Devil's Dance

by Daniel Depp

  ‘What?’ said Savan. ‘What did I do?’

  Araz pushed the buzzer and in a moment Omar opened the door. Omar was a large man whose acne-ravaged face had over time been augmented with a collection of knife wounds, one of which had severed a nerve so that the left side of his jaw drooped. He was inclined to drool and kept dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. He always wore the same dark-blue suit with a pattern of dandruff sprinkled across the shoulders that never changed either. Araz couldn’t help being fascinated by it, like Omar had glued minuscule bits of dead skin to the cloth in some complex array that made sense only to him. Not that Araz was ever going to broach the subject, since somewhere in his right jacket pocket Omar had a six-inch switchblade that could be drawn, opened, and used to extend a man’s smile by a bloody three inches before anybody knew what had happened. Araz knew this because he had driven a poor bastard to the hospital and left him outside the emergency room with a rather too late warning about saying anything critical of Uncle Atom within Omar’s hearing. Omar was Uncle Atom’s right hand, and carried a knife because a gun was too fucking expensive to toss if the cops were onto you.

  When the door opened they were hit by a blast of chilled air and the pasty smell of fresh dead flesh. They passed through the curtain of plastic strips and into a large room full of hanging flayed and dismembered animals and men standing at tables hacking at dead things with cleavers and large knives. The Chipmunks followed Omar through the dangling carcasses back toward the office. On the way Savan picked up small raw chicken and tossed it blindly over his shoulder to Tavit, who caught it without thinking.

  ‘Goddamn it, Savan,’ said Tavit but shut up and placed the chicken back on the rack when Omar glared at him.

  Uncle Atom sat at an old gray metal desk, counting half a dozen piles of money with the aid of an ancient hand-crank adding machine. Atom Baldessarian hated technology nearly as much as he hated spending money, and he hated spending money nearly as much as he hated people, which was considerable. The office itself consisted of the desk, two metal filing cabinets, two metal chairs, and a metal bookcase that held some audio cassettes and a circa 1978 cassette-playing ghetto blaster. On the walls were posters diagraming the various cuts of meat and a giant photo of Charles Aznavour on the wall above Uncle Atom’s head. Armenian folk music came tinnily from the boom box. Araz knocked and pushed open the door.

  ‘Come the hell in,’ said Uncle Atom without looking up.

  Araz went warily halfway in. Tavit and Savan stood behind him. They were all scared shitless of the old man but as the eldest it was Araz’s job to do the talking.

  Finally Atom looked up. ‘Are you going to stand there like a fucking apush, giving me pneumonia? Where’s my money? And where the hell have you been?’

  ‘It was late?’ Araz meant it as a statement but nerves let it escape as a question.

  ‘How am I supposed to know you didn’t get hit over the head and robbed?’

  ‘All of us?’ said Araz.

  Atom counted some money, mumbled to himself, gave the adding machine handle a good crank.

  ‘A little Jew kid with a cap gun could take down the three of you. I don’t trust you to pick lint off your dicks, much less run around overnight with forty-five thousand of my dollars. Where is it?’

  ‘He didn’t have it?’ Araz wished to hell his knees would stop shaking and these statements would stop coming out like he was playing fucking Jeopardy.

  ‘How much did he have?’

  ‘None?’ This came out almost as a squeak. Pathetic.

  Atom stopped cranking and stared at him.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Atom asked him. ‘Are you afraid of me?’

  ‘No,’ said Araz.

  ‘You’re not afraid of me?’ Atom asked again.

  ‘No,’ said Araz.

  Atom got up slowly from the desk and moved around it toward Araz without taking his eyes off him. He moved up close to Araz and Araz blurted,

  ‘Okay, yes, I’m afraid of you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Atom. ‘You should be afraid of your elders, they know more than you. Always be afraid of people who know more than you, you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In your case, this would be practically the entire world. It’s going to be a hard life. Come with me.’

  Atom moved past him and out the door. Savan and Tavit jumped aside to let him pass. They all followed him out onto the butchery floor.

  ‘What do you see?’ Atom asked them.

