[Nettime-bold] Mr Green (Part1)

[<info@furtherfield.org>]

BlankHi everyone - I thought it fun to declare to the world one of many
short stories. This one is called Mr.Green, I won't spoil it by telling you
what it is about. It is in 3 parts

Mr Green (Part1)



By Marc Garrett


Love is deeper than gender

Love is further reaching than touch

It stretches inside to kiss the heart

Nursing torment created by our own inadequate sensibilities



Mr Dante sits in front of the curious stranger whilst spinning
on his swivel chair and chewing at a Paper mate pen. His arm reaches over
the desk pressing the tape recorder’s pause button. He frowns collecting a
few silent thoughts and then scribbles secretively in his note pad.

John Green is seated opposite the interrogator with fingers
twiddling nervously under the table. He tries to get more comfortable on the
Spartan, wooden chair, as his body aches. His cuts and wounds have now
stopped bleeding since being tended to by the Police station’s resident
Doctor. He glances at the photographs of himself laid out on the table’s
surface that had been taken earlier by police when he was found unconscious.
He winces at the sight of his own body, naked and cut up, shuddering as he
observes that there is more blood on his vulnerable frame than there is bare
flesh. He can feel the scars on his body sting.

Mr Dante is not happy. They have both been fighting it out in
this bleak room for two hours now. The frightened victim looks around
glancing at the yellow and brown smoke-stained ceiling. The walls seem to
have been recently repainted Magnolia. The officer begins searching for
something around his person ‘where’s that bloody handkerchief’ he moans, as
if the individual in front of him had stolen it.

‘Shouldn’t there be another officer present in the room?’ John
asks tentatively. The plain clothed officer halts his search and smiles. ‘We
are a busy force lad. And besides you’re not important enough... forget all
that nonsense that you’ve seen on television, this is reality. Social
realism my ass.’ Dante laughs, ‘oops, touchy subject that, isn’t it Mr
Green?’ ‘What is?’ John answers. ‘Your bloody ass.’ John does not respond,
knowing that whatever he says will condemn him.

The officer writes a few more lines in his pad. The harsh
brightness from the single light shines upon his balding head. He sips up
the last dregs of his cold coffee whilst puffing at his cigarette, and then
squashes the filter into an ashtray. With the same hand he pokes an index
finger into one of his nostrils and pulls out a large green bogey and places
it underneath the table. The captive begins to feel a nagging itch in his
own nose, but refrains from mocking the incident before him. He is scared;
his hands rest on his knees as he plays out the submissive role of a guilty
schoolboy. Mr Dante slowly strokes his hand upwardly under the table’s
surface, feeling all the hardened notches placed by many other officers over
the years.

‘Ok, Mr Green... I haven’t got the time or the inclination to
dwell on your perversions. So let’s have a nice easy time and we can both
get some sleep tonight. You’ve refrained from informing me anything that is
useful, it’s time for you to tell me what happened.’

Dante clicks the record button on and leans back into the comfy,
swivel chair as the tape machine whirrs.

‘So John Green,’ Dante lights himself another cigarette ‘tell me
exactly what happened so we can have you write out a clear and uncomplicated
statement’.

‘I’m sorry, but I cannot tell you,’ answers John. ‘Now we’ve
been here before Mr Green and I’m getting extremely bored and very tired.
And you are definitely going to be sentenced if you keep on with-holding
evidence from me.’ Dante’s pen taps slowly and menacingly on the table.

Tap.... Tap...tap...

John sits awkwardly, looking down at the floor, away from the
interrogator’s gaze.

‘Don’t ignore me Mr Green I’m not playing games. I need you to tell me the
truth. That is all I am asking from you, just the truth. What can be more
simple than that?’

‘It isn’t that simple Mr Dante, you’re not ready for it.’

‘Try me...’

‘I need some space and time before I can say anything. So I can figure out
how to say it, it isn’t easy.’

