Stephen Livingstone 2,000 words

87 New Devonshire Sq,

Salford, Gtr Manchester
M74BH
07516421921
Steliv@hotmail.com

MAITU

Stephen Livingstone

HAJO VOIGT BLEW HIS NOSE and a tooth fell out. It sat on

his tongue behind his startled expression: another tooth. He

retrieved the tooth with his handkerchief and placed it in his
pocket, for no other reason than politeness. He tongued the
fresh gap between his front teeth, pondering which direction to
take next; before him a birch hollow, to either side, the woods
thickened with alder and redwood, waterholes shimmered under the
beating sun. It all looked so unfamiliar in the daylight.

"Cochon, which way did you say to the bogs?" Hajo patted
his pockets, in search of his compass. He turned, and seeing he
was alone, cursed under his breath, before retracing his steps

in search of Cochon. Why did he bring Cochon along? The idiot.

His meth addiction had robbed him of his sense of pleasure. Hajo
His meth addiction had robbed him of his sense of pleasure. Hajo
Maitu 1

liked that, a new creature, an emotional eunuch. It made him

dependable in a way. Or was it only pity? Did he really believe

she could help him?

He staggered uphill as far back as the snag tree they had

passed only moments earlier. Breathless, he wiped the sweat from
his brow and looked about for sight of Cochon's red chequered
shirt.

"Cochon! Cochon!"

No response. Only the hum and vibrancy of insect life. He

must have returned to the hotel not so dependable after all.

Hajo stood a moment in indecision, wondering whether to return
himself. Sweat clamped his shirt to his large frame; flies
assailed his ears and eyes with almost menacing intent, and
without Cochon he wasn't sure of the way. But his body was
growing weaker each day; he felt he was running out of time so
he pressed on alone.

On his return to the birch hollow, Hajo spotted a flash of

red through a clearing and, beating his way through the
undergrowth with his cane; he climbed a small mount, where to
his relief he found Cochon. "I thought you had deserted me, you
fool!" He laughed, shaking Cochon's neck with a mock grasp, "I
fool!" He laughed, shaking Cochon's neck with a mock grasp, "I 2
Maitu

didn't take you for a piker. Stay close, it's a long way back."

Cochon, unresponsive, stood as if rooted; his nostrils

dilated, breathing fiery and staggered. Hajo could see something
was wrong in his sunken, anaemic eyes. He followed his gaze to a
red doe drinking from a waterhole at the foot of the mount.
After quenching her thirst, she shook her neck and gazed up at
the two men. Cochon sprang to life, swiping Hajo's cane he
marched towards the doe with purpose, screaming bloody
obscenities. Seeing her would-be assailant, the doe scampered
forth in fright, before bolting away into the woods. Cochon
returned, and throwing the cane to the ground in a show of
anger, said: "When you saw the Mother, was she crying? Think!"

"I don't think so," said Hajo, avoiding Cochon's eyes. "No,
I'm certain she wasn't. What of it anyway? What's happened?"

Cochon grinned, showing his wide, toothless junky mouth

and, looking to Hajo knowingly, said: "Well, before you got
here, that doe walked right up to me. Real graceful. Just where
you're standing there. Slowly, as I put out my hand; she knelt
on her front legs and looking up at me, like this. She cried

like a woman, Hajo. A human woman. I never felt such a rush!"

"And your first thought was to run down there and bash her
 "And your first thought was to run down there and bash her3
Maitu

with a cane? You profane dog! A most holy, and fatidical

messenger, driven away like a mangy cur! Oh, I should never have
brought you along Cochon. That was a mistake I'll live to
regret!" Hajo lifted his cane and motioned to strike out at him.

Seeing Cochon wince, he resisted the urge; his expression

relaxed a little. "In any case, it means we're getting close. At
least now you've witnessed something of what I have. Maitu is
merciful, she'll receive and heal you but we must find her
before sundown."

"It's not too far, we head northwest, we'll come to an old

frame-house, it's about a kilometre from there." Cochon doused
his head with water from his flask and, drinking of it greedily,
smacked his lips, eyes wide-open and smiling: "So it was all
true. Maitu is really gonna heal me, isn't she?"

And so, the two men resumed their journey to the tourbieres
of Caniveau-Pierre.

****************************
 Maitu 4

ON THE OUTSKIRTS of Poitou-Charentes, a small, vibrant

fishing village overlooks the Bassin d'Arcachon and, located on
its southerly decline as the terrain retreats to hilly
woodlands there stands a Merovingian church; historically, the
purlieu of the penitential Order of Servites.

The progress of ages, since recast the church as a

functioning hotel: Hotel Mere de la Souffrance. An unusual name,

but a one in keeping with its heritage. Its courtyard once
austerely moss-covered, now bustled with the animation of life.
Its once solemn and tenebrous transept, cheerfully remodelled as
a reception area. Extensions had been made to its wings, and a
porous stone pediment, raised in its honour, overlooked the rose
gardens with the words: "Li quens Rollands se jut desuz un
pin..."
Yet, something of its spirit remained. Visitors sought out
the church-hotel for its famed 'halfway-house' reputation of
servicing addicts wishing to avoid a public scandal. Others,
simply preferred its easy atmosphere, for it helped detract from
the severity of their addictions, and the familiar authoritative
structures of their withdrawals. They were treated no
differently to other guests. In fact, the services and programs

offered were made available as if en gratis. Only the addicts,

half-mockingly referred to themselves as, "the derelicts of the
half-mockingly referred to themselves as, "the derelicts Maitu
of the5

earth." It's success rate was quietly hailed.

