A Mound Over Hell

by Gary Morgenstein

  Sad music.

  The stone-faced Falcons parted to allow Ty and Mick to climb out, casually slinging their bats over their shoulders as if they always dressed in a coffin.

  Watching in his living room, Kenuda chuckled at the vid while Puppy nervously sipped expensive Tennessee Tom bourbon.

  “When that happens,” Mick said, “you need a cleanup hitter.”

  “Someone who knows what it’s like to score the winning run.”

  Close-up on the coffins. Ty and Mick’s bats tap the Basil Hayden’s Funeral Home logo.

  “You need a slugger like Adona Hayden…”

  Quick cut of the calm and reassuring Ms. Hayden leaning near the Hawks dugout, waiting for someone to die so she could leap into action.

  “Ms. Hayden and her team will do all the hitting for you,” Ty and Mick said.

  In the background, Frecklie and two other DVs in black suits ran in a jagged line around the bases.

  “Top notch coffins.” Mick touched the wood.

  “And the velvet pillows are first class,” Ty added.

  “Taking the eternal journey in style.”

  “From the service to the flowers.”

  One of the Falcons handed Ty a bouquet of roses.

  Kenuda roared and slapped his chair, nearly knocking Annette off the arm.

  “Hayden does the dying for you,” Ty said.

  Frecklie and the boys slid across home and lay there, unmoving.

  “We know how important that is.” Mick winked.

  He and Ty climbed back into the coffins.

  More swelling baroque music and then the voiceover, “Basil Hayden’s Funeral Homes. Give us the ball. We’ll take care of Death.”

  The lights went on in the huge sunken room with high ceilings reaching just shy of Jupiter. Mooshie looked sick and angry; she gulped down her drink.

  “Was I right about Ian Schrage?” Kenuda bounded onto the thick, plush carpet. “Is he a genius or isn’t he?”

  “Amazing, Elias.” Annette repositioned her spread of appetizers on the gleaming black coffee table. “The salmon is real and fresh. It’s Saul’s.”

  “There’s time for fish and there’s time for business. And the business of the people comes first. Dara, what did you think?”

  Mooshie smiled bravely. “I’m still putting it together, Cousin.”

  Elias sat between them on the couch, which was more comfortable than any bed Puppy had ever slept on. Kenuda took their hands; Annette watched enviously.

  “No Cousins here. Except for Puppy, who is an employee. It’s Elias.”

  Annette’s strands stuck out a little.

  “Elias.” Mooshe gazed deeply into his eyes. “I think it’s inspired.”

  “And she’s the creative one here,” Kenuda said, gazing back.

  “I design shoes…” Annette tried.

  “Yes, shoes.” Kenuda rolled his eyes. “I like the gloomy appeal of death visiting death, with Hayden as a tour guide.”

  “Makes you unafraid,” Mooshie chimed in.

  “Courage. We need courage in these times. Boldness. I approve. It’ll go out tomorrow morning on Wake Up My Darlings.”

  “Can we start the dinner party now, honey?” Annette asked.

  “Damn straight. Keep the food warm. Time for the tour.” He squeezed Mooshie’s hand so together they gestured around the living room. “The living room.”

  “Magnificent,” she oohed and aahed syllable by syllable.

  He stood by the fireplace, ready for a portrait. “This is real wood.”

  “Smells it.”

  “That was my idea,” Annette said. “The wood.”

  Puppy helped himself to more bourbon.

  “The llama rug, leather furniture. All hand-crafted.” He leaned over to Mooshie, making this more a private discussion. “Not what you get in the stores.”

  Mooshie murmured delightedly.

  “Both of you. Into the study.”

  “Elias,” Annette protested. “Can’t we wait until after dinner? We already had the funeral.”

  “Nonsense,” he thundered and marched down the hallway decorated with sports memorabilia, ducking beneath balls into a large wood-paneled study with an oaky smell. “Are either of you squeamish?”

  “I sat in one of the coffins,” Puppy said.

  “I’ve done that, too,” Mooshie added.

  Puppy poked her in the butt.

