The sacrificial table

  The dinner was good until it went badly, and it was all brought down by the Eugenie White-Barry Masquevert dynamic.

  They were all in a very glowing mood, even Hobbes, who was relaxing for once. Marlene accepted the tiny bottom of a drink just to humor them, like a little girl playing tea time and, after a series of pressing requests, she shared some tales of the past with the group, things that were not included in history books. “Were mrai moumous already inhabiting earth at the time of ancient civilizations?”

  “Yes like the Mayans” Darlene and Ivan wanted to know, “the Incas”

  Marlene wet her lips, “you mean aliens?”

  “Yes! Aliens!” Ivan roared, “exactly!”

  “That was three thousand years ago” she neither denied nor confirmed. Hobbes scoffed next to her.

  “And?” Alphonse jumped in, “there are patterns in the stones that we find all over the world in other extinguished societies, not even to mention that the heads of the Easter Island statues could have toes in the menhirs of Stonehenge”

  “What the hell are you taking about?”

  “Let me get my Earth globe”

  On her way to the bathroom or to fetch something for the table, Eugenie would take the scenic road, “excuse me”, “excuse me”, “excuse me” circling the longer end of the dinner table instead of going around Hobbes and Alphonse. George saw that this made her approach Barry in an angle where she could pass him, brush against him, and trigger his good hand to snatch hers. He had not suffered extensive damage to his right arm except for a projectile that had dug a hole the size of a dime between his wrist and his elbow, but the other shots, hitting him brutally in the chest, had paralyzed his moves on the upper right side of his body. He would be kept off the fighting scene for a while for that reason.

  “When you said Eugenie helped Barry” Mustafa whispered in George’s ear, raised his eyebrows. George saw that he and Mustafa had been absorbed in the same espionage activities.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Now I get it”

  “What do you mean?”

  If Eugenie had undertaken the trip around the shorter end of the table, she would have had a smoother itinerary in and out of the dining room, passing Barry on his handicapped side, restricting his marge of action to interrupt her course. But then she would crouch next to him to indulge him in the exchange he obviously sought, seemingly without outpouring enthusiasm –which made George nervous— until he pulled a smothered giggle out of her and got her to answer something or tilt her head in mysterious admission of something.

  “What’s up with those two?”

  “What do you mean?” George repeated.

  “They slept together, that’s as clear as a nose in the middle of a face!”

  “What? Nooo” Oh My God that’s what Darlene thinks, George cleared his throat, wavering between aversion and denial.

  “I’m telling you” Mustafa bit into a piece of bread. What now? Barry had reeled Eugenie in again on her way back from the kitchen which, once more, she could have avoided by crossing on Alphonse and Hobbes' table edge. This time, she lowered herself with difficulty due to her impressive load of pizza rolls, struggling to find her balance. He caught her by the elbow but she politely attempted to shake off his grip on her, pushing his hand away. He bent down and said something to her which opened her eyes as wide as the round platter she had been carrying. It was plain to see she meant to regain her seat as soon as possible. “Trouble” Mustafa murmured

  “Barry, you’re hungry?” George improvised, coming at Eugenie’s rescue.

  “I’ve had four mini bagels but I’m still starving” Barry answered somberly, but then, he forced his luminous smile back.

  “There are a lot of shrimp appetizers on our spot, come wheel yourself here”

  George cocked his head towards Mustafa, communicating silently that the gossiping was over, and Mustafa stretched to help himself to more tapas, adding some salt, “whoever prepared the scampi, this is divine” he commented, and Darlene lifted her hand proudly.

  “I meant scampi” George corrected himself

  “She got them from the fucking market” Ivan commented, finding it hilarious.

  Hobbes was sitting with his legs crossed and an air of contentment and mindfulness on his face that George had seldom seen, supervising the table like he was Saint Nicholas in a workshop of elves, his arms resting on the sides of his chair, bent to allow his hand to perk on top of his thighs. He wouldn’t smile too brightly, no, that would be too outrageous, but he wasn’t moping either, just gradually working on a thick glass of whiskey, and Alphonse was smoking a cigar next to him. He gestured at Barry, “Barry Masquevert, you look like you want something and that this something isn't seafood. More cheese?”

  “Some Tequila?”

