The Lava in My Bones

by Barry Webster

  However, on this ship, I needed invisibility. Behind the boiler, a metal ladder ascended into a narrow cleft in the ceiling. I put one hand on a metal slat, the steel beautifully cold against my palm. As I climbed the ladder, the boiler made hubba-hubba sounds. Entering the opening, I felt like mist ascending. I reached a landing that connected to two catwalks that went in opposite directions. I followed a second ladder to discover other catwalks, another landing, and more ladders. Hallelu! The entire inner framework of the ship was accessible to me.

  At the top was a squat metal door. I pushed its lever forward and walked out onto an empty, windy deck; I saw railings and, beyond them, the lights of Cartwright. Pipes rose on each side of me, and a swinging rowboat teetered over my head.

  I re-entered the ship and returned to my cabin. Alone in the dark, I reassured myself that Sam would be on board and he’d succeed in getting Sue on too. He was a genius; he hadn’t won the Labrador science prize for nothing. But this could be a trick. What if he and Sue had no intention of leaving and the fax was sent to get rid of me? I remembered combing Sue’s hair; her hands shook, her eyes watered. Such excitement was hard to feign, especially for Sue, who was a terrible actress and only good at playing herself.

  My children would be here and they’d be miserable together. They’d often directed their chronic resentment at me, but now they’d aim it at each other. I especially pitied my daughter, who had fewer gifts than her brother. How I longed to take both my dear children in my arms and kiss them—but they’d pull away disgusted. May Mary shine upon my offspring with her beautiful uncapped teeth!

  Wood creaked and the ship rocked. I reached into my purse, touched the bottle of Mary with my fingertips, and discovered it was warm. I lay down and tried to sleep. I would discover things I hadn’t known about my children. Perhaps terrible things. For a moment I wished I weren’t here but safely at home.

  A horn-blare shook my eardrums, and I sat bolt upright in bed. The porthole, round as the dot on an “i,” was filled with sunlight. I looked out and beheld leaping waves as we pulled away from shore. I was leaving Labrador. For the first time in my life. May God bless Cartwright while I’m away. May God smite the evildoers of Labrador—especially rock-music groups with names like Donny and the Dicky-Demons or Lucy and the Lucifettes. Despite everything, I was amazed at my own courage. Had we crossed the line separating Canadian waters from the open sea?

  Suddenly in the centre of the porthole appeared a bright white dingy. My husband stood in it, his torso covered in the vein-like cords of his nets. Arms outstretched, he spoke to the water. Did he talk with his mermaid? Then he leapt into the sea. Was he trying to catch fish with his bare hands? He and his boat passed out of view.

  Feeling shaken, I pressed my face to the glass, closed my eyes, and prayed long and hard. My husband was decent but a fool. Should I have concentrated more on his decency than his foolhardiness? I had much to be thankful for today. I had the privacy of this isolated room and its unvisited corridor. I had the dry cleaner’s with the army of hanging clothes. I had the skeleton of passages I’d discovered.

  I opened the small box of Halloween prosthetic devices that I’d bought at Cartwright’s One and Only Joke Shop. I spent the next hour before the mirror, carefully attaching a plastic hooked nose and a square chin to my face. I used flesh-coloured putty to seal the creases. I was still recognizable, so I covered my cheeks with lumps of more putty, completely distorting my face shape. I coated the creases with beige-hued skin makeup, then inserted the contact lenses that changed my eyes from blue to brown. God was clearly helping me. My transformation amazed me, but would my children be fooled? My height, body size, and voice could give me away, but I reasoned that they’d never expect to meet me here. The underhandedness of the disguise troubled me. I was obeying the Monster within, but God had offered no other choices.

  I put an ear to the door, then slowly opened it. The hall was still empty. I scurried along the rug, ducked into the dry cleaner’s, and rang the bell. No one appeared. I waited thirty seconds. Perfect. I rushed to the rack of clothes and flipped through as if it were a giant deck of cards. My fingers skipped over business suits, lingered on skirt pleats, skimmed through silk blouses, cleaner’s aprons, and cocktail dresses whose tiny sequins shone like shark’s teeth. I touched nurse uniforms, security-guard jackets, psychedelic satin shirts, and a wedding gown so bright a white it hurt my eyes. Which identity would provide access to my children’s lives?

