A Mound Over Hell

by Gary Morgenstein

“If you just bring the girl out, we’ll attest to your cooperation. Volunteering goes a long way.”

  The Brown Hats rose as if the matter were settled.

  “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar,” Zelda screamed and tripped Y’or as he ran toward the bedroom.

  Clary was already on the window ledge. She bounded down the fire escape like a grasshopper, jumping the last four feet onto the sidewalk as the men in the brown clothes shouted above. She sped around the corner and in between stalled traffic, across the street and down an alley.

  She could run all day, but where? She crouched by a garbage can, slowly walking onto the crowded streets like she belonged among the Crusaders. Clary squeezed the cross, wound around the money she’d stolen from Zelda on the first night, and slowed down to examine the police drawing tacked to a lamp pole. The picture made her look ugly. She squeezed it into a ball, abruptly thought of another use and shoved the paper into her coat pocket, hurrying toward the train.

  Overhead the billboard of Grandma and the Puppy and the Mooshie looked down with a big smile. FORGIVENESS. Clary nodded to herself and got on the ticket line. She didn’t see the men in the brown suits but sensed they were nearby. All police were cucarachas, so soon they’d be crawling closer.

  The robot subway clerk fluttered its bored metal eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Beisbol.”

  The clerk’s eyebrow wiggled a moment, considering her size. “What about school?”

  Clary heard commotion around the corner leading to the long corridor. She tapped her chest. “Special.”

  The A22 made an amused sound. “Half fare. Two stops on the local.”

  Clary slid her money under the window and the robot slid back change along with a pass.

  “School’s more important,” it warned.

  She ducked inside a group of porcos in baseball caps, following them into the packed train. Clary knelt as the idiota police rushed past the moving car. She triumphantly hummed “Grandma Muertas” and joined the crowd pouring outside the huge stadium.

  Yankee Stadium, the sign said.

  More polizia stood around, tipping their hats in salutes to the fans. Clary lowered her eyes, walking by, but a cucaracha touched her shoulder. Clary was about to kick him in the huevos when he handed her a blue beisbol cap.

  Clary curtsied and half-ran to the farthest line. She took the cap on and off several times until she was pleased by the fit over her thick curls.

  An ugly Crusader waited at the entrance.

  “Ticket?”

  She shoved a fistful of money at the boy, who shook his head and pointed to another line to buy the ticket. A couple Americans joined in and soon they were gabbing away and making little sense, as Crusaders often did.

  A nice woman with tall hair bent over. “I have an extra ticket, sweetie. My daughter’s sick. How about you give me the money directly?”

  That set off more babbling, but Clary quickly counted out the money and followed the lady past the ugly boy; she ran through the crowd, ignoring the woman’s surprised shouts.

  Clary roamed around the ground floor. So many Crusaders and so many of them fat, she marveled, wondering how they could fit into their chairs. She enjoyed running up and down the moving steps a few times, then along the second highest level, but she saw no door marked Puppy. She stopped a couple fat Crusaders and asked for Puppy Beisbol. They pointed down at the field.

  Clary bought a hot dog and soda and then skipped on two toes down the moving steps, eating, and toward the green grass. She recognized Puppy from all the pictures in Zelda’s house. He was running a few feet back and forth, playing a game and laughing with a puerco old baseball player.

  The Crusaders must’ve been too fat to fight and that’s why they lost, she finally decided, pressing toward the railing. A bunch of ugly teenagers blocked the way, barking at Puppy, who wandered over. Clary joined in, howling as she edged closer and kicked the ankles of the remaining fans in front; they moved.

  “Puppy Beisbol.” She imitated the teens and hopped up and down.

  He smiled. He was very handsome for a Crusader. No wonder Zelda loved him.

  “I like that nickname. Puppy Baseball.” Puppy left with a friendly wave.

  “No, no, no.” She panicked. “Puppy Beisbol. Zelda. Ayudeme.”

  He stopped. Clary hopped onto the field and grabbed his arm.

  “Polizia.”

  Clary handed him the drawing.

