Zombie

by Joyce Carol Oates

  In any case Grandma P__ would leave a sizable estate when she died to Mr. & Mrs. R__ P__. & they would not live forever, either.

  It seemed right that Q__ P__ CARETAKER should inherit the house on North Church. Maybe the old woman has had such a thought herself by now. This is just between you & me Quentin. Our little secret!

  Standing on tiptoe to pat my cheek. A fattish old woman but frail, too. They say their bones are weak, hollowed out inside & easy to break. Her washed-out no-color eyes I had a weird flash miniature QUENTINS were mirrored in! For once they have loved you as their baby, their own strange flesh born of their bodies or their children’s bodies, always you are BABY in their eyes.

  37

  A plan was forming like a slow dream & I did not push or hurry it. Though knowing SQUIRREL’s summer schedule would end by Labor Day. Which left how many weeks for Q__ P__ to make his capture?—only about five. & SQUIRREL worked at Humpty Dumpty only three days a week.

  Now in the heat of Michigan summer I quit my medication totally & had less timidity of EYE CONTACT I saw things normally not-seen. & they sank deep in me, & brooded. A responsible man makes his own luck Dad has said. Quoting one of the great philosophers.

  From that Saturday at Grandma’s spying on my prey through the hedge I knew I would have my SQUIRREL. I never doubted. He could tease & taunt me diving in the pool, & yelling & laughing running & streaming water in his tight swim trunks & at the Humpty Dumpty he could look through me like nobody was seated in the booth in which I sat but that would not forestall what would happen. Fragment Q of the big comet pulled apart into clusters of fire by drifting too near Jupiter & that terrible gravitational field & it would collide with its target & explode & it was fated to be so & it would be so. From the beginning of Time.

  Except: Q__ P__’s strategy would be 100% different than in the past. This was Dale Springs & not the inner city, nor any lonely stretch of interstate. This was a Caucasian upper-middle-class kid, a child (as his parents probably considered him) & not a black or a mixed breed & lots of people cared for, & would miss at once. & would notify the police in a panic. For sure.

  & that excited me, too. For never in the past not once to my knowledge had any cops anywhere known of my specimens’ disappearance, let alone searched for them. & so this would be different, & I believed I would be equal to the challenge. So wild a need & hunger, SQUIRREL entering my life like a shining angel—he was worth dying for, for sure!

  Because SQUIRREL would not likely be hitchhiking in Dale Springs & it would not be likely Q__ P__ would drive by in his van, one chance in one million BUT I COULD NOT WAIT THAT LONG COULD I!—another strategy had to be devised. SQUIRREL would not climb willingly into the van, SQUIRREL would have to be overcome & captured & lifted into it, & his bicycle too?—maybe. & this capture to be made without witnesses of course. By night would be best but to stake out at his house on Cedar Street not knowing when he would return & not knowing if he would be alone would be difficult. For the sand-colored van would be noticed. Dale Springs has security police, neighborhood patrols. & to enter SQUIRREL’s actual house & risk a burglar alarm etc.—fuck that.

  I worked at Grandma’s & I cruised my van on Cedar Street & I ate at Humpty Dumpty how many times, not able to stay away, & I brooded over SQUIRREL in his absence & in his presence. Staring at SQUIRREL thinking I love you, I want you, I would die for you, you are so terrific why the fuck won’t you look at me? smile at me? I might have neglected my duties at 118 North Church but it was summer & only five of the rooms occupied & if I did not haul the trash out to the curb one week I would haul it the next, for sure. & cleaning & maintenance got done when required. & regular spray for roach control.

  Dad called & left a message & I thought he’d be bitching as usual but instead thanked me for BEING SO KIND TO YOUR GRANDMA, QUEN-TIN!

  It was taking a chance eating at Humpty Dumpty so much but I could not stay away. Parked my van sometimes in the lot & sometimes across the street or close by in a grocery store lot or even around the corner to avoid suspicion. But the restaurant lot was always full & the restaurant busy except in the mid-afternoon but I preferred after 5 P.M. when there were lots of customers including families with young children & less likelihood of Q__ P__ being noticed. & if I lingered till 6 P.M. when the busboys changed shifts I could observe SQUIRREL actually leaving, riding home on his bicycle. That route he took, I’d memorized.