  Hobbes was about to refuse with a berating look under his high and wrinkled forehead, but Ivan interjected, “Oh come on!” Young Ivan stood up and launched a hand to reach the bottle of champagne open in the middle of the table, “he’s probably the one who needs it the most here!”

  “Ivan, no” Marlene was more vehement and stopped him and filled Barry’s glass with water.

  Eugenie was seating on the opposite side from his and Mustafa’s and Barry’s at the table. George watched her discreetly. As it got later and later and night outside of the veranda engulfed their little party, he saw she occasionally produced a nose-laugh with Darlene next to her, nodded to a joke, asked a question about a story, but she began daydreaming a lot, something absent taking hold of her facial expression.

  Something weird had happened between her and Barry. Or, George chastised himself for imagining too much drama, she must simply be tired. After all, it was a Friday, and she probably had had a long week at work, a high school, a post office, wherever she was holding a profession, he had not followed very well. George kept forgetting that humans got tired from such simple things as lack of sleep or too much physical activity.

  Mustafa wasn’t tired, and proved a blatant contrast to Eugenie’s disposition. He and Barry got along splendidly, now that they were seated so close, and in the end, because they were conversing loudly and into George’s ears and it didn’t seem that it would ever end, George got up, grabbed his chair, and effortlessly lifted Mustafa’s so he didn’t have to continue being sandwiched in the middle of the two any longer.

  “Such display of strength” Mustafa emitted a discreet whistle

  “I’m blowing your mind, right?”

  He saw some faint guilt on Barry’s traits, “George, have you seen Crocodile Dundee?” he asked in a resolution to include his friend in the conversation

  “Is that what you guys are talking about?” George pretended he was baffled and ideologically disappointed

  “It’s both mine and Barry’s favorite childhood movie” Mustafa explained. His cheeks were flushed after too many servings of raclette. He was delightful-looking, the vision of him pumping some hot blood inside George’s veins

  “Is that the story of the dude who hypnotizes crocodiles—”

  “Alligators” Barry rectified

  “But he’s like, scared of escalators or something like that?”

  “You know who he reminds me of?” Barry asked, “Steve Irwin”

  “Seriously” Mustafa approved, “he is one of my personal heroes”

  “Mine too!”

  George rolled his eyes with exasperation, trying to attract Eugenie’s attention, now that she was directly in front of him. Her fork was zigzagging through the food in her plate, bringing very small portions to her mouth, that she chewed on for a long time before swallowing. She didn’t look down, no, her eyes were cast at the little crowd above the dinner table but she wasn’t blinking or focusing on something special. She was staring right through everyone, a slight polite smile plastered under her nose, to fit right in. She was looking exactly like Barry during the past weeks when he had believed no one could see him and he was tuned out and peering into the emptiness.

  “You’re doing alright, Eugenie?” George asked her directly

  “George” she said cheerfully, re-centering her gaze on him and adding some friendliness in it, “yes, it’s a very nice dinner party”

  “You look like you’re in your head a lot”

  “Yes, I’m having a little déjà-vu” she sighed, “it’s a bit weird being back here, with all of you at the same time”

  “Yes I’m sure Eugenie” George scratched the top of her hand next to her plate with affection. He wasn’t sure at all, he remained clueless about the contents of her mind and her heart, and what she felt about the crazy turn her life had taken when she had been placed on the same path as the Team.

  “I forgot how spacious the rooms are here”

  “But it’s kind of like your second home, right, Eugenie?” Barry asked, unexpectedly exiting the Australian outback discussion he was having with Mustafa to jump in the middle of George and Eugenie’s “Right?” His voice seemed to bellow above all other voices as if willing to draw attention to it.

  Eugenie grudgingly granted him her notice, her head lazily rolling in Barry’s direction on top of her neck, as if she had anticipated everything. Her mouth made a tired O. It wasn’t tough to picture her doing the same in front of a class of grumpy teenagers but, again, George had the feeling that there had been a recent story about her switching job to work at the pot office.

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  Eugenie tried to look surprised but something at the lower line of her eyes said that surprise was the last thing she felt, “uuh” she hung her sentence, sensing some surrounding clusters of chat dwindle in sound around her, and many pairs of eyes fall on her little spot in front of Barry.

