I Am The Local Atheist (22 page)

I’m going to kill the
cunt.

For the first time in my life, my
emotional response was of violence beyond just causing some
physical pain as an excuse for releasing anger – that response had
always been rare and easily calmed, easily justified as an
‘unchecked thought’ –
where’s the Bible so I can seek wisdom in this
moment of weakness
. But this, this was violence that wanted someone dead, and
just because of that person’s inability to control
themselves.

I knew that thought, that
feeling
, was wrong, but this was Hell.

And all sins are
justifiable in Hell.

* * *

“Where’re we
going?”

Lucas pulled the
collars of his coat up closer to his ears. “Just wanted to stop at
someone’s place.”

We were only two blocks from
The
Fraterniser
,
but had turned a corner and walked straight into a cold wind trying
to force us back on our previous path. Being one who often did what
the weather told me – especially when it told me to stay inside
near the glowing bars of a heater – I pointed out how close we had
been to our destination which had many a promise of warmth, but
Lucas was already at the door of a rundown building punching in the
key code number on the buzzer. “Hello?”

“‘
ello!” said a male voice.

“
It’s
Lucas.”

“
Be
down soon.”

Lucas looked around at
me. “Oh sorry, it’s Cal’s place.”

It didn’t occur to me
who he meant.

An older guy opened
the door. “Hey Lucas.” A short flight of stairs climbed up behind
him.

“
Hey
Dean. This is David.”

“
Hi
David.”

“
Hi
Dean.”

“
Cal’s not here. She should be back shortly,” he rubbed his
neck feeling the wind trying to whip in through the doorway. “Or
not. But feel free to come up and hang out if y’ want. Just putting
a coffee on.” He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “Cool for
coffee?”

“
Yeah
definitely,” I replied.

“
Sweet.”

We followed him up the
stairs as it rounded the wall of the building and then plateaued on
the next level. “Cal went to the park. She didn’t say you were
coming over. I think she took a book with her.”

“
How
long ago?”

“
About half an hour. She doesn’t usually spend more than an
hour there.”

“
It’s
fuckin freezing out there.”

“
Yeah
I know. But when she’s determined, she’s determined!”

He let us in through
the door which opened straight into the living room with a
three-seater to the left and a two-seater to our right; a large red
rug covered the floorboards that peeked out at the edges. There was
an empty canvas on a stand in one of the corners.

Dean walked into the
kitchen area turning the jug on and grabbing two extra mugs. “So
what’d ya come over for?”

Lucas sat down on a
stool at the breakfast bench. “I missed the exhibition and wanted
to see the painting that got vandalised.”

Oh damn. An empty canvas…
Cal…
lassandra…

Dean chuckled.
“Defiled would be a better word for it. Should definitely be suing
for damages.”

“
Yeah, well, that’s one possibility. I guess.” Lucas gazed
around the living room, stopping on the empty canvas perched in the
corner. “Where’s the painting?”

Dean finished filling
the mugs with coffee and started spooning excess amounts of sugar
in afterwards. “Oh, it’s in the spare room. Just head on down.”

Lucas jumped off the
stool and walked down the hall, turning left near the end.

I looked down the
hall. A strange sickening feeling stirred in my stomach. “How’s the
coffee going?”

“
Yeah
good mate.” Just head on down if you want. Cal’s all good with
people looking at her art when she’s not here.”

“
Oh,”
I said, stalling at the stool and looking at the jug as it finally
reached boiling point and clicked off.

“
Don’t worry, dude. We might just be flatmates, but she always
says I’m allowed to let my friends look at her artwork if they come
over.”

“
Ok.”

“
Usually, she has paintings spread around the flat and whatever
she’s currently working on in her bedroom, but left this one
propped up in the spare room. I guess,” he laughed, “this one’s
special.”

“
Uh
huh.” I watched him carefully pouring milk into the mugs and then
the boiling water. I struggled to find something to say. “It’s
pretty cold outside.”

“
Fuck
– ain’t it? Guess y’ dying for a hot coffee then?”

“
Uh
huh.” I said, eyeing the coffee like a hawk as he placed it down in
front of me. I wanted to burn the sickening feeling down, drown it
in steaming caffeine, but I drank a little too quickly and
spluttered a little.

“
You
okay?”

“
Yeah, sorry,” I said.

“
Hah!
Man, you really were desperate for that coffee. Come on down to the
room.”

“
Sure
thing.”

He moved out in front of me with Lucas’
coffee in his hand, while I stood there looking the other way
towards the door that we had come in through.
I could run
.
Now
. The coffee warmed my hands as the wind outside
rattled the windows as a clear reminder of what I’d be going back
into.
But
that would be really weird
. I looked back down the hall.

My feet almost moved
by themselves.

“
So
this is it?” Lucas said, sipping at his coffee.

“
This
is it,” Dean said, sipping at his coffee.

“
This
is the painting?”

“
This
is the painting.”

“
Interesting.”

“
Kind
of.”

“
Somewhat explanatory.”

“
She
never explained the paintings to me.”

“
You
know, this could bring her the fame she’s been seeking.”

“
Either that or just plain notoriety.”

Lucas chuckled.

I stared at the
painting. Red wine had soaked into the canvas but had left a
clearly faded splash over the original image and had made dribbles
down most of the right-hand side.

“
What
do you reckon?” Lucas pitched a thumb at me, turning to look at
Dean. “This guy’s a bit of an art critic.”

Dean asked. “Oh yeah?
Is the painting any good?”

“
What? No, I’m not an art critic. I guess it’s good. Any art
that provokes that kind of reaction has to be good. At least, in
some sense.”

