ODD BEDFELLOWS

   

  Of course Steve was not going to mention his attendance at the meeting to Doreen. It would be the romantic equivalent to cliff-diving when the tide was out. Why rock a boat that was gliding like a swan on a pond of pure bliss? The problem was his lack of natural guile. Keeping the truth from Doreen was hard work. It involved being constantly on high alert, scanning the angles, looking at potential pitfalls and being ready to throw some extra planking over them. It was lucky he had a good memory: he was discovering it was indispensable for weaving a not so truthful image.

     But what had been so carefully nurtured over a period of weeks was about to be ripped apart in the time it takes to destroy a cardboard box. "What’s this?" Doreen suddenly demanded to know. A note of alarm one might use on tripping over a decomposing corpse rang in her voice.

     "What’s what Sweety?" Steve was still in bed, pleasantly drowsy after a night of good food, wine and romance followed by deep sleep punctuated with bursts of urgent sex.

     "This!" Doreen said, holding the pamphlets aloft that Byron had given him - gingerly, with her index finger and thumb as if it were toxic material "Where did you get these?"

     Steve peeped one eye over the bedclothes to see what was causing the commotion. Oh Christ no! The crumpled literature he'd carelessly left among some books on the wonky table in the middle of the bedroom cum living room of the 'studio apartment'. The memory of it came back at him like a boomerang on re-entry.

     If he’d been a well practised liar, he would have said, "Oh, someone stuck them in my letterbox," but he wasn’t and so he said, "I picked them up at a meeting the other night. A mate dragged me along to it."

     "And you had no choice in the matter? He just dragged you along? What, did he drug you or hypnotise you? You were completely incapable of resistance?"     
       "No of course not. I guess I was just curious."

      "Curious! If you were so curious, why didn’t you just ask me about them. I could have told you everything you wanted to know about this crowd. What do they call themselves?" She moved her pretty face as close as her fear of contamination allowed her to the offending material. "Oh yes, the Eureka Rebels Nationalist Movement. What a ridiculous, juvenile name! A real boys' own adventure.  I could have told you, for example, that they are just neo-Nazis trying to disguise themselves as something else, and not doing a very good job at it. You only need to see their horrible posters that we spend half our time tearing down."

     "So it’s your lot that does that?"

     "Oh, so you know about that? Just been to one of their meetings, eh, out of curiosity. You bastard. You've probably put up a few of those posters yourself. If that's the case, you're no different to them - filthy racists and sexists who stand for everything else that’s hateful in this world."

     "That’s a bit harsh," Steve said, kidding himself that something might be salvaged from this looming train wreck with a touch of lightheartedness.

     "No, I haven’t even begun to get harsh." She stamped her little foot. "What else did they give you? Perhaps a swastika armband? Where have you hidden that?" she said, pushing the books about on the table as if searching for contraband. This was getting a little surreal to Steve. He half expected her to start impersonating John Cleese impersonating a Nazi, goose-stepping about the room with an index finger on her top lip.

     "What’s so funny? What are you smiling at?"

     "You.You’re funny. You’re so funny you’re a fucking joke." She reeled back as if slapped. But nothing would stop him now. Something had given way, barely felt but ominous like a distant rumble in a mine shaft. He was fed up with living a lie, pretending that an invisible no-man’s-land didn’t exist between them, tired of walking on eggshells. "I’ll tell you what else is laughable – your complete detachment from reality. You and your sugar-arsed friends living in in a world you think should exist, not the one that does exist, the world that functions according to certain laws, 'iron-clad laws' according to Adolph Hitler, and he was right about it, especially the laws of human nature which you’ll have about as much chance of changing as you would the law of gravity."
    "Adol .. Adolph Hitler," she could hardly bring herself to say the name. "So you are a Nazi!"
    "Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just open-minded, which is more than could be said about you. And yes, I've gone to the trouble of finding out what old Adolph might have actually said, this most evil man in the entire history of the universe. But you and your type are happy to remain as brainwashed as ever, feeding on a never-ending diet of propaganda to justify a war costing at least fifty million lives that shouldn’t have been fought in the first place. If Hitler hadn’t existed, the Jews would have had to invent him. 
    "You know what you lot are called don’t you?" Before she’d had a chance to respond, he provided the answer: ‘watermelons – green on the outside, red inside. And you have the gall to accuse others of wearing disguises. You lot are the masters of disguise. You're red-hot socialists but don't have the guts to fly your true colours. How's the atmosphere up there on your high moral ground? Pretty thin I'd say, going by the way your brain works. You make me sick. You’re out to save the planet while our very own country gets given away right from under us and fools like you think it’s the noble thing to do."     

     By now, Doreen’s face was red and streaming with tears. Almost blinded by the tears, she was bumping into things in the process of trying to gather her possessions. Several books fell from the table to the floor. She was shaking and dropping things almost as quickly as she’d picked them up. "You’re a monster," she was almost screaming. "I feel sick".’ Certain she now had everything she’d arrived with, she headed for the door. "How could I have been so wrong about you? I never want to see you again."

     "Good for you Sweety, Go and hug a bloody tree." SLAM,went the door.