by Athanasios
“Brad, come around here and lick me as I slide in and out. Taste her too. Taste her juices running all over my balls.” Brad did as he was told, hoping that he would be next.
TIME: FEBRUARY 3RD, 1963. JOE’S JUKE JOINT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
“What the hell are you thinking?” Oscar Peterson swung his right fist and connected with the man’s face. Oscar’s hands flew forward and caught the guy’s lapels, pulling him closer. He looked at the man’s face and decided to delay the beating until he had recovered enough to endure it.
“You show up here, with half of what you owe me, and think I’ll let you off the hook? You must be crazy, dumb-ass!” As he spoke, he kept thumping the guy’s back against the wall and lifting him off of the floor. He figured that the force was strong enough to jar and revive him.
“I’m sorry. It was all I could get. I’ll get the rest of it by next week.” For the past five minutes, the man said variations of the same thing.
“Why should I believe you, Paul?” Oscar’s face was pained. He did not want to hurt him, but Paul had been stringing him along for months.
“I lent you a thousand dollars one year ago and you told me you’d pay me back in a month. You said it was a short-term loan.” His voice was bouncing off the porcelain walls and fixtures of the jazz bar bathroom. Oscar did not want to have to resort to the skills he learned, as muscle for loan sharking, but this was ridiculous.
“It’s a year later and you’ve only paid back two-fifty. I look at you and see your suit could pay back another hundred. You must think I’m a big, dumb fool!” More than anything, Oscar was hurt Paul was clearly taking advantage of him.
Over the past year, he watched Paul Rupert indulge in extravagance upon extravagance, all the while claiming he had no money. He was behind on rent, utilities and all his bills, yet had a new refrigerator and stove.
“I want the rest of my money. I don’t care about all the others. They’re not my concern; they’re yours. I want it all by the end of the month,” he spat at Paul.
“What about Audrey and the kids? If I pay you back, I’ll have nothing left.” Oscar’s face softened a second, but quickly hardened once he saw the glint in Paul’s eyes. He was trying to play him, even now.
He was about to answer when the door to the bathroom opened and a man ushered a boy into one of the stalls, and without looking around, followed him in.
“Now, don’t be nervous. There’s nothing to it. Just sit on the bowl and do your business. Don’t worry, you won’t fall in.” He stepped out of the stall and the clinking sounds indicated that the boy was doing as was told.
“You should get out of here right now, mister.” Oscar squared his shoulders, pushed Paul away and straightened to his full six-foot-two height, intending to intimidate the man into leaving before he saw anything. Oscar was surprised by the man’s response.
“I will, as soon as my boy is done in there. I apologize for intruding. Obviously, this is a personal matter that doesn’t concern me. Once the child finishes his number two, I’ll be out of here and will say nothing about what I have seen. It is none of my business.” The man’s respectful defiance and easy manner calmed Oscar and he replied with a nod.
He was tan and stood with a wary stance, coiled for action, so Oscar kept his distance.
Softly, the boy said that he was done and the tan man entered the stall. “Let’s see.” A short pause followed. “Hmmm, very good. All the brown stuff’s gone. Now we’ve got to get some more clothes for you. You’re outgrowing everything we’ve got.” They exited the stall and passed Oscar and Paul without a word or a glance.
“Help me. Please, get the police,” Paul desperately called out.
“Police? No, nobody’s gonna help your pathetic ass. You have one month, Paul. If I don’t get it, this beating will become a weekly thing. The only thing that’ll keep you safe is handing over the rest of my money.” The door closed and all that could be heard was Oscar’s cursing and spitting.
- Perspective -
TIME: FEBRUARY 5TH, 1963. WOOLWORTH’S, MARIN, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
Kosta pushed the door open with his foot and waved Adam into the department store. They walked past row upon row of women’s clothing, undergarments and shoes. They continued past men’s shirts, jackets and full suits. The open corridors they walked through were buffed to mirror shininess. Kosta stopped at the boy’s section. He looked down at Adam, who stared about at all the fluorescently lit colors.
“Let’s take a good look at you then.” He stepped a few feet away from Adam, and with a wave of his hand, stopped the boy from following him. “Just stay there for a second, Adam.”
Kosta surmised he was the size of a seven-year-old, though he was still barely a year old.
“Adam, do you like any color in particular?” Kosta wanted to let him choose as he saw fit. He wanted him to become familiar with making his own decisions.
“Color? What do you mean?” Adam wasn’t able to understand what was asked. Kosta understood he had to draw a connection between thought, word and reality. He chose four shirts from the racks and held them out in front of Adam.
“Now, look at this one.” He held out a blue shirt. “This is blue.” He did the same with each shirt, naming their respective colors. “This one is yellow, this one is red and this one green.” Adam intently focused on what he was being told. “Do you see a difference?”
“Each of them looks different.”
“Yes, that’s right. The difference that you see is color. Now, close your eyes and touch each of them as I give them to you.” Adam reached out his hands, and with eyes squinted shut, rubbed the fabric between his fingers. Then, without direction, he smelled each of them.
“There is no difference, other than they look different.”
