War Porn

by Roy Scranton

  anyone brought before the world, “even directed at intelligence targets,” as they go on to concede and glut themselves, goodly raiment made by hands of TV you can never again wear, and military police, which is not a matter of

  religious discussions will be frequent. With the Bedu, Islam is so all-pervading that there is little religiosity, little fervor, and no regard for externals. The current plan discussed is fundamentally unacceptable. Accordingly, popular elections are necessary within the “Babylonian” mathematics of general history, another thousand years on, several centuries of sustained astronomical observation and consistent recording in the temples of Uruk and humvee enabled the development of predictive mathematical astronomy: I will show you DETAINEE-07 alleging that CIVILIAN-17, MP Interpreter, Titan Corp., hit DETAINEE-07 once, cutting his ear to an extent that required stitches. Meantime the Hooded Man pictured abuses—and shall be brought before the spear, a certain “even directed at intelligence targets” fact, as they go on to concede they glut themselves, goodly raiment by hands of violent/sex abuse which you can never again wear, a matter of men and women like dogs forced to crawl on his husband’s sisters and the wives of his brothers, General Sanchez fain to die in her distraction. When drawn from General Miller’s GTMO she sobbed and made lament among the Trojans yelling: We see cars going by in a still-secret city, CNN correspondents escape us no longer.

  Stay here for Al-Qaeda

  lust battle you

  must find these inner reasons (they will be denied, but are nonetheless in operation) before shaping your arguments for one course or another. Allusion is more effective than logical exposition: they dislike concise expression. There is nothing unreasonable, incomprehensible, or inscrutable in the Arab mind.

  strange hells

  (columbus day, 2004)

  The joint’s red ember glowed in the night as it passed from Matt’s hand back to Aaron’s.

  “That was kind of intense, dude,” Matt said.

  “Some bullshit is was it was.”

  “Mel gets worked up about politics sometimes.”

  “So I get to be her fucking rag doll? I don’t think so.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I brought it up. I was just . . .”

  “Curious. Yeah. Everyone’s curious fucking George.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m sorry. I should’ve let it go.”

  “Whatever, man. You want any more of this?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  Aaron stubbed out the roach and lit an American Spirit.

  Matt bummed one off him. “Listen, Mel’s really sweet, you know, she just gets worked up. She’s angry at the government and her dad and all kinds of shit, so it’s touch-and-go sometimes, but other than that, she’s fine. It’s just insecurity, you know?”

  “Fuck that and fuck her little dog, too.”

  “Man, I forgot about Xena. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Fucking dog comes at me, I kick it.”

  “I just meant, about Mel, you know, she’s fine, but she has, like, gender issues. Masculinity issues. So if you just apologize—I’m not saying she’s right, she’s not, she was way out of line, but if you apologize, she’ll let it go. She won’t apologize first. I know it’s irritating but, you know, it’s like she’s has something to prove.”

  “If I was a fucking pussy.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’d apologize if I was a fucking pussy.”

  “Okay, fine. Just think about it.” Matt studied the sky. “So, uh . . . How long you been back in the US?”

  “About three weeks.”

  “Were you over there long?”

  “Later, Matt. You want to know what it’s like, I’ll show you some shit later. Let’s talk about something else right now. Tell me about your global forecasting program.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. Okay. It’s called Constellation. I’m interested in the way we take disparate, seemingly unrelated points, and make visual patterns. Like that’s Draco and that’s Virgo. There’s Scorpio and the Big Dipper. They don’t really mean anything, not like an astrologer would tell you, but by constellating points we make a map of the sky. Then we can use that map to navigate on earth. It’s like a data aggregator, but . . . See, it’s . . .” He laughed. “It’s supposed to tell the future. I don’t know. It’s still . . . I haven’t quite found the right interface.”

  “How long you been working on it?”

  “About two years, I guess, since Dahlia and I moved out here.”

  “You seem like a cute couple, you and her.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks. We’re really happy together.”

