It's me, Judas.
After a long day at work, Dena was scrolling through her Facebook page,
waiting for her supper to warm up, and listening to her boys' quiet snoring in
the next room. Beyond the usual inspiration pages, quotes and numerous cats,
there was nothing new. "What a waste of time", she thought. She went
over to the "find friends" section. Suddenly, a dear old face was
looking at her, in miniature, from the phone screen. Lisa? Could it be? Really,
why can't it be?
It's been so many years, she thought. And yet, you don't ever forget
your childhood best friend. Not quite. No matter how many years pass. How long
has it been? Say, twelve years… Once
upon a time, everybody knew them together. They were like sisters. For all the
times Lisa's mother told her off just as if they were really sisters. All the
camps they went to together. All the parties, and family trips, and shopping,
and silly fights, and walking around town arm in arm, and doing the craziest
things! All those secrets that only they
knew about each other. First date, first kiss, first boyfriend… And the time when Dena took drugs, and only
Lisa knew. And battered her with her tiny fists to try and make her stop… And
only Dena knew about that pregnancy that didn't end too well… And it was Lisa who stood right by her on her
marriage day… yeah. So many years ago. Always, always together. Till Lisa
started dating that man. Oh, that man. With eyes like burning charcoal.
Flashing green lightning bolts when he got angry. How could eyes be both black
and green? But his were. He even moved
like a big cat – noiselessly. Maybe because he'd been a soldier, and that's
what they teach them. A bragging, boasting, useless man. They call it post
–traumatic something. Yet he didn't seem traumatized. He told people openly
about the time he shot an Afghani boy by mistake. And sliced someone's throat –
not by mistake, but quite intentionally. He had a score of horrendous stories, bombs,
beheadings, amputated limbs, always ready to be produced into the light of day.
Always got people's attention, people are drawn to horrors. The bloodier, the better.
Yet, he escaped the war without as much
as a scratch. He gave Dena a feeling of a toothache, mixed with nausea. To put
it plainly – she was afraid of him… Yet Lisa seemed to have lost her mind over
him, even though she wasn't a little girl by then. She didn't see anything
wrong at all. He carried her away from a party once – just across his back, as
if she had been an injured soldier. She
was drunk, and laughed and laughed, and didn't know, of course, how eerie and
silent the room became when the door closed behind them. Holding her wrists
together, so she couldn't move, as a joke, but way too often. It wasn't just
Dena who was afraid of him. It seemed that Lisa lost all of her friends at
once, but didn't seem to notice. Dena was the last one to let go. After that
time she visited her in that remote town he took her away to. The house looked
more like concentration camp than like a home. Bare walls, bare beds, locks on
every door. The toilet only locked from the outside. Oh, how he laughed like a
hyena, after locking Dena in for half an hour! He said it was a joke. The same
kind of joke as telling her on the phone
that unfortunately, Lisa was no longer with us, every time she called. Then
laughing that blood-chilling laughter again. Telling her she was run over by a
car, or hanged herself, or jumped out of a window. And every time, her heart
stopped. Till she heard her friend giggling in the background. Her tastes
changed. No more movies with popcorn. No more strolling through the mall. They
went camping and hunting. Hunting, for God's sake! They ate road kill and offered it and prayed
to some pagan deities before consuming it. Then that man held a gun to Lisa's
head, and said to Dena, shall I shoot her? And still, Lisa laughed. The laugh
was so unreal, so did not belong in that house, or to the friend she knew all
her life. Dena did not know if the gun was loaded. She barely remembered how
she packed her bag, and promised to call… gave her one last hug and ran nearly
all the way to the train station. And the guilt, oh my… Years and years of
guilt. Why, why was she such a coward? He couldn't shoot anyone through the
phone, so why did she stop calling? Lisa needed her, even though she would
rather die than say so. And eventually, she stopped calling, too. Twelve years
passed since that day.
Dena gently touched the "add friend" icon. Add friend…Lisa.
Add friend?! Oh, the newspeak of today. How absurd. Maybe she just forgot to
grow up. She was too busy, too selfish, and abandoned her friend at the time of
the worst need. She could've told her parents, if not the police. She could've
done so many things. Yet, she just walked out of her life. Betrayed her. Yes.
That's what it's called. Betrayal. A
Judas of a friend, that's what she was… Maybe Lisa didn't want to be saved?
Maybe she really loved him? Oh, sure she did. It's a wonder she's still alive.
It looks like a very old picture. I wonder how she's changed, she
thought. Is she still with him? Does she
have children? She doesn't even know about mine. Doesn't know mom died almost
ten years ago. Doesn't know my dad is completely senile. Doesn't know… What
don't I know about her? Lisa sat down wearily on the couch. It's going to be a
sleepless night.
It turned out that it was a lot more than one sleepless night. It took a
few days for Lisa to notice the friend request, and Dena lost her sleep
altogether.
