Fuckness - Prunty_ Andersen.wps

by phuc

  The mother looked better, too. She had on a new wig, an auburn one, and it looked like she’d taken the time to put it on straight. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, comically huge, bellowing a truly abnormal amount of smoke. She still wore a nightgown but it also looked new, bright nearly-fluorescent flowers standing out on a pink background.

  Racecar was smoking too. Combined, they looked like a cigarette ad. The smoke from their cigarettes swirled up into the air, darkening it. I realized I could still hear some of the music from Bobby DeHaven’s guitar playing except it, like the air around me, also became darker and heavier.

  Suddenly, everything became foreboding.

  I looked around the park. It was up on a hill. The only thing blotting the surface of its green grass was an orange swing set. The park was surrounded by a huge factory, as though the park itself were little more than a courtyard. Something inside me desperately wanted to be on the swing set, but there was another part of me that knew I had to run, to get the hell out of the park.

  The sound of the mother coughing drew my attention back to the parents. She was doubled over, having one of her fits. Racecar wound up with the Frisbee and let it fly.

  It hit the mother right on the head, knocking her wig askew. She coughed again before retching, unleashing a torrent of bright red onto the grass. The sounds of the factory gained volume, becoming both rhythmic and abrasive, nearly musical, drowning out all the other sounds.

  I tried to run, but it felt incredibly hard, like the grass was growing up around my feet. The air felt thicker, also. Not only was it hard to run, it was nearly impossible to breathe. I half-ran until I got to the wall of that factory. I looked back over my shoulder and noticed the parents were following me.

  “Come on, Wally,” Racecar called. “Come and play Frisbee with us.”

  I ignored him and pressed on into the factory. Even though there weren’t any discernible doors or entrances, I got inside anyway.

  “Come on, Wally,” Racecar’s voice matched the rhythm of the factory sounds.

  In front of me, there was nothing but blackness and hell orange. To my sides were walls of dead, charred bodies. Once I realized what they were, the smell nearly made me vomit.

  “You come back here, Wallace,” the mother strumbled, framed against the comparative brightness of the entrance. “You little fucker. Little shit.”

  And she let fly with the Frisbee. It approached me in slow motion. I melted down to the floor, pains running all over my body, nearly paralyzing. While the Frisbee came floating toward me, I had the idea that, somehow, Uncle Skad was supposed to save me from all of this.

  “Uncle Skad,” I called.

  Futility, a sinking dread, closed in around me along with the blackness and not the hell orange, but its hot essence.

  “Uncle Skad!” I yelled. “Uncle Skad! Uncle Skad!”

  I opened my eyes and he was there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Uncle Skad

  The first thing I saw were his huge, crystal blue eyes surrounded by bloodshot.

  Those eyes were full of concern. Something in the area around his eyes, in the folds and wrinkles, said he’d done a lot of worrying in his life. Blackish dirt, the dirt of the homeless I’d seen before my collapse, caked his face. A huge steel-gray beard surrounded that face, the same color as his long, dirty gray hair. That strange electric feeling I remembered from my dream was still there, in the room all around me. I realized the energy was coming from Uncle Skad.

  “How is it that you know my name?” he asked.

  I must have mumbled his name in my sleep. It was a simple question but it caught me completely off guard. There was electricity there, in the air, but it couldn’t eclipse that grinding bonefeel. It was back and hurting even worse than it had that morning, after the multiple beatings.

  “I’m... I’m...” I stammered.

  Skad backed away from me. He was older and a little bit plump, but he moved with amazing fluidity.

  “A boy, a peculiar boy, with horns atop his head, staggers and falls. This boy, this stranger, this alien is brought to me, slung across the arms of a stranger. But I’m enjoying a fine sleep. A holy helluva sleep. The door is kicked several times and I lie there, on my soft mat, my makeshift bed, hoping that the kicker, the disturbance, will go away. I lie there, drool trickling down my beard, listening to the kicking and the soft drip drop of rain on the rusted tin roof. I go to the door, look through my viewing slot and see one of my fellow Tar Mates. I open the door and the kicker, the knocker, comes inside with this woesome man-child slung over his arms. He plops him down on the floor and says, ‘He was asking for you.’ ‘Me?’ I ask. ‘You,’ he says.”

