Book of Jim: Agnostic Parables and Dick Jokes From Lucifer's Paradise

by Adam Spielman

  So Jim crossed the threshold and entered Frankenmasque.

  2

  It was a grand entrance. Winding stairs chased macabre paintings up the stone walls. The carpets were red. A chandelier dropped dim light from the high ceiling. The pale and the beautiful mingled.

  Jim looked for Cherry but he didn’t see her. He looked for the devil too, but he didn’t see her.

  Now he felt more keenly the strangeness in his presence, for he beheld that the pale and beautiful people were also sophisticated. They drank wine with thumb and finger, spoke a great deal of French, and their laughter was jaded and ironic.

  He thought, If there were a set of infinite Jims, I bet one of them would know how to talk to these people. Being not that Jim, he waited from a corner for something to happen.

  Then the double doors beneath the winding stairs came open and there was an announcement. The pale and beautiful and sophisticated people filed through the doors and Jim followed.

  In the next room there were many masked women. One by one they touched and took away the beautiful people until there was only Jim. The last masked woman touched him and he went with her.

  3

  They came to a small room. In its center there was a single chair bolted to the ground. The chair was equipped with restraints. An empty conveyor belt came in through one wall and left out another. The masked woman pointed to the chair and said,

  “Sa-swa.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” said Jim.

  “Frankenmasque. Voo lemur he. Sa-swa.” She pointed to the chair.

  “What is Frankenmasque?”

  “Loo par-tea do diable.”

  “Diable. Yeah, I know it’s Lucy’s party. But what’s with the chair?”

  “Frankenmasque. Sa-swa.”

  So Jim sa-swa’d. The masked woman secured the restraints over his wrists, and over his ankles, over his chest. She flipped a switch on the wall and the conveyor belt moved. It carried into the room an assortment of human legs.

  “Key pray-fairy voo?”

  “Are those the legs of the beautiful people?”

  “We. Key pray-fairy voo?”

  “Uh, that one. Pray-fairy.” He pointed with his head to a milky white leg. There was a black stiletto heel still strapped to the foot. “That’s a nice one.”

  The masked woman removed from the belt the milky white leg and she held it up. With her face she made a question mark. Jim nodded. She went to the chair, pulled a lever, and Jim’s left leg popped off.

  “Fuck!” he said.

  She replaced his left leg with the milky white leg with the stiletto heel. His own leg she placed upon the belt. She flipped the switch and the belt carried his leg away, and it brought some new legs in.

  “Key pray-fairy voo?”

  “Uh, no pray-fairy,” said Jim. “Listen, I think there was a mix-up somewhere. I’m really not up for this shit right now.”

  She held up a leg dressed in slacks and a loafer. “Pray-fairy?”

  “Fine. Whatever,” Jim said.

  The masked woman popped off his right leg and replaced it with the slacked and loafered leg. She placed his right leg upon the belt, flipped the switch, and the legs were carried away.

  Now the belt brought into the room the assortment of arms. Jim chose for his left arm a plain and hairy arm, for it was near to his own. For his right arm he chose a tanned and muscular arm, which had around the bicep a gnarly tattoo.

  His own arms were placed upon the belt. They became among the assortment and were carried away. Jim had now a milky leg with a stiletto heel, a leg of slacks and loafer, a left arm like his own and a right arm with muscles and a gnarly tattoo.

  Now the belt brought into the room the assortment of torsos. Jim said, “Wait. Hold up a minute. Just, like, hold up. Are you really gonna rip out my chest? My heart’s in there.”

  The masked woman said, “We.” Then she ripped out his chest.

  “Jesus!”

  “Key pray-fairy voo?”

  Upon the belt lay only the torsos of women. The breasts all jiggled as Jell-O cakes jiggle.

  “Seriously?”

  “Mall chance.”

  “Well, give me some perky ones.”

  The masked woman gave Jim a torso with perky breasts. His own torso was placed upon the belt, and it became among the assortment. The belt carried it away, and with it Jim’s heart.

  Now the belt brought into the room the assortment of pelvises.

