by John Nichols
For some reason, in the midst of his vengeful fury, he looked up just in time to see something zooming toward his head. His brain even defined the object before it hit—one of those fuzzy toy monkeys, no doubt flung by somebody in a silly effort to end the slaughter. Afterward, Joe recalled very clearly scoffing at such a meek effort to halt his ferocious onslaught. He actually laughed during that split instant before the toy reached his forehead.
Worse yet, he had actually taken his eyes off it in order to guide a cattle-killing blow against the back of Egon’s noodle.
The metaphors applying to the nature of the force with which that lightweight stuffed simian struck him were:
1) like a ten-ton truck.
2) like a runaway freight train.
3) like an elephant shot from a cannon.
It knocked him off Egon so hard he bounced head over heels in the dust as if tumbling from a speeding automobile. At the end of these acrobatics, Joe sprang to his feet, arms outstretched, lost his balance, and careened through a crowd of people, leaning over at a steeper angle with each step until he crash-landed again, plowing a furrow with his nose. And he lay there, wide awake but paralyzed. In his ears police and fire sirens screamed. Bare feet planted themselves only inches from his nose, and he heard a pontificating voice—vibrating hollowly as if amplified through an echo chamber: “It’s not nice to fight, Joe.”
Stunned … immobile … helpless. Joe grew dizzy and blacked out, even though still wide awake. Many hands touched and gripped his body. Lifting gently, they carried him somewhere. He heard sobs. And singing. Melodic castanets jangled. He smelled incense and cedar smoke. A car engine started. Obviously, they planned to drive him westward, tie lead monkeys around his neck and ankles, and dump him into the Rio Grande. Wanting to struggle, Joe couldn’t move. In motion, they bounced over potholed roads. He still heard weeping, but although his eyes were wide open, nothing made sense. No coherent light entered his brain. And he couldn’t lift a finger, or wiggle a toe. A direct whack from a lightning bolt would not have rendered him more helpless. Vocal cords had been shocked right out of his throat; his glottis had been whomped.
Eventually, they quit bouncing, tires hummed, the weeping petered out. And all Joe could do was lie there helplessly (or stand there or crouch there—in what posture lay his body?), trapped in the spell of an east Asian monkey god, awaiting his total destruction … or deliverance.
* * *
NANCY’S QUIET, melancholic voice broke the spell.
“Well, you really did it this time, Joe.”
He did not exactly open his eyes. Rather, he stretched them a little, while also shaping his mouth in a silent howl. With that, the dark magic membrane obstructing his vision burst and sunlight flooded his brain. At the same time he located his voice and muttered awkwardly, “Did what?”
“You blew it. Even in my eyes—and I’m a pretty tolerant person—you blew it.”
The VW Bug was parked in Nancy’s driveway. She sat in the front seat, Joe huddled in back. The engine had been cut, Bradley had flown the coop. His fur matted with pear, peach, and pomegranate gore, Sasha squatted on the front hood, fiddling with his dick as he peered in at them.
Joe said, “What happened?”
“You went crazy. You tried to kill Egon Braithwhite. You were like a mad dog. I’ve never seen anybody flip out like that, not even in football games on television.”
“Something just snapped.”
“I don’t know, Joe. I really don’t.” From her tone he realized he was about to be bagged again, this time by the one person imbued with an aggravatingly saintly patience vis-à-vis his spontaneous transgressions. A new quality in her voice suggested that even her sponsorship was now being withdrawn. Nancy wanted no further part of his act.
Joe said, “I guess, once again, I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t believe in apologies.”
“I was having a good time, you know. I thought it was lovely out there.” Sasha grabbed hold of the aerial …
“So why suddenly go berserk?”
“He came up behind me and said something in that fake language.”
… and slowly bent it over double.
“Is that any reason to attempt murder during the key moment of a spiritual festival put on by a lot of considerate and fairly aware and centered people?”
“In case you forgot, a few days ago the organizer of it tried to blow away Ephraim Bonatelli with a loaded pistol. By the way, whatever happened to the helicopters?”
“You mean the accident at the Forest Service helipad? How did you know about that?”
“They had an accident?”
“According to Jeff Orbison. He arrived late just as we left.”
“Oh Jesus! What happened to Tribby? And to Ralph?”
“Tribby? I don’t know. Was he supposed to be in a helicopter?”
“You don’t know? Oh man—but there was an accident?”
“Apparently nobody was hurt.” She draped her hands on the steering wheel. “Why talk about that?” Sasha hopped out of sight onto the roof.
“But … I mean … oh wow.” Joe closed his eyes, shattered.
“Really—nobody was hurt. Apparently they both tried to take off at the same time: in a hurry, I suppose. And they forgot to release the tie-down cables.”
“Say that again.” Joe opened his eyes.
“According to Jeff, they started to lift off, but, because they were anchored, they tipped over into each other. The helicopters were more or less destroyed. But nobody inside suffered much damage.”
“You’re making all this up.”
“That’s Jeff’s version. You know this town.”
