Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  “Yeah, a little,” Tammy replied, realizing for the first time how traumatic it all most have been on Luke. She had no idea what he was talking about in regards to seeing a devil, but she could feel his pain. She hoped he would elaborate on it further when he was more clear headed.

  “I am a sponge that's been sucking up the filth of humanity for too long and I can’t help but wonder what the point is,” Luke continued.

  He cried, and Tammy bent down to him. She wiped his cheeks with her hands.

  “I wonder about it too, Luke,” she said, staring sympathetically at him. “I wonder what makes up for all of the wickedness in the world. It’s out of our hands, and I know how scary that is. Believe me I know. But we continue to live, despite it. To learn. We survive and we love and that’s the only point to it, my darling. The only thing that makes up for the bad things. We’re both scared now, but we’ll see this through like we’ve seen everything else through. We are going to be all right.”

  And for the first time since their ordeal had ended, Tammy believed that they would be.

  Lucas smiled faintly, calm now, and then he drifted off. The morphine had finally chased him down.

  Tammy put Luke's hand gently back into his lap. She settled into her seat and stared out of the hospital room window. The storm had died and dawn was warming the glass. Red and orange clouds glowed in the lower sky. The morning color was glorious.

  Tammy couldn't recall a more vivid sunrise.

  TURNING FACE

  1.

  "The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing, in so far as it stands ready against the accidental and the unforeseen, and is not apt to fall."

  -Marcus Aurelius

  Tojo Smith was an earthbound demon in service to Hell, but that didn't make him a bad guy. He had no more control over his heritage than anyone else. Little on this earth scared him, but he was afraid that summer day. He sat in his double wide trailer on a recliner that was grooved to his heavy form. He was positioned between the cross current of two oscillating fans. They chilled his sweaty human skin. Country music played softly on his clock radio.

  He was getting a visit from down below. Tojo had received the message telepathically and it was the first time he had ever gotten one from down there. He was taking a leak in his trailer when the message came. The jolt had caused him to piss all over himself and his bathroom. A supervisor from the pits named Mr. Blickenderfer was paying him a visit, and Tojo was absolutely terrified. The date and time had been set for the following Saturday at 1:47P.M.. He had gotten the message on a quiet Sunday morning, and it gave him nearly a week to fret over it. The demonic administrative assistant had also instructed Tojo to have a pack of filter less cigarettes, a pound of raw hamburger meat and a bottle of red wine prepared for Mr. Blickenderfer.

  Tojo knew what this meeting was about; his current troubles in fulfilling Hell's needs.

  Now, before we get to the predicament Tojo was in, we need to shift gears here slightly and travel back to the beginning of it all so you can fully appreciate the turmoil that was boiling inside the Eden-born, earthbound demon.

  Tojo was birthed (topside, mind you) in 1960. His parents were hate demons from the lowest circle. Tojo figured that they must have shown potential, because they were joined and sent in human guise to man's realm. They conceived Tojo and had him privately at their small house in Tyler, Texas. This had been the most practical recourse seeing that Tojo would be born with red scales and orange eyes. He would grow smooth, pink skin and his eyes would darken because of the climate, but Tojo's existence was kept quiet until he was two and could pass as a being of the human variety.

  Tojo's father, Darryl Smith, had been an old school Baptist fire and brimstone preacher and he did a fine job of propagating hate. Racism and homophobia were easy triggers to pull in Southern people during the sixties, and Darryl had been damned good at his job. Darryl's housewife, Kelli, contributed in her way as well. Her heated gossip spread in sewing circles, PTA functions and her volunteer work.

  Darryl and Kelli Smith had no names in Hell. Smith was their slave name, they liked to say. Names weren't given by the Devil- they were earned and appointed only to those who resided solely in the pit. Demon names could be turned against you and used to pull you down into servitude. Rising fiends were always sent topside without a name on the form. Else wise, they'd be reduced to leprechauns or genies if a human in the know got a hold of their true name.

  Tojo's parents didn't reminisce about Hell that often and they didn't even have to explain Tojo's legacy or calling to their son. He felt the need to serve the greater evil in his blood. It was as deeply fixed in him as hibernation to a bear or dam-building to a beaver.

  Tojo Smith's childhood had been plagued by loneliness and uncertainty until one fateful night in 1968 that set him on his course.

  2.

  March 23rd 1968

  Tyler, Texas

  Tojo stared sadly at the bloodied and ripped cat collar that sat on the breakfast table before him. His parents looked solemnly at him and clutched coffee cups, though it was nighttime.

  "You promised me you wouldn't eat this one," Tojo complained softly. "Poor Mr. Whiskers the 6th."

  "I don't know what to say, Tojo," Kelli offered.

  "Honestly, we tried to resist this time, son," Darryl threw in. "But it's that damned demonic hunger of ours. It just grabs a hold of us."