The conversation was quite strained at first. It's always difficult to
figure out what the person is feeling on the other side of the chat window. It's
them, and yet it's another person entirely. They never communicated in writing
before. Lisa refused to speak on the phone, but wouldn't mind meeting up. She
was coming to town in a couple of weeks. No, she didn't have any children, and
that man was gone. That's what she said – gone. Not exactly clear, is it? Dena
was quietly wiping off tears, when she saw those words. Gone. At least that.
The time left till Lisa's visit was a restless one. She barely gave any
information online, and Dena was beside herself worrying about the meeting.
What if she is angry? What if she is not what she used to be? Will they 'click'
like they used to? Will she trust her again? What happened to the man?
The evening before the meeting Dena spent pacing her living room with a
glass of wine in her hand, until she heard a familiar "clang" of a
Facebook chat. She wrote "See you tomorrow." That's all. Dena suppressed a sigh, and
decided to hold all the questions till they finally meet.
When she parked by the hotel, the wind was picking up. Heavy, lead
–coloured clouds obscured not only the sky, but seemingly, the air itself. She
regretted driving here. All she needed was to be stuck in another snowstorm.
The wind made her ears and teeth ache, her eyes were watering badly by the time
she got into the lobby.
Lisa was standing outside, waiting for her. In the cold. Unrecognizable. If she didn't know her every move, she
would've walked right past her on the street. She was even thinner than in
their youth, tiny, like a sparrow. Dressed as befits a date – stylish. Heels, short
tight skirt. She never used to wear that much make-up, though. It was more than
make-up, it was what they used to call "wall plaster" among
themselves. Now her face was covered in it, half an inch thick. And the glasses
– they were so big, there was no hope of seeing what was hidden behind them.
They walked in, ordered some drinks. Dena smoothed her own clothes
uncomfortably. She had a feeling of talking to a mask. Lisa's lips were barely
moving. The voice was the same, but her face… there was something alien about
it.
-Why don't you take those glasses off? I can't see you properly. – she asked.
-I can't. There is a problem with my eye, - Lisa answered. It was then out of the question to open up her
heart to this stranger, whom she couldn't even see properly. Who answered
almost abruptly, nodded, and didn't say much. They talked about parents,
children, the past. That old abortion
did ruin Lisa's chances of ever becoming a mother (and I'm glad of it, now! –
she added hastily.) Some romances were
mentioned, but never the man with the gait of a cat and the habits of a
gangster. Dena just couldn't master the courage to ask directly, and hints
weren't working. They ordered more drinks. Dena noticed that she pulled the
straw out and put it on the table, and drank very carefully, as if a cocktail
was hot. It's all too strange…
At last, the conversation seemed to trail off. It was like having a
party in a house where someone just died. Dancing around the place where the
coffin stood, not mentioning it and not acknowledging it. They walked outside
together, only to find a blizzard raging. There was no use even trying to get
out of that hotel.
-I think we might have to stay here for the night – Dena suggested. Lisa
remained silent. But at the reception
they said they had only one room left – one with a double bed. "If the
ladies don't mind", they said. Dena looked at that expressionless mask that
used to be her best friend, and said, "We don't mind". When they went
up the elevator, Lisa took her hand. Oh, the familiarity of her touch. Like
finding a piece of her own soul that's been missing. Dena's eyes were stinging badly,
but she didn't dare take her hand away to wipe the tears. "I must tell you
something", - she said. –"I'm going to spend the night on the sofa,
if there is one, or on a chair, and you mustn't be offended. And I won't take
the glasses off. Do you understand?"
Lisa paused with her answer. What on earth could be wrong with her
eyes?! "No, I don't understand. I refuse to. I want to know what happened
to you. I.. I am … really sorry for losing touch with you then."
Dena opened the door with the key they got, and switched on the light,
still pulling Lisa by the hand. Lisa pushed her away, gently, and dimmed the
lights.
-I can tell you my story, - she said. -But it will most likely make you run off
again. It's not for the weak-hearted – she added with something like a laugh,
which seemed to get stuck in her throat.
Dena sat down on the tasteless ottoman, perched awkwardly in an equally
tasteless room. "I won't move from here till I hear it," – she
declared.
The make-up mask turned to her. -You'll regret it, Dena.
-Please. Not just mere curiosity. I was so sad, and sorry, and missed
you so, I swear to God!
Lisa sat next to her, and folded her arms in her lap, like a schoolgirl.