  “Not my fucking balls. You just got my heart, lady. Let me have my balls.”

  “Frankenmasque,” she said. “Key pray-fairy voo?”

  Jim chose for his balls the biggest balls on the belt. His own balls were placed upon the belt, and they became among the assortment. The belt carried them away, and with them Jim’s dick.

  Now the belt brought into the room the assortment of heads. But before Jim could make the final objection, he beheld among the heads one that was familiar. He said,

  “Is that the beard of Billy Mays?”

  The masked woman popped off Jim’s head and replaced it with the head and beard of Billy Mays. Jim’s head she placed upon the belt, and it became among the assortment. The belt carried it away, and with it Jim’s brain.

  He watched it go. Jim watched his head leave the room. But he remained. He looked at the masked woman through the eyes over the beard of Billy Mays.

  “Why am I me without my head?”

  “Frankenmasque,” she said.

  4

  So Jim came to the ballroom in the mansion of the devil. His left leg was milky and wore a stiletto heel, and his right leg was longer and loafered. One arm was like his own and the other was muscular with a gnarly tattoo. His breasts were perky and his balls were big, and the beard that he wore was the beard of Billy Mays.

  The pale and the beautiful were likewise rearranged. Feminine eyes dared over masculine shoulders and uneven legs bore lopsided bodies. They wore no masks, for each was a phantom in a piecemeal shell of others. They mingled, danced, drank wine from trays with thumb and finger, and they laughed the jaded laughter.

  Jim looked for his head but couldn’t find it. He thought, If I see French coming out of my head’s lips, I’m gonna break my own damn jaw.

  Then he felt a hand touch the elbow of the arm that was like his own. He turned and beheld a thinly matched fellow with the head of a dark-eyed young woman.

  “Jim?” the creature said.

  He looked closer and saw in the dark eyes a spark. “Cherry?”

  “We’re not supposed to do this – like, acknowledge each other – but I figure it’s your first time. It’s kinda freaky, huh?”

  “Yeah. Kinda freaky. How did you know this was me?”

  “It’s the way you’re looking around for your head. It’s like, you’re really confused, a little bit concerned, but you’re alright about it at the same time. It’s hard to explain. I like it though.” She ran her fingers through the beard of Billy Mays. “And you would go for this beard.”

  “It’s a pretty awesome beard,” Jim said. He stroked the beard with the arm with the gnarly tattoo. “But is it my beard? I mean, am I me and I’m thinking with somebody else’s brain, or are these somebody else’s thoughts and I’m just sending them through? I can’t shake the feeling that one of these assholes is messing up my head. Like, I’m gonna get it back and think I’m from Madrid or something.”

  “Honey, your head was messed up before you got here.”

  Then the lights became dim and everyone became silent. A balcony above the ballroom floor began to glow, there was a warbling whoomf, and Lucy appeared. She held to her face a glittering masque.

  “Welcome to Frankenmasque,” she said. “So many new faces tonight!”

  This was met with jaded laughter. Jim didn’t get it. Then he got it. He didn’t laugh. He stroked the beard.

  Lucy spoke with the airs of ritual, but her tone had a lightness that undercut the airs. Initiated pockets of the crowd r
eplied in rote.

  “Hearts of beasts and Grendel eyes, hearts that beat and wrestle whys.”

  “JAY SHWEE LOO EGGMAN!”

  “What are you wearing under all that skin? Where do you end and I begin?”

  “JAY SHWEE LOO EGGMAN!”

  “Holes that bleed and poles that breed, coals that burn with awful need.”

  “JAY SHWEE LOO WALRUS!”

  “Why are you hiding under all that skin? Open up and let me in.”

  “GOO GOO G’JOOB!”

  The lights went up and Lucy vanished. Cherry put her thin fellow’s arm through the arm that was like Jim’s own. She whispered,

  “You’re never who you were, Jim, and you’re never who you’re going to be. This is just the madness between.”

  And Frankenmasque began.

  5

  He found a corner to lean upon and he observed from a distance the phantom squall. It was a dance without rule or rhythm. All the superfluities of personhood were mashed up and splayed across the ballroom floor. Consciousness lurked in the eyes that flashed in the twirl.