  “How’d you two meet?”

  “College. University of Washington, class on statistical analysis. She was on crutches, she’d broken her hip playing soccer, and one day I helped her with her books. Then I started helping her with her homework. We were just friends then, but I really liked her. I liked her accent, that she was from Virginia. It seemed historical, you know? Special. And she always seemed so . . . I don’t know, like she was searching for something and a little sad about it. I liked that she was a searcher. Anyway, after graduation, I got involved in a web startup with some guys, and she went to Guatemala to work on an organic farm. I guess we lost touch, like people do. But then a couple years later, we ran into each other in a bar on Capitol Hill and it just clicked. We’ve been together since.”

  “Why’d you move to Moab?”

  “So the startup I helped found—cyclopsicope.com—sold out to Yahoo! in April 2000, which was pretty lucky, thinking back, because the boom was already over by that point. The correction was bad, since everybody was liquidating and the job market was overstocked with guys just like me, coders with crazy ideas and a lot of slick talk. But I had the money from the sell-off and I knew some people, so I could get by freelancing. Then after 9/11, we just decided we needed a change. Get off the grid, you know? I was in the middle of this project with some friends and Dahlia was getting her master’s, but once we’d tied up our loose ends in Seattle, we made the jump.”

  “How’s it working for you out here?”

  “Good. Good. We’re a little restless, I guess, but that’s just how you get, right? That’s just life, getting older, right? We go hiking a bit, she works the river some with Mel. I guess we’ll head back to civilization soon, but we can live cheap here, there’s some nice people, and it’s quiet. There’s space to think. Really think about things.”

  “Like constellations.”

  “Yeah . . .” Like Orion and Scorpio, Cassiopeia and Canis Major. “So, uh, what about you and Wendy, huh? You two got a thing?”

  “You like her, don’t you.”

  “I, uh . . . I don’t, uhm . . .” Matt coughed. “Dahlia and I are really happy. But you . . .”

  “We fuck.”

  “Alright . . .” Matt laughed. “How’s that?”

  “It’s trim. She’s a liar and a cunt, but she fucks good.”

  “Dude . . .”

  “It is what it is.”

  “Uhm . . . I don’t know what to say. Wendy’s a friend.”

  “That all?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No, you don’t. Anyway, I’m just passing through.”

  “That’s probably best.” Matt laughed again. “I mean nice . . . It must be nice.”

  “Sure enough.”

  “You said you’re going back to school in December?”

  “That’s the story I tell people. The truth is, Matt, I’m gonna burrow like a tick in the skin of the grimiest, nastiest Rust Belt shithole I can find and shoot heroin till I die.”

  “Wow. You’re kidding, right?”

  “We’re devils, Matthew. For real. You gotta see things for what they are . . . And there it is. Hello, beautiful.”


  “Y’all doing alright out here?” Dahlia asked, appearing out of the shadows.

  Matt twisted in his chair to see her and thought, did he just say that? “What did you say?”

  “You feel the spin, Matt?” Aaron asked.

  “Wait, what? What?”

  “We’re all good out back,” Dahlia said. “Mel’s a little riled yet, but Xena calmed down. My darling Mel said she’d apologize to you for being such a bitch, if you apologize to her for kicking her dog. Then we can all make nice and get on with our par-tey.”

  “Listen,” Aaron said, looking deep into Dahlia’s eyes. “Here’s the deal. I’m not sorry for defending myself. The dog gets it, he understands I’m a bigger dog. This is a fact I can see Mel struggles with. She’s like one of those terriers that picks fights with German shepherds. Nevertheless, I will apologize—to the dog and to Mel. I’m the bigger dog, I’ll be the bigger man. Tell you the truth, Dahlia, all I ever wanted was peace, love, and understanding.”

  Dahlia stared back. “I don’t know if I like you, soldier boy.”

  “You don’t have to.” Aaron smiled wide, suddenly all charm. “Run along now, sugar, and bring your tribe my offer of peace.”