‘We have no time to give you Mr Green. There is no way out of this situation
unless you give me the information that you seem to be deliberately hiding
from me. So be a good citizen and help us to help you. Look at the images.’
Dante picks up one of the photographs and holds it up for John to see. ‘What
happened to you here, is not healthy by any stretch of the imagination, you’
ve got to realise that. I want to get the bastard or bastards that did this
damage to you. You are either scared that whoever attacked you will hurt or
kill you next time you meet, or you are hiding a perversion which as you
know is outlawed in any sane and reasonable city or country. So which is it
Mr Green, perversion or fear of losing your life? Either way we can help
you.’ Mr Dante stubs out his cigarette and places the photograph on the
table in front of John.

John squirms inside; knowing that if he did tell the truth, he
would be labelled as depraved, an insane individual or an obsessive liar. He
precariously picks at one of his scars on his leg, drawing blood. He feels
it slowly trickling down his shin and then into his sock. A silence
dominates the room as John realises that he has to say something quick. May
be he should tell the truth; get the whole thing over and done with. Nothing
can be worse than this unbearable, psychological torture, surely. He looks
up at Mr Dante, acknowledging that the officer knows that this is the moment
of possible truth or a bloody good answer anyway, but which? Truth or lie?

‘I’m waiting Mr Green...’

‘Can I have a coffee?’ Asks John.

‘Will you tell all?’ Asks Mr Dante.

‘Yes, yes I will.’ John answers.

Mr Dante gets up and walks over to the door, opens it and
shouts, ‘could someone get us two coffee’s please!’ An officer from outside
immediately responds, ‘will do governor,’ bringing two hot coffees. John
takes one of the hot plastic, receptacles from Mr Dante. The heat from the
hot coffee cup burns his fingers and john spills half of it onto the table
and the floor. Suddenly John begins to cries as the confusion and hurt
becomes all too overwhelming. Mr Dante walks back to the door and then
shouts ‘and some tissues please.’ The same officer hands a box of men’s
tissues to Mr Dante; he places the box onto the table. John does not notice
as his hands try to cover the tears on his face.

‘I’m sorry, it’s all too painful.’ John bawls. ‘There’s nothing
wrong with letting it all out boy. Go on let it out, yes that’s it let the
pain out lad.’ Says Mr Dante resting his hand on the distraught victim’s
sore shoulders. He then goes back to his own seat and pulls out a couple of
cigarettes. ‘Have one of these I think you need one.’ He lights up two
cigarettes and hands one over, John takes one and inhales, in between
sniffing and sobbing.

‘You will never know what kind of torture I’ve been through Mr
Dante.’ ‘You’re probably right Mr Green, but never forget that everyone has
experienced pain in some form.’ ‘That’s not very comforting Mr Dante.’ ‘It’s
not a skill that I’m adept in, sorry.’ Mr Dante sips at some more coffee,
‘however I am able to recognise and empathise with another individual’s hurt
Mr Green. I’m not that cold, a tad moody but not cold hearted.’ ‘I’m glad,’
answers John still sobbing, soaking up his tears with an abundant amount of
tissues.’

‘I must say, I haven’t seen anyone cry like this for a long
time, not since...’ Mr Dante suddenly stops. A moment, a memory, and a place
of infliction that until today and was tucked away. It has instantly found
its way back to the here and now. It is he now, who suddenly feels
vulnerable and not quite his usual self. A sensation begins to overcome him,
a feeling so disabling and traumatic, he can’t think of anything else to
say. He is lost for words and that reliable mask of being armoured which has
always protected him has abruptly vanished in seconds. His mind shifts back
to a time to when he was much younger. Mr Dante’s headspace is now some
place else. John so deeply involved in his own torment does not notice Mr
Dante’s change, hands still covering his face.

Mr Dante’s focuses on an image of himself in a room alone in his
bedroom, it is late evening and his parents are not in the house. There is
no baby sitter or child minder to look after him. The child of six sobs
experiencing the deep chasm that loneliness gives. He is in his bed under
the covers, staring into the darkness feeling the void. He closes his eyes
and sees the blackness, the emptiness inside his head. Is this what it is
like when you die? He asks himself. He cries so loud that his voice
reverberates around the room. Out of the darkness a figure slowly appears.
He stops crying and shudders caught in the crux of fear as the mysterious
figure steps closer towards him. He suddenly feels a warm sensation seep
into him as if a godly soul or spirit entered into his troubled heart and
gave it a tender stroke. He relaxes and smiles realising that the stranger
is not a threat as the dark figure strokes his head, comforting him.