  Skad moved around his dark little space, his arms gesturing in a dramatic fashion.

  “And I ask this child, this being that calls for me as he nightmares away a rainy night, I ask him how he knows my name and he stammers, ‘I... I...’”

  Skad looked at me as though to terrify me and I did feel a great welling of fear from within, those eyes piercing through me. Then he smiled, chuckled, a whole different look, a friendlier one, covering his face. I struggled to sit up.

  “Re lax,” he placed a hand on my chest.

  Uncle Skad was the only thing I could focus on. Everything else was completely shrouded in black.

  “I’m Wallace Black. Sadie and Carl’s kid,” I wheezed out. Skad’s little place was uncomfortably warm, leaning more toward hot, but whenever I breathed in, it felt more like I was breathing in the icy, rainy air of outside.

  “I guess that would make me your uncle. I thought we shared some familial resemblance. I knew it was you anyway. I could tell by the freckles and the mouth.

  Remember? The family reunion about ten years ago. Just you and me stayed out there by the swing set. My arm nearly fell off from pushing you so damn much but I would have done just about anything to stay away from those potato salad-sucking fakes that call themselves family. Say, how are your parents anyway?”

  I started to answer, to make up something I was supposed to say like, “Oh, they’re doing fine,” but he put a finger over my lips.

  “Wait. You know what? And this is no offense to you, but I don’t give a good goddamn how your parents are doing. They stopped believing in me a long time ago.

  Besides, you know, I didn’t really push you on that swing just to stay away from the family, you were pretty interesting. Until you told me about those cloud factories, I didn’t have any idea how those things got up there in the sky. If you haven’t learned yet, Wally, you might figure out that the truth isn’t always what you want to believe. You’ve grown horns since the last time I saw you. Looks like you’ve got something stuck on one of those things.”

  He reached out and poked one of the horns.

  “That’s an anus,” I said.

  “So I see.” He giggled. “An anus.”

  “I’m in a great deal of pain.”

  “Horns aside, you look like complete and total hell. A boy your age shouldn’t have those dark circles around his eyes. Anyway, I may be able to construct some form of remedy for that pain. You don’t get to be my age without coming up with a few ways of coping with the old pain bug. Can you possibly manage to negotiate the numerous objects on the floor and move over here to the couch?”

  I didn’t think I’d be able to see my hand if I held it out too far in front of my face.

  I tried to stand up but my body wouldn’t move. Maybe my brain had found a way to wake up, but my body was going to make me hurt if I commanded it to do anything. The mere hint of a movement and a low shriek involuntarily forced itself out of my mouth.

  Uncle Skad picked me up like a small child and carried me over to the couch. It felt impossibly comfortable. Like the booth in the bar, my body melted into it. There was even something about the overwhelming smell of ass wafting up around me that seemed comforting.

  “There you go,” he said. “I guess we have a lot of catching
up to do if you don’t mind the ramblings of an old man.”

  Skad walked over to the middle of the room, disappearing into the darkness, and struck a match. He dropped the match and the room burst into a blaze of orange light. A crazy thought sent a sudden shockwave through my body. For a moment, I thought that, either I was still dreaming—all the darkness and hell orange—or I had died out there in the rain and gone to hell. Maybe this was going to be some kind of punishment, like now it was my turn to be burned alive for setting fire to the parents’ house. Black smoke shot out of the barrel Uncle Skad had thrown the match into and I realized the fire wasn’t going to spread.

  I was safe.

  The black smoke burned my lungs. On the floor, roaches scattered in all directions. They were some of the biggest roaches I’d ever seen. Most of them were about the size of my thumb. They ran until they hit a pile of papers or furniture. Once they hit the obstruction, they made horrible squeaky scratching sounds as they struggled to crawl over it. Skad must have noticed me looking at the bugs.

