Then he saw Joy, still wearing those cool shades of hers and blowing smoke rings, in the teeniest leopard skin bikini he’d ever seen, sitting up on what was left of the stolen Chevy, which looked pretty swell up on blocks on the beach glistening.
But before he could say anything to her the giant black Jo Jo bounded over to her and gave her the longest, deepest, wettest soul kiss Tony could imagine outside a nightmare. And Joy sure wasn’t resisting any.
“Ah, jeez, Joy! You are a bad girl!” Tony shouted. And then he saw all the beautiful little brown-yellow babies with the curly hair playing around the front seat of the Chevy. “A bad, bad girl!” And Joy just winked, and blew this huge smoke ring, even with Jo Jo’s huge tongue in her mouth.
About that time these big planes roared overhead, bigger than anything Tony had ever seen outside a science fiction movie, and these men came zooming by with jets on their backs, just like the Rocketmen, and Joy and Jo Jo were waving at them, and their little brood of mixed bloods were jumping up and down with all this natural athletic ability they’d obviously inherited from their daddy.
“Ah, jeez, so bad!” Tony shouted, as the Nazi submarine came up out of the shallow waters. The hatch opened, and there were all the Nazi jungle clan, his clan, and they were fighting off the apes and lions and crocs trying to board the sub, with the Rocketmen coming up fast behind.
Tony didn’t have much choice. He dived into the ocean, spitting up saltwater as he swam toward the Nazis and their special jungle ways, and a past where he belonged.
CATS, DOGS, & OTHER CREATURES
CATS
Outside, in the cold air, the babies were crying again.
Esther knew they weren’t really babies. They were cats: tabbies and calicoes, short-hairs and long-hairs, Persians and Russians and Siamese. All of them crying like babies, just to be mean, their high-pitched cries rising steadily until they were babies in distress, babies in grave danger, babies going insane within a deadly dream. Such hateful cats.
Even though she knew better, Esther always let herself be fooled, always thought of them as the babies, because she wanted to be fooled. Her own babies were long gone now, married with babies of their own. Which she never saw, because their parents never visited. Because they’d hated their own mother for years, just like those selfish cats hated her.
Outside, in the cold air, the babies began to quarrel. Babies were always quarreling because there was never enough food, never enough love to go around. Esther thought that was a terrible thing, but it was the way of the world, and there was nothing she could do about it. But of course the babies never understood the worries of a mother.
Let us in, let us in! all the babies cried, but Esther was afraid. For she knew just how hateful babies could be, with their crying, and their quarreling, and their terrible hungers, and still more crying.
Outside, in the cold air, the babies began to scream. The wind rose, and looking out her window Esther could see the babies flying through the air, blown by the wind and blown by their own anger, which Esther knew to be without limit.
Open the window, open the window! all the babies cried, but Esther would not. For she understood the deceitfulness of babies, who cared only about filling their own mouths. The babies had taken from her all she had to give, and was it her fault she had had so little to give? She’d never been married, never had a man who stayed long enough to help out. She’d been thin and cheated and poor. She’d done what she could, the little that she could.
Then the babies were dropping softly through the broken glass, their bodies torn, tiny faces bleeding, and Esther ran around with towels and torn pieces of bed sheet to stop the wounds and soothe their cries, and even though their claws tore at her arms she never complained, never opened her mouth without a lullaby inside, and still it wasn’t enough.
DOGS
That summer the dogs gathered about him almost obsessively, as if afraid to let him out of their sight. There were the three he owned: the spaniel and the corgi and the retriever Ellen had left behind when she took the kids that day and went away. He’d always thought she loved that dog more than the kids, but he supposed he’d been wrong about that one aspect of their marriage. Certainly she hadn’t loved him more, but that wasn’t the reason he’d cheated on her. At least he was honest about it—that was part of his nature. Just as cheating had been part of his nature. He still believed he couldn’t have helped himself.
He supposed the retriever, Sam, was his now, even though he’d never liked the dog. Sam was old and fat and lazy, but he’d always believed that you never kicked out a dog just because you didn’t like him. You let him hang around until he died of natural causes.
Sometimes when he was out in the yard with the three dogs, picking up the kids’ toys—after all these months he was still finding toys everywhere he looked, sometimes telling them to put them away even though he knew good and well the kids weren’t there—other dogs from the neighborhood would join them, following him around with his own dogs. At least he thought they were from the neighborhood—he’d actually never seen these particular dogs before. Sometimes they’d follow him into the house. He’d never stop them. He didn’t care.
Occasionally the sheer number of dogs caused a disturbance among them—a dachshund would get too close to a boxer, a corgi would inadvertently step on a retriever’s paw—but a little fight had never bothered him much. He liked a little fight in a dog.