  “Look down.” Kenuda pointed at the wide brown and gold rug. “What is it?”

  “Hand-crafted?” Mooshie asked breathlessly.

  Puppy poked her again.

  “Elias, please don’t make them guess,” Annette said wearily from the doorway.

  He waited for two seconds. “The prayer rug of Imam Khali, the Butcher of Stockholm. This is where his filthy camel body touched. Look.” They all bent. “A trace of blood. Supposedly where a brave American finished him off while he was praying to his Godless God…”

  “The battle of Stockholm, 2064?” Mooshie asked.

  “Yes.” Kenuda was surprised. “A student of history as well as talented and beautiful?”

  “It’s not fair, I know.”

  “Then you’re going to appreciate this.”

  “I’m not watching, Elias.” Annette squirmed.

  Kenuda pressed a button over the fireplace. A door slid open to the left, lit by soft purple light. Two crossed scimitars dominated the huge closet. A tattered crescent moon and star flag hung off a hook. Elias brought out a black crystal jug on a silver plate.

  “Sure you’re not squeamish?” Kenuda pulled out a shrunken head. Annette groaned and hurried down the hall. Puppy’s stomach churned, but his fiancé calmly examined the head.

  “Who was it?”

  Kenuda touched her shoulder a little too warmly. “They say Elijah bin-Qatar. Ever hear of him?”

  “Yeah. He kicked our ass in Sicily.”

  Elias frowned. “I wouldn’t say kicked our ass.”

  “He drove us the hell out of southern Europe. We lost 125,000 soldiers on the boot. What would you call that?” She returned the head, a little more shrunken in Elias’s eyes. “I thought he escaped.”

  “Very dead.” Kenuda shook the head.

  “What he wanted us to think. We were down to assassination squads after that because our soldiers were overrun everywhere. They stood and fought and got slaughtered and we did nothing,” Mooshie said harshly, catching herself before the men’s curious stares. She switched on a smile. “I read he faked death to avoid being on the list. Typical Allah cowardice.”

  “Typical.” Elias nodded. “There’s more. I have…”

  “Elias!” Annette yelled.

  “After dinner. How about seeing the view?”

  “Sounds lovely. Puppy, why don’t you help your lovely ex?” Mooshie slid her arm through Kenuda’s and strolled off toward the balcony.

  Annette was swigging red wine out of the bottle when Puppy wandered back into the kitchen.

  “Can I help?”

  “Boy, she’s got you well trained already. You never helped me.”

  “You never cooked.” He scooped up an oversized chunk of salsa with a chip while Annette checked the chicken roasting in the oven.

  “Dara’s very nice, Puppy.”

  “She says with an air of slight surprise that Puppy could find someone so nice.”

  “Kinda.” Annette grinned. “And pretty for a woman of her age.”

  “Astonishingly.”

  “How old is she again?”

  “I already said I don’t know.” He couldn’t figure it out so quickly. Mooshie was 46 when she died. Or was it 45…? “It’s not important, Annette.”

  “Just that you’re in love?”

  “Yes.”

  Annette basted the chicken. “And she loves you.”

  “Is that a question or statement.”

  “She seems a little, you know, standoffish.”

  “She’s shy. Entertainers usually are off stage.�
��

  That bought a brief delay in the interrogation. “You met in a bar.”

  “Where she sings.”

  “Was Dara married before?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t know that, either?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “Because there are special papers for divorced couples. You have to make sure everything is legal and correct, Puppy.”

  “They are legal, Annette. Did you invite us over to make sure our engagement is on the level?”

  “No. I wanted to be nice.”She slammed the oven door. “I really do want you to be happy, Puppy. I realize how hard that is to believe. Because you hate my guts and think I suck and you’re probably amazed I could get a Third Cousin. So we’re even.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “I want you to be happy, too, Annette. And I’m not surprised at all you could get someone like Kenuda.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe a little. And I don’t hate your guts.”

  “Really?”

  “Usually.”

  “Screw you, Puppy,” she said with a pleased smile. “Remember to cut your food properly. I don’t want to be embarrassed.” Annette took another long sip and yelled, “Dinner’s ready.”

