A Mound Over Hell

by Gary Morgenstein

  Cheng frowned. “Familiar, right?”

  “From the 60s, I think.”

  “Originally by Mooshie Lopez.” Albert listened a moment longer, his face softening in a pleasant memory. “What are we going to do, Major Stilton?”

  Tomas has readied himself for this and decided to say very little. “Do as she says.”

  “Of course we will. But how do we do as she says without incurring risks?”

  “I don’t see how that’s avoided.”

  Cheng leaned against the driver’s door to give the Major a little more leg room. “The Collector’s report says Abdullah has support. Your thoughts?”

  “As I told Grandma, I largely dismiss that intelligence. They’ve been embedded so long and the Allahs have given them so much leeway, it’s hard to believe anything they say.”

  “You think the Collectors have turned?”

  Tomas shrugged. He wasn’t sure what to think at the moment. “They insist Abdullah has the support of at least four major army groups in Europe and North Africa. All cousins.” He smiled faintly. “How real those armies are, I don’t know.”

  “How real are any of them?” Cheng asked quietly.

  “There are still a billion Camels with guns. That’s real enough.”

  “Unless they’re fraying and feuding, as they usually do, and their strength is a mirage.”

  Stilton stared through the faint light of the underground, tanks at either end flanked by motionless BTs. “Then Grandma’s right. They want and need peace.”

  “Or they’re not prepared for war.”

  Stilton considered whether to mention the Paris Collector’s similar thoughts. His mistrust of Cheng won. “I don’t have that intelligence.”

  “I do, Tomas,” Cheng said. “Their tanks are rusty, their ships are listing, there’ve been mutinies and desertions across the Islamic Empire. The European Caliphates haven’t as much as pretended to conduct any military games in four years.”

  There was similar so-called intelligence before the war. Allahs won’t fight. They’re cowards, perverts, blind fanatics. Yet they kicked our asses. Allahu Akbar.

  “I’m sure Grandma’s taken that all into account,” Tomas said slowly.

  “Are you certain she wants to?”

  Stilton stared coldly. “She misses nothing.”

  “Oh, I know.” Cheng laughed bitterly. “But she’s ninety-two, Tomas.”

  “And healthy. She’ll live another ninety-two years.”

  “We can only hope. But at that age, this age,” Cheng indicated his own wrinkled body, “you’re not so sure. You think time will never run out. She’s worried that she’s left the job half-finished, Tomas. That we rebuilt, brilliantly under her leadership, but it’s not quite enough. We’re still surrounded, still no trade, knowing all it takes is one Camel fanatic to assume power and attack us again. As you said, a billion of them. So it’s understandable she’d want a real peace. A world where those fears are gone. But after meeting Abdullah, do you really think he can be trusted?”

  “What are you suggesting, First Cousin?” Tomas snapped, feeling queasy.

  “That we must do everything we can to protect Grandma and the Family.”

  “They’re one and the same.”

  Cheng didn’t answer.

  • • • •

  DIEGO DRAPED HIS arm around Zelda’s waist and she spooned a little deeper. He groaned slightly.

  “Easy. Little Diego’s kind of sore.”

  She kissed his hand. They’d screwed for three straight hours. He couldn’t talk about his trip and she couldn’t talk about the baby. That pretty much left sex and Indiana gin. He felt so good and she missed him so much. Just say it, girlfriend, she heard Mooshie and chuckled.

  “What?” Diego tried resting on his back, but she tugged his arm back.

  “I’m just thinking of a friend.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  Zelda reassuringly sucked his thumb. “Dara. She’s a singer.”

  “Should we see her one night?”

  “If we ever get out of bed.”

  Diego murmured approval into her neck. “I missed you, Zelda.”

  She tensed. “I bet.”

  Diego propped himself onto an elbow. “What does I bet mean?”

  What’re you waiting for, she asked herself. Not waiting for anything, just trying to enjoy love for the first time when I know it’ll end. Honey, are you really that fat? Yes darling, I swallowed a fetus. Dipped the brat in chocolate. Went down in one gulp.

