The Ark

by Walter Knight

  I ignored Anita’s warning, eating my burgers and chocolate shake. It tasted good, but I still had a hunger in my stomach. I looked at the clerk speculatively.

  “No,” said Anita, placing her hand on mine. “You eat too much. Besides, McDonald’s has video cameras. We should not have come in here in the first place.”

  I looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, in the corner a camera panned back and forth. Several more spied on from other locations.

  Since we were invisible digitally and on film, I wondered what the camera would show its viewers – a hamburger lifting into the air and disappearing, bite by bite? “You’re right. We need to go.”

  “Where? We need a place to stay. No motels, either. We need to be invited. It’s a rule. Sorry, I forgot to tell you that.” “Don’t get all high-maintenance on me,” I replied. “Where are we going? I do not know anyone in Arizona.” “I do. My parents. But you may not eat them.” “Oh how sweet,” gushed Anita, giving me a hug and bite on the ear. “You shall meet my parents, too, my love.”

  * * * * *

  We arrived at my parents’ house at about midnight. Although I was getting the hang of flying, I still crash-landed, hitting the palm tree in the front yard. My dad met me at the front door. “Well look what the cat drug in.”

  “Hi, Dad,” I replied, shaking his hand. “This is my friend, Anita.” “Nice to meet you Mr. Black,” said Anita, still standing at the doorway. “Call me Bob. Come on in. I’ll wake up Lorena. She will want to meet you, too.” Anita gave my dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she passed the threshold. Mom came out from the bedroom. She obviously loved Anita.

  “Did you two drive all night from Mexico?” asked Mom. “Are you hungry? I can fix something.” “Yes!” answered Anita. “No!” I insisted. “What’s the matter, dear?” asked Mom. “You seem a little on edge. Something is different with you. A mother can tell these things. Are you catching the flu?”

  “You better not be on drugs,” warned Dad. “I won’t tolerate drugs in my house.” “You look a bit pale,” advised Mom, also concerned. “I am just excited to be home,” I explained, handing my dad my Mariners contract. “See, Dad, I’m going to the Big Show.” “Where did you find this Anita girl?” asked Dad, more interested in Anita than the fine print. “She’s quite a looker.” “Mexico.” “Christ, son, you brought home an illegal alien? She’s not pregnant, is she? They like to sneak across the border just to have their babies and get citizenship, you know.”

  “Oh, good grief, Dad, it’s not like that. Anita is not pregnant, and she is not an illegal alien – I don’t think.” “Young lady, may I see your driver’s license or green card,” asked my dad. “Honey, do not be rude,” interrupted Mom, giving Dad a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Ouch! What did you do that for? You can’t be too careful these days.” “You two must be tired after driving all night,” said Mom. “I’ll prepare the spare bedroom. Johnny can have his old room.” “Johnny and I are engaged,” replied Anita. “We will be sleeping together, and our toothbrushes will lie side by side.” “I see,” said Mom. “My, you have been busy, dear. When did this happen?” “Parents are always the last to know,” advised Dad. “The Seattle Mariners! This is just great, son. You are getting married, and playing ball. How much money will you make?”

  “If I make the club, that will be negotiated.”

  “Tell us more about yourself, Anita,” said Mom, leading the way to my old bedroom. “Have you lived in Mexico long?”

  “All my life,” answered Anita. “But I have traveled the world. My family is very well to do. I am taking Johnny to meet my parents when our visit here is over.”

  “I don’t care if she is an illegal alien,” whispered my dad. “If her family is rich, she’s a keeper. Check her teeth, too. I always say before you get married, you should check a woman’s teeth to make sure you aren’t going to get stuck with a bunch of dental bills you can’t afford. Controlling bills is important for young couples. I wish I’d done that with your mother. Christ, man, the honeymoon was barely over and she needed a root canal and braces.”

  “I checked her teeth, Dad. They are perfect.” “Hot damn!” exclaimed my dad. “When is the wedding?” “We were thinking of taking our vows in Las Vegas on the way to Seattle,” announced Anita. “Good idea,” said Dad, slapping me on the back. “You will save a lot of money that way. Young couples always spend too much on their weddings.”

