Mai at the Predators' Ball (25 page)

s lifting, yes let him in, maybe this mysterious stranger is Justin after all, hmmm even pale-looking in a linen suit and white hat. And outside Yinn was shivering from the cold in a blue fur coat fitted at the waist as she leaned against the outside of the bar while Petites Cend
res watched, from her demeanour she was obviously fed up and not at all in the mood to be on show for passersby to ogle and prod as if she were somehow unreal, not so of course, not even onstage a few minutes later in a brilliant yellow bikini, always alone deep down whether on show for publicity’s sake or going over the top for the audience, always alone thought Petites Cendres but reachable when someone young came close as though in a way she were the offspring of the entire world, the joyous groups at the foot of the stairs that led to the show, especially the young boys and girls come to share her great gift for understanding, harmony, and relaxation, a genuine tenderness for all that were different, especially when they came from places where sexual outsiders were never at home, always condemned, sometimes to death, Yinn knew this thought Petites Cendres with a wonderful lightness of spirit as the happy gangs of kids climbed the stairs and ran toward Yinn to be greeted always with a smile celestial in its androgynous ambiguity, affectionate though in a way that might seem a little distant but still a kind of whirlpool for reconciliation, was there a place for Petites Cendres in all of this, was there somehow a way in like the apostle John on Jesus’s shoulder in so many paintings, John whose love could never be more than forlorn, not to him did the master raise his eyes as the blood of redemption seeped through the cloth and out of his angry face beneath the crown of thorns he could feel breeching his skull and executioner’s nails through his skin, how could he manage a thought for the lovelorn John, lovelorn Petites Cendres forever hanging on his shoulder, almost lying in the folds of his tunic even at the Last Supper, John who in all candour could not know the extent of his suffering that night and the next day when that shoulder and tunic were taken from him, too innocent to know thought Petites Cendres, still this same place was his, and now as some of them drifted out of the bar and others drifted in, he saw the Next One, Robert the Martiniquan from Decadent Friday still dressed for the night and splaying wide the sheepskin jacket he wore over his underwear, causing Yinn to remark with the knowing air of a specialist well nature certainly did right by you didn’t she but you might be a wee bit cold, her hand brushing the Next One’s cheek and his green locks, Yinn’s connoisseur finger tracing the arch of his eyebrows and appraising the young Asian face, your brow needs to be a bit higher she said, I’ll show you tomorrow, the brow’s our way of showing pride in ourselves, especially us Asians Yinn told the fervent young disciple he would soon teach to sing and dance onstage, then Yinn kissed his forehead with that arm’s-length neutrality of hers as though they were two children, then bade them all goodnight and headed off toward Jason before he finished turning off all the lights and bright-coloured spots, Petites Cendres noticed the rounded shoulders and tattooed arms under his sleeveless shirt as Yinn looked on, attentive and tender as though they were already alone and asleep in a tight embrace while the poster of Greta Garbo looked on as if watching from a giant screen, and Robbie too watching his own screen as Fatalité danced all night without ever growing tired, this Fatalité was never going to die alone in his apartment, an apartment that still burned in a cruel glare day and night, no never going to die again said Robbie, not all the lights though, Jason left the red night light on over the sofa where Petites Cendres would soon stretch out in the shadowy alcove where no one could see, Yinn would be last to leave while Jason waited outside under a street lamp with a suitcase full of electronic instruments at his feet, Petites Cendres could make out the white-toothed smile and curled lip as he stretched out on the red sofa, now he wanted nothing but for Yinn to pass by just a little too close in his simple young-man elegance, grey pants and jacket for a wintertime that would soon give way to ten months of summer in a red sleeveless vest and cargo Bermudas like Jason’s, pass by but not before leaning over and taking Petites Cendres in his arms, just a man-hug you understand, like brothers, with Yinn saying are you crazy sleeping on this sofa when I’ve got a houseful of rooms, honest you really are crazy, then Petites Cendres would close his eyes and pretend to be asleep he was that happy, but it got darker away from the night light, and Yinn took a few steps toward the door, stopped and looked around, then seeing Petites Cendres sliding toward the red sofa, gave him a tender wave and disappeared.