pathos hous

secret lives (prologue II)

The young teen sprawled on the beanbag, in her white uniform, legs slightly opened. Her father sat in front of her sipping Chinese tea from a tiny cup. We were exposed in the café, to air-conditioning, to student paintings and $9 teas. A sick thought swelled in my mind as I watched them, father and daughter and the irresponsible things he could possibly do. I was projecting myself into his skin, into his head and it was I who was the dirty one, not him. But no one truly knows these things, one cannot be sure though much later, I confirmed my speculations. 

She was scrolling through pictures on her phone and for a while I glimpsed group pics, young boys and adolescent girls in all manner of dress and positions, smiling in disco light, at outdoor gardens. She laughed to herself at some scenes, perhaps recalling a secret, comedic moment only she and her friends were aware of. No one around her, including me, including her father, knew what that laughter entailed. Furtively, cautiously, I watched her father’s shifty eyes dart around the café, making sure no one caught him as he glanced up her daughter’s skirt. He too was holding his phone and I wondered what else he could truly do with such a device.

He was probably wary of me, wondering at the kind of perversity lurking behind my black outfit, my clean-shaven head.  Something clicked between us I believed, when our eyes met. It’s like kin recognizing each other in the dark, recognizing each other’s potential for clandestine lust.

It was nearing evening; I must say at this point that the father and daughter weren’t alone. There was his wife, her mother, and a younger brother who was minding his own business playing with his ipad. Some kind of game. The wife barely spoke, she appeared worn out, devoid of any sensuality, sipping her coffee, looking out into the streets, mind elsewhere. Her husband’s hand, holding the phone, sank below the table and it was the perfect place, partially hidden, to press the right buttons (with the flash off of course) aimed perfectly between his daughter’s sprawled legs.

   Such thoughts distracted me from caution and when I looked up, the father was staring at me as if he was prying into my head wanting to see the images. My heart skipped a bit, I looked elsewhere but thought I caught him smiling to himself, not a broad sheepish smile, but something barely seen. We were perhaps thinking the same thoughts.  Without being able to participate in any of it, I turned to focus elsewhere (The daughter after all wasn’t facing me.) There was another woman squatting by a low table nearby with a very young boy. She had a tight black t-shirt on and dark blue denim shorts and was talking into her pink phone. She was somewhat attractive, probably late thirties, and was speaking some kind of dialect. Nothing truly interesting there and I had no willpower to think of anything sexual but the father at the other end was probably more overcome with lust than me. He was watching this woman, oblivious to his own wife seated next to him. Maybe he got bored taking pictures of his daughter, maybe, like most schoolgirls, she was unknowingly being anti-climactic by wearing ugly shorts beneath that white virgin skirt. Everything turned stale and flat in a few seconds as quick boredom set in. I lost interest in life in the café. The tea was turning cold, the biscuit that came with it was long gone and before I knew it, the family had gotten up, the younger brother taking the lead going past me, then his mom and sister and finally father. I was too busy watching the girl leave, glancing at her small ankles and cute pink socks when a name card fell to the table, like a horny gift from perverse heaven. Looking up, I saw her father’s shining eyes quickly turn away from mine then that covert smile conveying his final secret as he walked away. The card was simple, white without design, only a wordpress site with a username (XRAYEYES) and password (burningeyes). It was terribly sophisticated for a man of his demure (I am judging here). He seemed to be like an everyday man, working at some logistics company or construction site, well tanned, fit. Or maybe he was a salesman of some sort or better yet, a taxi driver. On the road, dead of night, there can be any number of secret activities associated with a predator in a vehicle, prowling the late streets with in depth knowledge of abandoned buildings and darkened streets and filthy corners. Young preys trapped in an enclosed vehicle calmly heading towards a terrible fate.  The excitement of such thoughts overwhelmed me but not as much as the anticipation of what was to appear on the site. X ray eyes, now what did that entail?  Seeing through to things, a world of voyeurism. Perhaps his daughter was in on the whole thing, a business model to put her through school or at least for some pocket change for branded sunglasses and skimpy little things to wear at the next photo-shoot with dad.

I repositioned myself at the café so that my back was against the wall, so no one could spy my activities using the full screen phone. I logged on to wifi, launched the browser and surfed to the site. With shaking hands, I keyed in XRAYEYES, burningeyes, clicked ‘Log in’ and waited for my eyes and gut to burn.