  There was another man who leaned upon the corner. He was entirely a man, and he leaned with cool confidence.

  Jim said to him, “Looking for your head?”

  “My head is on my shoulders,” the man said.

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Crashed the gate. Here for a friend. We never leave a man down.” The man sized Jim up with a glance. “You got a name, darling?”

  “It used to be Jim. I’m not really sure anymore.” Jim played with his perky breasts. “I always kind of figured I was my head. Or at least my heart. Hell, balls ought to have something to do with it. You wouldn’t happen to know the ontology of balls, would you?”

  “I wouldn’t. But I know a man has to fight for his name, and a man that used to be Jim is currently a bitch. So which is it, darling?”

  Jim liked this guy. “Uh, Jim. Yeah, it’s Jim then.”

  “You sure about that, darling?”

  “Stop calling me darling.”

  “If you don’t have a name and your heart’s aflutter on the dance floor, you’re everybody’s darling. Darling.”

  Jim really liked this guy. Therefore he punched him with the arm that was like his own. “Call me darling again,” he said.

  And the man who was entirely a man said, “Ha! Maybe there’s a man in there after all. Tell you what, Jim, forget about this place. Spare yourself the anguish, it’s an empty burlesque. You want to know who you are, what a man is? A man is what he does, Jim. A man is what he does with his time and his sweat. A man is where he goes and who he fucks and what he says.”

  Jim considered this. “Well, before I came here I was at the edge of paradise. And the devil gave me a blowjob, like, right when I got here. And I told Kant he’s a dick.”

  “That’s more like it. So what it’s going to be, Jim? You want to piss your panties in the corner, or you want to tag these bitches and get your balls back?”

  “Balls.”

  “Alright, here’s the deal. We’ve got a POW out on the dance floor. They’re running the bulls on Cloud Seven and his whore wife dragged him to this shit show. We’re going in hard, a good old fashioned smash’n’grab. Get in, get what’s yours, get out. We rendezvous at the gate.”

  And he pulled from the shadow of the corner a Louisville Slugger. With it he pointed to the balcony where the devil had whoomfed.

  “You see that stack of human up there? That’s Hunter. He’s on point and he’s bringing down the chandelier. When he does, me and Jack and Bunny are going in swinging.”

  “Wait,” said Jim. He looked at the stack of human who was Hunter, and again at the man who was entirely a man. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Ernest.”

  “Ernest Hemingway?”

  “You in, darling?”

  Jim took the bat.

  6

  Hunter leapt from the balcony to the chandelier. He wielded a sabre and he shook it at the phantoms in the ballroom. He said, “What I do, I do for Nixon.” And he cut the rope and the chandelier crashed to the ballroom floor.

  Then Hemingway charged in with a musket that was fitted with a bayonet. He was the first to strike, for he removed a pretty blonde head from a thick and veiny neck. Jack and Bunny were close behind. Jack cleaved with a machete, and Bunny swung a nine-iron.

  Then Jim charged in with the Louisville Slugger. He made short work of several heads. The heads rolled on the floor and cursed in French. “Mayor-duh!” they said, and, “Vay-to-fay uncool!”

  Hunter, the stack of human, climbed out from the ruin of the chandelier. He brandished the sabre and said, “Victory!” And he claimed an arm. “I am not a crook!” And he claimed three legs and a head.

  So the pale and the beautiful were soon reduced to their wriggling parts. Hemingway and Hunter and Jack and Bunny sifted through the parts for the parts of their friend. Jim searched for himself. He found his head, and he found his arms and his legs and his chest. But he could not find his balls.

  Then he heard a voice say, “Jim!” And he knew the voice. “Cherry!” And he found Cherry’s head between four tits and a thigh. The spark in the eyes of the head was Cherry.

  “You’re back in your head!”

  “Your balls.” Cherry pointed with her eyes and Jim found his balls. “I kept them warm for you.”

  “You were wearing my balls?”

  Cherry’s head blushed. The heart in Jim’s own chest, which he carried in the crook of the arm that was like his own, began to flutter.