  I snatched a gold-trimmed, brass-buttoned military uniform hanging in the first row. I undid my cotton dress, which slid from my body and lay in a puddle on the floor. I found a white shirt and black tie. The long jacket covered the extra fabric of the trousers (they were too big on me). I wrapped a belt around the outside of the jacket and fastened it, then grabbed the matching hat from a ledge. The front brim jutted like a bird’s beak and sported a coin-like circle with the inscription “Canadian Navy.” I stuffed my hair under the tight-fitting rim, clicked my heels together, brought three fingers to my temple, and barked, “Ten-hut.” The rows of clothes hung mute. My Monster was satiated.

  Suddenly I heard steps in the corridor. I ducked behind a mink stole. Someone clattered into the shop. A girl’s voice said, “There has to be a blanket or something.” Her voice was high-pitched and tinny. Sue’s voice! God be praised! I nearly wept. She was answered with an indecipherable voice that sounded like bricks being dragged across concrete. Bits of mink dust travelled up my nostrils, tickling at my sinuses. I was going to sneeze.

  “Help me find something,” said Sue. “I can’t do everything myself!” Right away I could see her profile; her nose curled outward like a lick of whipped cream, her auburn hair rippling to her shoulders. Yet what had happened to her? She was naked and her skin prickled with tiny black needles. She turned and I saw that a constellation of protuberances travelled all the way down her back and buttocks. It came to me in a thunderclap: bee stingers. The bees had turned on her. It took all of my self-control not to burst into laughter. So this is what her “freedom” added up to! Oh, but I was ashamed of my glee. Her skin didn’t shine. Her honey had stopped flowing (I’d find out why later). Then I pitied my daughter. Yea, I would have plucked the pricks from her skin with my teeth.

  Sue hurried away, and into the space where she’d been stepped a monster, a gorilla-donkey-ogre with eyes bulging like egg whites full of red spider-webs and beads of coal. Fangs protruded from its cracked lips, and his entire body was covered with frizzled hair, half-concealing skin the texture and colour of corrugated cardboard. Worst of all, a gigantic penis hung between his legs like a viper. His hand clasped a plastic bag overflowing with papers. He took the bell from the counter, sniffed it, then bit off the top button. He stepped away, and I scrutinized the mutilated bell. What was Sue doing with this demon? And how did they manage to get on the ship looking like this? I remembered Mary’s bottle locked in my room and understood how necessary it’d be.

  “How’s this look?” Sue walked into my view. “It’s so comfortable.” She had put on my polka-dot dress. I rammed my upper teeth into my lips to stifle laughter. “Look. It twirls when I walk.” Tears filled my eyes, my stomach cramped. Dust danced up into my sinuses, and I let out a loud laugh-sneeze-cry, “Agaroo-ee!”

  Sue darted from view. In the tense silence, I realized I couldn’t hide any longer. I nervously adjusted my hat and straightened my spine, then stepped forward. The clothes parted and closed behind me like doors sliding shut. But where was my dear child?

  I observed four lower legs like tree-stumps below a row of clowns’ costumes. I reminded myself to speak at as low a pitch as possible. “I see you, my friends,” I spoke with a Mainland accent. “Come out. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I, like you, am a stowaway here.”

  Neither the hairy nor the red, swollen feet moved. Did Sue sense who I was? Please God, help me, I silently cried.

  “I am a soldier who has fled the army,” I said. “I fled because�
��—because what?—“the fighting was very violent, and I wanted none of it. If you are castaways, let us be castaways together.” How difficult it was to speak so low. My throat hurt. I began to cough. “I have a cold.” The four feet remained motionless as goalposts. “Come now. If you stay here any longer, the workers will arrive and all shall be lost.”

  At last they shuffled out, both looking at the floor. The monster lifted his head and glanced at my belt buckle, which I defensively covered with one hand. Sue didn’t recognize me! Was I under a spell? Perhaps the prosthetics and makeup I’d bought in Cartwright’s joke shop were magic; God had directed my hand to the supernatural packet!