  • • • •

  MOOSHIE CRAWLED BACK into bed carrying a bottle of white Arkansas Chablis. She poured herself a drink and rubbed cream into her hands. This was the first time he shared a bed with the woman he used to fantasize about oh, only three, four times a day as a kid. And well into his marriage. He blushed just remembering and edged away.

  Mooshie laid two pillows between them.

  “I’m sure we could find barbed wire cheap.” He reached for the wine. She slapped away his hand.

  “You got a game tomorrow. You got enough to do working off that gut.”

  Puppy self-consciously edged further away. “What’d you think of tonight?”

  “Is this the part where couples lay in bed and gossip about the evening?”

  “Yeah. It’s called communicating.”

  She made a face. “I never was good at that.”

  Somehow he wasn’t surprised. “Annette’s not terrible, right?”

  Mooshie shrugged and dabbed cream on her face.

  “I mean, not to spend much time with because then she’s overbearing. But she deserves to be happy…” Mooshie cut him off with a loud and sarcastic yawn. “Sorry. What were you and Kenuda talking about?”

  “He showed me his spectacular view. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I lived in that neighborhood with a place twice the size where you could almost touch Manhattan, just before.”

  “He seems to like you.”

  “Oh yeah.” Mooshie mischievously tossed her hair, absently undoing the top button on her blue pajamas.

  Puppy stared at her breasts and nearly slipped off the bed; Mooshie grabbed his collar.

  “You’re gonna sleep on the floor if you don’t watch those eyes.”

  “Actually that’s illegal now that we’re engaged. We must sleep in the same bed.”

  “What about sex?”

  He paled. “What about it?”

  “Ain’t happening.”

  “Fine,” he said, relieved.

  “You gonna report me since that’s also illegal?”

  “I’ll just smile in the morning and everyone will assume.”

  “Happy ain’t the emotion I leave my lovers with.”

  He didn’t want to imagine. Below, the pugs marched past for their midnight walk. Studies had shown the sound of their barking and padding feet quieted people even during sleep. And those still awake, troubled, tired after a long job shift, plain bored, unwilling to brave the chilly late night air for a furry hug, would often stand by the window, smiling, soothed.

  “I never had a dog. You?” Mooshie let the curtains fall, settling into the single rickety chair.

  “This your way of changing the subject, dear? So much to learn about each other.”

  Her sudden glare iced his grin. “Why’d you do that commercial, Puppy?”

  He sighed. Somehow he knew this was coming. “It makes money. Fisher and Boccaccelli whine constantly about expenses. I had to grovel to paint the seats behind the dugouts because everything goes on their bottom line. The Commissioner authorizes, but the teams pay. I mean, shit, Moosh. I got Kenuda’s attention.”

  “By using a funeral home?” she snarled. “Have you no respect? I can’t believe the White Grampas did it.”

  “Maybe they understand the importance of promotion.”

  “They weren’t there on 10/12. You don’t mock that.”

  “I’m not mocking anything. Where’d you see 10/12 mentioned in the advert?

  “You showed the whole goddamn stadium. What they did.”

  “Because it’s the law, Moosh.” He lowered his voice. “Baseball isn’t exactly a hot ticket item for advertisers, bones and bullets and all. Besides, I’m working for Hayden after the season.”

  “Embalming?” she sneered.

  “My baseball historian job goes away, so welcome to the world of the living dead.”

  “You sold out.”

  “Like hell. I’m going to be forty years old and I don’t have a goddamn career. You know how that reads, Moosh.”

  “You’re dabbling.” The fiery Lopez temper exploded; wine dripped down the wall. “Mick says it’s a wake during the games.”

  “It’s hard to generate exuberance when almost all the fans are DVs.”

  “Sitting there on their hands, mouths sealed. I know how we are. Never draw attention. Never act improperly because Grandma’s clit, we’re always judged.”

  He smirked. “We?”

