Ghost City Blues: Love and Death in the time of Corona Virus

Sixteen

"Dylan! Where the hell where you? Where were you?" Nora was shaking, fists clenched. "Do you know how worried I've been? I told you I was coming, Dylan. I told you!" She was shaking with anger. She hadn't slept all night.

"I'm a god, mom."

"You're a what?"

"A god. Mercury. God of travellers, thieves. Herald to the gods..."

"Dylan." Nora was standing like a fencer. She flicked her neat brown fringe and took a deep breath. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look. Watch this. Check it out." Dylan concentrated on the inner force, the inner warmth. He felt it begin to glow but something was wrong. It was like a broken starter motor. The heat came and went but there was no force, no oompf, no magic.

His mother put her hands on her hips. "You look constipated. Do you need to go to the bathroom? Dylan, you're going to make yourself ill. Stop doing that."

"You don't believe in me," Dylan said. He was red in the face.

"What?"

"You don't believe in me. That's why I can't transform."

"Dylan, come here..."

She reached for him but her son swerved out of the way. "I was in Venice," he said. "I transformed into a god, into Mercury. That's my destiny. That's what I always said."

Nora's eyes widened and she shook her head. "My god, what has this guy given you?"

"Who?"

"That idiot downstairs. Redface. Redmond, whatever he's called."

"Redmond's given me nothing. Except maybe my freedom."

"Nothing? Your freedom? My god, Dylan, you're drugged to the eyeballs."

"I haven't taken anything."

"You haven't eaten since you've been here? You've had nothing to drink?"

Dylan was struck dumb by the memory of the meal.

Nora went on. "Right, ah ha! Now you see. Crazy things happening, right? Dylan, it's called psychotropic drugs, son. They're called mind-altering chemicals. Let me guess: you saw gods and devils in the dining room? All your friends have superpowers?" She waited a beat. Dylan looked confused. "You're in a correctional facility, baby. You're on drugs. You are out of your mind."

"Bullshit."

"Oh, my poor baby." Nora came across and hugged him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that in that way. I shouldn't have said it like that. There are better ways to say things like that. But I've been awake all night waiting for you. I've been out of my mind, too. I feel crazy. I'm actually happy for you baby. I'm happy you have friends. I'm happy you've been to Venice, or wherever you've been - Venice was it? I'm happy you feel like a god now." Over her son's shoulder she said, more to herself than anyone. "After a night in this place I feel like taking a handful of pills myself. What is it with this wallpaper?"

"I think you're wrong, ma."

Nora put up her hands and took a step back. "All right, all right. You're right. It's bullshit. You're here now, that's all that matters." She went to the mirror, Gart in the bed below, and arranged her hair. "I need to go down and see Redmond. I think I almost tore him a new asshole this morning."

Dylan had slumped down the wall and had his head in his hands.

Nora kissed the top of his head and left. "You're here baby and mommy's here now."

After the door had closed, running his hand through his hair, Dylan said: "Two minutes with her and I'm a fucking wreck, man."

Gart said: "That's mothers for you. Families. What was it Jesus said – 'nobody can be a prophet in their own land'? That quote always makes me imagine him, Jesus, trying his tricks in Bethlehem, you know, and people throwing fruit at him  – 'get out here, man – we knew you when you were nothing! What ya tryna be!' I really think that's why he went to Nazareth, you know. Just to get away from the small-minded hicks in Bethlehem. And it's not only him. I mean, they all had to run away. Buddha left his family, man. Just dropped them. Called his son 'Chains' for crying out loud. Just – just went right away and sat under a tree for years. Fuck that shit. Fuck families, man. They drag you down."

"I was so high," said Dylan.

"Sounds like we all are." Gart sat up and stretched. "But you know what? You should be thankful. You have real super-powers. You know what mine are?"

"What, dude?"

"I see the dead."

"Really?" Dylan was too tired to even make a Sixth Sign joke.

"Uh huh." Gart went over to the wash-basin and doused his face. "Not heavenly realms, not secrets, not the mystery of nothing, no. Dead dudes."

"Well...if it's all just drugs anyway..."

"I took the wrong drugs, right?"

Dylan chuckled. "Man, what a shit show."

Gart was drying his face. "Listen, man. I don't mean to make your day worse...but..."

"Tell me..."

"White haired woman? Your face? Your shape? Green eyes? In a red chair?"

Immediately Dylan knew. "Gramma."

"Starting to form, dude," Gart said. "Sorry. Not complete yet. But starting to form. She was right there, over your shoulder, whole time your ma was yelling."