  “I’ve been here two days,” I continued. “I boarded in Maine and have suffered alone. I wanted to make friends with people who’ll help me and whom I can help.” Sue raised her head and stared at me. She accepted that I was who I said! Oh, how I rejoiced. I felt the urge to speak in tongues but commanded the Holy Spirit: Not now. Later.

  “Why would you wear a uniform if you’ve deserted and don’t want people to know you’re a soldier?” Sue asked. I hate to say it but my daughter’s intelligence always takes me by surprise.

  “That’s a good question.” The pitch of my voice rose. “I decided to wear my uniform so that people like you would not believe I was a deserter.” God, forgive my lies, for I told them because I felt so alone.

  Sue whispered to the beast, then said to me, “Help us, then. We need something to cover him so people won’t freak when they see him.”

  She lifted a folded sheet from underneath the counter and turned to the monster. “Stay still.” He didn’t move as she draped it around his body. She fastened the edges together with pins.

  “Hold this end,” she said to me, gesturing toward the fabric draped over his shoulder.

  I glimpsed the tangled hair on the monster’s neck. He stank of tar and manure. Did he have lice? I studied my own hand, which seemed astonishingly clean. Lord protect me, I muttered, pressing my fingertips into the cloth. I could feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, his pulse throbbing into my hand. He kept his head lowered as Sue pinned together the ends of the sheet dangling beneath his groin. The hair on the nape of his neck was extremely thick. It must be itchy there. For a moment I felt sorry for the beast. He was like an unloved puppy returned to the pound. His breathing was a harsh, sandpapering sound. Sue abruptly flicked the sheet out from beneath my pressing finger and for a second my fingertip lay directly on the sticky skin laced with steel-wool hair. “Ahhh!” I cried and snatched back my hand.

  Sue eyed me sharply.

  “Excuse me.” I lowered my voice. “Excuse me. I was afraid you’d rip the sheet. We wouldn’t want your friend walking around in ripped sheets, would we?”

  Sue scrutinized the monster. “It looks great. No one’ll notice you now.” White fabric flowed over his head and body. His darting eyes were visible through a slit. Sue put gloves on his hands and socks on his paws. She said, “We’ll tell people he’s sun-sensitive.”

  When they were about to leave, I asked, “Where are you staying?”

  “Down below.”

  “What are you eating?”

  “We’re not.”

  “Then, my new friends, you’ll have to accompany me to the dining hall.”

  “What?!”

  “Yes. You are officially a passenger now with your charming dress and your … well-covered friend. Are you not going to eat?” Oh, I was clever! I applauded myself for my quick-wittedness. “All shall be well,” I continued. “People will assume you’re a paying guest. Why else would you be here? Stowaways are something from a fantasy story, and this is not fantasy but real life. I don’t know where the dining hall is, but together we can find it.” I reminded myself to stand straight. I offered her the crook of my elbow. “Shall we go? If you are seen with me, people will be less suspicious. You will seem more respectable.”

  Sue looked at me, then at the monster staring at the wall. She lowered her head, blurted, “Okay,” and put her hand tentatively upon my arm. I felt like we were man and wife with our strange pet padding behind. Sue used her free hand to pluck out the stingers in her face as we walked. I tried to smile but was worried. Why wasn’t Sam with Sue? Was he hiding somewhere or had he missed the ship? And what or who was this creature?

  “How did you two get on board?” I asked lightly.

  Sue said, “A guy was wheeling a box of canned chowder onto the ship. We sneaked from the bushes, and dumped the tins out of another box, threw them into the harbour, then climbed inside the box. Later the man wheeled us on board.”

  Did Sam get on at the same time?

  We climbed several levels until we were in a beige-carpetted lobby. Gold-framed mirrors reflected light from a huge chandelier of shimmering glass tears. Sue’s grip on my arm tightened. We passed a cluster of men staring into their day-planners. I remembered to take long strides. I kept my hips as level as a tray carrying glasses that could slide off and shatter.