  It was obviously some kind of trick question and nobody wanted to fall into it. The Chipmunks all looked at each other.

  ‘MEAT!’ shouted Uncle Atom. ‘You see MEAT! You’re in a butchery, for god’s sake, what else are you going to see? What do you see again?’

  ‘Meat?’ Tavit repeated.

  ‘Good. Yes, meat. Maybe you’re not a complete retard after all. What is the significance of meat?’

  ‘People eat it?’ said Tavit, feeling encouraged.

  ‘“People eat it,”’ repeated Atom. ‘Come here.’

  Tavit came forward and Atom grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him over to where the head of a sheep lay on a table. Atom pushed Tavit’s face right up next to it.

  ‘Would you eat that?’ Atom asked him.

  ‘No?’ said Tavit.

  ‘Why not?’ said Atom.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Tavit. ‘It’s not cooked or something.’

  ‘That’s right. If it was cooked, it would be FOOD, right? But it’s not cooked, so it’s MEAT. Understand?’

  Everybody nodded but they clearly had no fucking idea what he was talking about. He let go of Tavit.

  ‘MEAT. Everything that is alive in the world is MEAT. You understand this? It is not butterflies, it is not cute little kitties with big round eyes, it is not people, it is not you, it is not me. It is MEAT, nothing more. All living things are nothing but meat. I want you to be clear on this. You think this sheep has a soul?’

  ‘Not anymore,’ said Savan. ‘It’s dead.’

  ‘Thank you, you fucking apush. No, this sheep does not have a soul. This sheep never had a soul. You don’t have a soul. I don’t have a soul. You went to school, you went to church, they told you all these things have a soul. They lied. None of these things have a soul. They’re just meat. It’s all just meat.’

  Atom looked at Araz.

  ‘You’re the smart one. You’re thinking about God, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ said Araz.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, you little turd. I can read your mind. You’re thinking about God. You’re thinking that God gave everything souls. You’re thinking that Uncle Atom is wrong, that there are fucking souls floating around all over the place. But I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Ask me if I believe in God. ASK ME!’

  ‘Do you believe in God,’ Araz said to him.

  ‘Of course I believe in God. God exists. I know, because I’ve seen him. I’ve looked right into his eyes. And you know what? God doesn’t care. God doesn’t give a shit about you or me or the butterflies or the little kitties. And if God ever gave us souls, then I was there on the fucking day he took them back.’

  Atom began to unbutton his sweater.

  ‘I was a boy,’ said Atom, ‘the Soviets wanted my country. That shitass Stalin. We Armenians, we’re a brave people. Even the Turks couldn’t wipe us out. We fought like bastards. We’re tough.’

  Atom took off the sweater. He began to unbutton his shirt.

  The Chipmunks looked at each other. And then it hit them. They all looked at each other and then glommed onto it at once: they were going to see it. He was going to show it to them. His back. The family legend.

  Uncle Atom’s back.

  ‘The Soviets, they had tanks, machine guns, fucking airplanes. We had old rifles and ammunition that had turned green. Sometimes we fought with swords. Can you believe that, swords?’

  Atom took off his shirt.

  ‘W
e resisted. We weren’t just going to let them walk in, take over our country. We’re a proud people, we’re brave. We fought back. We knew we would lose, but we fought back. My brothers fought back. I fought back.’

  He hands the shirt, the sweater to Omar. Reaches down to grab the hem of his undershirt.

  ‘The Chechens were the worst. Like animals, monsters. We’d been given money to buy rifles, my brothers and me. We crossed the mountains carrying the rifles on donkeys. We were stupid, we were young. It was a great adventure. We fought for the freedom of our people. We got five kilometers into the mountains before they caught us. Actually they’d been watching us all along. They just weren’t in a hurry. The same man who’d sold us the rifles sold us to the Chechens. He was a good businessman.’

  Up and off comes the undershirt.

  Atom turned.

  From the width of his shoulders, from the base of his neck to his waist, his back was a mass of scar tissue. Araz thought it looked like the top layer of bubbled, melted cheese on a tray of lasagna.

