Look to His Like

Chapter Twelve

Author Note: Australian spelling, slang etc. There has been deliberate capitalization of some words.

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong sexual content.
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He was naked, his back to me, his body quivering. Beneath his suspended feet stood a chair. To the side, another chair, with an open magazine on the seat.

As I ran forward, still trying to make a sound through the horrified constriction in my throat, arms outstretched to save Filiberto, several things registered instantaneously. One: the chair beneath his feet was upright; two: the chair was within easy reach of Apollo's feet, yet he seemed to be holding them away from it; three: the magazine wasn't your garden variety Playboy type - in fleeting, barely registered seconds, I saw whips and chains displayed on the pages, people in black leather, and studs and collars.

The message of these three signs didn't add up in my mind before I frantically wrapped my arms around Filiberto's thighs, trying simultaneously to ease his weight on the rope and steer his legs towards the chair. To my shock, I heard a strangled "Leave me alone" erupt hoarsely from above. He struggled in my hold. "Leave me! Oh, God!"

He shuddered and uttered a growling sound, as I moved around to his front side, the better to entreat him to let me help him, if I could get my voice box working. Then I saw it. A bulging erection. Before I could assimilate that sight, semen exploded directly into my face.

I gasped, reeled and spluttered. Then, as I dashed a shaking hand across my face, I understood. I understood how Filiberto really got his rocks off. I understood the reason for the high collars he wore. Understood that he needed to hide bruising. Auto- asphyxiation.

Chronic relief coursed through me. Weak with it, I leaned against Filiberto's suspended body for a second, as his legs found the chair without my bidding. Then my tear-filled gaze fell on the doorway. I froze in renewed horror.

Standing framed there was Nana. Her eyes bulged, her mouth worked, her hand clenched around the handles of the Handbag. With an ear-splitting shriek, she hurtled forward. Consumed only with the determination that she not see the evidence of her grandson's sexual inclinations, I grasped Filiberto tighter and turned my face into his tummy, shielding his lower torso and the semen from her view ...and hoped for the best.

"Nana! Nana!" Filiberto yelled in shock "It's all right! Aargh, NO DON'T!"

I heard a whistle of air, and a thwack. The blow sent me staggering before I registered the pain in my butt. Nana had walloped me with the Handbag! And whatever was in it was hard and heavy. Shocked, I released Filiberto and spun to face her.

She pinned me with her eyes, screeching streams of enraged words, her tongue working frantically, slithering and waving, purple veins popping out on her forehead. Behind me, Filiberto scrambled down from the chair and scuttled past us to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him - leaving me to face the harridan, helpless in her wrath.

I braced myself as she lifted the Handbag. With a whoosh, it swung a wide arc. I ducked. Bad move. The Handbag clunked into my right temple. I cried out, falling to my knees, seeing stars, and feeling as if my head had split open. More shrieking followed. The Handbag swung in the claw, threateningly.

Filiberto burst from the bathroom, dressed only in trousers, the ring of yellowish brown bruising around his neck a bizarre necklace.

"Nana, no!" he yelled. "No, I wasn't killing myself, it's not her fault!"

The old biddy turned on him, screaming streams of words.

"No, she's not a whore! Nana - PLEEEEASE!"

Nana turned on me and I saw the Handbag coming again. I summoned all of my wavering strength and threw up my arm to intercept it. It thudded against my wrist. I grunted in agony. The impact dislodged the Handbag from the claw. It sailed slowly into the air, turning leisurely rotations, until the hook on the ceiling halted its soaring progress. The Handbag caught there and swung for a few seconds. Then, with a dreadful sustained riiip, it came loose.

Horrified, we watched as the Handbag tumbled silently through space. We flinched as it landed with a heavy crash and clatter onto marble tile. Through a rent in the upholstery tumbled its contents ...rosary beads, a Daily Missal, a large photo frame holding a sepia print, a small tin container ....and amidst this debris, a large clay urn, now split into large chunks, spewing forth a grey, powdery substance.

Nana shrieked and fell on the mess. As she scrabbled with the grey dust, wailing and babbling, Filiberto ran forward, his face pale with shock.

"Nonno! It's Nonno's ashes!"

I somehow managed to drag myself to my knees, as Filiberto joined Nana in attempts to scrape up the mess. Before I could move a centimetre towards them, anxious to help, Nana's body gave a jerk and stiffened. As Filiberto screamed "Nana!" she convulsed, uttering terrible keening "Uh, uh, uh" sounds. The tension left her body...and she plopped face down, into her husband's ashes.