  “You were planning on inviting us, I hope,” cried Mom. “That is the least you can do, since you are not getting married in a proper church like the rest of the civilized world.”

  “I am not getting married in Las Vegas,” I responded. “Slow down everyone!” “What?” asked Anita. “You are jilting me now? We are bound together for all eternity.” “Oh, that is so romantic,” gushed Mom. “She truly loves you, dear.” “Go to Vegas, son,” whispered Dad. “Let one of those ministers that dress up like Elvis marry you. Don’t let this one get away like you did the Czerinski girl across the street. Her brother still swears he will kill you on sight if he ever finds you. That family holds a grudge forever.”

  “You have a Polish girlfriend?” asked Anita, looking out the window across the street. “I will see about that! I’ll rip her throat out.”

  “No you won’t,” I replied, grabbing Anita by the arm. Andrea Czerinski moved away a long time ago.” “Her name is Andrea, is it?” asked Anita. “I will curse that name!” “Anita has kind of a temper,” cautioned Dad. “Be careful of that one.” “It’s her Latina blood,” I explained. “I’ll show you Latina blood if you ever cheat on me!” warned Anita. “Take heed,” advised Dad. “Remember what that Bobbitt girl did?” “That was the other Lorena,” agreed Mom. “Men are such beasts. Do not ever cheat, is my advise to you, son. Otherwise, you deserve to have it cut off.”

  “That’s all ancient history,” I responded, uncomfortable with this turn of conversation. “Good night.”

  We retired to my bedroom, still just as I had left it, with model airplanes hanging by strings from the ceiling. Anita inspected the room for clues to my personality.

  “You have cute parents,” Anita casually mentioned. “But they are getting old. Let me bite them both.” “No! You can’t eat my folks!” “If I give them the gift, they will not age. They can be strong and immortal like us.” “No!” “You father wants to have sex with me. He undressed me with his eyes.” “What? Are you nuts? Stay away from my folks!” I made love to Anita in my old bed. After I fell asleep, Anita slipped off to my folks’ bedroom and bit both my parents. After all, she reasoned later, “They’re family now.”

  Just before dawn Anita woke me, and we packed our stuff. I led her to a secret place from my childhood. We squirmed through a crawl space under the house to rest safely during the day. As a kid, I used to fear this crawl space because of all the spiders and darkness. Now I sought the dark and crunched on black widows like candy.

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  Chapter 7

  The Seattle Mariners’ office texted me that they put cash on my card for living expenses, and expected me to report for spring training with the main club in Peoria, Arizona, for Cactus League play. The new owner, Texas Red, took a personal interest in my development as a player and ordered me put on a fast track to start on opening day. Obviously Texas Red had heard of my getting eight home runs and a bunt in two days.

  First, we would visit Anita’s parents in Tijuana. We flew to San Diego for the crossing, and to exchange money for the holiday. As I approached the ATM, it beeped.

  “Did that ATM just scan us?” I asked. “Impossible,” protested Anita. “Our image cannot be recorded. Facial recognition technology cannot be used to catch us.” “Then what was that beep?” “It is just a stupid machine. Get your cash, and let us be gone.” I inserted my card, requesting both dollars and pesos. An extended tray gave me both without further incident. The ATM camera panned our way as we walked toward the border checkpoint, but I remained oblivious to the scrutiny.


  These days, American marines patrolled both San Diego and Tijuana to keep the peace and safeguard the public from warring drug lords. American intervention would soon extend much further south. Turf battles were continuous. The most common signature of a gangland killing, a headless corpse, was found in alleyways every weekend.

  Anita led the way through the neighborhood turmoil, impervious to the danger. In fact, I think she hoped someone would start something. We both were getting hungry again. Soon we were at Mama’s house.

  “Sweetheart!” greeted Anita’s mom at the front door, giving her an embrace and kisses, all the while looking past her at me. “And look! You brought dinner!”

