Collected Stories

Life & Death in the South Side Pavilion

1.

I was employed, originally, as a Shepherd 3rd Class. That was in the days of the sheep and even now that the sheep have been replaced by horses I believe that my position is still Shepherd 3rd Class although I have had no confirmation of this from The Company. My work place is, to the best of my knowledge, known officially as THE SOUTH SIDE PAVILION but it is many years since I saw this written on a delivery docket and I have never seen it anywhere since.

Yesterday I wrote to The Company asking to be relieved of my post and I used the following description: “I am employed as a Shepherd 3rd Class in the South Side Pavilion.” I hope it makes sense to them. I had considered a more detailed description, something that would locate the place more exactly.

For instance: “The pavilion is bathed in a pale yellow light which enters from the long dusty windows in its sawtooth roof. In the centre, its corners pinned by four of the twenty-four pillars which support the roof, is a large sunken tank which resembles a swimming pool. The horses require the greater part of this area. I, the Shepherd in charge, have a small corner to myself. In this corner I have, thanks to the generosity of The Company, a bed, a gas cooker, a refrigerator, and a television set. The animals give me no trouble. However they are, as you must be aware, in danger from the pool …”

I didn’t send that part of the letter, for fear of appearing foolish to them. The people at The Company must know my pavilion only too well. Probably they have photographs of it, even the original architect’s plans. The pool in the centre must be known to them, also the dangers associated with the pool. I have already made many written requests for a supply of barbed wire to fence off the pool but the experts have obviously considered it unnecessary. Or perhaps they have worked out the economics of it and, taking the laws of chance into account, must have decided that it is cheaper to lose the odd horse than to buy barbed wire which, for all I know, might be expensive these days.

I have placed empty beer cartons around the perimeter of the pool, in the foolish hope that they will prove to be some kind of deterrent. Unfortunately they seem to have had quite the opposite effect. The horses stand in groups perilously close to the edge of the pool and stare stupidly at the cardboard boxes.

2.

The television is showing nothing but snow. The pavilion is bathed in its blue electric blanket. Another horse has fallen into the pool. Its pale bloated body floats in the melancholy likeness of a whale.

3.

Marie arrived early and discovered me weeping amongst the horses.

“Why are you weeping?”

“Because of the horses.”

“Even horses must die, sooner or later.”

“I am weeping because of the swimming pool.”

“The swimming pool is there to help them die.”

When Marie tells me that the swimming pool is there to help the horses die, I believe her. She has an answer for everything. But when she leaves her answers leave with her and the only comfort in the pavilion is distilled into a couple of small sad marks on the sheets of my bed.

4.

I AM HERE TO STOP THE HORSES FALLING INTO THE SWIMMING POOL.

5.

Marie, who helped me get into the pavilion, now wants to help me out. Personally I would like to leave. I have sent my resignation to The Company and am, at present, awaiting the replacement. Marie said, “Fuck The Company.” She arrived today with colour brochures and an ultimatum: either I leave the horses or she will leave me.

“Do you love the horses?”

“No, I love you.”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t leave them alone.”

“They fall into the pool anyway. You can’t stop them.”

“I know.”

“Then you might as well come.”

“I can’t come until they’ve all fallen into the pool.”

“But you are trying to stop them falling into the pool.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t love the horses if you’re just waiting for them to fall in and drown.”

“No, I love you.”

“Ah, but I know you love the horses.”

And so it continues.

6.

Marie sleeps beside me, enveloped in the sweet heavy smell of sleep and sperm.

There is some movement in the pavilion. I lick my fingers and wipe my eyes with spittle. For the moment the tiny shock of the wetness is enough to keep me awake. I stare into the dark, among the grey garden of gloomy horses, trying to distinguish movement from stillness.

There is a large splash. A high whinnying. I block my ears. Once they are in the pool there is nothing they can grip on to get them out.

7.

The men came with a truck fitted with winches. They dragged the horse from the pool and put it on a trailer. They had to break its back legs to fit it in properly.

I imagined that they looked at me reproachfully. Probably it is simply that this is a part of their job that they dislike, and, having paid me five visits to remove dead horses, they are not kindly disposed towards me.

I asked them if any of the dead horses would be replaced. They seemed too busy to answer me, but I have always assumed the answer is no.

Today I explained that I wished to be relieved of the job. When they could offer no helpful suggestions I asked about the barbed wire. They looked shocked and expressed the opinion that barbed wire was cruel.

8.

Marie didn’t come tonight. She is giving me a free sample of her absence, letting me know in advance what it will taste like. She needn’t have bothered. It’s just as bad as I thought it would be.

I leaf through the brochures she has left for me, staring at beaches I can never imagine visiting. I have never seen so many beaches. On the beaches there are beautiful girls, girls more beautiful than Marie. Perhaps she thinks that the beautiful girls in the brochures will provide the extra incentive. What she will never understand is that I want to go with her to these beaches more desperately than anything else in the world. She accuses me of having a misplaced loyalty to The Company but I care nothing for The Company which has never deigned to answer my letters. If I could leave the pavilion I would go to The Company’s offices and settle everything once and for all. If need be I would kidnap a member of The Company’s staff and bring him back here as a replacement.

The strange thing is that once I have left the pavilion I know I will detest the horses. I can feel this new attitude waiting in the wings of my mind, waiting to take over. I have tried to explain this to Marie but she thinks I am being dishonest with myself, that I simply wish an excuse not to go with her.

But now I am responsible for the horses. Each death is my responsibility and I have no wish to be responsible for so many deaths.

And now that I am unable to make love she thinks it is because I have an unnatural attraction to the horses and that I find her unattractive in comparison. But I am unable to make love because every time I make love a horse falls into the pool.

EVERY TIME I FUCK MARIE I KILL A HORSE.

Perhaps the noise of fucking upsets them and they panic and lose their bearings. I told Marie about my feelings, that the lovemaking was unsatisfactory because of the danger to the horses.

She said, “You attribute great power to your cock.”

“While it is limp it will do no harm.”

“No harm,” said Marie, “and no good either.”

9.

Another night without Marie.

Her absence has cured my limp cock more quickly and effectively than either of us could have guessed. I toss and turn in my tangled bed dreaming of involved and passionate love on the distant beaches of her brochures.

At this moment I am prepared to fuck until the pool is full of horses.

10.

The horses are standing in a circle around the pool, their tails swishing through the grey air. It is not difficult to imagine that they have gathered around the pool to look into the black water and dream about death. The blackness of death must seem attractive to them after the grey nights and yellow days of the pavilion. Or perhaps they are simply aware of my decision and are now standing in readiness.

The whip has always been there, thoughtfully provided by the same company that refused to supply me with barbed wire.

I have no wish to remember the manner in which I drove the horses into the pool. It was sickeningly easy. They fell into the water like overripe fruit from a tree, often before the whip had touched them. In five minutes the pavilion was empty and the pool was boiling with horses. I retired to my bed and pulled the pillow over my head.

In less than an hour there were twelve horses floating in the pool. They bumped softly into one another like bad dreams in a basin.

11.

They have brought replacements. They unload the twelve new horses from the truck with the flashing yellow light on its roof. Then they proceed to winch the drowned horses from the pool.

I plead with the men not to leave the live horses in my care, to transfer them to another pavilion. I offer them everything I have: my television set, my refrigerator, my bed, the brochures Marie left with me.

The driver flicks through the brochures sullenly: “The TV is company property.” He adds that he intends to confiscate the brochures.