It was here, on a blustering Autumn eve, Hajo arrived in a

rickshaw from La Rochelle. Singing merrily: "Adieu, my sweet
lovely Nancy, a thousand times adieu. I am going across the
ocean, my love, to seek for something new..." Much to the
overtaxed driver's relief; Hajo unloaded, paid his fare and bid
him joyful farewell. Wrapping his woollen overcoat close against
the biting winds, he approached the hotel. On the portico steps
his fat, drunk, uncertain legs buckled with each misstep, as he
trailed behind an overstuffed valise. His eyes fixed on the
crack of a cornice, then to a varicoloured lancet; finally they
settled on the great pediment with its imposing unintelligible
words.

"What is this?" He asked himself, "Here for confession?"

Hajo turned to scuttle off in search of a quiet spot to drink
and repose. For Hajo, was an unfortunate sot, whose memory,
drifts with each successive drink, further into the
constellation of vague, emotional landscapes. He was saved,
however, by a young blue-liveried porter who, much to his
amusement, espied all this from the double-barred entrance. He
whistled, catching Hajo's attention and with warm welcomes
cutting the bracing the winds, relieved him of his luggage. He
escorted Hajo within, as one would lead the blind.
 Maitu 6

Hajo was overwhelmed to tears by the sight before him. The

bright reception area full of faces, sitting, conversing at
small cafe tables; cupolaed walls decorated in rich colourful,
non-representational art. And the beautifully arranged flowers
that en-wreathed the front desk. "I feel good now. I feel
happy," inhaled Hajo with a smile, "A moment ago a great chasm
threatened to swallow... I'm here for confession. No, not

confession! I've resolved to rid myself of this affliction. For

dear, Selene... Poor Selene. Ah! How good the flowers smell. I

always did like chrysanthemums." In a blurred fit of

unconstrained laughter and joy, Hajo checked-in. He had noticed

some rum-looking fellas playing cards, smoking amusedly at a

table near the entrance. He was ambling towards them to ask if

perhaps they knew Gin Rummy; thumbing a cigar in his inner

pocket, lumping his valise drunkenly behind him.

"81gMr Voigt, I presume?"81h said the "81gnose"81h

cheerily, an appendage presently under Hajo's detailed

scrutiny. "81gAlbaine. A pleasure. I'm the resident nurse.

I see that you've signed up for our deluxe service 81\

congratulations. If you'll accompany me to the triage room

81\ oh, it's nothing really. A few customary tests.

Medical history. Expectations. Phew! I see you've had a few

already. Whiskey? Ah well, not to worry. We
 Maitu 7

serve good strong coffee here"81h. He motioned to a

waitress.

The two men fell abreast. Just as Hajo was awed by

Albaine's prodigious nose , so Albaine was struck

by Hajo's bulking gut. During an agreeable conversation on

the topic of the Hotel's menu, he noted the

visible relish shown at the mention of the varied French

and seafood dishes on offer. Albaine at once set him

down among those bonne hommes; gourmands, whose addictions

are fired by an over-excess of appetite.

Yet, he could not perceive from his outer appearance, the

depths of sorrow that gnawed at his heart within,

behind every word rang the gurgling, choking cadence of

"81g Selene"81h; a grief in short, that each day threatened

to consume him, to whelp a new Hajo, beyond consolation,

beyond the reach of words and human touch. For

his wife was dead.

And it was for her alone, he lived.

Once entered the triage room. Albaine sat at ,

pulling out several medical files

"81gYou'll find all you need is plenty of rest, and a

regimented diet. We have a support group in this

quarter tailored for alcohol dependants81\it's the best
 quarter tailored for alcohol dependants81\it's the Maitu
best 8

wing offering a view of our gardens. I will soon need to

take some blood-work81\"81h

"81gSelene!"81h Hajo wailed woefully, clasping his

face with both hands; between his shaking fingers, his

brilliant blue eyes shone forth in full horror of something

unseen. Albaine, who was so startled he almost fell off his

chair, was impelled forth by a humanist compassion particular to

him. Hajo fell upon his breast in a flurry of tears. In the

room, a painted angel hung centrally beneath a clamp light. It

struck him, powerfully81\ her wings outspread, robed in the

purest white; her serene, idealized beauty had punctured through

his fragile composure. A cruel, mordant replication, drawn from

the well of his innermost sanctuary.

It was decided to postpone the assessment. Hajo's

nerves were in no condition, the best course, it was decided,

was to forego the assessment until morning.

"81gHow he pawed at me, that disgusting fellow!"81h He

paced the room indignant, "81gI shouldn't have cried so

shamelessly, if he didn't embrace me that way. It was absurd! I

cried only because the situation was peculiar. Is that reason

enough for every damned fool to lay their hands on you, to

coddle you like a swaddled babe, to induce you to tears and say,

"81gYou unfortunate man. I can see even the most perfunctory

"81gYou unfortunate man. I can see even the most perfunctory
Maitu 9

things are taxing to you. You're given leave to rest now, you

emotional imbecile. Now, go from me... What shame! No. He didn't

say so much, not in so many words anyhow..."81h

I'll finish this bottle 81\ as a point of honour. I'll

get thoroughly drunk; swagger and reel around his office,

looking at the paintings, inspecting his instruments with

indifference. I won't mind him at all. At the first word, the

very first word of protest 81\ I'll seize hold of his shirt
collar, and give his nose a sound whack. Then, without a word,
I'll turn and leave, very straight and dignified81\ as if I

were never drunk at all. Unless... have they locked me in?"81h

"81h

"81gNo. Then, it's decided. I'll finish this bottle. Slap

his nose. Catch the late train to Niort.

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