Nowhere People (10 page)

Rener ties the piece of rubber tight around her arm, runs the alcohol-dampened cotton wool over the bend of her elbow where she is going to make the puncture, takes the syringe, uncovers the needle, examines where the veins are, taps the surface, draws the blood, shows the filled syringe to Paulo. ‘Ten millilitres, no more, no less.’ Undoes the tourniquet, injects the blood into her own buttock. ‘There’s nothing like it, I promise you. It’s the secret of my vitality … It’ll reinvigorate you, too, you’ll see,’ she says, putting the empty syringe to one side and taking another from the packet. She takes the syringe from the sealed packaging. ‘Shall we?’ she asks, excitedly. Paulo had never heard of auto-haemotherapy, but Rener did not have to say much to convince him and for him to ask her to apply the practice to him. She said that she always plans to draw and re-inject her own blood on the day before an appropriation (that is the convenient word she uses to describe the break-in), because it gives her physical courage. He wasn’t sure whether she had meant to say
physical courage
precisely, but that was how he understood it and it seemed more than appropriate. The blood in the muscle acts as though it were a foreign body, activating the immunological system controlled by the bone marrow, that was all she gave as her explanation. ‘I haven’t needed a doctor since,’ she assured him. Paulo doesn’t have a problem with the sight of his own blood, getting shot like that stirred something up in him that is not visible, something he is still trying to understand. One second, under exceptional psychological pressure, and a whole life in all its particularities changes forever, accelerates towards something that has not yet happened. He did not even know what day it was when he woke up having spent the early hours tossing and turning in Rener’s bed unable to sleep, unwilling to wake her. The needle pierces his skin, it’s the second time, the blood warms his body as it enters. Rener has been his guide during these days in which he hasn’t left her apartment, even if being guided was not what he needed right
now.

Ten-thirty at night, the lamb doner kebab that she brought back from her meeting with the other six who would be going with them tomorrow hasn’t gone down too well. Paulo’s stomach is hurting more than his leg. He still hasn’t been able to understand why she thought it best for him not to come to the preparatory meeting. ‘The less involved you become, the better’
–
it sounded like an excuse. He isn’t going to go back to sleep (which has nothing to do with the imminent occupation). Not sleeping, not getting out of bed, just watching the bedroom window panes turning lighter and darker, just listening to the sounds from the endless blocks and towers that make up the council estates of Elephant and Castle and trying to ignore the voices of its children, the crows’ cawing, the sounds of the plastic bags brushing against one another as the person carrying them hurries to escape the rain that will be here soon: all this is part of the rules of the boring new game, defying him to ruin everything. And wide awake, watching her sleep, he
does.

Twenty-two hours later, at the exact moment that Rener sits down at the table with the two glasses of cider saying that this is her favourite brand of the drink, one of the white girls at the next table, one of the three girls who look Swedish, gets up, excitedly gives a few little squeals and shows her perfect breasts to the two young black men who are at the table with her, daring them to touch at least one of them as she sways them from side to side to display their natural opulence, and the two young men just laugh, and she gives another few little shrieks as she looks quickly around to check whether she really is drawing attention to herself and proving that these wonders, that was the word she used, talking loudly, didn’t have a single millilitre of silicon in them, and the customers at the other tables applaud, and Paulo and Rener applaud. ‘Brixton. I love this place!’ Rener exclaims. Paulo downs the cider in one. It’s getting dark outside, which makes no difference, the bar is curtained anyway, the curtains are blue velvet, the DJ who is going to be playing from nine-thirty arrives with his case of records, Rener insists on pointing so that Paulo will see him, excited fascination doesn’t suit her. Everyone greets him, DJs and bartenders, these guys rule, whether in Brixton or in the City, especially on nights like this, Thursday nights, the hottest nights of the week, the police are focusing on the major demos, the same attention they will give them on Fridays and Saturdays, residential areas are almost totally abandoned. The DJ who has been working the decks brings the track to an end, a moment of silence from the speakers, and ‘Last Night a DJ Saved my Life’ bursts on. Paulo stands up saying he’s going to get a beer, asks if she wants another cider, Rener says she’ll stick with just the one she’s drinking now, Paulo walks over to the bar, asks for a beer, looks over at the table where Rener is sitting, an indescribable fluttering of dark skin in the darkness, she’s even more beautiful than on the night they first met. All pussy’s the same, Passo Fundo used to say, older men say that, too, but it’s not true. Rener had never surrendered her pussy to him, Paulo had not spoken to Passo Fundo again, Paulo has to go to the flat in Willesden Green to pick up his things. Rener plays with her hair and waves from a distance without any shyness, she’s even more beautiful than she was five minutes ago. Rener lives a perfect radicalism, Alice in a state of wonder, enjoying every last drop in the dropper, as she herself says when she’s impatient, Paulo must not have understood the subliminal meaning correctly, she’s four years and a few months older than him. The bartender puts the large glass of beer down on the counter, one pound thirty. Paulo leaves twenty pence as a tip, he returns to the table, she takes his hand, the hand that is holding the glass. ‘You can’t get drunk’, that is the only thing she says, the kiss between them fits, perhaps it’s her mouth, it’s fleshy; she says that the best kind of kiss is a kiss between two men,
Where is this going?