  “Means I missed you, too. Can’t you tell?”

  Diego shook his head sadly.

  “Really?” Zelda sat up, annoyed. “I made you dinner and we got naked…”

  “Like you had to.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” she snapped. “How can we fight the first night you get back?”

  Diego sat up a little taller. It became a ridiculous contest until they both rested on their heels, holding pillows.

  “I love you,” he said abruptly.

  “Shit.” Zelda stumbled out of bed; he pursued her into the living room.

  “See?” Diego said, wounded. “That upsets you.”

  “It does.”

  “Because I’m a stupid DV…”

  “No, dickhead.”

  “Then why?”

  Zelda sighed. “Because I’m pregnant.” Diego grinned. “It’s not yours.”

  He frowned. “Whose is it?”

  “I don’t know. It might be yours. Or not.”

  “How many choices are there?”

  “What’s it matter?” she yelled. “More than thirty three per cent.” He calculated on his face, which only pissed her off. “That’s why I can’t say I love you.”

  Diego blinked, puzzled. “Then you do love me.”

  “Didn’t I just say I can’t say?”

  He grabbed away the bottle of gin, warning her about pregnancy and alcohol. “But if you could say, you would.” Diego cut her off from the wine cabinet. “But you can’t say because you’re pregnant and you don’t know who the father of the child is and what if it’s not mine but you’re in love with me.”

  Zelda threw up her hands. “Bingo baby.”

  “Then get a DNA test.”

  “No no no. Because that’ll identify the father and what if it’s someone I barely know and he has to come forward and take responsibility over a stupid one night stand.”

  “How many one night stands?”

  “Seven,” she said weakly. He started calculating odds in his head. “Fourteen percent.”

  “Not bad odds for someone you love.”

  So young, so stupid, Zelda sighed. “You want to be with a pregnant woman who might be carrying another guy’s baby?”

  Diego considered this a little too long. Zelda searched for chocolate in the kitchen.

  “Did you sleep with anyone after me?” He stopped her from dumping all the silverware on the floor for the sake of a Kleindorff Caramel Chew.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Diego squeezed her wrists, hard. “Why didn’t you sleep with anyone after me?”

  “Because I liked you.”

  “Now you love me.”

  “I’m such a hot mess.”

  “That’s why you need Diego.”

  She finally just rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m a lot older than you.”

  “Thirteen years. Just over thirty three per cent difference.”

  Zelda kissed him like she’d never kissed a man or woman before.

  • • • •

  MOOSHIE WHISTLED TO let him know she’d finished dressing. She was propped up in bed, watching the ancient Make Room for Daddy vidshow.

  “This is such shit.” She laughed. “Don’t you think Grandma would’ve come up with better after all these years?”

  Puppy slipped into bed and pulled up the covers. “It’s safe. Simple problems. Wise parents. Obedient children, after they realized their mistakes. Family love ul
timately conquers all. Why change?”

  Mooshie switched back to the vidnews. A pumpkin factory was opening in Oklahoma, celebrated by dancing cowboys and cowgirls.

  “We should get a bigger bed.” Mooshie tried humming the Okie theme song but gave up after a few bars.

  “Why, nothing happens.”

  “Is my baby horny?”

  “I embrace celibacy,” he snorted. “Besides, we can’t afford a new bed.”

  “I can. I got a record deal.”

  He turned, careful not to cross the imaginary line in the middle of the mattress. “Kenuda set it up?”

  “No, Dinton’s voice.”

  “The reason we need a bigger bed is for your ego.”

  “Yours ain’t so small, either, hot buns.”

  “Fair enough,” he conceded. He’d made her watch the lengthy Hazel interview twice. The Bad Ass Historian. “Apart from your musical genius, how did Commissioner Kenuda get the deal?”

  “He brought people down to the club from Parkway Records. They were blown away.” Mooshie rubbed cream into her arms.

  “This from one of the late nights you spent with him recently?”

  Mooshie grinned. “Jealous, big boy?”

