the bus said to herself with angry astonishment, “Kids these days …”

A big black woman across from her kissed her teeth, giving a sonorous sound to the saliva in her mouth.

The bus driver rolled his eyes and then grimaced. He had the urge to prohibit Cirilo’s entry but the justice made him control that urge. Cirilo walk passed him and towards the back. The driver then shot out of his chair and went to help the woman with a stroller.

“It’s my job, Miss. I’ll be glad to do it.”

There was still a seat left at the back of the bus between the spectator and some fat white man. This is where Cirilo sat. The spectator could tell that Cirilo felt guilty but soon he was shocked to find that the guilt left his face so quickly after one quick shake of his head. Cirilo continued to smile into space. The spectator had to ask.

“Buddy, my name’s Frank. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, dude.”

“Are you high?”

“You can say that.”

“What are you on?”

“I like to call it Love.” Cirilo’s teeth began to show from his smile.

“Love never put a smile on my face like the one you’re wearing.”

“You don’t have a Jackie.” And his eyes narrowed for a moment, still smiling.

“Some girl, eh?”

“She’s out of this world.” Cirilo’s eyes grew wide and his brows spread apart.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you refuse to help the lady with the stroller?”

“Yes. I’m in no condition to sustain such a delicate thing.”

“I think that’s honourable. I think most people would have felt so ashamed of not helping a woman in need that they would have risked carrying that stroller in a state of intoxication. Selflessness no matter what.”

“Yah, I’m not selfless. I’m an egoist.”

“No way!” And then he took a closer look at Cirilo’s face. He saw the happy sneer; the traces of a sardonic grin. Cirilo then knew that Jack knew. Cirilo asked, “So how many times have you read the big book?”

“Five times!”

“I’ve only read it twice. I even want to study it but I don’t have the time yet. I am a writer though.”

“Do you write short stories?”

“Yes.” The Leinathan was beginning to wear off and the smile began to vanish.

“Do you write from that perspective too?”

“As much as I know.”

“Want to grab some beer later on? Maybe you can read me one of your stories?”

“That would be interesting. However, tonight I’m going to have a bottle of wine, which I haven’t had for over a year. I think I’m going to read some poetry. I want to orate parts of Swinburne’s Atalanta of Calydon, for example. I definitely got to read Byron’s The Lament of Tasso.”

“Well give me your e-mail address then. I’ll try to get you to meet me some other time. What is it?” And he prepared his palm computer for the data entry.

“Jackie’s pearl at central purpose dot com. What’s yours?”

“Rational General at reason dawns dot com.”

“That’s easy.”

Frank got off at Dundas Street, where a modernist looking bank on the southeast faced an old style bank, with ancient inspirations, and orange brick (the same bank that Hamilton’s mob boss “the enforcer” once robbed in his starting out days). The next big street was Queen and this is where Cirilo got off. It is the site of a large property of buildings that is Toronto’s main crazy house across the street from several of Toronto’s modernist galleries. In one of the window displays was a canvass with representational painting of gold coins, scattered around the newspaper clippings of the poor children of Africa, Asia, and Latin America.

Cirilo’s apartment was above a busy diner. He ascended upstairs to his bed and lay flat for a while. He breathed deeply and slowly. In twenty minutes the effects of Leinathan had worn off completely, and his smile was gone. He bought himself a burger and fries at the diner below to go and ate at his round kitchen table watching the tenth season of House. The episode was of Gregory’s wedding to Patricia, a doctor of equal worth, and addicted to mysterious cases as well. Theirs was a relationship in which they get turned on by challenging each other to solve harder and harder cases.”

Yes, Cirilo cried during the ceremony. The smile on Hugh Laurie’s face was that of unmistakable happiness. The cane of House’s earlier years was gone, as it was his fiancée who cured his illness.

Evening came and Cirilo bought himself a bottle of Mendoza Merlot. He did read through Byron. He did read through Swinburne. And he read of an obscure poet, modern not modernist, not famous, hidden away in some anthology between hundreds of other poems. Cyrano D’Anconia was his name.

Sample this one:

“Let me be your flame, Dame,

So I could spark and burn,

Consumed by passion without blame,

Near you dancing as I turn.

Deity, I’ve praised your name—

By you endlessly I yearn.”

Thus spoke my Romantico to me, his Nina,

Before I blushed and took his hand.

I let him sip wine from my cantina

Before he sang then with his band.

“I have searched the world for none like you:

An oasis to a past now considered tundra.

Many joys I did manage to construe

From a life fulfilled by mind’s Utopia.

Virtue, values, dreams, and work

All combined and made my happiness.

Now suddenly my pathways jerk,

And halt before the flower of your beauty bliss.”

Thus continued Tico with smiles sanguine,

Sending notes up to the wind’s embrace,

Blowing words in swirl scented by my wine,

Twirlings in the sand did his body trace.

“I dance for you to help you feel my beats,

And tell you what you mean to me to win,

A life with you earning daily treats,

That grew so ripe from all that I gave in.