he thinks, then she takes a mini-torch from her trouser pocket and explains what he is going to have to do: as he’s the first-timer in the group he will be in charge of the simplest task. Paulo says nothing, puts down the glass, takes the torch. She goes on: he’ll be waiting with the torch on a corner two blocks from the mansion they’re going to occupy, it’s one of the two places the police might come from if they are called, and she takes a wristwatch from her jacket pocket, Paulo’s going to need a watch. The watch is synchronised with the watches of the other six and her own, she tells him to put it on and see if it feels comfortable on his wrist; Paulo obeys. It’s tight, he doesn’t say anything, he can adjust the strap later, he takes off the watch, holds it in his left hand. They will drop him a three-minute walk from the corner, he will need to arrive there at ten-fifteen, exactly the time when the others will be reaching their positions, and she and the other two who are also going in to break the house’s padlocks and door-locks will jump the wall, one will open the front gate and she and the other will deal with the back door to the house, back doors are always easier to get into. It will take them less than five minutes to change the lock; if Paulo spots a car approaching he will turn the torch on and off twice, if it’s a police car he will turn the light on and keep it on while he walks off at a right angle to the street, the others will do the rest. Paulo picks up his glass of beer in his right hand, he says he has understood what she has said clearly and that he could be more useful, she says he’s already doing a lot and that he shouldn’t kid himself, often it’s the ones keeping watch who are the first to be taken, mostly when the police arrive with two or more vehicles, but that isn’t going to happen, it’s all going to work out fine, the house has been empty a long time. And the DJ puts on something by Soul II Soul, Rener asks Paulo to dance, he accepts, a car will come and fetch them, less than forty minutes from now; he holds the watch in his left hand and notices what a good dancer she
is.