  “No. But Annette is.”

  She seemed genuinely surprised. “Are you kidding?”

  “I wish. She can be a little paranoid.”

  “She’ll get over it.” Mooshie muted the vidnews forty minutes before it mercifully went off the air for the night and flicked off her light, slipping on black eye pads. It was like sleeping with a pirate with D cups.

  “Once Annette convinces herself about something, she can’t go back. Otherwise it’s admitting a mistake. She’s incapable of that. How do you think we stayed together for so long?”

  “Clearly it wasn’t the sex.” Mooshie turned away.

  “Moosh, you have to scale back seeing Kenuda.”

  She flipped back onto her back with a growl. “I’m not doing anything with him. I have some morals, big surprise.”

  “I’m not accusing you,” he insisted. Mooshie briefly lifted up the right eye pad for half a glare. “Just let them get married. It’s only another five months.”

  Mooshie blindly lit a ‘bacco. “Who knows how long I have.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked nervously. “Did you get some message?”

  “From who?”

  “The beyond.”

  She laughed out the smoke, slowly growing serious. “I need Kenuda, Pup. I need to find out who killed me. Kenuda can open doors.” She ditched the ‘bacco and rolled over again.

  “That the real reason?”

  Mooshie slowly pulled the eye pad up over her glare. “Meaning.”

  “Maybe you like the attention. Being famous again. Adoring fans moaning your name. Giving everyone the clench,” he grabbed his groin, “by singing all your old hits.”

  Lopez stared coldly. “They took it from me. They needed a goat and put me in a pen. I could’ve kept playing. I had another five years easy. And I could still be singing, damnit. I was the best with everything I ever did and they stole it. Ain’t no way, hot buns,” the heel of her hand smacked into his forehead, “anyone’s doing that again. No one. Including you.”

  He blinked back tears. Maybe her coming back had nothing to do with him. Maybe Mick came back just so he could sober up. Ty, so he could be nice to Negroes.

  “You gotta cry over everything?”

  “Just you.” Puppy smiled weakly.

  Mooshie blushed and slid the eye pad back on. “Your ex will have to deal.”

  Puppy crossed into her half of the bed. “Annette dealing with dealing with unpleasantries isn’t a pretty thought.”

  Mooshie patted his knee. “The Bad Ass Historian will think of something.”

  • • • •

  AZHAR SMILED POLITELY as Jalak shoveled a pile of grilled lamb over the rice. She never served him, Omar never made small talk and Abdul never turned down an opportunity to play soccer. He was home yet he wasn’t.

  Since returning last night, he felt odd around them, too. He’d unpacked carefully, slipping the silver cross in his pants pocket; Jalak did a laundry right then, as if afraid he’d brought home some infection other than awkwardness.

  Azhar pushed away from the kitchen table, patting his stomach. “Your best kabsa laham yet, Jalak. Don’t we think so?”

  His sons stared incredulously.

  “Well I do.” Mustafa slipped on his jacket. “I’m off for a drive.”

  Jalak followed Azhar to the door, whispering loudly, “Where are you going at this hour?”

  “It’s only eight ‘o clock.”

  “Decent people are home.”

  “If I drive for fifteen minutes, I’m not worthy of meeting Allah?”

  Jalak squinted warily. “Why don’t you walk?”

  “Because my legs have been at sea and I’m getting old.”

  He had to detour about five miles. According to a fellow driver who pulled alongside in a battered van, the Al Karama Road was closed for some queer cleanup; the Warriors had tossed a couple metnaks from a hill. Why still do such perversions? Mustafa shook his head. If you must, find a website. The Warriors could only monitor so much. But to troll in bushes, as he heard they often did; so many Crusader perversions still to cleanse.

  The orphanage parking lot was fairly empty. He strolled inside without anyone noticing; money clanged onto a table from the card game down the hall. The Imam had said he couldn’t work there anymore, but nothing about visiting.

  Azhar hurried up the steps and slipped inside the cramped alcove, closing the door. Breathing overhead stopped.

