by Neil Gaiman
“Yes,” Mommy said, pushing Jude back and stepping in-between him and Daddy. “Daddy and your brother are hilarious.”
“Can I watch a movie?” “Sure, go pick one out.”
Jude ran through the kitchen and into the playroom, hopping around the piles of toys, to the scatter of movies by the small TV and DVD player. He wanted his Looney Tunes DVD. He looked back and saw Mommy stepping around Daddy, trying to avoid Daddy’s mess. She picked up her pea-green robe from the floor and held it up. Her hands were shaking.
Jude went back to his latest mission and found the DVD. He knew how to put it in the player and work the TV. He started it up, watched the commercials until it stuck on the Looney Tunes menu. He wanted Mommy to start it. She wouldn’t always come when he wanted her to, but if he asked to start a movie she always came. Maybe she’d stay in the playroom and play.
When he went back to the living room Mommy had changed into her comfy robe, rolled her sweatpants up to her knees, and left her heels by the couch. She was crouched by Justin, one hand on his chest, saying something Jude couldn’t hear. There was a white face cloth rolled up and laid over his eyes. He didn’t want Justin to be awake. Mommy crossed his hands over his chest.
“Is Justin awake now?” Jude asked.
She didn’t answer so he asked again, louder, so she’d be sure to hear. “He’s still asleep,” she said. “Can you wake up Daddy so we can play?” “No, baby. Can’t you just watch your movie?” “But I want Daddy to watch the part with the Daffy and the rabbit hole.” “I’m trying to talk to Justin for a second, son, then I’ll watch it with you.” “But I want Daddy.” “Of course you do!” Mommy stood up. She made her scrunchy face again. There was a big splotch of red mess across her robe. She walked away into the kitchen. “You always want your father.”
Mommy was mad. “Sorry Mommy. I’m sorry, Mommy.”
He followed her to the kitchen. She was standing at the counter. She wasn’t making any noise but her eyes were full of tears. She had taken out her special dark chocolate that he loved to get bites of. She uncorked a bottle and poured a gross red drink he didn’t want. She drank the glassful in a gulp and took her next sip right from the bottle.
“Can I have some of your chocolate, Mommy?” “Do you ever think about anything but yourself?” Mommy said with a mouthful of chocolate. She frowned, showing chocolaty teeth. The bottle wobbled in her hand.
“I said sorry, Mommy.” “That’s right. You are a sorry, sorry boy sometimes.”
He didn’t know what she meant, but he knew he didn’t like it. “Fine! I’m gonna watch TV with Daddy. I don’t wanna play with you!”
“Don’t you go near them or you’re punished!” she yelled. Jude whined. They stared at each other and Mommy started to cry louder. “I just wanted one nice day with you, but you don’t give a fuck what Mommy wants, do you?”
Mommy used a bad word. When she yelled, he never got anything he wanted. Why did she have to be angry? Daddy, him and Mommy were supposed to play, watch movies, chase, and read books. “I don’t care. You’re stupid, Mommy! I hate!” Jude yelled, pretending to spit. He’d gotten out all the stuff Mommy hated him doing in one go.
“You little bastard,” she whispered. She grabbed one of the big knives that he was never supposed to touch. It was covered in the same mess Daddy made on the floor. It took her a moment to notice the drops of red dribbling from the blade to the floor. She watched one fall, rubbing some red from the knife with her thumb. She forgot about him, turned to the sink, kissed the red on the knife and began to wash it with soap. “Go watch your movie, baby,” she said.
“I want—” “GO. WATCH. YOUR. MOVIE. NOW.”
Jude moaned and ran into the playroom. Looney Tunes had Bugs, Daffy and Elmer in this one. He wanted Mommy to watch the best part with him, but was afraid to ask her. He watched Daffy get his beak blown up and spun around. After what felt like forever, he got up and walked to the doorway leading into the kitchen, but didn’t go in. He watched Mommy eat chocolate and drink red drink from the bottle. She whispered to nobody. She poured a palm-full of medicine from an amber bottle and swallowed it all with a big, gulp of gross red drink that dribbled down her chin. She took the knife and pressed the point against her wrist and made her scrunchy face. She took a few more of the pills, said something and pressed the knife to her wrist again.
“That’s sharp, Mommy,” he whispered from the doorway.