Filiberto screamed, "Call an ambulance!" before grabbing Nana and trying to lift her. Dread providing the impetus to move, I dragged myself to my feet and looked around the room, spying with my spinning vision a telephone on Filiberto's nightstand. As I placed the frantic call, Filiberto dragged his grandmother's still body onto his lap, burying his face into her neck. As he rocked back and forth, he sobbed brokenly "Nana, my Nana. Oh, what have I done!"

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The hospital staff turned off Nana's life support machine at 11am the next morning. She died a few minutes later.

At Filiberto's urging, I had stayed with him during Nana's overnight struggle for life, kept wakeful by endless cups of terrible but strong coffee. I was glad to be with him, for it seemed Filiberto had no relatives in Australia, and no close friends except his parish priest, Father Dennis. After Nana had passed, we retreated to the hospital cafeteria. There, Filiberto slumped opposite me over a hot chocolate, his features sagging with weariness and sorrow.

"I can't believe she's gone," he said, tears in his eyes. "Is it true it wasn't my fault?" he asked anxiously.

"That's what the doctor said, Apollo," I assured him for what must have been the tenth time. "It wasn't her heart. It was the tumour. She suffered a seizure from the pressure on her brain, then a stroke. It could have happened any time." I leaned forward and placed a hand on his. "And face it, Apollo. Your Nana was a tough old bird. It would have taken more than - what happened in your room - to kill her."

"That's true," said Filiberto, relieved. His shadowed eyes went to my temple. "I'm sorry she hit you. She was clearly off her rocker - she either thought you were forcing me into marriage and that the only way out I could see was killing myself, or that you were doing something perverted to me when she came into the room. Are you okay?"

In truth, my head ached abominably, however an X-Ray during the night had shown no sign of damage other than bruising. I now sported a mammoth lump on the side of my head the size of an emu's egg. My wrist also ached, and my butt smarted, but no significant damage had been done there either.

Filiberto looked uncomfortable and redness swamped his cheeks. "I'm also sorry about - you know."

I deliberately pretended an interest in my coffee. "Don't worry about it," I said casually. Not for the first time, I was glad I had lived in Darlinghurst for so long as to become exposed to the seamier side of human sexuality.

After a few minutes had passed, I looked up. No longer embarrassed, Filiberto now seemed on the brink of saying something important. As he clearly struggled to put the words together, I patted his hand again. "What is it?"

He looked up again, hunching his shoulders in awkwardness. "I guess - you know - I'm wondering - there's no need for me to get married anymore is there?"

I swallowed a smile. "I guess not," I said matching his seriousness. Filiberto blew out a relieved gust of air.

"You don't mind? I mean - I guess I kind of like you, so if you want, we could date properly - ."

"No, no," I said hurriedly. "To tell the truth, Apollo, I think I have been put off by marriage and men for the rest of my life! I just want to go home and live happily ever after with my cat!"

"You're not going to keep looking for a husband?"

"I doubt it," I said. "I think I have been experiencing this week what happens when the Natural Order is disrupted - complete and utter Chaos!"

Filiberto looked puzzled at that - and no wonder: in my lucid moments I'd too find such explanations utter claptrap. His gaze went past me and lit up. "There's Father Dennis!" As he waved eagerly, I realised I had been forgotten.

I reached for my purse and stood up.

"I might leave you, I guess," I murmured. Apollo nodded, not looking at me, eagerly watching the advance of the priest. "Apollo -."

The emotive tone of my voice drew his attention. He looked enquiring.

"Apollo, take care, won't you?" I blurted out. "If that chair had fallen --."

He smiled softly and with gratitude. "I will," he said. "Thanks, Jo. You're quite something, you know that?"

I waved a hand dismissively, and waited while Father Dennis - a short grey-haired man with an amiable countenance - came alongside us. Filiberto leapt to his feet and pulled out another chair. We all exchanged a few murmured pleasantries before I left them sitting close to each other with clasped hands, heads inclined in intense consultation.

During half the taxi journey home, I felt only blessed relief. The shock to force me off the unnatural path I had laid for myself had surely been provided. Now, Chaos would retreat and my life would return to normal. I even felt that sweet lethargy which comes with imminent, peaceful sleep.

Yet, crossing the Harbour Bridge, my gaze went to the row of windows high up in the Chifley Square building - the offices of Gilden Hawke. I thought of being someone important and powerful in that most important and powerful organisation of all. I acknowledged how thrilled my parents would be, and how gratifying would be the knowledge arising from the promotion that out of years of struggle had emerged this triumphant victory, not only for myself, but for my gender. And I remembered Steve ...and in remembering Steve, I thought of Leanne. Then, I knew I couldn't stop striving for those pinnacles of worldly and personal success, no matter what it took.

I cranked the progress of Natural Order into reverse, and plunged once more into Chaos.

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Further Author's Note: auto-asphyxiation (or, auto-eroticism) is a method of self-strangulation used to enhance sexual orgasm.