  Trouble, George’s thoughts echoed Mustafa’s earlier words, and he felt Mustafa’s knee nudge his under the table at the same time as a hush fell on the table, and Marlene must have captured the same clue because she stepped in, hitting her spoon against the glass of champagne she was never going to drink and standing up and saying “can we, uh… actually get a round of applause for our little Barry here, back from the dead?”

  Everyone rushed to abandon their cutlery and glasses, this time, and clap for real. George leaned into Mustafa’s ear, “every time she says Little Barry, another Barry in a parallel dimension gets shot again”

  “Stoop” Mustafa found it hilarious, snuggled George’s shoulder and smothered a chuckle

  “Thank you, thank you” Barry waited patiently for the applause to die down, but Marlene wasn’t finished.

  She volte-faced and swung her elegant flute in the air again, “and now, let’s give it for this brilliant Team, kicking mrai moumou’s asses under the leadership of our legendary Hobbes!”

  The clapping lessened, then rose once more, seemingly insufferable for Barry and the sudden pressing investigation he was conducting on Eugenie about how much of a home Hobbes’ Lab was to her. He did his best to partake in the clapping with his left fingers tapping on the tablecloth, then waited for decibels to decrease and opened his mouth again, looking vividly at Eugenie. Marlene stuck to prolonging the festivities as much as sh could, added on more item on the ovation agenda, “and our dear Alphonse, for coming up with all those dishes from scratch! You are the best host, Alphonse, and we are feasting like true heroes” Everyone roared and even stomped their feet under the table like a bunch of football fans in a stadium.

  Refusing for things to be cocooned back into normalcy, Barry reiterated his question, “so Eugenie, you’re not inclined to live here?”

  In the restored calmness, Eugenie planted her eyes straight into Barry’s, a tension and a coldness in the muscles around her mouth that testified that her amicable persona was now struggling to exist, “hell no” she said in one quick breath. Then she drew back that breath sharply as if to recollect the words she had let escape. She looked down at the fork that she was levitating above her food, “I mean no disrespect to anyone here who is always so welcoming, but this place is a long way from home”

  Alphonse and Hobbes were pretending to not pay attention to the start of the illness at ease between Barry and Eugenie, comparing things from Hobbes’ phone to some other things on Alphonse’s phone, but a thickening air was enveloping the dinner time. Supper, not dinner, she had texted, George remembered. Eugenie used some strange words like that, he never knew if she was kidding or if they were really part of her every day vocabulary.

  George lifted the board of amuse-bouches “another toast, Eugenie?” She presented her plate to him, let him serve her the treats, munching on something other than food. “Right” he said, “lots of yums and—”

  “Is there something you want to say?” Barry had more questions. He shook the breadcrumbs from his napkin, starting the process of folding it, very slowly and cautiously. The process appeared arduous with only one available hand.

  Eugenie didn’t strike George as someone who would pursue pretending to enjoy herself at the moment and her face had become stern. She started working on her own project, lining up the three mini quiches in her plate into a bumpy line, “no” she blew. It was compelling that she and Barry continuously mirrored each other’s actions through time and space.

  “Which, by the way, means yes” Barry clarified for the rest of the table. George scanned all the guests, and thought it funny that everyone’s reaction was so them. Marlene watched the scene openly, her face relaxed, she was ready for anything. Darlene was sucking on a straw with an excited dance of eyebrows above her drink. Ivan was immensely confused but at the same time preoccupied about the peanut he was not managing to break free out of its shell. Hobbes had a tipsy look on his face, and Alphonse’s mind was in another place, anticipating his next course, determined to impress the dinner’s attendees until the end, whatever the end might be. George was afraid. Mustafa was holding his breath next to George.

  “What means yes?” Eugenie went over straightening her already aligned quiches.

  “When you say no” Barry replied, now moving on to folding his napkin in two, sharpening the edges

  “Someone here wants homemade lemonade?” Alphonse wanted to know, and everyone said yes, please, homemade lemonade, all the homemade lemonade you can bring. When Hobbes’ wife had breathed her last breath, his dear Daphne, Alphonse, who had raised Hobbes from a kid to a man had become cuter, and more adorable, and cozier around Hobbes, as if willing to wear that final hat in his long career, to ease his master’s inconsolable grief. It was hard to obtain a word that was heartfelt from the man but, since the passing of Daphne, he had mellowed with Hobbes, almost as if he had evaluated his upbringing of his protégé sufficient and moved on to more tender things. Those demonstrations usually lasted a nanosecond but, to the trained eye, such as the one George had acquired, it was noticeable.