She didn’t answer. “Why are you doing that?” “I’m waiting for it not to hurt as much.” “Mommy, will you play with me?”
Mommy let out a long sigh, making a thin string of hair on her forehead dance in the air. In one fast move she turned to him, raised the bottle in the air and smashed it into the sink. The crack was loud and sharp and terrifying. He heard Elmer chuckling from the playroom. Mommy walked towards him. She looked wrong. He ran back into the playroom and sat by the TV and Mommy came after him.
“Mommy, you scared me,” he said. She stood over him. “I’m watching my movie now, see?” After a moment she sat down next to him.
“You want to sit in Mommy-chair?”
Jude grinned. He loved when Mommy and Daddy watched movies with him. Mommy sat cross-legged and he sat in her lap. He leaned against her and snuggled into her robe. She stroked his hair and kissed his cheek. They watched four Looney Tunes, and played in the different piles of toys till the sun got low. Justin never woke up and Mommy didn’t try to get up and leave even once. It was a great day. Mommy even started to laugh.
“Putting Justin and Daddy to bed early was a great idea Mommy,” Jude said, and hugged her tight. When he looked at her again her face had changed. Jude was scared he’d said something bad when she started to cry. It bubbled out of her all of a sudden, making her bottom lip flutter. “Mommy’s sad?” “Mommy doesn’t know what she is, baby,” Mommy cried. She hugged him a little too tight. He let himself be rocked back and forth in her lap. “You can be a sweet boy sometimes.”
“It’s okay Mommy, don’t cry.” She hugged him tighter. “Ouch, Mommy.” She hugged tighter. “Mommy, OUCH. Something’s biting me.”
He pushed away from her. She had the knife in her hand. It had been poking him in the side.
“Oh, sorry, baby. Mommy forgot she had that in her hand. I think it’s bath time, anyway.”
“Aww, not bath time. Can we read a story?” “After we put your PJs on okay?” “Can we read a long story?” “Okay. But only if you act like a big boy and let Mommy clean up while you’re in the tub.”
He let Mommy undress him and get him into the tub without much fuss. She told him to stay in the bath and let her get everyone ready for bed. He wanted her to stay and play but he thought asking would make her mad again. He did have the blocks and squirt toys all to himself, so that was okay. He went to building a boat from blocks, made the boat swim around and save the drowning squirt toys when he heard Mommy cursing really loud over and over. She sounded a little like Daddy.
“Mommy?” “You asshole,” she said from down the hall. “Why do you have to be so god-damned heavy?”
Jude stood up in the water and leaned over the rim of the tub. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Just stay in the tub, baby. Mommy’s trying to get Daddy to bed. C’mon dammit. Slide, why won’t you fucking slide!” She was sobbing.
Jude knew he shouldn’t but he climbed out of the tub anyway, leaving wet footprints on his way through the bedroom to the hallway. He peeked from the doorway and saw Mommy in the hall. Daddy was on the ground and she was pulling him by the arm. Daddy trailed red stuff all down the hallway. Mommy’s feet were covered in it. Daddy was making a really big mess. Mommy slipped and bumped her butt. She cried out and hit Daddy in the chest. She slapped his face and pulled his hair.
“Mommy, don’t hit,” Jude said. She screamed at Jude so loud and so sudden that he jumped back.
“Get back in the tub! Jude! GET IN THE TUB!” “Mommy stop yelling!” His face was hot. Tears rolle
d down his face. “GET IN THE TUB! GET IN THE FUCKING TUB! GET IN THE TUB!” She pulled off Daddy’s shoe and threw it at him. He turned to run and it hit him in the back. It didn’t hurt that much, but he was surprised and started to bawl. Mommy kept screaming from the hall but he couldn’t hear her over his own cries. He climbed back into the tub and sat down, pulling his knees to his chin. He kept wailing Mommy’s name over and over and every time he did she screamed curse words at him. He put his head down and squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never seen Mommy so mad.
Her screams got closer. She was in the bedroom now. “There! There you dumb shit. Lie on the floor. Even now you have to ruin everything.”
Jude kept crying. Snot built up in his nose, making it hard to breath. His head pounded which just made him cry harder. Mommy was being mean so he yelled for his Daddy. He wanted Daddy to wake up and hold him. He heard Mommy singing “Patty Cake” from the bedroom. She always sang that to Justin when he didn’t want to fall asleep. He wondered if Justin woke up. That made him mad. He wanted Daddy. Mommy could stay with Justin.
