The Gilded Madonna by Garrick Jones (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

“And you got this from a piece of leather?”

“No, I got it from examining who you are, observing you from the moment you walked in the door and the careful way you treated your shoe, as if it was something precious. Besides, it’s new, and you were almost reluctant to pass me the lace. It’s invested with care and …”

“Love?”

“You’re a fortunate man, if that’s the case.”

“But how did you know about my normal shoes?”

He didn’t answer, but stood and told me he was going to get changed, and said I could turn my back while he put on a clean shirt and changed his trousers. I’d noticed the wet stain on his pants when I’d laid him on his bed. He’d peed himself a little during his attack.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m not shy.”

He snorted softly, and then, at the same time as he skinned off his slacks, said, “Neither am I.”

I drew in a sharp breath.

“That’s a bad burn.”

“Two men held me down and branded me, Clyde. Called me a witch and then do you want to know what they did to me?”

“I’d rather not.”

He turned around and took off his skivvies and threw them into a laundry basket in the corner of the room. On each buttock was a burn mark in the shape of a cross with a line through it, like an Ӿ.

“Jesus, Luka, what did you do to deserve this?”

“This brand, on my hip, at the front goes right down between my legs to my anus,” he said, turning around. “I lost my left testicle as a result, Clyde. And do you know who did this to me?”

I shook my head.

“The man who’d been my lover for two years. His ‘mate’ caught us at it behind the showground in Nowra, and my so-called friend said I’d cast a spell on him.”

He looked so miserable at his confession I didn’t know what to do. What I really wanted was to put my arms around him and hold him tight. I didn’t suppose it was that hard for him to see my anguish on his behalf, so he simply hung his head and nodded. I decided standing at a distance was a coward’s act, so I folded my arms around him. There was nothing sexual in it, despite him being stark naked and me fully clothed. He needed comfort. I couldn’t imagine what courage it must have taken to open up to a person you’d only just met about something so horrible. After a minute or two I moved away and then asked if he’d like a cigarette. He smiled and said yes.

“It’s a wonder you could recover from something like that, Luka,” I said as I held out my lighter. “I’ve seen men with far less physical violence inflicted upon them unable to go on functioning like real human beings.”

“There’s hate and then there’s hate, Clyde. I can see in your eyes you understand the difference.”

“Yes, I do. But—”

“I wanted to go down to that pool, at the north side of the beach, where men can meet each other. But then, when I got there, no one had swimming costumes on and I couldn’t bear to take mine off, for fear of being stared at.”

“So what do you do? For …?”

He laughed. “What most men who are married do, or those who are lonely do. Public places at night, in the dark, where no one can see clearly, or when they have the heat so badly between their legs they don’t care about scars.”

“Promise me something, Luka.”

“What’s that?”

“Just for the time being, keep away from any public conveniences at night.”

“Toilets?”

“Yes.”

“Not my sort of thing, Clyde. Parks, down in the surf boat shed late at night, the cemetery at Bronte … that’s about it. There’s a strip club in Taylor Square with private cubicles and no lights. Men who want relief and don’t care who gives it to them.”

I nodded. “You’ll find someone special, Luka. One day.”

“Maybe, Clyde, maybe. But it’s unlikely I’ll meet someone special in any of those sorts of places.”

“I tell you what. We have a collection of mates, our circle of friends we call it. Every so often we have a drinks party or a barbecue on the beach or we go on an outing. If you’d like to meet some new faces, I’d be only too happy to invite you along.”

“As long as I behave?”

“What do you mean?”

“No fortune telling, no gypsy stuff, no shocking people.”

“My friends would probably like that, Luka. They’re not all as boring and stuck up as I appear to be.”

“Clyde Smith. Go home and speak to your man. Ask him if he thinks you’re boring and stuck up.”

I laughed at the idea, because I knew very well that Harry Jones thought I was anything but.

*****

I was sitting in my office with my feet up on the desk when Tom arrived back from wherever he’d been.

“Did you check the messages?” he called out from Harry’s office, where I knew he’d be taking off his hat and coat.

“Yes, I did,” I replied. “Brenda had nothing for us.”

“Back in a sec,” he called out. “Just going to the little boys’ room.”

“Take your time,” I replied, my mind elsewhere.

My mind was elsewhere because I’d been regretting not asking about what Luka had “seen” when he’d been holding my tiepin, and wondering why I hadn’t asked. I’d been manipulated away from the conversation. Subtly, but manipulated, nonetheless. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. I hadn’t sensed anything sinister, but on the way back to the office I hadn’t been able to stop wondering about why he hadn’t told me and why, whatever it was, had precipitated an attack. I still didn’t believe in their world—their spiritual world that is--his own real-life world experiences had been shocking enough, and it would have been easy enough for me to check on his story of assault, so I knew I hadn’t been fed a