  ‘They cut their heads off, my brothers’ heads. Whack, whack, just like that. They held me as I watched. I waited for them to kill me too. Then one of the Chechens said he needed to shit, but there was no toilet paper. The Russians never gave them enough toilet paper, he said, they were constantly wiping their asses with leaves and grass. So they held me down and tore off my shirt, and one of them took a knife and cut my back and peeled off strips of skin. It took a while. I’d scream and when I’d pass out they’d slap me until I woke up. Then they’d continue. They showed me the four long strips of skin. I was young. The skin was soft and there was no hair. They said now they had something to wipe their asses on.’

  He’d pulled off his undershirt, let them see, now pulled it on again. He’d made his point.

  ‘They left me. I just lay there. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t alive. What I remember was the flies. You see any flies in here? Hell no. Flies are disgusting. They have shit on their feet, they lay eggs in meat. Maggots.’

  On with the shirt.

  ‘It was hot. The flies came. I watched them crawl all over my brothers’ heads, climb in and out of their mouths, climb down into the necks of their bodies. Then I realized they were on me too. All over my back. I couldn’t move. I could hear them, the buzzing. Flies will do this. Flies will do this to any sort of meat, you leave it sitting around long enough.’

  Tavit had been pretty good. You could only hear him barely moaning through most of Uncle Atom’s little show. He even made it, though moaning like a sort of hum, through the display of Uncle Atom’s flayed back. But the fly thing was too much for him. The idea of that back, that back, flies laying maggots in it …

  Tavit retched and projected a hefty arc of semi-digested Dr Pepper and a hot pastrami on rye onto the floor about four feet away.

  Uncle Atom said,

  ‘Go get something to clean that up. Spray it down, then scrub it with some disinfectant. All I need are the health inspectors on my ass,’ and pulled on his sweater.

  Tavit wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then quickly shuffled into the back to get something to clean up his puke.

  Uncle Atom said,

  ‘That’s when I realized the truth about meat. My brothers, they were just meat. I didn’t see any souls flying out of their bodies when their heads were cut off. The Chechens, they didn’t have any souls. I was laying there, looking at the flies crawling all over the dead bodies of my brothers, and I felt nothing, so it was clear I didn’t have a soul either. Meat. It became very clear that we were all nothing but meat.’

  He buttoned the sweater, straightened it out, straightened the sleeves.

  ‘It took me months. Laying on my stomach. My mother changing the dressings, the doctor coming to paw me. When I was better, as soon as I could put a shirt on my back, I went back out. I’d get in close to the Russian camps. I had nothing to lose. I had no soul. I was fearless. I was a boy, but I had grown men following me. They’d all lost sons, had wives and daughters murdered or raped. None of us had souls anymore.’

  Tavit had come out with a pail and water, paper towels and a mop and a scrub brush. The whole artillery of cleaning supplies. Atom watched him for a bit, then pointed with his toe and said,

  ‘You missed a spot.’

  Continued:

  ‘We’d go out at night, we’d get close, we’d catch Russian soldiers. It had nothing to do with politics anymore. Our country was lost. It was a game. We’d catch them, then we’d tie them up. We’d boil water, then we’d lower them naked into the water and listen to them scream. Then we’d take them out and peel them like you’d peel a banana. Like you do with pigs. The skin would just slide right off. We’d leave them where the Russians would find them. It scared them shitless. That lemon stuff, the Lysol,’ he said to Savan. ‘Use that. It’s in the storeroom.’

  Tavit got up off his hands and knees, scarpered away.

  ‘Just meat. You know what a man looks like when you skin him?’

  He walked over to the hanging carcass of a skinned pig, slapped it a few times with the flat of his hand.

  ‘Just like this. Just like a pig. It even feels like this.’

  He slapped the pig a few more times, like he’d developed some sort of friendly attachment to it.

  Tavit came back, tossed the Lysol around, scrubbed again.

  ‘What are you,’ he said to Tavit, ‘a goddamn chambermaid? That’s enough. Come here.’

  Atom went over to the sheep’s head.