“Daddy, Mommy’s being mean!” he yelled. “Jude, for the last time shut the fuck up!” Mommy screamed. “Shut up, Mommy!”
She appeared in the doorway. Her face was so red. He could see white all around her pupils and her teeth were showing. “Shut up Mommy? You shut the fuck up, Jude. You shut the fuck up!”
“Mommy, don’t spank me!” Jude cried. He put his hands on his butt. Mommy lunged at him. She reached up and grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it down onto him. One end of the rod clanged the floor and Jude was swallowed in the plastic curtain. He could barely see Mommy through it. She was on top of him, pushing him down. He tried to cry out and she forced his head underwater.
“You dumb little shit, all you had to do was sit fucking still for ten fucking minutes before bed, but you have to make everything a goddamn war. Well, here you go!” Mommy tried to claw him through the curtain. He felt her hit his head. He cried her name out and caught a mouthful of water. His heart thumped in his ears and the water made his chest burn.
His hand slipped out from the curtain and he grabbed Mommy’s wrist. Her skin was hot. He dug his fingernails into her. He blinked and the curtain was off of him. Mommy tossed it onto the toilet and stared at him. He coughed and spat up water for a long time. He couldn’t stop crying. He wanted help, but Mommy didn’t look like she wanted to help anyone. He wanted Daddy but was too scared to call for him.
“Mommy you hurt me.” Jude coughed the words out, staring at Mommy’s scrunchy red face. He couldn’t stand to see her look at him like that. He slapped his hands over his face and kept telling her that she hurt him.
Mommy reached into the water and scooped him up. He curled into a ball, sinking his face into her robe. She sat on the bathroom rug and rocked him, whispering into his ear. When his cries slowed down he heard her singing. She always sang to Justin, but she hadn’t sung to Jude in a long time.
They sang “Old McDonald,” and when she stopped he would pick another animal. They did it twelve times before he ran out of animals.
“You want to know a secret? Mommy’s aren’t supposed to have favorites, but you were always my favorite. I was so scared of you. Mommy quit her job for the first year of your life. I used to complain about it, but part of me loved staying home with you. I’d sit in the dark and watch you sleep.”
“You were scared of me? That’s silly,” Jude said. He stopped crying. “Mommy was scared shitless, baby.”
Jud had never heard shitless before and it sounded hilarious. He laughed, repeating it and laughing even harder. He thought Mommy would be mad but she laughed too.
“Fuck-less!” Jude giggled.
“Ass-less,” she said.
They both laughed. “Cocksucker-less!” Jude yelled.
Mommy laughed really hard. “Alright. Time to put your PJs on and get in bed.” “Aww, not bed.” “How about you get to sleep in Mommy’s bed.” “Okay.” He was excited. He’d always get up during the night and try to climb in Mommy and Daddy’s bed, but they’d make him go back to his own room.
“We’re all going to sleep together tonight. Mommy, Daddy, Justin and you.” “Can we spend the day together tomorrow?”
Mommy was quiet. He was about to ask again when she spoke. “Sure.” “Okay, Mommy.”
When the Zoos Close Down, They’ll Come for Us
BY VIOLET LAVOIT
When you don’t believe in the powers-that-be, you make your own rules. You make your own way, and prepare to defend it. Prepare for the worst. That’s the survivalist code.
Tribes are mostly formed through commonality. We start at family, link through heritage, break it down by race, region, religion, philosophy, and so forth from there.
But purity in any form is awfully hard to come by, and even harder to maintain, as Violet LaVoit makes blisteringly clear in the shocking, incendiary story that follows. A very American horror story. And the melting pot be damned.
Dad named us after the big three: Treblinka, Birkenau, Dachau. Blinky and Birk and Doc, that’s us, spelled that way because most Brotherhood people, hate to say it, can’t spell “Dach” without saying it dach-rhymes-with-match. You dumb shits, you might at least learn the language if you’re serious about a White future.
