The spitting cobra scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t even want to think about that, sir.”
Humphrey started toward the van. “But you’ll have to. That’s a possibility you’ll have to consider when I let these two out.” He pointed down the main road. “I’ll release them a couple of miles down this here road.”
“Please, sir, don’t do that. Lives will be at risk.”
“Oh yes—I don’t doubt that for a second. I wish you the best of luck. When people get hurt, this will surely come back and bite you in the ass. Your company will know that you didn’t let me through, and they’ll fire you, and less food will be on the table. I hope you’ll manage. Well, I’m off now.”
Humphrey stepped inside of the van and closed the door. He started up the engine. The spitting cobra ran with swaying hips. His hand was placed on his hat to keep it in place. He knocked on the driver’s window. Humphrey rolled it down.
“Can I help you?”
“For the love of God, just go through. Get these people out of my sight.”
“Very well,” Humphrey replied. “Thank you.”
He drove through the security checkpoint. Back in the booth, the spitting cobra wrote on his notepad.
CHRIS MICHAEL: EASTERN FLOWER VAN, WHITE.
CARGO: TWO ADULTS.
7
After an hour of driving, Humphrey pulled over to the side. He left the engine running. With a cheering attitude, he opened the backdoors, and stepped inside. He removed the white cloth from his patients’ mouths.
He patted Axel on the cheek. “Some great performance back there, crabby.” Humphrey turned to Susanne. “You did well, too, duckling. Whoever said that freshwater doesn’t go along with the ocean must’ve confused them both with their own bathtub.” He hissed a light laugh. “Wouldn’t you say, crabby?”
Both of them said nothing. Fluff from the cloth stuck to Axel’s scabs. He moved his tongue around, trying to get it out, ripping a few wounds open in the progress.
“Let us out of these straitjackets,” Susanne said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There’s a slight chance that we might get pulled over for inspection, and when if we do, I’d like you both to wear them.”
Susanne spoke again. “That’s fine. But what if we tell the inspectors who we are? And what’s really going on here? What then?”
“And why would they listen to you? You’re insane.”
Humphrey stepped out of the van. He tapped the side with his fingers, providing tiny echoes on the inside. They were driving again.
Susanne whispered to Axel. “Tell me that you’ve got a plan.”
“I do.”
“Well, when the time is right, let me in on it.”
Both of them seemed to take an interest in their torsos. Their eyes were blank in the reflection of white from the straitjackets.
“Axel?”
“That’s me.”
“Can you tell me a joke?”
A smile appeared on his face. He felt it intervene with his muscles; felt how it tightened around his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt a genuine smile.
“Two beetles walk into a bar. One of them asked for the finest of meats. The other, a vegetarian, asked for a salad. The bartender, along with the other beetle, stared the vegetarian. ‘Beet-it,’ the bartender said.”
Susanne stared at her brother. He stared back, having an interest in her reaction. The white around them glistened in her eyes, and Axel thought of winter. He couldn’t say for sure, but if he were to guess the emotions her face portrayed right now, he’d guess disappointment.
Without warning, Susanne cackled a hyena’s laugh. She used the wall behind her for support. Axel, staring at his sister in a straitjacket, laughing a hyena’s laugh, started laughing himself. For that moment, Susanne truly resembled a patient from a psychiatric hospital. Humphrey paid no attention to them.
She tried to speak but lost the first word in another laughing fit. When she calmed down, traces of laughter still appeared on her lips.
“Where did you learn that one? That was so bad.”
Axel sank his laughter. He tried his best to smile. “You wouldn’t want to know.”
Susanne leaned her head on his shoulder. “I was so worried about you, Axel. I think even Samuel grew tired of my constant worrying.”
Axel tried to imagine Samuel annoyed with Susanne. He couldn’t spawn such images. “Maybe he was actually happy that Uncle Axel, with his so bad jokes, was finally gone.”
“You hush, Axel Gardner. Samuel loved your jokes. He always appreciated all the joy and laughter you brought us. He doesn’t get much of that at work.”
