The Lava in My Bones

by Barry Webster

  Sue said, “Let’s do the flowers.”

  An hour later I watched from a shadowy cubbyhole on deck as my children tossed plastic roses pilfered from the dining room into the wake of the ship. They quietly sang, “The Nipper in the Cod and the Codder in the Pail.” I hummed along. My husband was gone: it was now more imperative that my offspring not abandon me. Still, staring at my children holding hands, I felt sad for them, targeted as they were by the ferocious need within me.

  That night in my haze of grief, I still had the sense to know I could douse them while they slept. I carefully carried Mary’s magic bottle into the hall. Sam was snoring but Sue was awake, sighing and weeping. The situation was infuriating!

  The next morning I dressed as a gypsy-girl in clog-soled sandals that slid on the floor when I walked. My torso and hips were concealed beneath a silk dress printed with garish parrots, macaws, and cockatoos in bright grasses. When I moved my hips, the fabric flashed like myriad winking eyes. To conceal my hair I knotted a topaz-streaked kerchief around my head. I attached a longer plastic nose to my face and added more putty. Perhaps it’d be easier to become acquainted with my daughter as a female. Still, I worried this disguise would be less convincing than the first. God, are all the disguises you offer magical?

  I picked up Mary’s bottle, left my room, and approached the closed curtain. All was silent. Now was the time. I unsealed the bottle, crouched, and thrust myself through the curtain to see—coiled rope, pails, and Sam’s rock in the corner. Where had they gone? Today was the day for the miracle. I could wait no longer. If necessary I’d splash my children in public. I worried that Sue would recognize the container and flee before I could baptize her. I’d displayed the bottle on our mantel in Cartwright in a moment of foolish pride.

  Back in my room I tried hiding the container in my underpants, but it was too big, seemed wrong anatomically, and could easily slip through my panty elastic and shatter on the floor. I headed into the storage room. At the back stood shelves lined with broomstick ends, soap cakes, and coils of wire. I opened a wooden box and found Geronimo dolls, a Snakes and Ladders set, and several dice. At the bottom, I saw a plastic water pistol. God be praised! I returned to my room, filled the gun with some of Mary’s urine, and stuffed it into my bra. I pointed it upwards so no liquid dribbled out.

  I waited all morning at our table in the dining room, but my children didn’t arrive. I ate a croissant and glanced forlornly at the crumbs lying on the tablecloth like tiny eyeless heads. All day I searched for them; I climbed about the ship’s inner skeleton, wandered through rooms where people played billiards or watched videos. I discovered a small chapel that, not surprisingly, was empty. My children were hiding and mourning.

  The ship’s main deck was thronged with bodies stretched out on identical plastic lawn-chairs. In a world of so many people, why did I feel I had so little in my life? The air was scented with coconut; transistor radios buzzed like boxes of bees. Frying hamburgers sizzled; a man shouted, “Get your red-hots. Get ’em while you’re red and hot.” The sea of exposed flesh broiled and sautéed, becoming as dry and desiccated as horse leather. Plaid bikinis-cups rose like prim little hills. Wrinkled boxer shorts ruffled in the breeze and nylon Speedos gleamed as smooth as jade or bulged with concealed anteater snouts. Coloured sun creams shone in diagonal lines on cheeks. Over eyes lay plastic glasses like overturned spoons joined at the tips. Hills on eyes matched hills on breasts, and for a second everyone seemed to have breasts for eyes. I glanced at my own bosoms, glad they were down on my chest and not on my face.

  Men muttered “We must increase the flow of goods” and “Governments must be weakened.” They talked about eradicating borders again. I walked past teenagers playing volleyball, a clown juggling sticks, an ice cream vendor pushing a coffin-like box on wheels. He slid open the lid and, amidst clouds of steam, pulled out cones the colour of bone. People stripped off the tin foil and licked.

  “Mmmm,” they said.

  All we are doing is eating death.

  Leaning on the railing, I yawned ferociously. I’d been up all night obsessing over the gaps in my marriage. I returned to my room, removed the plastic pistol, and lay on the cot. I fell into a deep sleep and again had nightmares: Two penises clashed in a lance battle that never ended.