  • • • •

  THE CAMELS PEERED down over the ravaged Adirondacks. Were they mapping for an invasion route? Tomas wondered, watching from the back of the ‘copter.

  “What is there?” Azhar pointed.

  “Trees.”

  “He meant a city,” the Mufti spawn jumped in.

  “I know what he meant.” Tomas looked away. They’d be over water in about fifty minutes. Turn on the cloaking, another hour or so and the Allah boat should be waiting. Surrender was so easy.

  “Why are we staying inland?” Abdullah asked.

  “Because we’re looking for you along the coast.”

  The Allah smiled. “Grandma is very clever.”

  “That’s why she’s Grandma.”

  Tomas shifted so his back was toward them.

  “We ate at an interesting place.”

  The Major pressed his face against the cold window.

  “I wish my wife cooked like that,” Azhar said. “The meat was so succulent. Is that artificial, too?”

  Tomas shrugged. “Where was it?”

  Abdullah waved his finger. “I believe that’s a secret.”

  The Major reddened. “You can tell me.”

  “If you’re supposed to know, then you would.” The Camel closed his eyes. “A bumpy ride. This is an older model, no?”

  “It works fine.”

  “No disrespect.” Abdullah smirked. “I’m merely making conversation.”

  “Why? You got what you want.”

  “So did you.”

  “Which was?”

  The Camel’s grainy brown eyes narrowed. “Again, if you’re supposed to know, then you would.”

  This is what it will be like, Tomas thought. They are too pleased. They got what they wanted. Us.

  He stared at the Allahs and drifted back to the final deportations. A child, he’d been taken to his grandfather’s farm outside Detroit for safety. But the day they sent the last of them away, the stubborn old man had stowed Tomas under a tarp in the bed of the truck and drove back into the city.

  His grandfather parked the Dodge at the top of a crowded hill, squeezing among the silent, approving crowd which let out a loud, angry cheer whenever another Allah mosque was hit. After hours of smoke and guns and screams, the Allahs finally surrendered, marching with hands held up, eyes defiant, chanting Allahu Akbar as they were herded into long trucks.

  It wasn’t the blood Tomas remembered but their expressions. They didn’t believe they would lose. Everything was simply a step, sometimes sideways, sometimes backwards, like America used to be. So different from the GI prisoners straggling at the end of the war, hands on their heads. No defiance. Just exhaustion, defeat, almost grim relief.

  Through the weary trees of the remaining Adirondacks, Tomas could envision Americans with hands back on their heads, soon surrendering for the last time to these smug Camels. He wanted to kick them out the door and see if they’d bounce.

  The Major tapped onto his wrist device. A question mark appeared. He tapped yes. The ‘copter tilted slightly to the east.

  “Change of direction?” Mustafa asked.

  Tomas shrugged. “Weather.”

  • • • •

  THE HUMMING GIRL dangled her feet off the edge of Ty’s desk, rolling a ball around her lap. Cobb patted Clary’s head and handed her a Carly Caramel Bar. She politely unwrapped the chocolate and saved the foil in her pocket.

  “You going to the police station?” Mick asked, Clary perking up.

  Puppy shook his head, explaining briefly about
the legal system. The arrest of a citizen was kept private. No sensationalism, no gory details, no back and forth with conflicting stories played out in public. Certainly nothing that would give notoriety to a criminal. Or to an accuser. There were no lawyers, either; they’d been long banned under the Anti-Parasite Act. Evidence was decided on the testimony of people who believed in honesty.

  There is no honor anywhere in lying, Puppy recited Grandma’s Twenty-Fifth Insight.

  “That’d be the first time in the world that happened,” Cobb said with grunt, reluctantly making a silly face back at Clary; she giggled.

  “Where’s Zelda then?” Mick asked.

  Puppy sighed. “Probably the Bronx Courthouse.”

  “On the Grand Concourse?”

  “You know it?”

  Mick shrugged. “I knew people who stayed there.”

  Puppy sat beside Clary. “Zelda. Polizia.”

  “Si.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s por que,” Cobb grumbled.

  “You speak Spanish?”