  Dahlia left, scowling, and Matt wondered, What do I do? How do I make him leave? “Her name’s not sugar,” he said.

  “Chill out, bro. It’s all cool.”

  Matt groped for leverage, but with the planet spinning the stars were the only fixed points. “There’s no devil,” he said. “No such thing as evil. We’re human beings. We reason. We make choices. It’s like I was saying: it’s all just space and stars, but there’s an order we impose on it. We make maps to navigate by. You have to admit that at least.”

  “I know what I am, Matt. You don’t have to be good.”

  “No, there’s an order to things. There’s a map we’re responsible to.”

  “Wendy, for example. She’ll give it up. You just gotta take it.”

  Matt wanted to say, You need to leave now. Or: Quit looking at her like that. Or: I’m gonna kick your ass. Instead, he regarded Orion hanging overhead and tried to think of an answer. It wasn’t just stars. It was more.

  Dahlia went back out back, saying to herself what an asshole. The house creaked or the door maybe or the sky on its hinges at the horizon and she was out under the black world glittering like dark mica. The grass rustled live as snakes. Wendy, Mel, and Rachel huddled over something in the yard, Xena watching.

  “What is it?” Dahlia asked, thinking small and helpless.

  “Mel’s making fire,” Wendy said.

  Then it lit with a crackle, a small flame ringed with stones. Where’d she get stones? Where’d she get fire?

  “Where’d you get that?” Dahlia asked.

  “Me pray Goddess Moon, call up spirits from stone, make fire,” Mel said. “I can put it out if you want. I just thought it’d be nice. There isn’t a burn ban on or shit, is there? I don’t wanna bring down the fuzz.”

  “It’s cool, I think,” said Dahlia.

  Wendy leaned toward her. “Did you see the way the stars are behind the trees and inside them at the same time? I mean the branches. Like they’re caught.”

  Dahlia laughed. “Damn, y’all couldn’t wait for me on the next bowl? Buncha weed-bogartin’ bitches. Listen . . .” Dahlia sat on the ground by the fire. “I talked to the boys out front. Soldier boy said he’d apologize. Says he just wants peace.”

  “We change like chameleons,” Wendy said. “Inside, outside. Skin on skin.”

  “You do,” Dahlia said. “I don’t.”

  “No,” Wendy said. “We all do.”

  “So who’s Dahlia then?”

  Rachel said, “She’s the one who fed us tasty tofu.”

  Wendy said, “She’s the one who has what she wants.”

  Mel said, “She’s the one who knows what’s enough.”

  Dahlia lay on her side. “Enough is enough.”

  “This is fun,” Wendy said. “Who’s Wendy?”

  “Wendy’s a bitch,” said Mel.

  “Fuck you, Mel.”

  “Wendy’s a self-centered, self-quoting bitch,” Mel went on.

  “Seriously, fuck you.”

  “Wendy’s too smart and too pretty but she’s crazy and fun, so that makes up for it,” said Dahlia.

  “Wendy’s a cat,” Rachel said. “One of those little jungle cats, like an ocelot.”

  “I’ll be an ocelot.”

  “What’s your animal, Dahlia?” Mel asked. “A fox?”

  “Me? I’m a moth. I’m a swallow. A crane maybe, some kind of migratory bird.”

  “I’m a coyote,” said Rachel.

  Wendy laughed. “You’re no coyote. You’re a poodle that thinks it’s a coyote.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “I’m, uh, what’s that dog from that old beer ad?”

  “Spuds Mackenzie? He’s a bull terrier.”

  “I’m one of those,” said Mel.

  “I’m not a poodle,” Rachel said. “I’m a heron or an egret, like Dahlia.”

  “You’re a cuckoo,” Wendy said.

  They lapsed into silence. Dahlia lay on the earth, watching Wendy, thinking of the way Matt watched her. The sense of fear. The rush when the dog leaped. Aaron. Mel broke a stick and threw it in the crackling fire. Rachel cleared her throat and began to sing in a low, nasal lilt, a voice like reeds and red thread and honey, tapping her knee with her palm:

  Oh, the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird.