Contrary to what Paulo had assumed (Rener only operated in south London), they went straight to Hampstead, in the north of the city, the millionaires’ part of town. On the way, Rener told him about the building’s location and the peculiarities of its owner
–
one of those modern-day financial gangsters
–
so that Paulo could understand the real reason for the action. When they meet up with the others they get the bad news. One of them didn’t show. ‘We’re not going to cancel,’ said Rener. The look-out plans had to be re-done, the places rearranged, apart from Paulo’s, she just asked him to be as alert as possible and gave him a bigger torch than the previous one, one that could be seen from far away (the guy who didn’t show up was to have been the in-between person in Paulo’s group; now there would no longer be anybody positioned between him and the person at the front gate ready to go in, to warn the others or assist them in their escape, should anything go wrong). She warned him that having a larger torch could get him into trouble more easily. He answered that’s fine. This happened a few minutes ago; now Paulo is walking towards the corner where he will have to wait. He wasn’t able to loosen the watch strap any further because it was already at its widest. Rener asked him not to take the watch off his wrist. ‘People who keep taking a watch out of their pocket and putting it back again attract suspicion and we don’t want that, do we?’ Paulo keeps the watch in his pocket anyway. He reaches the corner, looks towards the house that Rener and the others will be going into, he takes the watch from his pocket, looks at it. ‘Excuse me, young man, have you got the time?’ He hears the voice and turns. It’s a lady with a caramel and white cocker spaniel sitting without a lead, his muzzle in the air beside her. Where did she spring from? How could he not have seen her coming? ‘Sure … ’ He looks again at the watch, getting over the surprise and already trying to find the words for the numbers in English in order to give her the information. ‘Ten-sixteen,’ without looking her in the eye. ‘Thank you very much,’ she says. ‘Welcome,’ he says. ‘Buster can’t abide using his lead any more, but he’s devastated if I don’t carry it with me when we go for our walk,’ and she indicates the lead in her hand. Paulo looks at the dog, trying to be attentive. ‘He’s a very beautiful dog.’ Evasively, ‘Have a good night.’ ‘Where are you from?’ she asks. He looks back towards the house. ‘I’m from Portugal,’ he says, making something up because he feels that in such situations being thought European might be beneficial. ‘I don’t know anything about Portugal, but I do like the Portuguese people,’ she says, and adds, ‘if I were from Portugal I’d never end up in England.’ The dog stares at Paulo. ‘It’s very sunny there, isn’t it?’ Paulo says nothing. The dog runs off in the opposite direction to the house. The woman is impassive. ‘Don’t worry, Buster knows how to take care of himself.’ Paulo puts the watch back in his pocket. ‘Is the strap broken?’ she asks. Still he says nothing. ‘Talk to me.’ There’s a certain cadence to her speech that hypnotises him and makes him unable to imagine how he might free himself of her. ‘Addie, that’s my name. You don’t need to tell me yours.’ Now where the hell has that dog gone? ‘You’re with the gang who are going to go into that mansion down there aren’t you? The one owned by that Egyptian with the bogus company? Large torches always give squatters away,’ she goes on. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to start screaming for help, asking someone to call the police. Other people have tried to get in there before and haven’t managed it, you know. There were hired security guards, that was less than a month ago … I think the owner slacked on the security, he must have thought: lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. But I know it does, and not only twice. Do you agree?’ Paulo has no choice but to listen to her, he takes the watch out of his pocket, looks at it again: ten twenty-two. They must have gone in by now. ‘Promise me you’ll be good neighbours,’ she says. ‘I promise,’ Paulo says despite himself. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice?’ she asks. ‘I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I feel I have to tell you this.’ Paulo nods, his eyes never leaving the house as he waits for some kind of signal. ‘London isn’t the place for you. It might seem as though it is, young people from all over the world come here thinking it is, the coolest place in the world, but I can see it isn’t. You’re torn, and being torn is not good. What I mean is: go back to Portugal and sort out whatever needs sorting out there, before it’s too late.’ Paulo sees the signal from the torch, responds with his. ‘Thanks for the chat, young man. I must go and see what Buster has been up to. I hope to see you round here again,’ and she walks away. Paulo doesn’t know what to say. Rener is coming towards him. Paulo walks over to her and, when he is closer, he sees the concern in her expression. ‘What happened, Paulo? We’ve been waiting for you for nearly half an hour.’ Paulo takes the watch out of his pocket: ten forty-four. He can’t understand what has happened. ‘I met a lady, she had a dog with her … ’ Rener doesn’t wait for him to finish. ‘A lady with a dog? That’s so unlikely.’ Paulo hands back the torch and the watch. ‘You don’t want to keep the watch?’ she asks. ‘No, thank you. I’m going to Willesden Green, to sort out my things.’ She takes his hand. ‘Stay at my place … ’ He looks annoyed. ‘Or stay here, there’s going to be plenty of space.’ He looks in the direction the lady and her dog went in. ‘I’m going to need your tools, Rener.’ Paulo lets go of her hand. ‘Whenever you need them,
brésilien
.’ He considers asking if it’s ok with her, his leaving now, but Rener who has been serious gives a broad smile and calls him ‘one lucky son of a bitch’. He returns her smile and doesn’t tell her that his stomach and his leg have stopped hurting.