Lucas was fingering
his lips, almost as if he was expecting a cigarette to be there. “I
don’t get what’s so offensive.”

That sickening feeling
wasn’t going away.

Dean offered: “She
said something to me about the series of paintings needing to be
viewed together, but this was the centrepiece. I’m not that into
art, so she doesn’t really bother explaining it to me.” He took a
sip of his coffee. “Properly.”

Thoughts of the
exhibition were trying to flood their way back into my head as the
sweet aroma of caffeine swirled around me. I took another desperate
gulp of my coffee unsure of what anybody in this room knew.

“
But,
I’ll tell you about this conversation we had once. Apparently,”
Dean stressed, “she found out about a guy who burnt a cross in his
own church.”

Oh shhhiiit!…
I closed my eyes – just for a moment
– and saw the cross swinging in front of me, flames smoking the
alarms, the burlyish men of the church rushing the stage and
knocking me down as if I had been brandishing a weapon…

I snapped my eyes open
again, wavering on my feet.

Dean continued on.
“Something about him being stood down from church duties, for this
or that reason. I don’t know. Fuck knows how she found out though –
I didn’t even know about it and I’ve lived here most of my
life.”

Lucas smirked. “I’ve
never heard anything about it.”

I folded my arms,
trying to hold the nausea in, coffee cup pressed tightly against my
chest. “Maybe it was in the paper.”

Lucas shrugged. “Well,
there you go then. Who the fuck reads the paper?”

“
Yeah
that’s it.” Dean clicked his fingers. “I remember she went through
this period where she was reading all these papers to find out what
was going on in this town. I think she was looking for
inspiration.”

“
Oh
yeah,” Lucas said. “I remember that. Long hours of going through
the library records. Found something did she?”

“
Yeah. I thought she would have mentioned something to you
about it Lucas.” He winked. “I know how much you love talking about
this shit.”

Lucas shrugged. “Meh,
haven’t really seen her much the last few months. I’ve been pretty
focussed on enhancing my own uniqueness through a variety of jobs –
some volunteer and some paid.”

My head was swirling
with the memory of what I had done, why I had done it; what the
consequences had been…

Lucas pursed his lips.
“I’d say this painting is pretty unique… now.”

Dean laughed. “Hah,
yeah. Wouldn’t it be funny if she kept it that way and decided to
re-exhibit it like that?”

“
Hah,
that’s not a bad idea, Dean. I was almost going to agree with you
about suing for damages – it’s certainly within her rights. But she
would definitely be better off with re-exhibiting.”

I forced some words
out of my mouth. “I don’t know. It seems like a pretty strong
grievance to have your artwork damaged like that.” I tried to
laugh, but it made me feel sick again. “I know I’d be pretty damn
angry if someone trashed something I had spent … so long on.”

“
You
okay, David?” Lucas was looking at me a little concerned. “A bit
pale there.”

“
Yeah
I’m okay. Just not always good with… new apartments.” I tried to
smile. “Good coffee Dean.”

“
Uh
cheers.”

Lucas turned back to
the painting. “Yeah but it’s not like you wouldn’t expect something
like that to happen if you were taking such a strong stance about
something that everyone else who was witnessing it believed in. I
mean to not be prepared for that kind of retaliation, or criticism
of your actions, is kind of, just asking for it.”

“
That’s true,” I said. My breathing was getting heavier. I
wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it together. “I guess,
perhaps Callasandra felt, there was a perfectly valid reason to
speak out … through her paintings; that reason, about the guy and
the … cross.” I took the last gulp of my coffee. “Sometimes when
things are so unjust… but people don’t want to know … about …
feelings.”

“
I’m not against people speaking out,
David. But I am saying that the consequences of speaking out should
never be a surprise. The expectation of speaking out is that you
are speaking
against
. And when you speak
against
, there is always a risk involved. The question
is, are you in control of that risk, or is that risk in control of
you?”

I wasn’t in control. I had
never
been in control. I
had just been the not-long-out-of-school kid Rickerton employed to
help with and eventually take over Youth Group after running a far
better programme that teenagers could actually relate
to.

Dean slapped his hands
together. The echo bounced around the walls of the flat, clanging
against my ears, like voices yelling at me in their confusion,
demanding some kind of explanation:

“
Why
David?”

“
What is wrong with you?”

“
Satan be gone from this soul!”

“
She
could do both! If she won, she’d have both money and vengeance.” He
smiled.

Lucas wasn’t convinced. “Why sue if
vengeance is the goal, if self-satisfaction is the cause, if money
is the outcome as though that was some kind of measure of
self-hood, propriety and the
right
thing to do? All this would do is make her a slave
to something lesser than herself, something to seek only as a
reward or justification system, but would ultimately do nothing for
who she is as an individual. She took a step forward by speaking
out through her artwork and to identify the self that she is, the
strong self that does not need to be pandered to or created by
other people; now she needs to continue that step even further. Why
not re-evaluate and reinvest in the mistake of another – would not
that be the greater revenge? No need to seek revenge outright if
living vicariously through someone else’s righteousness brings it’s
own personal and self-esteem rewards.”

Dean was silent.

I was silent.

We were both looking
at Lucas.

“
Hmmm,” Dean murmured. “Try telling Callasandra
that.”

Lucas sighed. “She’s
definitely a tough nut to crack, she is. But she’ll bounce back.
I’m sure of it.” He pointed at the painting with a contemplative
finger. “This painting is a new thing. It has transformed from its
old self into a whole new piece of artwork. It’s true, she could
sue for damages, but she could also display it again with the side
note of ‘with contributions by Mrs. Stewart’.”