  Following in my van at a safe distance. Or, circling the block to park & wait for him to pass oblivious. The way SQUIRREL rode his bicycle!—fast, & hunched over, & no wasted moves. Very shrewd & skillful making his way through Lakeview Boulevard traffic. & a shortcut he took through a side street & an alley & the rear of a church parking lot. A Tigers baseball cap backward on his head & his blond-brown longish hair tied in a tiny pigtail at the nape of his neck & how boylike he was but a man too, almost a man, his mouth that could shape into a grin or a sneer, his eyes that could be so warm or so cutting & the way he gripped the handlebars of the bicycle & his muscled calves, thighs & the curve of his spine back how elastic his spine looked—it took my breath away this boy would be my ZOMBIE!

  Then in Humpty Dumpty watching SQUIRREL hoist a tray of dirty dishes, etc. to his shoulder. & his young muscles jerking visible, & the little pigtail at the nape of his neck—

  & I’m so excited have to leave my Humpty Dumpty Burger Special & stagger back to the men’s room & jack off in one of the toilet stalls moaning & whimpering. A true ZOMBIE would be mine forever. Would kneel before me saying I LOVE YOU MASTER, THERE IS NO ONE BUT YOU MASTER. FUCK ME IN THE ASS MASTER UNTIL I BLEED BLUE GUTS. & I wipe the sticky cum in wads of tissue & return to the booth where I will leave it hidden inside my napkin for SQUIRREL to clear away unknowing.

  MY ZOMBIE!

  I was not too hungry (having eaten at Grandma’s) yet devoured two Tex-Mex Specials, burgers with melted cheese, onions & hot salsa sauce & double order of Humpty Dumpty Special Ranch Fries greasy & coated with salt. Two giant Cokes & cups of black coffee for a caffeine buzz. & the uppers I’d taken that morning. Dazed & shaky from jerking off so hard & my vision fading in & out of focus & the gum-chewing waitress asked me something—Mister? I didn’t seem to hear & shrugged & sauntered away. But where was SQUIRREL? I did not see SQUIRREL! A roaring in my ears & rock music piped in overhead & kids’ voices & laughter echoing like inside my own skull. Then SQUIRREL appeared & was helping another busboy clean up a booth where it looked like pigs had been feeding, wiping with sponges & tossing napkins, Styrofoam cups etc. into a plastic basket. The other busboy was SQUIRREL’s age & the two of them buddies, grinning together. (If they should look over at Q__ P__ watching them, how would they react?) SQUIRREL is smart & sexy & knows it for sure. A better muscle-build than his friend, too. His skin is slightly blemished on his jaws & he has a habit of grimacing & rolling his eyes, that mocking look you see in kids that age. Some friends of his come into the restaurant & there’s wisecrack bantering & insults traded. Why didn’t Q__ P__ have friends like that, guys who liked me, guys like brothers? twins? & now when they see me their eyes flick carelessly over me. Little cocksuckers don’t see me at all.

  My hand was shaky!—dropped my fork & it clattered to the floor as SQUIRREL was passing near. Quick & polite SQUIRREL got me a clean fork, I didn’t even have to ask. Here y’are mister! with a smile. & I said O.K. thanks! & though I lifted my eyes to his there was no eye contact, SQUIRREL was already moving on. A clear glimpse of his greenish-cool eyes, though. Like no other eyes I have ever seen. MY ZOMBIE.

  Hadn’t noticed me at all, I guess. & that was good. They don’t see people my age, that’s good. Sure I was hurt, I was pissed & the little fucker will pay for it one day soon but it was good. Q__ P__ the invisible man.

  What I was wearing: khaki shorts & a soiled tanktop (loose-fitting to hide my little pot-belly), & my aviator sunglasses, & battered sandals. Working at Grandma’s I’d worn a red sweatband around my head like a funky black dude,
I’d sweated it through in the heat. A strong smell lifted off me I guess, hadn’t taken time to shower as Grandma had invited.

  My baffle that day was a birthmark on my left cheek. Inscribed with blueberry juice & red Magic Marker. Sort of star-shaped, about the size of a dime. To draw & focus unwanted attention.

  BIRTHMARK (ACTUAL SIZE)

  The waitress brought me my check, it came to $16.95 & I left a $5 tip. “Make sure the busboy gets some of this,” I told the waitress.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The busboy. That kid there, with the pigtail. I’m leaving a $5 tip & I want him to get his share.”

