Free Praise by Andrew McGahan Page A

ruined me.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜God, what am I saying. I’m never going to have children. Fucking is all I’ve got left.’
    â€˜You’ve got much more than that, Cynthia.’
    As for diseases, it was a bit late to be worrying. Anything one of us had, the other had it by now.
    She started up and we made it home. The house and the old men were fairly quiet. We opened up my flat and got some towels and the radio, then went down the hall to the baths. There were two tubs, each one in a small grimy booth. The booths at least had doors. The tubs though hadn’t been properly cleaned in months. Vass, as the permanent resident, received a deduction from his rent to keep the bathroom and toilets scrubbed, but his efforts were haphazard. It was a big step down from the hotel. Still, the tubs were long and deep, the water was hot, and there was a certain gloomy atmosphere that white tiles and soap couldn’t match. We plugged in the radio, closed the door, undressed and climbed in.
    Then we were kissing again. It was glorious. Heroin
did
something to the mouth, brought it to life. We each had our hands behind the other’s heads, pressing our faces together, melting lips and tongues and teeth ... face fucking, two cunts, two pricks ... the way it should’ve been with Mother Nature, right from the start.
    Someone came in to use the toilets. We stopped kissing and listened. It was one of the old men. We could hear him unzip, hear the piss streaming into the bowl.
    â€˜Hey,’ he yelled, ‘who’s in the bath?’
    â€˜Me,’ I said, ‘Gordon.’
    It was Lewis. ‘You’re having a fucking
bath
? ‘No one ever used the tubs, everyone showered. Cynthia had my penis and balls in her hands.
    â€˜I felt like it,’ I said.
    Our voices echoed around the room.
    â€˜Hey,’ said Lewis, ‘you met the new people yet?’
    â€˜No. I haven’t been around. What about them?’
    â€˜They’re arseholes. They stole my clothes off the line.’
    â€˜That’s bad.’
    â€˜Fucking junkies is what they are. They’re on methadone. They hit the clinic every day. You know that? Thieves and fucking junkies.’
    Cynthia was now sucking my penis under the water, blowing bubbles.
    â€˜Do they work?’
    â€˜Course fucking not.’
    He went out. Cynthia came up for air.
    The hours passed.
    From time to time some of the other residents came in to shit or piss. This was life in the toilet. We listened to the farting and belching and liquid gushes. The sounds of creation. No one else tried to talk to us. The afternoon passed into evening. Every half hour or so we let some of the cold water out, poured hot water in.
    Finally I climbed out. I needed to shit. I wrapped a towel around myself, opened the door and went into one of the two cubicles. The toilets were worse than the tubs. Shit stains all over the bowl, piss and wet wads of paper all over the floor. I sat down and strained for a while, but nothing came.
    Cynthia called out. ‘What’s happening in there?’
    â€˜I can’t do it.’
    â€˜Hang on.’
    I heard the water in the tub swish. A moment later she opened the door of my the cubicle and came in, dripping and naked.
    â€˜Get
out
of here.’
    â€˜Oooh, you look so cute. Like a little boy.’
    â€˜I don’t need you, Cynthia.’
    â€˜Poor little baby, of course you do.’
    She knelt down between my legs and felt under my balls around to my arsehole. ‘So nothing will come out, huh?’ She wriggled her finger in.
    â€˜Jesus.’ I was squirming. My prick rose.
    Cynthia took me in her mouth and dug her finger further in. I thought, someone
has
to come in now.
    I said, ‘All right. Let’s do it, then.’
    She stopped sucking and mounted. We began fucking, started sweating. It was hot in there. We breathed in shit. She lay flat on my chest, reached down and around,