  “I’m sorry about your party,” Jim said.

  “Are you kidding? Best Frankenmasque ever. You should probably go, though.”

  For the wriggling parts of the pale and the beautiful were coming together, and the heads were cursing.

  “Yeah. Um, I’ll call you then.”

  “Yeah.”

  He ran out of the ballroom in the mansion of the devil, and he carried with him the superfluities of his person.

  7

  Jim reconstructed himself in a guest bathroom, and he was once more Jim from nub to skull. At the gates outside the mansion he came upon Hemingway and Hunter and Jack and Bunny, who reconstructed their friend.

  When the work was finished, Hemingway said, “You in there, Fitzgerald?”

  Fitzgerald blinked his eyes and shook his head. “You guys are insane,” he said. “What did you do to her this time?”

  Hemingway pulled Fitzgerald to his feet. “Your wife’s a jack-fisted whore. Tonight we run with the bulls in the clouds and drink martinis until our tongues are dry and we can no longer speak. Vamonos!”

  And Hemingway and Hunter and Jack and Bunny and Fitzgerald went down the drive. They climbed into a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado which had metallic blue paint and tailfins. Hunter took the wheel and Jack rode shotgun The others took the rear-facing backseat.

  Jim waved. “Thank you, Mr. Hemingway! I got my balls back! And my head!”

  “Looking good, Jim! Paradise is awesome, but it’s only yours if you fight for it! So fight for it!”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Fitzgerald said. “He only fights for lost causes. He thinks it’s noble.”

  “Vamonos!”

  Hunter lit a cigarette and the Cadillac peeled away.

  VI

  1

  So Jim became Jim. He was Jim in his heart, Jim in his head, and he was Jim in his balls. He was Jim entirely. He knew his Jimness for twenty-two years, and in those years he also experienced some happiness.

  These are the brief happinesses of Jim in paradise:

  He stepped up to the home plate at Fenway Park on two bad legs and he called his shot over the green monster. The slider came low and away and with a war-weary swing he pulled it down the line. He waved the ball fair and the ball sailed fair and over the monster, and it was a homerun. He hobbled to first, pumped his fist while rounding second, and he missed third altogether and hobbled back for the le
gal touch. Then he planted his feet at home and the big board said, Cubs Win! The tears of thirty-seven thousand Yankees were collected and fed to the goat who grazed at centerfield.

  He put his eyes on the road and his hands upon the wheel and he rolled out to the great wide open. He smoked two joints and he kissed the sky. He listened for the songs that voices never shared. And when the black hole sun gently wept millions of peaches for the Bally table king, he wondered if he was paranoid or just stoned. For these were the words of the prophets and other tongues of lilting grace. And getting no satisfaction from the smoke of the ship on the horizon, he chopped down a mountain with the edge of his hand and said, Quinn the Eskimo was here.

  He pushed his Deuce Coupe to one-forty on a back country road. The coppers flashed their lights in his dust. Crates full of jars of moonlight rattled in the backseat. The road ended where the canyon began, and there were no paths but dead on or capture. So he leaned out the suicide door and elucidated his convictions with a Chicago typewriter, raised a jar of the moon to the coppers, and said, “You’ll never take me alive.” He drank the moon and met the darkness in the canyon with a high five.

  And his nights he spent with Cherry.

  2

  Then one day, while Jim cavorted through the aromas of Downtown, he came upon the angel who said fuck and laughed at suffering. The angel was handing out flyers to passersby, so Jim took one. He read,

  Annual Cleopatra Lottery

  Spend a night with the Egyptian Queen!

  Enter in person at: 777 Lay Lady Lane.

  Take your chances or accept your fate. Just don’t be late!

  The Cleopatra Lottery is run by the Paradise Grant Committee and is in full compliance with the Pussy Pact. All participants enter willingly and with full knowledge that their Indulgence Rights will be thoroughly abused.

  Jim said to the angel, “Angel, hey. What is this?”

  “It is what it says it is,” the angel said.

  “Yeah, but what is it?”