Axel smiled—a real smile. “Well, I’m happy to hear that, Susanne.”
“Axel?”
“What?”
“Were you depressed?”
For a moment, Axel didn’t know where to look. His eyes wandered, along with his thoughts. He tried to form the correct words in his mouth. He came up with nothing but warm saliva.
“It’s alright,” Susanne said. “We don’t have to talk about it. I was depressed once, too, you know.”
“When was this?”
“John Gordon, tenth grade.”
Axel laughed. “Get out of here. John Gordon?”
“John Gordon,” Susanne repeated, smiling. “I remember watching all of these romantic high school movies. I was young, naïve. Everything about the theme of love in those movies, I saw in John, at the time. That was my first real heartbreak. Remember all those times you complained about Duncan stealing your ice cream?”
“Clear as rain.”
“Yeah,” Susanne said. “Sorry about that.”
Both of them laughed now. They breathed in each other’s laughter and exhaled it back into the air.
Axel started to say something but stumbled over his words. Susanne offered him her patience. “I felt no real meaning,” he said. “I mean, I accomplished the dream I’ve had ever since I can remember. And, I accomplished it at a young age, so I was also naïve. When I grew out of that teenage mindset, where success is determined by numbers, I felt so alone.”
He went quiet. Susanne said nothing; she knew that he would speak again soon. She listened with care.
“I was so hooked on my own mental needs that I forgot about my physical needs. In didn’t know what success felt like; but at that age, I always imagined it to free me from everything. It didn’t.”
He paused. “I started to crave physical needs more than anything; having someone around me—someone to talk to about anything. I grew tired of the conversations in my own head. They turned ugly. That’s how the depression started, I think. I started thinking about love more and more until the element of time got involved. I became stressed. I saw everyone else finding a partner. It put a pressure on me. It was like a rock in my chest that just grew and grew, eventually weighing me down. I wondered if I was ever going to find someone. I’m not a young adult anymore, and I assume that it takes years to build a relationship up to the point where children start to become a consideration.”
“You want to have kids?” Susanne asked, surprised.
“I do. I worried about people wasting my time. I worried that when I finally found the right one; there wouldn’t be enough time to build a relationship, and eventually have kids. We’d be too old. That’s how anxiety got involved. All of the sudden, every second counted, and every second felt heavy.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“Actually, no,” Axel replied. Susanne saw another smile. “I guess sometimes you have to be lowered beyond your own standards of what being low means to realize everything that you’ve taken for granted.”
Humphrey knocked on the wall. “We’re approaching Birch. It’s a small town. We’ll get some supplies. I also want to change vehicles, just to be one the safe side.”
“Do any of you know how to hijack a vehicle?”
8
Sergeant Henrik
Hummer of the police, who had used the megaphone during the infiltration of Eastern Flower, sat in a patrol car with his partner, Fabian Long. Henrik’s original position was assigned to a roadblock, a few hundred miles south, but something in his gut told him that the perpetrator had used the forest instead of the main roads.
“Are you sure about this?” Fabian asked, keeping his hands on the wheel but his eyes on Henrik.
“I’m sure that I’ll do whatever it takes to save that hostage, goddamn it. And sitting around on my ass on that road won’t do us any good.” Henrik lit a cigarette, resting it outside the window.
“But sir—“
“No buts, Fabian. The only butt you should be worrying about is your own ass if you crash this car. I’ll squash that sucker myself if you don’t keep your eyes on the road. We can’t afford to crash.”
“You got it, sir.”
They approached a security checkpoint. The same young man with a goatee, who Humphrey considered to be a spitting cobra, stepped outside.
“Always happy to help the law,” the young man said.
“Out of my way, bush-walker,” Henrik replied with force. He stepped inside of the booth. “Where the fuck do you keep all the information around here?”
The young man appeared to be offended. “Show me your badge before you force yourself in there.”