  “Always we.” Her voice was ugly. “Do you really think of yourself as a Reg? Ever? Or always the DV, hoping no one realizes it, no one sends you back. Hey, how’d this guy get through? Guess what, asshole. The people who cared about this country were always DVs. Miners, baseball, almost all of them were DVs, asshole.”

  “Could you please stop calling me an asshole? I feel like I’m back with Annette.”

  Mooshie turned off the light on her night table, closing her eyes. He kept staring until she opened them again.

  “Yes, darling Puppy?”

  “Will you help?”

  “It won’t stop you from asking anyway.”

  “You can say anything to those you love. Grandma’s Sixth Insight.” Mooshie groaned. “My arm’s holding up.” He twisted his shoulder in a little show and tell. “But my mechanics are off. I need help. Mick and Ty aren’t pitchers…”

  She turned on her side, staring leadenly. “No.”

  “Why not?” Puppy asked angrily.

  Her face softened beneath the cream. She looked like a sad ghost. “I don’t know. I just know you have to do it alone. Otherwise it’s too easy. Idol comes back from the dead and shows adoring, simple-minded former stud muffin how to properly throw a curve.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Mooshie draped her legs over his knees and cupped his chin. “Hot buns, just pitch. Throw. You have talent.”

  “How do you know if you’ve never seen me play?”

  “I’m here. Ty’s here. Mick’s here. Why else?” She smacked his eyebrow. “Hate the batter. Hate the other team. Hate like you hate, all stored inside.”

  “I don’t hate like you do, Mooshie.”

  “Yes, you do. Everyone does. You just gotta find it.” Mooshie kissed him on the forehead. “Now get some rest. And stay on your side of the bed.”

  26

  Zelda wanted to summon a thunderstorm of barf hail on all these happy couples. Two thin men who looked like they shared the same toothbrush bowed their heads together. A stout woman and a stout man, definitely a king-sized bed pair, clenched fingers, staring straight ahead as if already imagining high school graduation for the kid. And two especially pretty women, slick black hair around their shoulders, tongued away the wait.

  And Zel
da. She surreptitiously popped a buttered roll into her mouth, piece by piece. Butter always helps, she decided. Chocolate’s such a cliché. A woman with a flat face smiled across the exquisitely furnished room, thick leather chairs swallowing up the biggest asses. No comfort was too much for Grandma’s Mommies. Zelda didn’t make that up. There was a poster of Grandma flanked by several deliriously happy pregnant women, Grandma saying, Nothing is too much for my Mommies.

  She craned her neck trying to read all the posters, searching for one which said, Single Mommies Rock, Too.

  The flat-faced woman hovered. “Hi. I see you’re alone.”

  “No.”

  “You’re not?” The woman double-checked the empty chairs on either side in case she made a mistake.

  “He’s coming.”

  “Oh. Well until he does…”

  “He’s sitting there.” Zelda laid her palm on the chair before the woman could sit. Clearly deprived of oxygen at birth, the woman tried sitting on the other side. Zelda laid her hand down there. “He’s not real decisive.”

  “You don’t want to be disturbed. I understand.”

  “Good.” Zelda pushed her eyebrows into her hair line, finally sending the visitor away. I should’ve brought the chocolate.

  “Ms. Jones?” A voice from above guided her toward a sliding door with etchings of dancing children. She followed the HG children singing on both sides of the hall into a lovely office with more cushy furniture. Zelda thought about stealing one of the oak and leather chairs and fleeing, but the door quickly slid open to the sounds of more squealing brats.

  “Hello, Zelda.” Paula Stobbs, a sturdy woman with kind eyes and a faint moustache, took the chair next to her. “How are you?”

  “Great.”

  “Excellent. Very happy you came right down. Exciting, huh?”

  “Yes.” More children laughed from somewhere. Zelda wished she had one of Puppy’s baseball bats. “They’re not real, are they?”

  “Sounds it, don’t they? Well, if you can just hop up on the table. This’ll only take a second.” She slipped on clear examining gloves.

  “For what?”

  “To examine you.”

  “Why?”

  Paula’s bright smile faded a little. “We have to make sure the test was correct. It is ninety-nine percent accurate, but as Grandma says, mistakes are a part of life.”