  I woke in darkness, my hands clutching the bedspread. In the porthole, moonlight bled onto the waves. Footsteps outside my door. I turned the doorknob, stuck out my head. Sue’s back was receding down the hall. I was about to cry out her name but realized I wasn’t supposed to know her. In a high-pitched soprano, I yelled, “Hey, you there, girl!” Sue spun round. “How you do,” I said. “I guess I your neighbour. We didn’t meet before. I Cheryl.”

  Sue observed me. Would she accept this woman pasted over the soldier pasted over her mother?

  “What you doing down here?”

  “I’m looking for someone,” she said, “who’s always running away.” Again she believed my costume was me! How wondrous! Thank you, God!

  As she headed down the hall, I called out, “Maybe I can help.” I shoved the pistol into my bra and followed. Lord, she moved fast! I headed up the metal-clanging steps and was panting when I reached the top. Out onto the wet, slippery deck a storm raged and water splashed across the rows of lawn chairs. I clutched my kerchief with both hands, fearing the wind would rip it from my head.

  Sue disappeared through another doorway. I heard a distant thumping, as regular as a heartbeat. I scurried down a steep staircase and entered a low-ceilinged room full of crowds, smoke, tables with waxed tops, flashing lights, and blaring loudspeakers:

  Sexy mama, shake your tush

  I wanna hold you, oh so much …

  A rectangle of gyrating bodies drowned in sheaths of flickering, multi-coloured light. The bass beat throbbed so loudly my kerchief, collar, and dress hem vibrated, and Mary’s gun twitched spasmodically against my nipple. The place smelled of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and nachos. Why was Sue here? My children weren’t grieving. They were in a disco! The soldier, in his T-shirt, stood talking to a woman in a leopard-skin dress. I feared that the woman whose clothes I was wearing was here and would attack me. I hurried past hands holding glasses of a red liquid that swayed as the ship rocked. The pounding music stopped and a voice over the loudspeakers yelled, “Everybody! We’ve just passed over the ocean-canyon and are entering the mid-Atlantic!”

  The crowd cheered, but the floor immediately dropped like a freefalling elevator, then pitched violently upwards. Drinks spilled, a man on crutches collapsed; the bass beat began pulsing again, lights flashed, and everyone laughed. A loud hiss and a raised funnel spewed white smoke that concealed the dancers. In the darkness on one side of the room, a white-sheeted figure wriggled like larvae in a cocoon. Sam. The power I felt at that moment was incredible.

  I pushed through the crowd that parted as the Red Sea once did for Moses. Sam kept bending over, then standing up. He was examining the tops and undersides of tables. Behind him, Sue gesticulated and yelled, but her words were drowned beneath “Sexy mama, shake your tush …”

  The speakers buzzed; the song changed. Against a clashing of symbols, a rhythmic yodelling. Sam stood statue-still. A horn sounded followed by a cooing soprano.

  ’Cause I want you, mountain babe,

  I give you edelweiss, edelweiss, edelweiss …

  With arms raised, Sam leapt onto the dance floor. Sue lunged, grabbed his hands, and tried to pull him from beneath the lights. Sam broke from her and pogoed amidst the gyrating bodies.

  Come here I need some Swiss loving,

  I give you edelweiss, edelweiss, edelweiss …

  Pretending to dance, Sue spread her arms wide so no one could see him. Her body jerked back and forth like a metronome. Sam and Sue, side by side. Just where I wanted them.

  I hurried onto the dance floor and weaved my way through the crowd. When the strobe started flashing, everyone’s bodies were chopped into a million pieces. The strobe
stopped, and legs, torsos, and arms reassembled themselves. Pelvises thrust and receded, heads rolled in circles over shoulders, arms spun like windmill blades or jerked like rotating turnstile prongs. At last I came to my children: Sue’s face was lit blue, red, and orange, then was obscured in darkness; Sam’s whole body glowed in a yellow spotlight.

  Delighted, I wiggled my hips, watched my dress swirl voluptuously. I had been a great dancer in my youth. I raised my free arm, bent it sensually at the elbow, and stepped so one of my hips touched Sam and the other Sue. The bass beat pulsed through every cell of my body. Even my bones were humming. I shook my behind like a hula dancer. Any moment now, I’d start singing. Was this life as it was meant to be lived, my children and I locked in a sensual embrace? The singing stopped and trumpets blared. I snaked my hand into my bra, clutched the pistol, placed one finger on the trigger. I’d baptize Sue first.