Henrik walked out with heavy arms absorbing most of the wind. “With an attitude like that, I suspect you want me to shove it up your ass.” He shoved the badge inches away from the young man’s face. “Is that close enough? Or are your eyes as stupid as your mouth?”
“Sir, please,” the young man mumbled. “I didn’t mean—“
“WHERE IS MY FUCKING INFORMATION?”
Fabian, who observed from the patrol car, jumped.
“Right this way, sir.” The young man no longer walked with his hands on his hips; they were in front of him, curled into a nervous ball. With a trembling finger, he pointed at the beige folder on the desk.
“Hold this,” Henrik said, giving the young man his cigarette. He opened the beige folder, scrolling down the last two days with his finger. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for.
“Are you a magician?” Henrik asked, looking at the young man.
The young man didn’t reply.
Henrik took a step forward. “Is there a bird underneath your hat?”
“Of course there isn’t, sir.”
“Then why do you have pickled brains?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Henrik forced the folder into the young man’s personal space. “What does this say?”
“It says that a van from Eastern Flower passed through.”
“That’s right. Eastern Flower shut down in ninety-five.” Henrik threw the folder onto the floor. He switched his radio on. “This is Sergeant Henrik Hummer. I can confirm that there’s indeed one additional hostage, over.”
He waved for Fabian, who came running in a nervous toddle.
“What’s your name?” Henrik asked the young man.
“Tim.”
Fabian arrived. “Fabian, take Tim into custody. I want this man questioned.”
Tim allowed Fabian to put him in handcuffs, only showing protest with an ashamed look in his eyes. Fabian and Tim started for the patrol car.
“Wait a minute!” Henrik yelled after them. Both of them turned around with long necks. The wind touched Henrik in his pace toward them. He turned to Tim. “What’s the closest town from here?”
“That would be Birch,” Tim said.
9
Humphrey parked the van on top of a hill, observing Birch. His eyes picked up the movement of a dozen or so shadows. Silent vehicles were driving up and down, in and out. People wandered aimlessly back and forth. Humphrey took great interest in these people; he wondered where they had been, and where they were going. What emotions were they experiencing? Had they accomplished most of everything from life? What were their passions? How did they like their eggs?”
A smooth layer of ozone sheltered his mind, releasing fumes of calm. He wondered if these people, who were unknown to him as of now, would one day thank him. If they would watch him with interest, as he did them. If they would speculate about his life, trying to pin each moment of greatness, as he speculated over theirs.
Humphrey watched the blue blanket above Birch. His deep breaths seemed to catch that town air; he felt the color of blue relieve his nostrils. The blue anesthesia cast sparkling magic over his aura.
He turned his attention back to the town. He watched for parked cars, but only spotted a few. He saw Birch from an angle that only covered a field where trailers sat, and the hats of a few buildings beyond. He could also see the tongue of a broad street, leading into Birch, but most of it was blocked by trees. In the field where the trailers sat, he saw multiple outdoor tables. Humphrey noticed the rust on them from where he stood. A man with a checkered shirt, holding a beer, slept on a lawn-chair. Next to him, on the dead grass, a white truck was parked. From what Humphrey could see, it had four seats. That was good. The truck was also covered in rust here and there, as the tables were. Humphrey didn’t care. He didn’t like white, anyway.
The back of the few buildings facing the trailers had no windows. A few of them had backdoors, but Humphrey assumed that they were not used for anything else besides the occasional smoke break from people who worked there.
He decided that he would leave the van here, with Axel and Susanne still in it. The van would stick out in the town. It was the kind of vehicle people would remember if they were asked about it. Humphrey needed as little attention as possible. He took off his surgical mask, placed it on the driver’s seat, and headed down the hill toward Birch.
He felt the texture of tall grass and the soft petals of flowers touch through his pants. The grass gave a slight squeeze when he applied pressure to his weight, walking down a slope. Toward the bottom of this slope, there was less grass and more dirt, along with a few rocks varying in size. He stepped on a few larger rocks, and they wobbled. Humphrey smiled. He reached a ditch and watched both sides of a road before he crossed with a run. He stood on the same grass surrounding the trailers now. Its color here was different. It was still green at the top, but from the root and about halfway up, it was crispy with brown. Humphrey greeted beer cans on the ground with his eyes, but never with his feet. Humphrey avoided them, knowing that they would a much harsher sound than the grass.