Joe giggled hysterically. Who was programming this farce—Heather’s hermaphrodite karate god? Did any dignity remain in Chamisaville? He could picture it, all right. Tribby and Ralph and Rimpoche galloping for one bird, while Ephraim Bonatelli and—who else? Nick Danger with his suitcase full of Daring Debbies?—sprinted for the other bubblecopter. No doubt Ralph had forgotten to remove the—what were they called? The flight boxes? So a crazy lawyer in search of passion, and a dwarf in a chartreuse jumpsuit with a naked blonde in silver cowboy boots on the back, fired up their engines, popped their clutches simultaneously, and toppled into each other, rotor blades slamming together with a hellacious twang! like a thousand machetes shot from cannons into an armada of garbage cans … and that was it. They all tumbled onto the helipad shouting vile curses at each other, then sprinted for the bushes before the authorities arrived, leaving behind that mangled hardware worth a couple million dollars.
Somehow, miracles kept happening to save his bewildered ass. He should have been happier. Instead, the taste of defeat lay bitter on his tongue, and in his heart. If only, just once, something definitive could happen.
Reaching forward, a satanic wish implicit in the move, Joe placed his fingers against her neck. He wanted to humiliate, shame, destroy her. At least he would take one of them down with him: there had to be a victory somewhere. Nancy hunched one shoulder, giving a slightly annoyed wrench of her head. “Please don’t touch me.”
“I wasn’t making a move. I just meant to be friendly.”
“That may be, but I don’t want you fondling me anymore.”
“You don’t understand,” Joe said. “That Egon has been driving me crazy for weeks. I can’t make him talk English anymore. I think he actually believes we’re communicating. I wouldn’t mind so much, except every time I’m in a café, or a movie, or at a party, he starts yelling at me in that made-up lingo. It’s embarrassing. I even believe he’s insulting me half the time. I’m convinced the words are vulgar epithets. I mean, how much ridicule am I supposed to take?”
“I hate to be this frank, but you seem impervious to ridicule. All Chamisaville is laughing behind your back.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Me and Anton van Leeuwenhoek.”
>
“Joe—”
“Nancy, this past week I haven’t acted any different from anybody else in town. In fact, far as I can figure out, the second we tumbled into the hay last Saturday night I started living this enormous cliché that, God knows how, I had avoided for years.”
“Not very many people around here have the distinction of fomenting a brawl during the unveiling of a very sacred and meaningful statue. What you did was tantamount to commencing a free-for-all in a cathedral.”
“Nancy, I didn’t intend to sabotage the event. But all of a sudden it seemed so supercilious. Even criminal. Look what’s happening in the world! And when that creep snuck up behind me and dropped a nonsense epithet in my ear, something snapped. He epitomizes everything. I lost control.”
“It was awful.” Joe realized she was crying. Overhead, Sasha blammed “shave and a haircut!” against the tin with his good fist. “I thought I would die. First Sasha, and then this.”
“I’ll admit we Minivers aren’t building a very good reputation among the Hanuman set. Yet believe me, there’s nothing deliberate…”
“You might not think it’s deliberate. But subconsciously you really want to destroy everything I believe in.”
“That’s a lie,” Joe lied, attempting conservative vehemence. “I don’t want to hurt you, or put you down. Believe it or not, I respect you. Maybe I don’t agree with your philosophy, but shoot, we’re all different. That’s what makes a horse race.”
Bam baddle bam bam … bam bam!
“You don’t mean what you’re saying. At heart, Joe—and I don’t blame you for this, understand, because blame isn’t one of the games I play—but at heart you are a very prejudiced person.”
“Not prejudiced, just skeptical.”
“What makes it so sad is that you’re very attractive, too. You put out a charismatic and loving energy … that is, when you’re not being a total neanderthal. It’s rare to meet somebody with your intensity. I’m going to miss you very much.”
“‘Miss me’? What is this, the big kiss-off?” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror, hers red-rimmed and bloodshot, his fatigued and cruel-looking. “Only minutes ago, almost, I could do no wrong. You said that you loved me.”
“I guess I finally realized that no matter what I did you wouldn’t reciprocate. I made a mistake. I read you incorrectly.”
Bam baddle bam bam … bam bam!
“But you knew I was flawed. You knew I was weak. You’ve already tolerated a slew of nonsensical shenanigans, asthma attacks, infidelity, and humiliating mockery. You can’t just pull the rug out from underneath when the going gets tough. I thought one trait metaphysical people cultivated was a profound understanding of human nature.”
“That’s true. But you pulled a stunt out there worthy of a truly sadistic person. I have never been so shocked or humiliated. It’s as if I deliberately transported you out there to ruin the ceremony.”
“You can’t believe that. It was an emotional accident. Nobody’s gonna blame you.”
“Blame isn’t the point—I already said that. It’s just that I feel so, so silly for having trusted you.…”
“Listen, Nancy, you’re a lovely person, a staunch ally. I mean it. I’ve really enjoyed being with you this past week. Making love has been funky and wonderful. I’m amazed at your ability to uphold your own goodwill against such heavy odds. I don’t want us to be enemies.”