  “Little one, it is Azhar.”

  A soft animalistic growl seeped out.

  “I have not been around because my job here was taken. They did not like how nice I was to you and the other children. Perhaps you don’t think I was nice. I believe you hate me and wish me ill.”

  Sharp raps of a small knuckle agreed.

  “Someday you’ll believe me. I have a present. I’d like to see you, but understand you would rather not.”

  Harder raps, more like a fist.

  “I understand. I ask Allah and your Jesus to bless you. I’m leaving the present on the floor. It isn’t a trick. When you hear the door close, I’m gone.” He waited a moment, hoping, then sighed and laid down the gift.

  Plastic knife clenched between her teeth, Clary jumped effortlessly onto the ground and grabbed the package, then leaped back up into the hiding spot in about five seconds. She tore open the wrapping, feeling in the dark until she traced the outline of the cross. Clary stifled a sob and pressed the necklace to her chest.

  Like Papa gave me when I was eight.

  Kneeling outside the door, Azhar could hear Clary crying.

  • • • •

  ZELDA FINALLY THREW Diego out of bed after two happy days that left them both waddling; she’d called in sick, not exactly a lie. When she got to the office, stacks of folders had moved onto her desk like an annoying roommate. Atop the yellow, blue, orange and red piles so neat they appeared made out of stone was a note from Boar Face.

  ‘See me.’

  Zelda didn’t get a chance to sit before Katrina angrily waved the latest sketch of the advert spot.

  “What is this?”

  “Salmons on an outing.”

  “Yes, which I got from the title. Salmons on an Outing.” Boar Face noisily dropped her black high heels on the desk, nearly knocking over her University of Pennsylvania diploma. “There are grandparents in this picture.”

  “It’s a family. I’m leaning into our family.”

  “Grandma’s Family?”

  “Right. Capital ‘f’.”

  “With two old utterly sickly looking grandparents hobbling on canes.” Boar Face’s snout wrinkled.

  “I’m showing the supremacy of salmon over tuna.”

  “That’s not clear. The fish look unappealing.”

 
“Exactly.” Zelda’s jazz hands swayed as her voice rasped, “We’ve been here before tuna. We’ll be here after tuna. Salmon. The eternal fish.”

  Boar Face glanced at the copy and smiled that insincere smile. “No one wants to eat old fish, Zelda.”

  Zelda leaned onto the back of the chair. “The point isn’t eating, Katrina. Otherwise we’d make people feel bad about scarfing down friends. I’m getting across the wisdom of salmon and how there’s a reason why they’ve been around longer than tuna.”

  “Is that true?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a zillion years ago. Who’d prove us wrong?”

  Chewing her lower lip, Katrina pondered the various tuna sympathizers who could wreck her career; red lipstick smeared her teeth. “There are serious laws against misleading advertising, Zelda. Very serious laws.”

  “I bet we could find a scientist.”

  “Where?”

  “Bronx College.”

  Boar Face grunted disdainfully. “Use Bronx University, where intelligent people teach. Call the science department and see who’ll back us up.”

  Zelda figured she might as well finally share her joyous news, two days before the deadline. She closed the door just to annoy Boar Face.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “I need to be in conference room 102 now.”

  “This is important, official. Legal.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “It’s me.”

  Boar Face waited for Zelda to admit to a series of vicious murders.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said quickly as Katrina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my job, be at my desk every day.”

  “You’re married?” Katrina asked softly.

  Zelda shook her head. “Not engaged, either. So this is only…”

  “For the term of carrying. You at three months?”

  She reddened. “Almost eight weeks. I’m also fat.”

  Katrina kept staring. “You’ll get fatter, too. I blew up by twenty pounds in the first four months.”

  “I didn’t know you had a child, Katrina.”

  “I don’t.” Katrina’s eyes watered. “I lost the baby.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was better off. Carrying for four months was painful enough, knowing…” She caught herself at Zelda’s teary face. “If you ever need to talk.”

  “Thanks. I will.”