  How I wish that she was mine.

  But she never hollers cuckoo

  Till the fourth day of July.

  She sucks all the sweet flowers

  To make her voice so clear.

  But she never sings cuckoo

  Till summer draws near.

  She flies the hills over,

  She flies the world above,

  She flies back to the mountain,

  Where she mourns her ain true love.

  Oh, the cuckoo, she’s a cruel bird,

  And she warbles as she flies,

  And ev’ry time she passes,

  My true love says goodbye.

  Rachel let the last note fade and the hush that followed broke like waves washing hard against clapping, sharp, at the door. They all looked up at Aaron applauding, his eyes bright in the glow of the fire.

  “That was just lovely,” he said.

  “What do you want?” Wendy asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “How long were you there?”

  “I’m only passing through, Chief,” he said, coming toward the fire. “I left Major Tom in orbit, and if I don’t get back we might lose him in the Martian time-slip. But listen, it’s totally aces, we’re solving the mysteries of the universe. One thing I wanted to say: Mel, I hope we’re cool and I’m sorry for calling you names and overreacting to your—how you say—interrogation. We cool?” He knelt and offered Mel his hand. Xena watched nervously.

  Mel observed him, turning her head this way and that, then nodded. “Yeah, we cool,” she said, giving his hand a firm shake. “Sorry for calling you a Nazi.”

  “No problem,” he said. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.” Then he offered his hand to Xena. “Cool, doggy?” Xena hugged the ground and licked the back of Aaron’s hand. “Great. So we all cool.”

  “We’re not all cool,” Dahlia said, sitting up.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You and me ain’t cool.”

  “Well, I am heartsick to hear that, sugar, and steadfastly resolved to make things right. What could I possibly do to rectify this situation?”

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Wendy.

  Dahlia felt her face twitch. “You bring violence into my home, you fuck up my par
ty. You owe me.” Her eyes reflected flame. “Put your hand in the fire.”

  The other women watched, waiting. Aaron smiled and took a drink of his beer, then gazed around the circle. “What are y’all up to out here besides singing campfire songs? Some witchy coven shit?”

  Dahlia glared at him.

  “We’re just talking,” Wendy said.

  “Sweet. I’ll work on getting Major Tom down from orbit, and maybe then we can resume our explorations. In the meantime . . .” He leaned forward and passed his hand through the fire, slowly side to side so the orange heat licked along his hand and singed the hair on his wrist, then pressed his palm to Dahlia’s cheek. They looked at each other, faces close, then he pulled away and kissed Wendy on the top of her head. “I shall return,” he said, giving a sloppy salute, and disappeared through the gate.

  •••

  Matt looked over at Aaron’s face, washed blue in the moon’s light. He was pushing a bottle at him.

  “You got beer?”

  “Yeah. Take one.”

  “How long were you gone?”

  “All your life, sweetheart. You want a beer or not?”

  “I don’t know what you’re here for.”

  “Same thing we all are: kill, fuck, and die.”

  Matt took the offered beer.

  “Strange trip to the backyard,” Aaron went on. “The ladies have gone native. We talked some. Everybody groks now. Why don’t we take a ride in your time machine, Matthew?”

  “The machine’s broken.”

  “Show me.”

  “It’s sludge. It’s like a rollercoaster that won’t come down.”

  “So show me. Invite me in. I got something to show you in return.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  Aaron grinned, pulling from his pocket a silver thumb drive dangling on a gray cord. “Some real war shit. You show me the future, I’ll show you the past.”

  Matt thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Come on.”

  He stumbled up and ambled into the house, Aaron following through the dark to Matt’s work zone. Through the window, they could see the girls spread out around the fire, talking and laughing, their hands framing forms in the air. Matt sat at his desk and jiggled his mouse, waking the machine.