He walked past the first trailer now, riddled with flies. Empty cigarette packages along with wet ashes were spread over a few tables like butter. The first few trailers he walked past had open doors. Surrounding their steps were large black garbage bags; some were tied poorly, others were completely open. Empty boxes of sugary treats were coated with crumbs. The air surrounding them was still sweet.
Humphrey glued himself to the back of a trailer. He felt sharp material against his back. He smelled burnt rubber. Up ahead, the man with the checkered shirt still slept. From this distance, Humphrey could count the hairs on the man’s navel. His navel had a strange appearance: it looked more like a tiny mouth.
My Verse-of-U, Humphrey thought. How did I not see it before?
The man was, in fact, an anteater. Watching that can of beer made Humphrey thirsty. Although he didn’t like beer, the thought of liquid appealed to him. He spawned an image of using a powerful vacuum on the anteater. He thought of trapping the anteater’s navel within its suction, and hearing a pop, like a cork to some fancy bottle. Liquid would pour out of the anteater’s navel, and Humphrey would taste sweet, sweet rain on his tongue.
He didn’t dare to approach the anteater from the front. He feared that his shadow would awaken him as it blocked out the light of the sky. Humphrey turned to the side, walking along the field’s edge. His left ear pointed toward the town. He heard the playful ring of children’s bicycles; the clack of some woman’ heels; someone clearing their throat; mumbles of distant co
nversations taking place on the streets.
“I painted my fence with a new brand this morning,” said a male voice. “I’m telling you, Will—quality stuff.”
Will’s reply was lost in the thunder of a large truck.
With his right ear, pointed toward a deeper forest, Humphrey heard nature sing with the wind. His nose gathered the aroma of nature and town at the same time. Humphrey found it to be a weird mix—smoky grass.
He crossed from the field’s upper edge, moving down toward the middle. He heard the anteater’s breathing now. He proceeded to sneak.
A door slammed to his left. A large woman, who wore a prickled bra—too small for her—stepped outside of a trailer. She held a cigarette and a lighter in the same hand. Humphrey noticed that her navel was wide, stretched out, resembling the mouth of a fish.
It’s a whale shark.
From inside her trailer, a deep voice shouted: “VERONICA, THAT BETTER NOT BE MY LAST CIGARETTE THAT YOU’RE SMOKING!”
“Who says I’m smoking, retard?”
“I CAN SMELL IT FROM HERE, BITCH!”
A big arm with circular, puffed up wounds came out from inside the frame, grabbing the woman by her shoulder, pulling her inside. Humphrey heard screams. Seconds later, he heard loud whimpering. A slap interrupted the whimpering. A loud crash, followed by sounds of cans falling. A few of them rolled out of the trailer, onto the grass with a soft thud, coloring the ground with spaghetti.
Humphrey turned his attention back to the anteater. He tried to listen for his snoring, hoping that the argument hadn’t awoken him. It hadn’t; he was probably used to those sounds by now. Humphrey sneaked behind the anteater’s trailer, peeking over the side. The last few strands of hair on the sleeping anteater’s mostly bald head communicated with the wind, waving to Humphrey.
Humphrey waved back.
He stepped inside of the trailer, without the sleeping anteater noticing. The place was filthy. There was no room left for dishes in the sink, so the anteater had stacked three towers of them on the floor beside the sink. Humphrey touched their edges, feeling the remains of food; hard as a rock, like running your hand over gravel. A crooked and wrinkly carpet covered the floor. Metal pots sat on the kitchen table. In the back, magazines were scattered across a sofa. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling on a copper wire. It resembled a human eye on a fleshy string. The bathroom door stood ajar. Candles were lined up across the bathroom floor, sharing their last breaths.
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