  “You’re putting words in my mouth that I didn’t say” Eugenie almost slid a little quiche there, into her mouth, but changed her mind halfway, as she perceive something forceful could be coming from Barry. She replaced the snack at the center of her plate. She was probably right.

  “What words?”

  “You tell me”

  Barry had something in mind, George saw, and he was pinching the edges of the napkin’s folds so they would be crisp, industrial “that’s a bit cowardly on your part, Eugenie”

  “Cowardly?” she sneered

  “Is that normal?” Mustafa asked so softly in George’s ear he wasn’t sure the sound was real, then prodded him in the ribs with persistence but George kept non-reactive, concerned about the argument that was unfolding.

  However, it was too late, as Eugenie was losing patience and composure. Strain was leaving her face, the act she had been challenged to maintain, and she was becoming openly annoyed “Funny how you call coward, just being sensible. You know, Barry, fear is useful sometimes”

  “And?”

  “Wait, guys, this is surely a debate for another time, and we shouldn’t—"

  Eugenie didn’t even seem aware that Ivan had spoken “This is a load of shit. I am a coward, yes, and Barry, here” she impaled a quiche with her mini fork, the one with the egg paté stuffing, and agitated it in Barry’s direction, “is the fearless Bolt, which is not always more noble”

  “Not always noble like how” Barry’s eyes darkened in menacing response to the little quiche shaking under his nose. One thing that triggered Barry Masquevert the most was to be addressed by aid of a pointy object closing in on him.

  “Not noble like, you will die, from your lack of cowardice” she answered, and George heard Hobbes chuckle. In agreement? In opposition? In desolation? Who knew.

  “What is that supposed to mean”

  “You know what it is supposed to mean” Her eyes matched his disdain, she used her index and middle finger to recreate the shape of a gun, rose it under her mouth and blew some imaginary smoke from it. A ripple of unrest passed through the group.

  Barry reacted at once, did exactly what George thought he would, darted up from his wheelchair, crumpling his beautiful napkin-folding enterprise in the process, then, found out he was not able to hold the upright position, obviously. Pushed downwards by gravity, some slight vertigo and the anguish in his body, he fell heavily on his left hand, palm flat on the table cloth, hunched down. Tried to say something but didn’t gather enough air. Sweat budded on his forehead, just under his hairline.

  “Barry sit, dammit!” George said, “Mustafa, pull him down!”

  “I will not do that” Mustafa politely declined, horrified

  “Barry sit” Marlene grabbed Barry’s shirt at the opening of his neck and lowered him back on his seat.

  “This is great” Hobbes said, shaking his whiskey with the ice cubes at the bottom of it, and Alphonse came back with ten lemonade glasses, all of them ornamented with half a real lemon and glittery salt on the rims. Everyone had to wait until all the drinks were delivered and, George saw, Eugenie and Barry kept their face off going without a word, smoke coming out of their ears. How had things risen from nothing to everything and everything so heated and ferocious at once?

  “Thank you Alphonse” Hobbes said with utmost seriousness without looking at his butler. He nodded courteously.

  “Thank you Alphonse” Marlene said, squeezing Alphonse’s wrist

  “Thank you Alphonse” they all said, Eugenie and Barry too, and too a sip of their drink in silence, all suspended to what was to come. Everyone commented about something beautiful about the presentation of the drink and the way they were so hued, the green lime shade more prominent at the bottom, the fresh yellow and white brightening the top, the little umbrella decoration so charming.

  “Why are all of you pausing for the lemonade?” Mustafa asked George under his breath

  “Because it’s Alphonse, Hobbes’ butler. Everyone here would rather cut their pinky finger off than hurt his feelings”

  “So we resume!” Darlene judged it enough time devoted to Alphonse’s said feelings, “Barry, you were saying?”