Over the months the dogs accumulated until he stopped counting their numbers. He simply knew he had more dogs than furniture, more dogs than words he wanted to share with anyone. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped getting up: a Doberman had ripped the calendar off the wall and eaten the pages—one centerfold pose at a time, Miss July, Miss August, the mighty Miss September. He’d laughed at that one, cheered the beast on, especially that evening when the dog shit some glossy nakedness out. The goddamned chihuahua had knocked the alarm clock off onto the floor, where it was quickly covered by a heaving mass of canine bodies. Not that he ever wanted to look at the time again, but he’d never cared much for hairless dogs.
“Hey, boys,” he whispered from the bed, making a half-dozen of them move off his back. “Hey, now,” he said, as he rolled over and a shepherd stretched out over his chest, pressing down so hard he could hardly breathe. There were snarls and snaps in answer, and vicious fights he could not see. “So what have you gone and done?” as the air filled with the stench of dead dog.
& OTHER CREATURES
The children played all afternoon on the wide lawn while their parents drank and played cards inside in the glass-walled room. One of the mothers worried that it might be too hot outside for the younger children, but the man who owned the house said it was fine because his children had always played in such heat with no ill effects. Her husband reassured her and poured another round of drinks. Then the couples traded stories about the resiliency of childhood and they all laughed and shook their heads, even the woman who had been worried.
Outside, the sun had become a great penny of fire. The older children advised the younger children to stare at the fire if they wanted to see the pretty pictures, and the younger children did as they were told even though it hurt.
At the edge of the wide lawn the other creatures gathered and watched.
Inside the glass-walled room the parents put on some music and began to dance. The young children on the lawn outside this room could no longer see through the glass, but they could hear the music and the jumble of noise that was their mommies and daddies laughing. The children moved toward the glass wall, lay down on the lawn and closed their eyes. The mother who had worried at first was glad her children weren’t in the room, because she wanted to forget them for a change, forget herself and have some fun.
Outside on the lawn the older children began hitting each other with bats. When one fell to his knees the others gathered around him, hitting him until the boy collapsed completely on the lawn and soft matter oozed into the grass. So
me of the children continued to hit him with their bats because they liked the loud, soft sound his body made. The other creatures on the edge of the lawn continued to watch, but a few brave ones crept from cover to perch on the mowed portion of the lawn itself.
Inside the glass-walled room, the parents continued to laugh and dance, wondering why they’d never gotten together like this before. The mother who had worried wondered why she’d had so many children in the first place. She loved her children but they wanted so much, needed so much, that sometimes it seemed there must be dozens of them grasping, pushing, mouths open to be fed. It shamed her to be thinking like this. But sometimes the sheer numbers of children in the world filled her with terror.
Outside on the wide lawn the older children joined their bloody hands and raced down the long slope toward the wild edge below, leaving the younger children and the dead boy lying still on the hot grass. At the bottom of the slope the other creatures all entered the lawn and crept up the hill.
Inside the room the parents turned down the music and gathered at one wall of the glass. The couples held each other and smiled. Some of their children lay sleeping peacefully on the lawn, or rubbing their eyes and yawning as if impatient for sleep. The mother who had worried saw her youngest there, watching the sky.
The woman peered outside the glass down the slope of the lawn looking for her other two children, seeing nothing but a great cloud of insects in the hot summer air, and below them a gathering of eyes as the immensity of the world looked back at her.
HOW TO SURVIVE A FIRE AT THE GREENMARK
A NOTE FROM THE MANAGEMENT
The issuance of this guide is not meant to imply that St. Louis’ historic Greenmark Hotel is more prone to fire than any other hotel of comparable size and age. In fact, we believe the Greenmark’s safety record to be superior or equal to the finest international hotels. But all of us are subject to the whims of fate and the general shiftiness of the cosmos. And none of us is immune to the actions of madmen or hostile foreign governments. So it is simply out of a sense of responsibility for our fellow man (and you, too, ladies) that we provide this list of simple fire safety procedures. Here’s hoping that your stay at the historic Greenmark is a safe and pleasant one indeed!
1. STAY OFF THE PHONE
We may be trying to reach you. Don’t tie up the line. Have some consideration.
Odd, Jane thought, that she’d never before realized the value of pure and simple anger in today’s world. People acted as if something was wrong with you when you were angry, as if you wouldn’t even need to be angry if you just had your shit together.
Well, fuck that. Fuck them.
Nothing better than a pure and righteous anger to scour the mind of all its useless debris. Nothing better to focus yourself, to remind yourself just who the hell you were at this point in time on this particular mud ball careening through soulless space. A healthy bout of anger burned through you like a flash fire, reducing all those little shames and regrets to such a fine ash it was no trouble at all sweeping them out before the next asshole came into your life with a pocket full of fun money and a big-toothed grin.
She’d been seething all day. Combustion was inevitable, and she didn’t give a damn who got burned.
Jane gripped the receiver until her knuckles turned white. The peculiar thing was that even when she willed herself to relax, to let go, the muscles in her hand and arm refused, remaining locked and rigid, as if she had somehow misplaced the key that would release them. “You bastard,” she said. She knew she had been repeating herself. She just didn’t know for how long.
Calling me names isn’t helping things any. I’m going to hang up. I said I was sorry.