“Who said anything about enemies?”
Bam baddle bam bam … bam bam!
“But it sounds as if you’re saying good-bye.”
“I’m not saying good-bye in the larger sense. But I guess I am in the more intimate sense.”
“The intimate sense being…?”
Sasha’s face, upside down, appeared in the center of the front windshield.
“I don’t want to make love anymore. I don’t want us to be connected in other than a, you know, a social acquaintanceship. I give up on trying to incorporate you into my life. I finally realized today that you don’t want it, and I certainly can’t make you want it. In a sense, I’ve been very selfish. I wanted so much for you to conform to this image I have of a valid set of priorities for governing one’s existence—but my set isn’t yours, and vice versa. Thus it’s very egotistical and self-seeking of me to pursue the matter.”
“You don’t think that maybe, with patience, we could grow to understand and value each other?”
“I don’t think I have enough patience for the task.”
“What about me? I mean, you’re not exactly a flawless human being, you know.”
“That I’ll admit. I’m riddled with flaws.”
Sasha’s face, upside down, appeared in the middle of the driverside window.
“So we’re on similar terrain. Maybe we could really be good for each other.”
“Mmm. Like—where else but in the sack?”
“Like today. I mean, the altercation with Egon was unfortunate, but aside from that, I learned something. It was gratifying.”
“What did you learn?”
“All those people—well, they didn’t seem threatening.” Was he really saying this? How come she seemed not to peg his insincerity? “They seemed like okay folks. Some of my harsher prejudices were tempered radically, just from the mood, the brotherly atmosphere.”
“I noticed that it really soaked in.” Her sarcasm came as a surprise: she hadn’t utilized it before.
“No, seriously. I apologize.” Those infernal tingles grew stronger. Lust settled into the old gutbucket, bound and determined to give him a final shot at her. Again, Joe placed one hand against her neck; this time she did not flinch. “I wish you could just forget about Egon. What can I do or say to make it up to you?” Cautiously, his fingertips massaged her skin. Sasha’s face, upside down, appeared in the middle of the passengerside front window.
“It’s no good, Joe. There’s too much real and psychic distance between us.”
“I don’t get it. You spend a whole week tolerating my every transgression in order to break down barriers between us, then all of a sudden the going gets a wee bit tough and you fold like a lily-livered coward. I thought you were strong.”
“I’m not really as strong as I may occasionally appear to be. Granted, I’ve made progress over the years. But I’m still fragile, as anybody could see this afternoon during your karate demonstration. Ohh, that feels nice. Apply pressure a little higher. I’ve got a headache and that might help.”
“Here?”
“Yes … that’s wonderful. Oh Joe,” she said unhappily, “when you touch me I melt.”
“If we humans could only keep our mouths shut.…”
Sasha’s head disappeared. A faint slithering occurred overhead.
“Mmm … gosh that’s good.” She twisted her neck, responding to his massage, and tilted back her head. Joe smoothed the fabulous skin of her throat.
“There … It’s not all that bad, is it?”
“And how…” Then she stiffened a trifle, remembering. “Joe, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Of course. Anything you want, my love.”
“Well, I really can’t ever again go through something like that scene at the Hanuman this afternoon. So if…” She failed to complete the thought.
“So if what?”
“Oh, it doesn’t make sense. Forget it.”
Joe slipped down his hand, cupping one breast. “Try me. ‘So if’ what?”
“Well, if, you know. If we were to try and be together some more, I just think, I just feel…”
“Go on,” he prompted, ready to butcher, thoroughly aroused, and confident she was also.
“I mean, I really couldn’t take another scene like that, Joe. I know I’m pretty strong, but you’ve caused me a lot of anguish in the past few days, and I’m honestly freaked out. It’s as if, for some utterly preposterous reason, I’ve chosen to further my spiritual growth by hooking up with a Fascist.”
“A Fascist? Me?”
&n
bsp; She pouted. “Well, I’m not accustomed to being as manipulated in a relationship as I have been with you. I don’t seem to have much of a say at all in how we are together, when we can be together, what we can share together.”
“Uh, not to contradict, but fascism isn’t exactly my bag.”
“No…?”
Nobody had ever called him a Fascist before. Or had they? The epithet hurt; it triggered a faint queasiness. Probably he deserved it. Then he accepted it. Of course he was a Fascist. And this thing he was about to do to her would be tantamount to rape.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered contritely. “I guess I have been a shit-heel. But you don’t understand how truly I … I love you.”
“Oh gee, Joe … do you really mean it?”
As Joe caressed her breasts, Sasha slid down the front windshield, then backed up against it, pressed his obscene little buttocks against the glass, and began to take a smeary shit. Joe watched, fascinated, while continuing to fondle Nancy. She unleashed a flutter of sweet, hiccoughing moans. When next she spoke, however, she seemed clearheaded and in control. “Let’s suppose, just for the sake of argument, that we keep up our relationship.”
“I hope we do,” the weasel whispered insipidly into her ear. “I want us to love each other forever.”