“Yes, that is color. Now you’re very lucky, know why?” Kosta praised Adam.
“No, tell me.” Adam liked when Kosta explained things. It made him feel important, because it was as though he only saw Adam, no one else.
“Most people grow up and learn about color, and everything else in their lives, from others. You will have to make up your own mind about how you understand things.” The smile on Kosta’s face made Adam feel that he was, indeed, lucky.
“But you’re explaining it to me, so am I not learning your version?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. The difference is that I’m trying to teach you the obvious so that you can come up with your own facts.” Holding up the shirts, he continued. “That’s why I said they look different. I could have pointed out other differences. Do you understand?” Kosta looked so intent on his explanation that Adam only nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what he was saying, but eventually, he was sure he would understand.
“So, do you like any of them?” Kosta continued.
“No, not really. They’re too bright. They stand out and I don’t like that. Don’t they have colors like the ones you’re wearing?” Adam pointed at Kosta’s dark khaki pants and tan shirt. He looked down at his own attire and nodded. The boy saw him day in, day out, he would obviously begin to identify with him.
“Are you sure? Don’t you want something of your own? This is how I dress. Do you want to look like me?” Kosta asked, looking for the answer behind Adam’s response.
“Well, do they have dark versions of that color?” he asked as he pointed to the blue shirt. “I see a lot of that color on kids.” When he caught sight of a rack of denim pants, jackets and shirts, his eyes lit up.
“Those. Can I have some of those?” Without waiting for an answer, he ran over to the rack and felt the fabric. He rubbed it between his fingers, delighting in its thickness and durable weave.
A slight movement ahead caught his eye. He looked up and saw an overweight man, in a brown suit and glasses, looking down at him. The edges of his body were blurred where they touched the air. He was entirely real himself, but repulsed the air around him. The most basic essence refused to envelope him, which made his
outline unfocussed. He sickened the air itself.
Adam looked at him more intently. Behind the lenses that covered his eyes, and under the trim brim of his hat, he saw the red burning of a furnace. He smelled of stale sweat, but more subtle and alarming, dead and rotten things came to mind. The unwashed, rank smell of mold masked whatever else might repulse the nose. Adam’s only experience had been with his own evacuations, but under the rank smell of sweat was the smell of shit. At first, it wasn’t overpowering, but if he thought about it for too long, he became overwhelmed by it. The fat businessman did not speak out loud, though his voice was audible in Adam’s head.
He spoke of Adam’s majesty and Hell’s devotion to him. He told Adam that he must come and then he could rule the world. All Hell waited for him; they’d waited for centuries and their time was at hand.
Adam forgot about Kosta. He forgot about everything but the earnestness of this fat businessman. Despite all of Kosta’s warnings to never go out on his own, he looked at the Seeker’s hand and took it, allowing himself to be led away.
Kosta saw all of this and rushed forward to stand in front of the Seeker, barring his path. He would not start anything in public. When he noted that nothing natural could stand them and that their stench was unbearable. It was body odor, clinging to rot and decay. He fought back the urge to scream and vomit. The revulsion was so intense he was terrified it wouldn’t stop.
“The boy stays with me.” Without weapons, Kosta was sure he was no match for a Seeker from Hell. He hoped he could find a way to keep the fiend from disappearing with Adam.
The Seeker replied in a monotone often heard narrating school documentaries. “I regret to say that the child’s rightful place is with us. We thank you for taking good care of him and know that you shall receive the compensation befitting your involvement in his abduction.”
“I’m glad you have seen fit to name him as my charge. I am the only parent he has known. Let me stay with him through his adjustment to his eventual birthright,” Kosta replied.
“He does not need someone who is not of his kind. The adjustment period will be brief, hardly worth noting.” The Seeker began to walk forward past Kosta.
“Adam, do you really want to go with this man?” This could be the only way he could take the boy back. He had to get him away from the Seeker. If he didn’t, everything would be lost. Kosta also felt an uncomfortable affection for the boy. He did not want to lose him to anyone.
“I want to see what they’re going to give me. They promised to love me. I want to see all of that.” The Seeker had stopped to let Adam speak and was about to continue walking when Kosta continued.
“Do you understand that they will love you, and do love you, but nothing else? Devotion and worship sound very good, but you don’t understand. At least, can you wait until you understand, then make up your mind?”
Adam contemplated this and nodded in agreement. The Seeker’s eyes burned intensely, but he said nothing. The air grew fouler. A few people who were close by even began to cough and went to complain at the service desk.
“What’s that smell?” one woman asked.
“Did the sewers back up?” a man said to no one in particular.
“Somebody do something about that awful stench!” the woman at the counter said.
Even Kosta coughed, but fought back vomit and moved closer to Adam. At this distance, he saw that the air around the Seeker grew more turbulent. A rumbling, grating sound assaulted his ears; nothing of this earth adjusted well to the Seeker’s discomfort. Kosta choked on a scream and suppressed a few grunts of disgust.
“Now, do you still want those jeans?” Kosta asked.
“Jeans?” Adam was surprised by the question.
“The dark blue pants and jacket you were looking at.” Kosta wasn’t above bribery.
