The Beggar's Opera Read Online Free PDF

touched it. Are you here on your own?”
    “I am now,” he said. “My wife went home today. Early.”
    He drained the drink, held the empty glass. He looked at the back of his hand, the knuckles scarred from years of breaking up other people’s fights. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his shirt. The ceiling tiles swirled above.
    Man, I am really getting drunk .
    “Too bad,” said the woman. “Is that why you wanted company?”
    He felt her warm hand on his leg. She ran one finger slowly along his thigh. “No one should be alone in such a beautiful city as Havana. You do not want to be alone, do you? We should find somewhere to go.”
    He didn’t answer right away. He considered whether he wanted to spend the night with a woman and forget his real life for a few hours.
    For a moment, the notion of AIDS crossed his mind. Then his wife’s face came into focus. He shoved that mental image away. Hillary was gone. They were finally done with each other. He was alone in Old Havana, and no, he didn’t want to be. What the hell. Why not? Fuck Steve .
    “Some company would be nice,” he decided, still apprehensive. “But wait a minute, okay? I have to go to the men’s room first.” He wanted to find a condom machine. He hadn’t used a condom in years; wondered how it would feel.
    He stumbled off the seat. The ceiling tiles slipped with him and the walls were curved now. He held on to the backs of chairs, then the wall, as he weaved down the narrow hallway to the washrooms at the back of the bar. His shirt clung to his back. The bar had become unbearably hot.
    Ellis pushed open the door and walked over to the sink, where he caught sight of his damaged face in the mirror. He splashed some water on the back of his neck. He put his hands on the sink to steady himself as the walls slowly revolved around him like a children’s carousel. There was a condom machine, but it was empty.
    He began to walk back to the woman, running his hand along the wall to keep upright. He bumped into a man in the hall, knocking him a little to the left. The man scowled, brought his ugly, scarred face close to Ellis’s. Ellis recoiled, until he realized he’d stumbled into a mirror.
    I’m plastered, he thought. He managed to get back to his stool without offending anyone else. His jacket was on the floor. He picked it up, but almost fell as he bent over. He straightened up unsteadily.
    “My, you are drunk, aren’t you?” the woman said, laughing. “I had better get you into bed. Where are you staying?”
    “The Parque Ciudad,” he said, surprised he wasn’t slurring, but then the drunks he arrested for impaired driving never thought they slurred their words either. “Do you know where that is?”
    “Yes, of course I do, lover.” She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered softly, “You understand, Señor, I never kiss. It is nothing personal.”
    He pulled on his jacket; the air was cooler outside. He staggered, had to concentrate to keep his balance. She gripped his armtightly, used her hip to keep him upright. The cobblestones were uneven under his feet. His mouth tasted bitter, his tongue too thick to speak easily anymore. Every now and then, he stumbled, but she caught him. She was stronger than she looked.
    He heard the sounds of mariachi bands, trumpets, guitars, and maracas. The music seemed distorted, loud. There was even a bagpipe. He tried to speak, to comment on the fact that there was a Scottish bagpipe in Cuba, of all places, but his brain and mouth were no longer connected. He laughed, but no sound came out.
    Firecrackers popped in the distance. He winced at the noise, watched the colours fall from the sky in trails like the jet streams of the Canadian Snowbirds. He couldn’t remember ever being this loaded.
    He realized he didn’t know her name. If she’d told him, he’d forgotten. It seemed better somehow not to ask. He was embarrassed that they were about to make love and he couldn’t remember her