Give a Man a Mask

I was carrying my groceries home in baking heat that had caught me
by surprise when I saw her, and I knew I was meant to have taken this
shortcut, that somehow we were supposed to meet.

She was sitting on a wall with two men. The first sat on the wall
beside her, swinging his legs, as she did. The other man stood in front
of her with his hands on her waist. He leant forward as if to kiss her,
though he appeared old enough to be her father, perhaps even
grandfather, rather than her suitor.

He stopped his lechery when he saw me approaching and he looked at his
shoes. The girl glanced at me, chattered in some language I didn't
recognise. It could even have been English she was talking so fast. She
was dark-skinned and looked about fifteen years old.

The man sitting next to her eyed me from behind his sunglasses as I
passed, passed and then stopped.

I looked at the girl, the words still spilling out of her mouth
nervously until she realised something was wrong. Both of the men were
staring at me now.

I said to the girl: "You can come with me now. If you don't want to be
here."

She just looked at me.

The man on the wall hopped off. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal
muscular, scarred arms - cigarette burns, possibly
self-inflicted.

The father-figure just stared.

I said again to the girl: "If you don't want to be here, you can come
with me now."

"Why don't you fuck off and mind your own business?" the pimp said. He
had a French accent.

I kept looking at the girl until finally she made a noise in the back
of her throat and spat in my face. She started jabbering again while
the men laughed.

"Now fuck off," the pimp said and I walked away, wiping the girl's
phlegm from my face.

My house was just up the road and I could see her from my front door.
The old man was giving the pimp money, I suppose, but I could see the
girl more clearly. She was looking in my direction before the punter
led her away. I can't describe her expression, because she was too far
away, but she was practically dragged out of my sight.

I let myself in, feeling confused as to why I had felt so strongly that
we should meet, only to have her spit on me. Perhaps I was meant to be
humbled by her. I had been complacent of late, enjoying and cultivating
a sense of self-importance. Perhaps she was sent to remind me that I
was just a player in someone else's game.

Whatever. I was tired suddenly and dejected. I set my groceries on the
table beside the door; the only things I unpacked were the air
freshener spray and the incense sticks.

I woke to the sound of furious knocking on the front door. I had been
asleep in my bedroom, but I was still dressed so I had only to regain
my balance and head down the stairs to the front door.

It was the dark-skinned girl. Her eyes were wet with tears and she was
shaking. I looked left and right to see if she had been followed, or if
this was a trap; she begged me to help her.

"Come in," I said and shut the door behind her.

Immediately the smell hit her, and as she wandered into the front room
she saw the girls, six of them, hanging from the ceiling, four from
ropes and two from meat hooks, all naked, all tortured, all dead.

She turned to run, but I was in front of the door and I had pulled the
tragicomedy theatre mask from my bag of groceries.

It sat on my face nicely, secured with elastic, and it was cool against
my skin. Viewing the panicked girl through the eyeholes I felt a sense
of emotional detachment that had been sorely missed when I had taken
the last two girls.