Mr Dante’s mind swiftly switches back to the situation presently
at hand. He takes a large swig of coffee and turns the tape over, pressing
the record button on once more. He is now ready, back in sync to deal with
the sobbing person in front of him. ‘It’s time for some answers Mr Green,’
utters Mr Dante.

‘Yes. Of course,’ says John, wiping his face dry with the
remaining tissues.

John pauses for space and then says, ‘I had sex with someone in
the woods.’ ‘Yes, that’s better, we like admissions,’ answers Mr Dante in a
sharp tone. John’s fingernails dig into his palms as he can feel himself
getting deeper into trouble.

Mr Dante picks up a clipboard and begins to read a written
account of how he was found. ‘You were found naked and unconscious in the
woods, bruised and cut up badly at 2.30 am this morning. Can you explain to
me how you came to be so brutally beaten up?’ Asks Mr Dante. ‘It all got out
of hand. I met this guy who seemed friendly and safe at the time in a bar.
After a chat we went to the woods for a bit of fun and things got nasty.’
‘Ok, so we now know that you are a practising homosexual. It’s a good job
that we are here to protect all of our citizens no matter what their ill
informed agendas are isn’t it Mr Green?’

‘Yes.’ John sheepishly answers.

‘So who was this violent person?’ Asks Mr Dante.

‘I can’t tell you, we had only both just met each other for the
first time last night.’ John answers, trying to sound convincing.

‘It sounds to me as if you were Cottaging, you know that this
kind of activity is illegal don’t you Mr Green?’

‘It was my first time Mr Dante, honest. I had no intention of
doing such a thing. I was curious.’ Retorts John.

The interrogator scribbles a few words in his pad and then looks
up at the transgressor. He notices the prominent, dark rings under the young
man’s blood-shot eyes, the paleness of his skin and unwashed hair. John is
quiet. He looks down, scanning a pan of his sweaty hands. He keeps his head
down, not wanting to look into the eyes of the man seated opposite.

‘Were you both naked when this happened?’ Asks Mr Dante.

‘Just me.’ John answers.

‘Did he ask you to take all of your clothes off?’

‘He undressed me, I just went with the flow.’

‘Didn’t you feel scared or worried that something might happen?’

‘The moment seemed right, I thought that it was exciting and wor
th the risk.’

‘Was it worth the risk?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think that you are bullshitting me!’ Shouts Mr Dante.

The officer paces slowly around the room, methodically waving
his Paper mate pen in the air like a conductor. ‘You are going to tell me
right now what was really going on between you and that unnamed individual.
May be there were more with you, a whole gang of the bloody shirt lifters.’

‘You’re just getting excited now, I’ve told you the truth Mr
Dante.’ Answers John.

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that you snivelling bummed up little toad of
a nobody.’

Mr Dante swiftly switches off the tape recorder.

‘If you want to leave this place intact and with your perverse scars mended.
If you want to go back to what you call a normal life, without my officers
trailing you everywhere. You better pull yourself together and take
responsibility for your actions by telling me exactly what happened earlier
this morning.

Mr Dante turns the tape recorder back on and waits silently for
an answer from Mr Green.

‘This isn’t right, I should not be here, you can’t treat me like
this.’ Moans John walking over to the door.

‘You’re not going anywhere Mr Green, sit back down!’ Mr Dante
Points at the chair.

John sits back down.

‘There’s a good boy.’

(If you are keen to read another story -
<http://www.furtherfield.org/mgarrett/shit.htm>)

i'll post the next part tomorrow, i'll soon have some of my stories on a web
site soon when i'm not too busy doing all the other bloody things, like
creating other works, Sheesh!





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