“Oh yes, yes. Can I have them?” Adam forgot about the Seeker’s promised love and devotion.
“Of course you can.” He steered Adam, followed by the Seeker back to the clothes racks. They picked out three pairs of pants, a light denim jacket, and proceeded to the cash register. The Seeker took out his wallet and tried to pay for the clothes, but Kosta protested and put down the proper amount before the fiend could interfere. As they walked out of the store, Kosta asked Adam for a favor.
“Adam, could you tell your new friend he is not to hurt me in any way?” Kosta saw shock and anger flicker across the Seeker’s face.
“He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? Would you?” Adam looked up at him. “Well, would you?”
“He is to die in the worst way we can devise, lord. He took you away from your birthright.” The Seeker could not lie to Adam; he was compelled to truthfully answer any, and all questions.
“No, I don’t want you to hurt him!” Adam’s outrage consumed him, his voice registering an authority that shook the Seeker. Beneath the child’s voice rumbled an undercurrent of menace. The Darkness within him was as pure and black as the deepest depths of Hell; no light could live within it.
“It shall be as you say, sir.” The Seeker was visibly shaken and his voice wavered. For a few moments, the fat businessman’s assault on reality subsided to the barest physical distortion and perceptible foul odors. Kosta continued forward and out of the store, towards the car.
“Now, maybe we can understand the devotion and love our friend mentioned before,” Kosta said as he put the newly purchased jeans in the trunk of the cab. “Those who talk about your birthright and their love for you are honest about their love for you. They do love you and want to worship you, but it is a selfish love. They want to love only you and for you to love only what they want.” Once more, the Seeker’s disgust began to mount. Kosta had to control his senses revolted by the Seeker’s noxious presence. He did not want to think about that Adam had actually touched the fat businessman.
“They don’t care about what you love, if it is not also what they want.” Kosta turned and confronted the Seeker, Adam still clinging to his fat hand.
“Is this true?” Adam asked. The Seeker was now glancing between the boy and Kosta, not understanding the implications of the explanation.
“Yes it is. Your place and your destiny are with us. There is nothing else that matters, aside from you and our destiny.”
“But what about what he wants?” Kosta asked. “He has developed an affection for me and I for him. You would kill me, without caring that it would, in turn, harm him.” Kosta continued, “To these people, this destiny is more important than how you feel. Ask him if this is not so.”
Adam dropped the fat businessman’s hand, took a step closer to Kosta and looked up at the Seeker’s contorted face. The fiend tried to keep from grimacing, the debate demanding a great deal of effort. Seekers weren’t meant for discussions, only threats — before, during and after disembowelment. The fat businessman looked down at Adam and shrunk beneath the boy’s gaze.
“You don’t care how I feel?” Adam wanted to believe in the worship and devotion the Seeker promised. He looked from Kosta to the Seeker, not knowing whom he should believe.
“Your feelings are important to us, sire. You are our destiny. You are the most important person to us and we would never hurt you.” He was as impassioned as any spawn of hell could possibly be.
“The question is not if you would hurt him. The question is, if for the greater cause, you would do something that would hurt him.” Kosta continued, “If it would ensure that I could never see him again, you would kill me right now. The only thing preventing you from killing me is the fact he ordered you not to harm me. Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t answer to you! Your questions mean nothing!” The Seeker began to froth at the mouth, shackled by fury.
“I know you don’t. That’s why he’s asking you.” Kosta opened the door to the car.
“Why would you do that?” Adam was saddened to hear the devotion wasn’t complete. He was not old enough to understand anything but absolutes.
The fat Seeker saw his
Messiah walk away from him and his convulsions became more pronounced. Kosta took a step back and stiffened his lower lip, his senses once again assaulted.
“He took you away from your true and prophesized destiny. You were to be born to a family from our order and we were to have raised you. You were to be born of our ranks, not Christians.” The Seeker spat out the disgusting final words.
“Of the mother who would’ve given him birth. What would’ve happened to her?” Kosta fuelled the fire that consumed any trust that Adam may have had for the fat businessman.
“Yes, what of my mother?” Adam echoed.
“We would have disposed of her, to eliminate distractions. We could not take the chance that anyone else would raise you.” Once again, he could only answer truthfully.
“Why must everything be done your way? Why not let the boy choose? Right now, I’m allowing him to choose.”
“He is not even two years old! He cannot choose for himself.”
“Again, that’s where you’re wrong.” Adam’s firm pronouncement silenced the Seeker.
Adam walked to Kosta and took his hand, letting him lift him up into the cab, with a gentle push on his back. Kosta got behind the wheel and began to reverse past the Seeker. When he was even with him, he stopped.
“Now, I know that you can keep up with us, so there’s no need for you to get in the car. Your kind doesn’t have any problems keeping up.
The Chevy cab lumbered forward, and as Kosta stepped on the gas pedal, it took off. As he continued down street after street, Adam reached forward and switched on the radio, trying to take his mind off of his disappointment with the Seeker. He heard Smokey Robinson lament that You treat me badly, I love you madly. You’ve really got a hold on me.