Doc leaves tonight for his pilgrimage. He’s got to bake that cake before he goes. He’s not doing it. He’s farting around with me, chucking acorns into the woods and drinking brew while I rock on a log and try and hug my cramps away. I’m wearing my fingerless gloves ‘cause I have to split wood. I breathe onto my bluing fingernails, hhhhhhuhhh. April’s still winter up here.
“Who’s your favorite white person?” I ask. “Jesus.” “Besides Jesus.” “Jesus.” “Come on, everyone says Jesus.” “‘Cept you.” “Quit it. My favorite’s Virginia Dare.” “Whatever. Long as you don’t say those girls from Prussian Blue. Hey, Dad!” Dad comes up the trail, ax swinging low in his hand. “Who’s your favorite white person?”
“Mother,” he says, and walks away.
I punch Doc in the arm. Dummy. Now Dad’s gonna be in a mood. But he comes back a minute later and points at Doc.
“Are we gonna have a cake?”
Doc squirms. “She should do it,” he says, pointing at me, like I know anything about baking.
My dad stands up his axe and looks at Doc. “Cooking is survival skills. Only girls survive?” “Lemme cull a doe for Hitler.” “You gonna cull the woods empty. Who wants cake for Hitler’s birthday?”
I raise my hand. My dad raises his hand. Dad looks at Doc. “Go bake that cake,” he says, and walks into the woods.
For all that bitching, Doc baked it pretty good. All we had was deer tallow and cornmeal and a little bit of sugar but he did it right. “Don’t drink anything cold when you eat it because all that tallow will turn to wax in your mouth,” he warned. We put the candles in a swastika and heated up mead and sang the Horst-Wessel-Lied and tried to make it as good a party as possible. It still feels too small to have Hitler’s Birthday with just us, and with Birk gone too.
Ed Beckwith came over around 8 in his truck. “Sorry to break it up,” he smiled. “But I ain’t gonna have to pull you out the door, am I?” He grinned at Doc.
“Nossir.” Doc got to his feet and grabbed his rucksack. He shook Dad’s hand. “Have fun,” Dad said, “but you know your job. “ I think I saw Doc blush.
I watched them pull away.
I went inside to clear dishes. Dad was in the field tent, at the computer. He kept his back to me when he asked “Where in your cycle are you?”
“I’ll be ready in a week and a half.” “Go kill a deer.” That’s a joke, ‘cause one day I was griping about something stupid, some PMS bullshit probably and Birk had enough and he told me “Aw, quit whining and go kill a deer.” And he’s right, there’s something about waiting in that tree stand that just makes your bad mood go away. You’re in the woods all green, and you’ve got the bow heavy in y
our hand, and you wait. And then you see a deer, and you fell it, and you do the extra thing and then you skin it and clean it, and it just falls apart into meat, step by step, simple as cleaning a gun. I mean, you can’t not feel better when you’re killing a deer. You just can’t.
“Too dark to hunt now,” I say. Dad marks a dot a few days from now on the calendar by his desk, the one with a picture of a cheetah.
After Mom died Dad told me about cheetahs, how they had a mass extinction at some point. Now they’re so interbred you can graft a patch of some random cheetah’s skin on to another, as if it was the same animal. That’s what’ll happen to White people, he said, and it sounds good but it’s not. We’re already running out of space and getting bred into oblivion and when we make the move back to the land, like we did, we run the risk of genetic monopoly. Zoos have whole programs for this. When they breed a lion they don’t just pick the lion next door.
I spend the week waiting. I chop wood. I sew. I make myself swim in the cold river water. My period dries up to brown. In a few days sex starts sparking in my head, makes me touch myself at night and wake up sticky. I let my dad know.
That night Ed Beckwith’s truck pulls up. I’m scrambling into my flannel shirt before I even hear my dad call for me.
Ed opens the truck door and I’m shivering, heart fluttering. I see him step out, rucksack on his back. The first thing I think is how pale he is. He’s a skinhead but I can see the chick fluff on his scalp, white blond, almost. I swallow hard and step closer. He’s shorter than my brothers. He’s one of those wolf cub boys, big hands and feet and long ape arms that haven’t caught up with the rest of him. He’s bundled up in a big peacoat. He looks tired.
“You talk to Metzger?” my dad asks Ed.
Ed shakes his head. “Never saw him. I just drove the last leg. I’m the only one who knows how to get up here.”
“That’s how I like it.” My dad claps his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You had a long drive.”