“You promised you’d be here. I took the day off and God knows I can’t afford it. I’m lying in this awful, stinking hotel because this is the place you chose. There was a goddamn used condom on the floor when I got here, Richard! Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? It makes me feel like a whore, you bastard!”
I really don’t think this is a fruitful conversation. I’m going to hang up now. Perhaps later when you calm down...
“Goddamn you! If you hang up I’m telling your wife!” The bastard didn’t say anything right away. Jane smiled but it wasn’t a smile she enjoyed. Something was wrong with her jaw. Smiling hurt her face.
And I’ll tell your husband.
“I really don’t think he’ll be listening. I don’t think he’s capable of listening, actually.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“He’s dead, Richard. And aren’t you the forgetful one?”
What are you saying?
“Jesus, you’re a dense bastard! The gun in your glove compartment? Is it still there?” Despite herself, her smile spread. As her rigid facial muscles stretched and burned she almost screamed from the pain.
You crazy bitch!
She laughed out loud, and then she did scream. Flames had spread from the bed sheet to the black plastic phone, and now the receiver was too hot to hold. “I’ve got a little problem here. I’m going to hang up now. I’ll call you right back. You pick it up right away, you hear me? You don’t and you’re a dead man!” She slammed the phone down, then watched as it melted. The skin of her hand had blackened and was dotted by a dozen or more blisters like tiny pearls.
It was a hell of a thing to happen to her. But it actually made her feel better.
2. EXPLORE THE EXITS
Decide in advance how to make your escape. There is almost always more than one way out. Whatever you do, wear comfortable shoes suitable for wild, uncontrolled running.
Jane leapt to her feet and opened the door. There were no indications of smoke or fire damage. She padded halfway down the hall before she realized she was wearing only a bra and panties. She hesitated, listening. Oh, the hell with it. She followed the hall around the perimeter of the hotel, finding three staircases leading down. She went up to the elevator doors and put her blistered hand on the outside of one. It wasn’t particularly warm. On her way back to the room she passed an elderly couple who stared. “There appears to be a fire,” she said with a smile. “I suggest that you stay off the phone, douse yourselves with water, crawl into bed and hold each other as tightly as you can.” She took a few steps away then turned. “Sexual intercourse would be optional,” she added.
She went back to her room. One entire wall was enveloped in flames. She thought this was all Richard’s fault, but she wasn’t sure how. She walked calmly into the bathroom, soaked several large towels in the tub, went back to the flaming wall and spent five minutes beating the fire out. The flames disappeared with surprising ease, as if they had been sucked into the ugly wallpaper. (Red and green and black clusters of geometric shapes—from a distance they looked like bugs chewing on the wall. How could people fall asleep in such a room?)
3. CHECK THE WINDOWS
Do they open? How far is it to the ground? Note that you will probably not survive a leap from above the third floor. Do you see fire trucks outside? Are there bodies on the ground? Are other people jumping? Does rain look imminent? Beating on the window will most likely do no good.
The fire was at least partly her responsibility. Emotions kept pent up over long periods of time can reach dangerously high temperatures. She had read this in some popular magazine, the woman on its glossy cover large-breasted and nude except for a bright red scarf around her neck. Jane supposed the scarf represented the strangulation brought on by female sexuality. Or maybe the woman’s throat was on fire from all the things she could not bring herself to say.
But Richard’s responsibility was even graver. The bastard. The prick. He should have paid more attention to her. He should have been truthful. It wasn’t fair that all these innocent people might burn up in a fire while he was safe at home, free to continue cheating on his wife. Her face suddenly flushed with anger or with heat from the fire.
Jane walked around the room as she dialed the bastard on the phone by the closet. The
cord became more and more entangled, but she could not stop herself from pacing. His line was busy. She dialed his number again and again, standing by the window, watching as flames shot out of one window, and then another, in the hotel wing across the courtyard. In the hazy distance other buildings appeared to be on fire. The ringing of telephones had risen to a deafening din. Obviously other women were going through the same things with their men. All over the city, men were being bastards. All over the city, women were turning into blackening, melting candles.
Jane? Is that you?
“You’re a dead man.”
My father called. I couldn’t get him off the phone.
“He’s probably a bastard, too. Is that where you learned how to treat women? From that bastard father of yours?”
Look, I know I screwed up. Let me make it up to you.
Veins of fire suddenly issued from one corner of the floor, flowed up the wallpaper, made jagged patterns like lightning across the ceiling over her head. Beautiful and deadly, as all things should be. “Come down to the hotel. We’ll see what we can work out.”
He didn’t speak right away. She gave him some time. She didn’t want to scare him off. She was a woman, after all, capable of great patience. I don’t think I want to do that.
“You’re not a little scared are you?”
Sounds like I may have reason to be, don’t you think?
“Just come down here. I just want to talk to you. You talk to me and everything’ll be okay—I’ll make it right. But if you don’t come down here in the next half hour you’re screwed. Royally. That good life of yours is over. And you know I can do it.”
Onion Songs Page 8