  “I am not dinner,” I announced, smiling, as I admired Anita’s mom. She looked just like Elvira, in great shape for an older woman. “I am so glad to finally meet you. Anita has told me so much about you.”

  “This is my fiancé,” advised Anita. “He has the gift, so leave him alone. Where is Dad?”

  “Out gallivanting about Tijuana, the drunken bastard,” complained Anita’s mom. “Haven’t you been watching TV? He’s been on a feeding frenzy, leaving scores of decapitated bodies in his wake.”

  “I thought that was the drug wars.” “Yeah, right,” scoffed Anita’s mom. “Introduce me to your big hunky man.” “Mom, this is Johnny. Johnny, this is mom, also known as Rosa.” Rosa put her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. Her fangs came out, and she hissed, “Have you been having sex with my baby?” “No, ma’am!” I blurted out, trying to get away, but unable. “I swear!” “You lie so poorly, dear Johnny. Do it again, and I’ll rip your throat out.” “Yes, ma’am,” I answered nervously. “Would you like to have sex with me?” Rosa whispered in my ear. She nipped my ear lobe, drawing just a droplet of blood. “Yes,” I answered meekly, trying not to sound panicked, and not risking another lie. “Mom!” shouted Anita. “Quit flirting with my boyfriend. I hate it when you do that!” “Fine!” said Rosa, pouting as she pushed me away. “Father will not be happy to find you brought home another wimp. You’re such a slut.”

  “Look who is talking,” replied Anita. “Okay, you have met my mom. Father is not here. I did my part. Now we are leaving. Bye, Mom, it’s been great seeing you.”

  “Sweetheart, why do we always have to fight?” cried Rosa. “Come here and give me another hug, and let’s make up, my sweet, darling, dearest Anita. I’m sorry I upset you. It’s just that the mere mention of your father sets me off.”

  As if on cue, Jorge burst in the front door, dragging a helpless victim by the collar. He threw the youth at our feet, announcing, “Dinner is served!”

  “My provider,” scoffed Rosa, sarcastically. “It is about time you got home! What is this? Can’t you see Anita brought company? This skinny soul is no more than an appetizer for the four of us. We will need more for the main course.”

  The poor teen wore a San Diego Padres baseball cap backward on his head. Hunger pangs gripped my stomach, but I resisted my lust for fresh blood.

  “Aye, man, you can’t be serious!’ pleaded the Padre fan. “What are you people? Cartel? Please don’t cut off my head. I’m not even in a gang anymore!”

  “Guests first,” motioned Rosa, ignoring the human.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “San Diego? I am more of an American League fan.”

  “I see Anita brought home another sissy,” commented Jorge, disgusted at my squeamishness and bad manners. “I bring home the bacon, and does anyone appreciate my efforts? No!”

  Anita pounced first. The spilling of first blood caused me to lose control, and I followed suit. Soon we all were gorging ourselves in a feeding frenzy, drinking and eating, until nothing much was left. Jorge let out a belch and farted, ruining Rosa’s temporary good mood.

  “Get out!” she ordered. “And don’t come back until you bring back a proper meal with all the fixings!”

  Jorge gave me a hard stare as he left, grumbling about his bitchy wife and being under-appreciated. “Maybe I’ll be back, and maybe I won’t!” he threatened.

  “Have you ever thought of seeking marriage counseling?” I offered. “It worked for my parents.”

  “That pig-headed fool is too stubborn to even consider counseling,” replied Rosa. “The Devil himself couldn’t get Jorge to change his self-centered ways. When we got married, I thought I could change him, but Jorge is still a work in progress after all these centuries. I’ll bet he just stays out all night and gets drunk.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Anita sighed. “Father doesn’t drink that much. He’s had a rough life. You need to be more forgiving.”

  “Ha! Did you know your father flew into one of those big power lines last week? Half the city was blacked out before they got him untangled. It was even in the newspaper. Good thing he’s not photogenic, or the peasants would be beating down our door already.”

  “Oh, Mom!”