  The waitress slowed her gum-chewing & stared at me & blinked & colored a little like, for sure, she’d been caught stealing. Cunt had been planning to pocket the $5 herself. Saying, “We all share our tips here, mister. That’s policy.”

  “O.K. I’m just inquiring.”

  “That’s Humpty Dumpty policy, mister. We all share.”

  “O.K.,” I said, sliding out of the booth, on my unsteady legs & the sunglasses sliding down my nose, “—that’s cool. That’s just fine.”

  If SQUIRREL was looking on, & gazed after Q__ P__ walking away with his head high, I could only guess.

  38

  Q__ P__ a PERPETUAL HARD-ON.

  So much strangeness raining on my head that summer!—like the 21 “bright pearls” of the Comet EXPLODING one by one in my head! & the promise of more, & MORE!

  & I was seeing with NEW EYES, & needed but a few hours’ sleep crowded with plans, & such muscle-energy & zest & hope for the capture of the prey & MY ZOMBIE awaiting in Grandpa’s old cistern!

  Even Dr. E__ who usually yawned through our fifty minutes & removed his glasses to rub his piss-colored eyes took note. Speaking of a healthy tone to my skin & inquired how things were going in my life? & I said things were going real well doctor, smiling shyly but like I meant it, no bullshit & I’m proud & Dr. E__ then inquired was I taking my medication faithfully, with meals three times a day? & said yes doctor & next he asks if I was dreaming yet? did I recall any dreams? & I said yes doctor so he looked at me blinking like I was a dog suddenly up on my hind legs & speaking English.

  “You, Quentin? You had a dream?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Baby chicks.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Baby chicks. Little chickens.”

  There was a pause, & Dr. E__ pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose & continued to look at me. Those piss-eyes alert & wondering, the first time in sixteen months. “Well—what did you dream about the baby chicks, Quentin?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, & this was true, at that time, “—they were just there.”

  Feeling so good afterward I almost—almost!—told Dr. E__ I had no further need of him & his shit-prescription he could stuff up his ass.

  & later that day which was Tuesday, & SQUIRREL would not be working at Humpty Dumpty & it was a muggy-drizzly day so he would not be at his friend’s swimming pool next-door to Grandma’s, I was walking fast across the University campus making a detour as always around Erasmus Hall & I was wearing my khaki shorts & a loose-fitting MT. VERNON U. T-shirt & my aviator glasses & caught some quizzical eyes I believe & some registering of approval. Summer school was in session & the kids in clothes like mine. Except of course the old-fart profs you always encounter on campus & they’re staring at you like you are a freak or a Nazi. Or worse. But I was feeling high after last night’s BABY CHICK dream & puzzling what it might mean & sure the answer would come to me, & soon.

  & in Darwin Hall where I hadn’t been for years & years climbing to the third floor like I knew where I was going. Poked my head into a big lecture hall & that wasn’t it. Poked my head into Dept. of Biology Office & that wasn’t it. Poked my head into a lab smelling strong enough to make my eyes sting & that was it. Where years ago I’d seen stacked cages of cats, rabbits, monkeys with electrodes in their skulls. Some of them unmoving in their cages & some turning & twisting. Some of them sightless though their eyes glittered. & all of them soundless though opening their mouths & emitting silent cries set the air to vibrating though unheard. It must’ve been Dad who’d brought me?—or I’d wandered away from Dad in another place & pushed into the lab AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY: DEPT. OF BIOLOGY drawn by the smell. Yet that day it was just a lab, a long room with sinks & counters & instruments etc. & the wall of cages was gone. & a young Asian-looking female grad student who’s alone in the room blinks at me like she’s a little scared of me which is O.K. by Q__ P__, that’s the only kind of female you can trust. So I ask where are the animals & she says what animals & I say there used to be cats, rabbits, monkeys in this lab & you were experimenting on them & she says when was this? & I say a few years ago & she says she’s only been here two years & doesn’t know anything about it & things are changed now in the department. & she was sort of backing up & I saw she would back up against a big-screen computer on a table & she did & could not back up any farther so I thought DON’T: DON’T ALARM THE CUNT & I did not press forward farther but changed tone as I can do, I am skilled at doing & getting better every day. Is she a biology student I ask & she says she’s a biogeneticist doing research for her Ph.D. & I say I am a physics grad student doing research for my Ph.D., I am Professor R__ P__’s assistant. & she looks at me with her flat face & dark-slanted eyes & I see she doesn’t know who the fuck R__ P__ is! Which is a laugh. A real laugh. & Erasmus Hall just across the quad. So I’m a little short of breath & run my hands through my hair which is greasy & like quills but I don’t press any farther forward. & we go:

  “Where are vocal cords exactly?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Vocal cords. Where are vocal cords exactly?”