  “It’s alarming at first, I realize, but it’s not too hard to grow quite comfortable with them. When I first moved in here, I used any means possible in order to get rid of them, but nothing really worked. Now, I figure, fuck it, let them spy on me. I know they have little camera eyes and microphones on their asses. They’ll do anything to know what I’m doing at all times. Besides, a few months ago, they took up religion against me.”

  Uncle Skad made a broad sweeping motion to the far wall. A mass of roaches had formed a cross on the brown wood slats of the wall. The fire cast an ominous shadow, giving the cross a darkly luminous glow.

  “Like their dear Christ, they crawl up there to die. Somehow, they stay. I guess they were trying to prove a point, too. Messianic roaches. Every now and then, all the other roaches will gather under that wall and I can hear them praying with all their little roach voices."

  I could tell right away I was going to like Uncle Skad an awful lot. He fell silent.

  Actually, he went downright limp, and stared at the wall, his eyes a complete blank, the fire dancing across his huge pupils.

  I heard coughing come from the back of the house. A hunchback crept out of the shadows and I was somewhat taken aback. I may have even gasped.

  “Are you filling the visitor up with your crazy talk already, Skaddeus?”

  “Huh?” the voice brought him back from wherever he was. I wasn’t sure, maybe it was just the fire, but I thought I saw something like a flicker run through Skad.

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry there, didn’t mean to wake you.”

  The man coughed again. “You know, it’s not so much the light as it is the smoke.

  I do enough of that anyway. I don’t need to do it when I sleep, too.” He pulled out an unfiltered cigarette, put it in his mouth, and leaned his head over the barrel. He brought his head back up and said, “Who needs eyebrows anyway?”

  “Introductions are in order, I suppose,” Skad said. “Wallace Black, this is Dr.

  Blast. Dr. Blast, that couch-bound gentleman over there is Wallace Black.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Greetings,” Dr. Blast said.

  I was captivated by this man. He was completely normal looking except for his hunchback ascending to a rounded hump just below the crown of his head.

  “You’re looking at my hump, aren’t you?” he said suddenly. My answer got caught up somewhere in the back of my throat. Of course I was staring at his hump, but I couldn’t just tell him that, could I?

  “It’s a nice one, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “It is pretty remarkable,” I said.

  “Remarkable, of course. My only solace comes from the fact that it’s not there most of the time.”

  “Are you having it removed?”

  “No, not exactly. You can’t just have a hunchback... lanced or something. No.

  This here’s a Sad Hump. It comes and it goes. I’ll be okay for months, sometimes even a year or more, then the Sad Hump’ll come and stick around for a few weeks. That’s when I come here and sort of hide out for awhile. I don’t know, there’s something about this place that makes the hump go away. Have you come here before?”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  Dr. Blast took a deep drag off his cigarette and threw it into the barrel. “Well, I hope you have a great time.” He turned around to Uncle Skad, grabbing some piles up off the floor and feeding them into the barrel. “You coming back to bed sometime soon, old man?”

  “I’ll be there shortly. You go on ahead.”

  Dr. Blast bid us both a good night, walked to the back of the smallish space, and collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  “Dr. Blast likes his sleep,” Skad said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No, sleep’s good for him. Oh, you mean you’re sorry about something else.

  What is it, Wallace?”

  “Just showing up like this.”

  “Oh, it’s better than a stick in the eye. It’s so rare that I get company unless, of course, they’re sending somebody to spy on me. There’s the occasional displaced Tar Mate I extend my hospitality to but they usually end up drinking all of my Scotch and puking everywhere.”

  “I won’t be here long.”

  “You can stick around me as long as you need to. It has been a very long time since I’ve chatted with a family member. To be honest, you’re probably the only family member I’d want to chat with. On a whole, they’re a rather sorry lot, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Certainly,” I said, even though I couldn’t really remember any of them.