  “As sure as the sun sets, that sorry excuse for an immortal man will bring the Grim Reaper down on us yet.”

  A bit later, Jorge came back, this time with a plump young man sporting a California Angels jersey, a nice touch in my honor. It is the thought that counts, I told myself.

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  Chapter 8

  Our Lord and Master, the Evil One, CEO of all things that go bump in the night, and He Who Moonlights as the Commissioner of Baseball, Bud Seedy, sent a text summoning me for an audience to discuss my future and the integrity of the game. Of course we immediately flew out to Bud’s farm in Lincoln, Nebraska, for a midnight meeting.

  “I will get right to the point,” started Bud, not bothering with introductions. “There are some who feel you have an unfair advantage over mere mortals. Now realize, I am as committed to diversity as anyone, but let’s face it. A vampire would break all the records. Is that fair?”

  “Sir, I just want to play major league baseball. It is not my fault I am a vampire. It’s not like I am using steroids.” The lights blinked twice at the mere mention of ‘steroids.’ “But you are no longer human.” “Says who?” I argued. “Has a court decided I can’t play? This is America, and I am a citizen. Maybe my lawyers should contact your lawyers.”

  “You are threatening to sue Major League Baseball?” asked Bud, getting more agitated. “One word from me, and you can go to Hell. A peasant mob with torches and pitchforks will deliver you to the Grim Reaper quicker than you can cry ‘binding arbitration.’ You will be rotating on a stick over coals in Hell as the Devil laughs and hums an evil tune.”

  “How about I tone down my game?” I offered. “You know, not hit a home run every time up.” “It’s your nature to show off,” scoffed Bud. “I heard about your eight home runs and a bunt.” “I swear an oath to use restraint.” “Where was your restraint when you ate Ron Hassle? I liked Ron.” “Me too.” I sighed. “That was an accident. It was Anita’s idea. We were starving.” “Oh sure, throw me under the bus,” interrupted Anita, hitting me on the arm. “I am a vampire. It’s what I do.” “There can be no more accidents,” insisted Bud. “I am not without reason, and I understand your passion for the game. I will let you play one season in the American League. You will be the first vampire to play in the majors. I hope you realize the responsibility that will be on your shoulders. You will be setting a precedent for all those who want to follow.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will not let you down.” “Don’t screw this up, or your death will be slow and painful.” “Death?” “Yes! You hear me loud and clear?” “I understand, sir. There is one other problem. What do I do about TV coverage? The curse won’t allow my image to be on film.” “Not a problem,” advised Bud, his mood changing. “The baseball exception worked out in binding arbitration with the damned allows for me to modify your curse to allow photos. I will grant you TV rights in exchange for twenty-five percent of your income, including commercials.”

  “That seems high.” “Sorry, I have no wiggle room on my cut. It’s the law.” “Can you also modify the curse so I can play
day games?” I asked. “How am I going to play in spring training and double-headers?” “You’re a vampire!” shouted Bud. “What do you want from me? You would have me block out the sun? That would mean the end of the world, and that doesn’t happen until ... well, you don’t need to know that. No one can know for sure when a solar flare will happen. Just between you and me, I don’t believe all that Aztec calendar apocalypse prophecy crap.”

  “You mean the Mayan calendar?” “That’s the one!” exclaimed Bud, slapping his knee. “Those fools were off by several hundred years, at least.” “So it is settled? I can play ball?” “For one year,” repeated Bud Seedy. “Play ball!”

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  Chapter 9

  Texas Red, the Howard-Hughes-like billionaire recluse and owner of the Seattle Mariners, called on my cell phone. He turned out to be quite a character. Rumors abounded about how Texas Red made his fortune. Some say Texas Red got his start prospecting for gold in Montana, then invested wisely in the stock market, using CIA insider information. The Enquirer internet magazine insisted Texas Red was an alien from outer space. No one ever saw Texas Red. He communicated with subordinates by phone and text messages.

  “Hello, Johnny!” said Texas Red. “I am excited about you joining the team! I expect big things from you, boy. You will take my Mariners to the World Series this season!”