  A leather-clad man with slicked-back hair shook his groin toward Sue and grinned. She stepped away, glanced out over the crowd.

  Oh mountain babe, I give you edelweiss …

  I took a deep breath and pointed the gun at Sue. I whispered, “Be gone, Satan!” and squeezed the trigger—but either the ship lurched or the man attempted to throw himself on Sue, for she fell and he landed in the crossfire. Mary’s urine splashed off the side of his face, drenched his hair, and filled one ear. He tumbled down onto the floor and, thrashing his legs and raising both arms, cried out in tongues. For God so loved the world that even screwballs like this loser shall receive God’s grace!

  Amazed and horrified, I accidentally dropped the pistol, which shattered on the floor. People stopped dancing, stepped back. The music ended and lights came up.

  “Epilepsy,” a woman muttered.

  But Sue and Sam knew what was happening. They had lived with me. Sue grabbed her brother’s hand and the two ran from the room. I fled lest someone would point me out as the peeshooter. Stepping into our corridor I heard murmuring behind the curtain.

  Sue said, “Someone like Mother is on this ship. That guy kept leering at me and then he started speaking in tongues. I don’t know which was worse.”

  “I’m worried,” Sam rasped. “I hiked across all of eastern Canada but have more challenges here.”

  “Stay away from that guy who spoke in tongues, Sam. And quit running from me! You’ve got to let me help you. Turns out I’m the one who can protect us, not you. I’m not a little girl anymore … You know, when I think about it, I probably could’ve looked after myself in Cartwright. I didn’t need you to come rescue me, Sam. I think I only trusted you because I didn’t realize I could do stuff on my own. Now it’s my turn help you.”

  Sam moaned the “Mmmm” he makes when pondering a new idea.

  “I feel kind of sad,” continued Sue, “’cause there’s no one for me to depend on now. But there’s something solid in me, though I don’t know what, exactly.” Where had my daughter learned such wisdom? I felt inspired yet saddened. “When I figure it all out, I’ll tell you, Sam. Now go on with your story. What happened after you moved out of the hotel and into Franz’s chalet?”

  I couldn’t bear hearing about this disgusting Franz, so I returned to my room. I shook the bottle of Mary and watched the yellow waves claw the inside of the glass. That night I again attempted to ambush my children in their hiding place, but this time Sue slept and Sam lay awake sighing and muttering, “Franz, I’ll surrender myself as never before.”

  I nearly vomited. Yes, at times I’m horrible. The Monster triumphs. Looking through the porthole up at the dark sky, I addressed God: Would I have been better without You? Or You without me? Would I still have ended up so desolate? Are things not working because I bully You too? I received no answer. Oh, that my children could return to our house by the sea and live with me forever.

  The next morning I’d thrown the gypsy clothes overboard and became a pinstriped businessman with a black fedora and shiny, lacquered shoes so new they crackled when I walked. I no longer worried about my disguises; my children would accept everyone I chose to be. From the storage room I snatched a large plastic vial from the cardboard box. I poured the remainder of Mary into it, screwed on the lid, and put it inside my breast pocket.

  My children were chatting behind the curtain. “That’s wild, Sam. Snowstorms in summer and icicles on curtain rods. I want to meet Franz some day. Here, let me remove that flea behind your ear.” Sam playfully groaned. “Now listen: I notice that there are times of the day when the hall is empty and times when it’s full of workers. I prepared a schedule so you can walk without getting caught. I wrote it on this napkin. And don’t go to that disco again.” Sam grunted. “I want you to hold my hand this morning. It’s going to be scary, and you need my help.”

  “Okay, sis. Thanks.” He’d never been so openly affectionate before. My children were becoming unrecognizable.

  I waited outside my cabin door, and at last Sam and Sue crawled from their hiding place. They headed toward the iron stairwell. With one hand on my hat, I sprinted toward them, the tie flapping in my face. I approached Sue’s back and held my breath—a light bulb was right above her head, so I cast no shadow. I reached into my pocket and removed the vial. I stopped to remove the lid. When I looked up, she was already in the stairwell. I ascended the stairs, vial in hand. As I rounded the last landing, the lid slipped off and clattered down the metal steps. My children passed through a door, entered a hall, and ducked into a room. Hallelu, they were cornered! I raced into the corridor, turned right, and was suddenly in a beige-walled office where Sue stood talking to a nurse in white.