  “I had a colored maid from somewhere they mix races. Por que is right. Ask her. Never mind. Little girl, por que?”

  Clary’s nose wrinkled at the infinite options.

  “Just don’t say por que.” Mantle nudged him. “Por que Zelda.”

  Clary’s eyes watered.

  Ty shoved Mickey. “You made her cry.”

  Puppy led Clary off to the side, where he knelt in a proposal position. “Clary. Por que…How do you say know?”

  Ty thought a moment, then brightened. “The maid would say saber.”

  “Clary, saber polizia Zelda.”

  The girl pointed at herself, her face twisting into an ugly scowl; she hissed.

  “She having a seizure?” Mickey whispered.

  Clary stomped around the office, wagging her finger in the air and saying Zelda, then turning around and waving her finger at another imaginary figure. She spit.

  “Zelda had an argument with someone,” Ty said.

  “Who, Clary?”

  “Quien,” Mick said. They looked at him. “I had Spanish girls in my day.”

  “Quien, Clary,” Puppy asked.

  The girl grabbed her hair and pulled it out to make it seem bigger, then puffed out her chest.

  “Tetas grandes.” Mickey grinned and Clary applauded.

  Zelda argued with Mooshie? No, that made no sense.

  “Se trataba de perrito beisbol.” She jabbed Puppy in the chest. “Puppy beisbol.” Clary resumed her pantomime.

  Puppy slowly opened his wallet and showed a photo to Clary, who hopped up and down as if electrified. He nodded grimly and kicked off his spikes.

  “Go,” Ty said softly. “I’ll have the fat Chink play left.”

  • • • •

  ANNETTE SMILED DUBIOUSLY from behind the counter of her small boutique Love My Feet in Scarsdale, finishing up with a customer. Puppy nodded for her to continue and walked around examining sleek dress shoes and smart casual wear. Ten percent off today, said a neat handwritten sign on a silver shelf; Annette always believed in the personal touch.

  She sent off the happy customer and straightened out a few papers, anxiously waiting for him to leave.

  “What’s up, Puppy?” She suddenly gasped. “Are you wearing your pointy baseball shoes in my store?”

  Puppy lifted his right sneaker, which didn’t have a particular calming effect.

  “That’s dirty.”

  “Streets and all. Soot. Grime.” He picked up a black, buckled shoe. “How much is this?”

  “I can discount it.”

  “Thanks.”

  He threw the shoe into the tall mirror, showering her with glass. Annette sputtered and ran toward the door, but he flung her onto a chair.

  “I’ll call the police,” she threatened.

  “Nice segue. What did you do, Annette?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She defiantly plucked glass from her hair.

  “Zelda.”

  Annette’s mouth twitched. “So?”

  “Zelda.”

  “I heard you, asshole. That mirror is costing you.”

  “Why did you bust her?”

  Annette pursed her lips. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You turned her in over the orphan.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  “More Puppy paranoid voices dancing in his head…”

  He shoved Annette so hard her eyes lolled, bot-like. “Why?” She tried sitting up and he pushed again. “Why?”

  “It’s all your fault.” She slapped him. Blood trickled down his upper lip and he let her up. “I told you to keep Dara from Elias. You didn’t. I asked your best buddy and she sent that little demon after me, who tried to stab me. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not how I was raised.” She sneered, calmly returning behind the counter. “I see a law is broken and I must report it. That’s the law, Puppy. That’s what you DVs preach. Every fucking day of our marriage I heard that. Regs lie, DVs don’t. Integrity. Well I was integritied.”

  “Thanks to you Zelda’s been arrested.” Puppy kicked over a chair.

  “That’s also going on your bill…”

  “Arrested.”

  “If she did nothing wrong, she has nothing to fear,” Annette said archly.

  “Do you really think this is about some damn orphan?”

  “The vidnews said…”

  “They’re lying.”

  An elderly woman stopped in the doorway and Puppy chased her out with a broken piece of glass.

  “That was Mrs. Chambliss.”

  “I don’t give a damn if that was Grandma. They’re lying, Annette. They wouldn’t arrest someone for taking in an orphan.”