  “I want you to fill me in on what’s been happening around the Black family the past ten years or so. It may turn out that you and I have a lot in common. First, though, you mentioned something about being in a great deal of pain, didn’t you? And I mentioned something about a remedy?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me see what I can do about that.”

  He went off toward the back of the house and I heard some clanking and sloshing and a few surprised exclamations like he’d just found something he didn’t know he had. I looked back at him. There was a small counter space he worked on, going back and forth as he went about his concocting, busily stepping over Dr. Blast, who lay on his stomach, his hump occluding his head. I wished I wasn’t in the pain I was. It would have been so nice to join him.

  “What, exactly, is the kind of pain you are feeling?” he called to me. “Dull?

  Achy? Piercing? Thudding? Throbbing? Scraping? Burning? Raw? Stinging?”

  “No, it’s sort of a grinding bonefeel,” I called back, figuring he would know exactly what I was talking about.

  “Ah, of course, I should have known. No matter, the secret ingredient’s all the same.”

  He spent a few more minutes of grabbing little jars and holding them up to the firelight. After awhile he brought back a Mason jar full of brownish-red liquid. I noticed he had a glass of what I assumed was whiskey for himself.

  “You drink some of that,” he said. “Let us toast the absence of pain.”

  He clicked his glass against mine and lifted it to his lips. Once he got his glass all the way up there, I nearly retched. A roach struggled furiously against the bottom of the glass. He had to know it was there. Had he put it there?

  Taking my brief disgust for hesitation, Skad grunted, “Go on... It’ll put hair on your chest.”

  I sipped mine. It didn’t taste too bad, but it sent this trail of fire down my throat that landed somewhere in the pit of my stomach and made my anus burn. I didn’t even want to think about going to the bathroom in this place. I couldn’t even figure out where the bathroom might be. I certainly didn’t see how this was going to help the pain.

  “So, Wally, why don’t you tell me how you got here? People are often drawn here by strange and magical forces. Tell me your story first and then I’ll tell you mine.” I thoroughly enjoyed listening to Uncle Skad talk. He had
a way of placing emphasis on everything and making it seem really dramatic. Except he didn’t seem like the type of person I would have pictured being dramatic.

  He threw his head back and downed the last of the whiskey. He brought the glass down and looked inside, seemingly noticing the roach for the first time. He poked at it and made a surprised motion with his eyebrows. He grumbled a little bit and directed his attention back to me. “Go on, I know you have something.”

  Glancing down into his glass again, he gave it a little shake. The roach floated around on the bottom, all bloated up. I took another sip of mine and decided this would be the last time I told the story. No one had seemed the least bit interested in what I had done before. It seemed like they just wanted to know what brought me standing there in front of them. After telling Uncle Skad I would simply tell people I was the devil, sent to the earth to devour souls. Or maybe I would just tell them I was born that way, like I had Johnny Metal. That seemed to be the thing most devoid of any type of philosophy or fuckness like that.

  But I started at the beginning for Uncle Skad. I mean, I started with those Clean People who came to our house and I told him about the lawnmower cord and the bad haircut punishment and all the other stupid shit. And I told him about the blobs. I must have went on and on about the blobs. I think I even told him about fantasizing that I was a massive giant and I could piss on all of them, my urine melting them like salt melts a slug.

  I drank more and more of that stuff and the pain just melted away and I just kept talking and talking and talking. I don’t know how I managed to talk so much. It felt like I could fall over at any moment. And I noticed that, instead of crying like I did when I told Drifter Ken, I laughed. Uncle Skad laughed too, but I could still see that look of concern in his eyes. The entire time I talked it felt like my body was winding up, tighter and tighter. And then I finished, flopping back on the couch—totally relaxed.

  Uncle Skad leaned in and said, “Wallace Black, at the tender and transitional age of sixteen, you have already lead a wonderful and most extraordinary immaculate life. I will do my best to aid you in your quest and lend my unflagging sensibility and modest resources.”