  “How about we play a nice game of Monopoly over dessert?” Ivan suggested

  Barry wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his left hand “I’m not saying anything back to those baseless accusations” he tried retrieve the breath at his lips and the perfect shape of the napkin he had just rolled into a ball “I’m not the one who has a lot to say”

  “You, Barry, have no awareness of danger, you—“ Eugenie dropped her mini quiche back to her little quiche line, “you are a firecracker” it started rather positive

  “Thank you” Barry wheezed at her

  “You are a ticking time-bomb, you are a child, a little boy with a dangerous toy, you, you, you haven't got the sense to be afraid and, as a result… you put yourself in that position”

  “Which position”

  “To get hurt”

  A lot of oohs and aahs were stifled among the crowd, followed by Ivan, “quite indecent conduct for the evening” he spoke reproachfully although, glancing at him, George saw that he was as eagerly waiting for more action as the rest of them.

  “How so?” Barry ignored Ivan

  Eugenie pushed her chair backwards, distanced herself from the table, ‘I’m sorry my friend but…”

  “Don’t call me friend” The ice in Barry’s voice seemed to reduce the temperature around the table by a few degrees, and George saw Ivan shiver, received a similar tremor from Mustafa next to him.

  “I’m sorry Barry” Eugenie rephrased, “you lack fear. You will die from it. I don’t want to be there when you do”

  “Perhaps we should all take a breather and—” Marlene tried, but Hobbes landed a strict hand on hers, pressed it delicately.

  “It’s okay, Marlene, let them say their things”

  “Let them say their things!” Darlene encouraged, clearly the most inebriated of the table.

  George could recognize the opportunity for a mediator position when one presented itself “Barry, I… I I think Eugenie just means that she cares about you, like all of—”

  “You’re a shitty teacher” Barry said to Eugenie. Ivan gasped

  “Well, you’re a shitty superhero” she hissed back, annihilating her three quiches with a strong move of her fork.

  “You are a shitty nurse”

  Darlene snorted loudly, at the top of her amusement.

  “You are a—” Eugenie stood up, unsure “a shitty Geography student”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Geography”

  “Well, you’re also a shitty student in other subjects, Barry!”

  Barry’s anger was loose, his face all red, doing all he could to accept that he would remain seated without embarrassing himself trying to get up again. A murderous urge rolled at the bottom of his eyes. Lastly, he threw his neatly folded napkin at Eugenie, which she intercepted with ease. More muffled oohs and aahs.

  “You’re a shitty cook” Barry continued.

  “You’re a shitty roommate” And as she spoke, George saw that Eugenie’s fury switched down a notch at the very second she heard her own words. Her eyes opened abruptly and in striking concern, startled by the sentence she had produced. Had she said something she regretted? George wondered why, as if being accused of being a shitty roommate was, for some inexplicable reason, worse than being a shitty superhero.

  “Really” Barry said so low that outside of the ambient and petrified silence, no one would have heard it. A devilish smile curled up his lips. The anticipation was unbearable, furtive looks kept slaloming around the dishes and plates. Eugenie was tugging at the sleeves of her glittery jumper, her eyes so big now, even a little wet, the thing in them which stunningly clashed with her previous un-molded aggressiveness: she was begging, imploring. Her head even shook imperceptibly, saying, pleading, petitioning, no. “Really. Well” Barry started, slowly, plainly tasting the syllables of his words in advance, savoring them. No, no, please, George saw from Eugenie’s eyes and mouth, she mouthed it, no, but Barry was launched, full power Barry, ready for the kill: “you’re a shitty lover” he said.

  Everyone hiccuped, including George, and even Hobbes, whose thick glass of whiskey dropped heavily against the table in a dull thud. Eugenie’s face crumpled with a whistling sigh, had she been a bag punctured by a long needle, some tears appearing at the folds of her eyes, and she grabbed her quiche rubble, threw it at Barry. He didn’t even try to avoid them, some cheese exploding on his chest like some actual steel bullets had done two weeks before, the molten yellow slowly dripping. “You little” she said, hyperventilating, “you little shit, you monster”

  “You’re a shitty fuck, Ms White” Barry drooled out the name with despise, took a big gulp of his glass of water, chugged it, re-positioned it on the table, and Eugenie almost knocked down her chair when she ran from the room. Barry exhaled bitterly “sorry, everyone, really sorry, I’ll make it up to you at another dinner” he said, punching the commands on the left side of his wheelchair, rotating it towards the door behind him, initiating a similar attempt at a quick escape as Eugenie’s. Unfortunately, the chair had many great gadgets, qualities, bonuses, little tricks, but speed wasn’t one of them.

  Darlene nodded approvingly “well, they have said their things, I believe”