I claim that there’s a part of you that swears

Allegiance to the happy minded seers,

And will avenge the torches all your years.”

Executing eyes of mine, how Tico saw,

Willing to condemn the evil men,

That dare to poke me with their law,

That makes our love forbidden.

“Francesca isn’t outraged just for me,

And your Papa is fuming not for me,

They hate the fact that we can find a joy,

Felt by all yet, O, so hard to get.

Don’t you know their anger is a ploy?

To hide the blatant evil they beget:

Hatred for the good for being good—

The why of life so misunderstood!”

And soon he swept me far away,

And my past dust to the wind.

Here we are in San Francisco Bay,

Winning life we never have to mend.

“The white dress that you wear,

How it stands for a soul the purest.

And your joy that I must bear,

Is the cause of our love the surest.

And tonight when I own you in our bliss,

It will be heaven you will kiss.”

Thus we stand here both,

Reciting the same verse,

In a sacred form of oath,

In a style just terse,

To reveal our burning lust,

Sanctioned by god Reason’s cast,

The halo of our trust,

And the blessing of our past,

That brought us here,

To feel this thing,

And know it without fear,

And promise you to bring,

The joy that always stays

Somewhere within me,

Even if you leave our days,

In death and cease to be,

But please don’t die,

No, don’t dare go,

Don’t tempt me, dear, to die,

Though you know how I’ll still grow,

As in allegiance to our life,

A life committed thus in love,

Shrugging off the strife,

Because peace is not above,

It’s here below and on this earth,

It’s been here since our birth,

It came with our straight minds,

And it’s the force that binds,

Us forever

And ever …

By the end of the poem he was hungry for Jacqueline. But he knew he could not see her until the morning. It was hard to resist. He knocked on a neighbour’s door and bought a bottle of wine from him at twice the regular cost. He put on some Frank Sinatra hoping it would assist his patience; put him in the mood of the patient pursuer and wooer, as opposed to the violent vanquisher.

Eventually he did need sleep. He went to bed but not before setting his alarm for six in the morning, to give him enough time for his rendezvous at eight. He awoke wanting to drink a lot of water, and wanting desperately to take a shower. But he was not allowed to take a shower. She had ordered him not to take a shower after the one he would take when he got home after leaving her yesterday morning. She wanted to experience a scent that was natural and aged by life a little. And he couldn’t take a Tylenol because she once warned him that Tylenol and Leinathan should not mix; at least, it would hamper the sexual experience. He was tense and nauseous but he had to meet her because he still so desperately wanted to. He knew that she would gladly give him a massage before the act; in fact, she would prefer it. And he knew that she would not be disappointed about his drinking because she knew that he hadn’t drunk in a year.

The bus was quite crowded but there was still a double seater left and he sat on the aisle side, so as not to feel cramped by some chance neighbour. And so that he could get off quickly and back into the fresh air.

An old woman with a cane slowly got on the bus. She approached Cirilo. She smiled and asked all saintly, “Can I have your seat?”

“No. You could sit next to me by the window, if you wish. I’ll stand to let you in.”

The woman was insulted. She chose to remain standing instead with the motivation to make Cirilo feel guilty. Cirilo knew this was her motive and he smirked at her. Soon a man with glasses and a business suit meddled in and ordered,”

“Hey man, why don’t you give the lady your seat?”

“Because this is where I want to sit down. She can sit next to me.”

“Don’t be so selfish.”

“Sir, you don’t know who you’re talking to. That is exactly why I am refusing. But you don’t understand why I’m right because we have different codes of ethics.”

“This is not about ethics!”

“Yah right!”

“If that’s the way you want to navigate through life, then you’re what’s wrong with the world. The world doesn’t work the way you seem to think. Compromise is key.”

“Sir, you’re wrong. I’ll even discover new continents by following this code. And I don’t need to justify it to you or anyone.”

The man sniffled and turned away. And the woman stood frozen for a moment and then turned away all snotty, as if she was too good to sit next to this insolent boy.

Suddenly a familiar voice from behind called out. The man had seen Cirilo get on the bus, and had noticed his sickly demeanour, but Cirilo did not notice him.

“Cirilo!” Cirilo turned to look at him.

“Frank!” He called out.

“If I give you my seat, will you give her yours?”

“Now that’s a deal.”

The seat exchange took place, the woman on the aisle seat, and the meddler by the window. Frank went to talk to the lady who had taken Cirilo’s seat. She thanked Frank.

“Mam, don’t hate him. He means you no ill harm. Even a young man has a right to be tired at eight in the morning.”

“You’re right. I was young too once. I know those days of being tired in the morning too.”

The meddler was surprised by the woman’s comments. He now felt that his attempt at chivalry was wasted. He felt betrayed by the woman.

Frank chose not to talk to Cirilo as a considerate gesture. And Cirilo understood this and was pleased. At the subway station Cirilo went westbound; Frank, east. Cirilo reclined on his chair and imagined the naked form of his Jacqueline. The headache was now almost gone.

The End.

Edited April 28, 2006 by AMERICONORMAN