-So, you left me when? When he held the gun to my head, right? Just one
of his diabolical jokes. He would not have shot me then. He still needed me. I
began to wake up a bit then. When the vacuum around me because audible. An
audible silence. No friends, no family, no jobs of fun of any kind. Just him,
and his tricks. I was slowly losing my mind… he made me do things that would've
made another woman lose her sanity. Yes, he was a real, real psychopath. He would
walk me on a leash, naked, back and forth across the garden, on my fours. He
would suspend me by my hair, and draw with fire on my backside. Somehow he got
into his head that I knew who wanted him dead, but wouldn't tell him. He
thought I was communicating with them, trying to get him killed. He thought I
could communicate with spirits. So he
tortured me… again and again. Threatened to kill me more often than said hello.
I was a slave. He took away the phone… so even if you wanted to speak to me, he
would not have let you. And one day – after about 3 years of that – for I have
lost the count of time – as there were no clocks or calendars in that house (
intentionally, of course!) - either somebody really chased him, or he lost it
altogether – but he lost it. He brought acid home. Yes. Acid. So… " – Lisa
paused for breath. Dena was sobbing into her sleeve, trying not to look at the
talking mask. Dear, dear friend…
-Did he throw it at you? Tell me! Where did it go?
"So… - Lisa took up some air. –No, he did not throw it, he tried to
make me drink it. It spilled. On my face…
The lower part of my face is a transplant. There was nothing left. No bones, either. I lived on life support for a year... That's
why all that make-up. To cover up the scars, and the fact that it doesn't quite
move naturally".
Dena raised her hand, and slowly, gently, reached for her cheek. A wave
of warmth was rising somewhere right in the middle of her chest. Lisa caught her
hand, but didn't stop her. Dena caressed her cheek, her forehead, her chin. Waves
of pity. Rocking, swaying on them. The whole room is in motion, here-there,
back-and-forth.
-It's still you, though. Still you. Same girl, just the same. Do you
feel me? –the heat was now spilling through her eyes, burning her, blurring
everything, giving the room a hazy glow.
-Yes… I feel you. Thank you… it's been many years since anybody but
doctors touched me. The pain… I cannot describe it. Liquid fire, for months and
month. I had fifteen surgeries, and there will be more.
-Why more? You look fine! Really!
And before Lisa could stop her, she pulled off the sunglasses in one swift
move. What she saw, however, made her jump back. Half of Lisa's face was burnt,
and instead of the eye, there was something that looked like raw meat at the
butcher's shop. Raw and moving and dropping tears.
Dena jumped back and covered her own face. She just couldn't look at ..
that… again. No, no. Why did she come here? And what will be now? There is
nothing to say, nothing to do… and now she has to sleep with.. that.. in the
same bed. Oh my God, she kept on repeating in her mind. Oh my God. Be a grown
up, for once, for God's sake, she repeated her husband's words. Oh my God, he
is so right. I can't. Just can't.
-I told you! Told you you'd be scared! Disgusted. It is revolting! That's
why I hide as much as possible. Only in the last few months I started daring to
leave the house. Why did you do that? I'd rather you didn't see! I'd rather you
remembered me as I used to look! This is
not me , anyway. The real me nobody could see…
Dena looked, through her fingers. The glasses were back on. She was
rocking gently, not knowing if those were the waves of pity, or horror, or just
plain alcohol. Silence. Silence stretched out like sticky web from the sickly
ottoman to the bed, and from the window to the door, blinking at them with the
red security light. Silence stared from the ceiling, and whistled into the
window, swung by the curtains and peered from under the bed.
-Come. Come here, she said at last, opening her arms. Lisa walked to her
slowly, slowly, not daring to believe it. She turned her face away, as far away
as she could, almost onto her back, and that awkward hug did not break the
silence. The web was growing, expanding, engulfing them both.
When Dena woke up, the room was grey in the first light of dawn of
another snowy day. Lisa was next to her, still holding her hand, with a towel
over her face. I wonder if she always sleeps like that, she thought. Images were slowly floating before her. Cinemas,
malls, parties, school, parents, cookies, trips, hugs, tears. What will it be like when she brings her home?
Home. What will be if… I just can't leave her like
that… leave her like that. Home, she must get home at once.
She got dressed quickly and quietly, thought of
leaving a note, then decided not to. Outside, her eyes felt stung by the wind
and tears. The blizzard was only gaining power, and the car was stuck for good,
at least till the end of the week. Dena abandoned her bag in the car, and walked
away, ran, almost, as fast as a heavy middle-aged woman could move in the snow,
till her lungs seemed to be filled with it, and she did not know where she was
anymore. She looked around, and sat down right into the snow. That eye… Oh my
God.
-Judas, - she said out loud. -You are a Judas. Second time over. I hope
you freeze to death here, miserable traitor.
Slowly, slowly, she got up, and started back, the wind trying to push
her off her feet, losing her hat and gloves in the battle, not feeling her fingers
or toes.
The door was locked. She banged on it, and cried, and whispered sorry
words into the keyhole. I came back… Lisa, oh my God, I'm so sorry. Please.
It's me, Judas. Please…
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