  The nurse turned to me and said, “Ah, Mr Jones. Good of you to bring your own sample.” She snatched the vial from my hand.

  “No … wait!” I cried in an undeniably woman’s voice.

  Sue’s head jerked toward me.

  “Relax, Mr Jones. Many people are nervous at check-ups, but I’ll put a safe lid on this and we’ll label it for testing.” She vanished behind a curtain.

  I tried to hide my panic. I cleared my throat and tightened the tie.

  Returning, the nurse addressed Sue. “You were saying, dear?”

  She spoke quickly. “Something’s happened to my brother. Please don’t get upset when you see how he looks.”

  The nurse joked, “Don’t you worry. We’ve seen everything here.”

  A door opened and a lady in an afghan shawl hobbled out on a walker. The nurse smiled and led Sue and Sam into the room.

  As soon as the door closed, I raced behind the curtain. To my horror, there was a tray with a hundred identical vials of urine! Had everyone on the ship been here to give samples? I began frenziedly taking each tube from its slot and reading the labels. They were numbered but had no names. Where was Mr Jones’s vial? There must be a corresponding list somewhere. I skimmed through the papers attached to the wall—Jameson, Jennings, Jorgens—no Jones? I overturned the wastepaper basket, fished through Coke cans, and unravelled bandages. I opened a cupboard to discover only an unplugged coffeemaker.

  From the next room came a bloodcurdling scream and Sue pleading, “He’s not like he looks! He won’t hurt you!”

  I stared hard at the hundred vials nestled like eggs in their slots; one of them was Mary’s. I took a deep breath, lifted the huge tray, carried it into the waiting room and, balancing it on my thigh, opened the main door with my elbow. In the hall, the half-naked soldier passed me. I walked quickly, the vials rattling violently in their slots. Finally safe in my room, I examined each vial and tried to guess which urine was secular and which was Holy. I sniffed each container. I touched the liquid surface with my fingertips. All had a similar colour, consistency, temperature and, when I tasted them, were equally salty. I couldn’t splash my children with vial after vial until I found the right one. After just one baptism, they’d get suspicious. Sue already thought something was up.

  There was only one solution. It would be time-consuming, frustrating, and exhausting. I prayed to God for the st
rength to do what was necessary. I retrieved a box of empty vials from the storage room, poured half of each urine sample into two vials, and labelled them with the same number and an A or B. A was the test vial. I would douse a random stranger with A; if it turned out Holy, I’d use the corresponding B on my children. I gazed at the 200 vials of urine. Mary’s power was being divided, diluted, and becoming invisible as it entered the world of Man.

  I waited until evening, trashed the business suit, darted into the dry cleaner’s, and emerged as a voluptuous eccentric with a breast-thrusting cocktail dress, mesh gloves, hiking boots, and baseball cap. I slunk sensuously up the staircase and onto the deck where knots of people clustered at the railings. The full moon was a hole punched in the sky. A portly, middle-aged man leaned on the rail near the bow. He was clearly a conference man in a pinstriped suit like the one I’d sported this morning. I sauntered over and cooed, “How are you, sir?”

  His head rotated and one eye twinkled. “I’m quite fine, young lady.” His hairline forked violently at his temples, making the rectangle of hair on his head look like a giant thrusting tongue. “And how are you, sweetie?”

  I spoke musically, each word half-sound, half-breath. “I’m feeling fine, with the moonlight, the waves, the water.” My voice trailed off, faded like a dying breeze.

  The man’s eyes were bright as polished eggs. If he’d had antennae on his head, they’d be standing straight up. “Well, dearie,” he chortled and stepped closer. My index finger snaked into my other glove, removed Vial 1A. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.” My finger pried off the lid. I heard it clatter somewhere in the dark. “I’m here with Remston Battery.” His hot hand rested on my hip. I could smell his cinnamon cologne and a mix of onions and mint on his breath.

  All at once I hissed, “Be gone, Satan!” My hand flew upwards and the urine struck him—splat!—in the face. His collar was drenched. But he didn’t fall to the ground or speak in tongues. He stood blinking with beads of liquid on his eyelashes. One of his hands wiped at what was clearly secular pee. He sniffed it. “What the hell!”