  At the end of the lobby was an arched entranceway and a sign: “Welcome, Remston Batteries Inc. Complimentary brunch served six a.m. to nine a.m.” Good. At least one meal each day was free. I didn’t have enough money to buy us three meals a day.

  Sue stopped picking at her face. She squinted through the doorway at the expanse of tables encircled by people in business suits. I patted her hand and mumbled, “All shall be well.” I was speaking to myself more than to her. Sue’s mouth was a horizontal line.

  We entered the dining room. The sound of clinking knives and forks competed with the voices of men shouting. “Tokyo stocks won’t go down!” “The target audience for transistors responds to print ads …” I scanned the crowd for Sam but didn’t see him. Few people glanced at the white-clad being lumbering behind us; most seemed too interested in themselves to notice. We found a small empty table in a quiet corner.

  It wouldn’t make sense that Sam’s plan had failed. Putting on a brave face, I said, “We’ll have a jolly good breakie this morning. Some good, old-fashioned flapcakes and sausage will put grease on our lips and hair on our chests. Or at least on my chest. I would never imply that you’d have a hairy chest, Miss.”

  Sue hissed at the monster, “Sit down!”

  He dropped onto a chair.

  “Yes, the brekkie-eckkie is going to be splendi-endi,” I said, with great gusto.

  The beast had removed one glove and a talon rested on the edge of a plate.

  Sue said, “If you do that, people will notice!”

  Then he spoke in a hideous, hoarse voice. “I’ve spent years fixating on the surface of life and not seeing what’s below. Don’t be as I’ve been, Sue.” The sheet accidentally fell from his face, revealing his blunt snout and dripping fangs.

  “Be careful, Sam!”

  His name was like a rock smashed into my forehead. It took a whole minute before I could speak. “What did you say his name was?”

  The beast’s thick, green tongue flicked like a windshield wiper across his blood-spittled fangs.

  “He’s Sam, my brother. Please, tell him he has to cover his face!”

  I was going to start crying. I would go into hysterics. My body automatically stood up. “I have to”—down, voice, down!—“go to the washroom.” With a will of its own, my body hurled itself across the carpet whose fronds now seemed to be a thousand ululating tongues. I told myself to walk with long strides and stiff legs, but my torso twisted, writhed, and tossed above buckling legs. I was so upset I almost went into the women’s washroom, but swerved and charged straight through the door sporting a Gumby stick-figure. Three men adjusted their ties before the mirror. I bent over the sink, splashed water on my face, retreated to a cubicle, and shut and locked the door. I pulled my pants to my ankles so no one would get suspicious and hid my crotch behind one hand.

  So my beloved son had become a monster. My brilliant son with his astounding intelligence, who’d partially redeemed our family. What had they done to Sa
m at that hospital? What did he do to himself? I imagined every possible scenario: they grafted ape genes into his skin; he acquired an infectious disease, one of the African ones, and became possessed; or, while fleeing through the forest, he’d met a clan of sasquatch, foolishly slept in their beds, ate their food, and shared their toothbrushes. Whatever had happened, Satan had embraced him. He was farther from me than I had imagined. Maybe I had already lost him for good.

  I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and the Holy Spirit descended and entered me. The imprisoned words burst forth from my windpipe and filled the air. My voice rose and I revelled in the sound—I didn’t care who heard me; luckily the toilet kept running and Muzak played loudly.

  When finished, I wiped tears from my cheeks and thanked God for bringing me peace. The solution to the problem was simple. In soldier’s guise, I’d find out all the information required and then invite Sam and Sue to my room where I’d baptize them with Mary’s urine. Before leaving the men’s, I stuffed a wad of toilet paper into the crotch of my panties; it bulged impressively. I pushed open the door and stood before the rows of chattering men in dark suits. With deliberate indiscretion I reached into my pants and moved the Kleenex from my right side to my left, removed my hand, and gave my hips an abrupt little shake. I straightened my hat and strutted into the room, completely secure in the world of men.

  The waiter walked away from our table just before I arrived. Sam had put the sheet back over his face.