Beneath the Earth Read Online Free

visiting. He kept me waiting in the cold. There was a camera above the buzzer and I put my finger across it. I didn’t want him looking at me when I couldn’t see him too. Finally, he answered. Another five seconds and I would have walked. Who’s that, he said. It’s me. About fucking time, he said. The door buzzed and I thought about going home. I had a bad feeling about this. I prefer nervous men to angry men. I went up a flight of stairs, then another, then another. I found the door. I put my finger across the spyhole. I knocked. He kept me waiting again. He opened it and looked at me. Jesus fucking Christ, he said, putting a hand across his mouth in shock. I started laughing. I’ll leave you alone, Peter, I said. I walked away. I went home. I wiped his number.
    Once, I took a beating. It was a young guy who called me. Twenty-two, twenty-three years old. There were three others waiting in another room and they set upon me. They pulled my pants down and poured lighter fluid on my cock and balls, then lit a match and held it in the air. They called me a dirty little faggot. Why are you doing this, I asked them. You know why, they said. But I didn’t know why. I started to cry. They held the match closer. It went out and they lit another. When it burned out, they started hitting me. They didn’t set me on fire. They let me go. I went home.
    I received a call to tell me that Rachel wanted to see me. It had been more than six years since we’d last spoken and I wasn’t sure that there were any ties left between us. My social workers asked me why I felt such anger towards her. They told me that she had a disease and that she could not be held responsible for it. I told them that I felt no anger towards her. Of course, they didn’t know everything that had happened between us.
    I asked whether Rachel was still in hospital and they told me no, that she had been an outpatient for a couple of years but only now felt ready to rebuild her relationship with me. Is she back in our old house, I asked, and they told me that Peter had sold the house long ago. It was his to sell, they said. Your mother has a flat in a new development off Pearse Street now. She gets a rent allowance from the state. How much did Peter get for the house, I asked, but they said they didn’t know.
    I brought a bunch of flowers when I visited. She opened the door and started to cry and I felt an unexpected emotion building inside me. I rarely feel things, so this was a surprise to me. She pulled me to her and hugged me tightly. Knowing that she would appreciate the gesture and that it would cost me nothing, I hugged her back. She let her head rest on my shoulder. I could feel her lips against my neck and pulled away.
    You’ve grown tall, she said. And so handsome. You were just a boy when I saw you last. I’m still a boy, I told her. No, you’re a man, she said. No, I said. No, no, I’m not. How are your studies going, she asked, and I told her that I had just completed an important set of exams and come fourth in my class. You were always so intelligent, she told me. I still can’t believe that a son of mine goes to university. You’re the first in our family ever to go there. I don’t know where you get your brains from. It wasn’t from your father or me, that’s for sure. Do you know what you’re going to be when you grow up, she asked. I thought of things the other students in my year said and decided to repeat their lines. I’d like to travel, I told her. I’d like to make a difference. I’d like to contribute to society in some meaningful way. I’d like to be an artist. I’d like to write a novel. I’d like to hike the Santiago de Compostela. I’d like to build houses in Africa. I’d like to meet someone who really understands me. I’d like to work for a non-profit. I’d like to be rich. I’d like to get on the property ladder.