The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.1968, Side 41

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
39
he belonged to, which he thought
might interest me. A secret society, its
members knew and experienced much
that was denied to the common run—
a world of new dimensions. He then
offered to sponsor me for membership,
the initiation a slight formality, the
fee but nominal. The initiation was a
not unpleasant pinprick, but which
would leave a tell-tale mark recogniz-
able to other members of the brother-
hood.
I fell for it, and in the days and
weeks to come he was to administer
many such pinprioks, each a pleasur-
able experience that I looked forward
to and craved for more often. Each one
cost a trifling sum; but so what! What
was the good of money if it didn’t
bring you enjoyment?
The thing that bothered me, if only
for a moment, was that I felt less keen
about my work, and my concentration
suffered. For days I had not touched
my homework, feeling the delicious
ease of “so what?” Another little shot
in the arm and things would right
themselves.
★ ★ ★
Then one day My Pal walked in.
The door unlocked, he didn’t bother
to knock. “I’ve come to stay.” With
not so much as a ‘by your leave’ he
appropriated my favorite chair—in ef-
fect, took charge of my home. He
rifled the fridge, slept in my bed,
while I made-do on the couch in the
living room. I sat and stood and acted
as he ordered me, without much
question. I was his utter slave.
In the days and weeks that followed
(having lost my job) I did as he bid
me, and he was insatiable. I used up
my savings, and when that was done he
started pawning my furniture, includ-
ing all my better clothing. Came the
time that I could not pay the rent and
we were evicted. Even then he was no
less demanding, and I was forced to
measures I had heretofore not
thought of—stealing from department
stores and dealing with “fences” who
would pay but a fraction of the worth
of the article. He—My Pal—took every-
thing I could gather, adding dire
threats should I fail to make good.
I stole once too often and in con-
sequence spent three months in dur-
ance. That was hard to take, and I’m
not recommending it. Emerging, with
the word of the warden in my ear,
“Don’t come back”, I was no sooner
on the street than My Pal confronted
me. “Good. Get to work!” But now I
had a record, which made things more
difficult. My Pal made no allowances
for this. When I started to remonstrate
he blackened my eyes, adding what I
already knew, that I had to find the
means, or else------.
I am writing this with the aid of a
candle in the corner of an old freight
shed, cold and hungry. What is ahead
God only knows.
• Dedicated to all those who, oat of
curiosity or seeking a thrill, take
that first “fix”.