  ‘When I send you out there, when you work for me, you’re not dealing with people, you’re dealing with meat. Just chunks of meat. They don’t have feelings, they don’t think, they don’t have souls. All they’ve got is my fucking dollars. That’s all they are. Fucking chunks of meat holding on to my money.’

  Atom lifted the head in both hands, held it up in front of the boys like he was making some kind of toast. Then he gouged out the sheep’s eyes with his thumbs, a soft sucking sound.

  Tavit started to retch again.

  ‘I fucking send you out there to get my money, you come back with my money. You do what you’ve got to do to the meat, but you get me my money. Otherwise you have no function. Otherwise you’re just meat too.’

  He looked at Tavit. Tavit looked at Atom apologetically, turned, and was sick again.

  ‘Somebody go back for the Lysol, will you?’ said Uncle Atom. ‘Jesus,’ he said, shaking his head. He put the sheep’s head back on the table where he’d found it and walked back into the office.

  SIXTEEN

  Maria, Anna’s housekeeper, had set a table out by the pool. Crisp white tablecloth, candles, and the soft, surreal blue-green glow of the water. Roast chicken, salad, a white wine chilling in a clay container. Simple, relaxed, just what they needed. They’d been walking on eggshells with each other since the blow-up on the set. Spandau poured the wine. You could hear the traffic and the revelers outside the clubs on Sunset at the bottom of the hill. It was a cool night and they’d lit the space heater to envelope them in a warmish bubble, but every so often a short frigid blast swept across the table. Anna burrowed into her sweater. It was a ridiculous night for this kind of picnic and they both knew it. But it was romantic and they were alone and you could look up and see the stars. That had to count for something.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go inside?’ Spandau asked her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Not unless you do.’

  ‘You’re okay? You look like you’re freezing.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really. I like this. Don’t you? If you don’t like it we can go inside.’

  Things felt off to a wrong start. They were trying too hard, and had already embarked on that frustrating waltz of trying to anticipate the other’s desires, which invariably ended with nobody knowing what the hell anybody wanted. They were trying to converse in some neutral language neither was geared for – they were both naturally outspoken, and the effort wasn’t to think of somethin
g to say, but to stop yourself from saying exactly what you did think. What made it worse is that they’d both been here before, in other relationships that had failed. This was the step before that final desperate weekend in Cabo or Maui or Tahoe, where you promised to revive the spark and patch things up, then came home reminded of how fucking hopeless it was after all. They sat there wanting to be close but struggling not to communicate. It was always impossible at the end. That’s how you knew it was ending.

  Anna picked up her wine, looked at it nervously, then sat it down again. She looked up at the stars. Spandau looked up at the stars. They both looked at the stars for a while. Then she said:

  ‘I’m sorry about the other day. On the set.’

  When in doubt apologize.

  ‘No, I was out of line,’ he said. ‘You’re right. This whole thing with Walter is just getting way out of hand. I’ve got to do something.’

  ‘We’ve talked about this before. Walter is never going to get any better. I mean, I know you love him, but you’re like his perfect enabler. He couldn’t get away with any of this shit if you weren’t around to cover for him. You’re not doing him any favors either. Not really.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Spandau. ‘Now I’m an enabler. I suppose once I finally get in touch with my feelings I can give myself permission to feel what I feel and become integrated and then I can search for some closure.’ He took a hefty gulp of wine. ‘How did people manage to talk to each other before psychiatry?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Change of subject. I’m sorry I brought it up. I swore I wouldn’t.’

  ‘And what exactly is an enabler, anyway? Is it anything like allowing a grown-up in a democratic society to do what he wants with his own body, without foisting your own moral judgments on him?’

  ‘Oh, come on. He’s your friend but you’re helping him kill himself and trying to pass it off as some deep philosophical decision you’ve made? Give me a break. You think he’d stay home hammered if he didn’t know you were in the office covering for him? He’s been running this company now for what, twenty-five or thirty years since his old man died, and he didn’t do it before you started working for him. The business wouldn’t have lasted fifteen minutes and you know it.’