  “Vocal cords? Like in—your throat?”

  “Human vocal cords, but I’m talking about animals,” I say. I am speaking calmly, reasonably. You would know I was a fellow scientist by my demeanor. “Lab animals’ vocal cords are cut, aren’t they? How is it done?”

  & she’s looking at me a little scared again & uncertain. Saying, “I don’t do that kind of research.”

  & I say, “I don’t either, I’m a Ph.D. in physics I said. But how is it done? Is it easy, or tricky?”

  & Flatface shakes her head like she doesn’t know. & I’m getting a little pissed but not showing it. Saying, “O.K., where are your vocal cords exactly?”

  & Flatface puts her fingers to her throat like she’s checking does she have any. “You can feel them,” she says. “They vibrate when you touch them, when you speak.”

  39

  QUANTIFIABLE & UNQUANTIFIABLE MATERIAL!

  For a long time, how many fucking years of Q__ P__’s life it had seemed maybe, like a scientific experiment, like it was a principle of shifting to the left or the right for instance, a few inches & no more. Or growing taller. & all the Universe would rearrange. & others were born with radar for such but not Q__ P__. The principle (though not articulated at the time, being too young) of pushing up close behind the boys in the cafeteria line, Bruce & his friends. Or entering the showers in high school at the right instant, with just the right stride & angle of head & shoulders. & yesterday purchasing three dozen baby chicks at this farmers’ market in Ludington for that was something Q__ P__ had never before done in his life & to do it just once was to be somebody new. Or, those months at Eastern Michigan U. where Q__ P__ strove to RE-INVENT MYSELF purchasing clothes & shoes not of his own taste but that of others closely observed, & showering twice a day (for a while, until my skin began to flake away like scales) & even forcing a new handwriting & new signature which it required many weeks to master. But it was mastered!

  Some shift to the left, or right, or up, or down, or in thickness, or in thinness. Some alteration of skin tone, or freckles. Or a more baritone voice not reedy & nasal any longer. & Q__ P__ would be pledged to DEKE for instance! But what seemed so easy was in fact so hard.


  If you had a heart, that is how it would be broken.

  & the other day driving Mom & Grandma to this nursing home in Holland, Mich. Presbyterian auspices. Where they visited some old shriveled female relative & brought her potted dyed-blue flowers & I paced around the lobby for a while then outside in the parking lot & somebody in a wheelchair & their family glancing at me & finally one of them says, a youngish guy but his voice quavering, Excuse me? Would you please not stare at my mother? & on campus that day so charged up seeing SQUIRREL-SQUIRREL-SQUIRREL in every kid of a certain height & figure my cock was hard as a club & hair erect as quills & I had to seek a men’s room to jerk off before EXPLODING. & I’m pushing through some doors & there’s a lighted stage & some guys & females in leggings or whatever are rehearsing some dance to kettle drums & horns & they’re so absorbed in their dancing they don’t see Q__ P__’s eyes glaring up at them out of the shadow. & finally somebody comes over to me, some faculty cunt, female with thick glasses & asks who am I please? & I turn to her not-surprised & say, like this is the most natural reply to an asshole question, I am the presence standing here at this juncture of Time & Space—who else?

  & that night in my sand-colored 1987 Ford van with the American flag decal covering the rear window cruising Cedar Street, Dale Springs & parked in shadow & with my binoculars trained to the mostly shaded or darkened windows I thought, If this is where I am this is who I am. & so it was.

  40

  HOW THINGS PLAY OUT. July 28 telephoned Dad’s lawyer he’d hired for me last year, hadn’t been in contact since that day we walked out of Judge L__’s chambers. Saying in a fast voice Don’t tell my Dad please! I’m kind of scared the cops are tailing me, harassing me, not in actual actions nor in words but day & night there’s squad cars cruising North Church Street. & I have reason to believe they have questioned some of the tenants of this house. & if the tenants move out my voice was rising, panting, & Dad takes away my caretaker job—WHAT WILL I DO?