  “It’s against the law…”

  “Fuck the law.” He nearly ground his teeth into the jawline. “You went to the police station.”

  Annette made a defiant face. “Yes.”

  “You spoke to Blue Shirts.”

  “Who else would I talk to there?”

  “And then?”

  Annette hesitated. “They sent me to the Brown Hats.”

  “Don’t you think that’s weird for a missing girl?”

  “Obviously you have a greater knowledge of police procedure…”

  “They stopped the rescue of ME orphans years ago. But this one still only speaks Spanish.”

  “Maybe she’s stupid.”

  “Not too stupid to speak an illegal language.”

  “Maybe there’s a program we don’t know about.” Annette faltered. “She probably stabbed her way free.”

  “Wouldn’t the family post the news and not the cops?”

  Annette drummed her fingers, growing angry. “I don’t know.”

  “Isn’t that what we always see on the vidnews? My child is missing, please help. Never the cops. Families talking to each other, one on one.”

  She swallowed deeply, suddenly uncertain. “Maybe this is different.”

  “Damn straight. ”

  Annette floundered, ready to lash out as always when she was put on the defensive. “And if it is, how’s that my problem?”

  “You just bought it, Annette.”

  She squirmed. “What do you want from me, Puppy?”

  • • • •

  AZHAR NOTICED THE wind just before Tomas disappeared into the narrow cockpit. More than twenty years at sea had turned his skin into radar. He chalked it up to uneasy exhaustion.

  The Son stared out the window like an idiot child, grinning deep in thought. The ‘copter turned abruptly to the right.

  “Buckle up, please.” Tomas popped his head into the cabin.

  “What’s going on?” Abdullah grew concerned.

  “We’re setting down until this storm passes.”

  Tomas avoided Azhar’s stare and returned inside the cockpit. The ‘copter gained speed, racing over the tr
eetops. Azhar pointed to an artificial clearing half a mile ahead, Abdullah nodding as the ‘copter nestled down into a spot.

  The doors flung open and the cabin filled with armed black uniformed soldiers. Azhar rose to defend them, but he and the Son were immediately flung to the ground and handcuffed, black hoods draped over their faces as they were dragged down the steps and into the back of a truck or van.

  “How dare you.” Abdullah twisted away, earning a silencing rifle butt in the ribs.

  The sound of ‘copter propellers faded as the vehicle bounced on rough roads, leaving just their scared labored breaths and the slight whistling intakes of soldiers guarding them. Azhar nudged Abdullah in the foot to be still. He pressed back.

  Crusader traitors, Azhar thought.

  The vehicle lurched to a stop after about fifteen bumpy minutes. They were dragged out up a ramp. A door hissed closed, intensifying the sense of darkness, then down a very long corridor before they were tossed into a room, their hoods yanked off and the handcuffs flung into the corner.

  Now alone, they weaved slightly and fell onto folding chairs around a small table. Abdullah took deep breaths.

  “Are you all right?” Azhar asked.

  The Son grunted and rubbed his side. “Where are we?”

  Mustafa wished he knew enough to make up an answer. “I think twenty minutes from where we landed. I smelled the ocean.”

  “You would.” Abdullah smiled faintly.

  Azhar walked around the room, rapping on the walls and annoying Abdullah.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Seeing if they’re hollow.” He squinted at the ceiling. “I assume they’re watching.”

  “Is there anything we could do about it?” His voice contained the slightest reproach.

  Azhar considered what they could do about anything including ever getting home, when the door opened slowly and a small Asian man poked his head inside as if he might have the wrong room. He brightened and vigorously shook their hands.

  “Apologies, gentlemen. This is so awkward, but sometimes, there’s only one way. I’m Albert Cheng, First Cousin, though I suspect you know that. Please, sit, I’ll only keep you a little while and then send you on your way.”

  Mustafa slid a chair in front of the Son; Cheng laughed.

  “There’s no need to worry.”

  “One of your Crusaders nearly broke my ribs,” Abdullah growled, rising. “We’ve been kidnapped and abused in complete violation of my agreement with Grandma. Your head of state. But we know what your promises mean.”