  Tojo gazed up at his parents. Though they had the appearance of a conservative middle-aged couple that had started a family a little later than most, they were still considered very young demons. But Tojo, even in the guise of an eight-year-old mortal, was very mature already. Sometimes he suspected he was wiser than his parents. Even intelligent demons were prone to give in to their impulses. Tojo was finally starting to realize that a pet was no longer a fair option; for him or the animal.

  "I live a lie and wear human skin as a disguise," Tojo said. "I have to keep to myself. I have no friends. You guys can't give me any advice on being a human kid. And I can't even have a pet for companionship."

  "We weren't raised on Eden," Kelli reminded him.

  "We were born in the pit," Darryl said, grimly. "And we were damned lucky to survive. Wild demons have a tendency to dine on any young they can catch."

  Tojo rolled his eyes, recognizing his father's version of the walking-ten-miles-uphill- in-the- snow-to-get-to-school speech.

  "We can get you another cat," Kelli suggested.

  "No," Tojo said firmly.

  "But you love cats," Kelli said.

  "Yes, I do. But you have eaten every stray I have brought home. I'm done with it."

  "We know it must be hard for you," Darryl offered.

  "How? You have each other," Tojo spoke back. "I can't have a pet, a close friend, a girlfriend or a wife."

  "The biological plumbing isn't compatible with the humans, Tojo," Darryl explained again. "And fraternizing too heavily is an offense that will get you busted down quick, if not obliterated."

  "You can earn a lifelong companion from below," Kelli advised. "Succeed in your hate work and you can be joined in the pit with a demon wife."

  Tojo nodded softly. It was a reminder that Kelli gave him whenever he felt especially cursed, plagued or damned. It was the only thing that kept him going sometimes.

  "We're sorry we aren't the parents you think you should have," Darryl said. "You are stuck between two worlds, and it can't be an easy place to live. One day, your mother and I will be called back down. Our footprints will be wiped from the sand and it will be as if we were never here. You will be truly alone. Tojo, you will have to figure out your duty and your life on your own. There are very little instructions from down below. And when you do get a call from Hell, it is usually because of a problem and you don't want problems. You have to exist on instinct. Listen to your inside voice."

  "We bought something that might help you figure your human life out," Kelli said, putting down her cup and standing with her husban
d.

  "What?" Tojo asked curiously.

  "Come on, boy," Darryl said, beckoning his son to the living room.

  Tojo followed his parents and saw a large square shape that was covered with a sheet. Kelli walked over and pulled the sheet away, revealing a big screen 1968 Philco color television.

  Tojo smiled approvingly. "We have a television?"

  Darryl grinned and nodded. "Yes. I bought it with church donations. Don't tell the parishioners."

  "Watch the human programs. Maybe they can answer some of the questions you have," Kelli said.

  Tojo immediately turned it on. It slowly warmed up and an image danced in static.

  "Pull up the rabbit ears and twist them around," Darryl suggested.

  Tojo did as instructed and soon an image of two combatants in a wrestling ring sharpened on the tube.

  "What is this?" Tojo asked.

  Darryl squinted at the screen. "It's wrestling."

  Tojo's eyes brightened in realization. "I have heard the kids at school talk about this. It's a sport, right?"

  "Yes and no, I think," Darryl said.

  "Can I watch it?" Tojo asked.

  "Sure. You can watch whatever you desire for as long as you desire," Darryl said. "But if you are going to watch wrestling, promise me something."

  "What?" Tojo answered, his eyes glued to the television as he spoke.

  "Root for the bad guy. He might be one of us."

  3.

  August 15th, 1978

  Tyler, Texas

  It was 12:13AM. Tojo stood with his parents in the darkened living room. Black candles burned next to framed family pictures on the wall shelves. A sacrificial goat was tethered to the front door with a piece of rope.

  Each family member wore a black ceremonial robe. But Tojo's was small on him. It barely wrapped his gut and it came up to his knees. Tojo had grown much larger than his parents. He dwarfed them.

  "Today you are eighteen in earth years," Darryl announced. "This is the ceremony of declaration for Eden-born. A human becomes an adult at this age. An Eden-born must have a path to follow at this time. This is the day you decide your direction and once taken, only Hell can pull you off it."

  Darryl unfurled an aged piece of parchment and read in a demon tongue that Tojo couldn't follow. After a few moments, Darryl rolled the parchment back up and motioned to Tojo.

  "Tojo Smith, how will you contribute to Hell?" Darryl asked.

  Tojo looked back and forth between his parents, who awaited his proclamation with stone-faced curiosity. "I am going to be a professional wrestler. A bad guy. A heel."

  Darryl and Kelli looked slowly to each other, and then back up at their son.

  Kelli finally spoke. "It sounds a little... unseemly. I thought you might take up the pulpit like your father."

  Tojo pulled back the hood to his robe and ran a hand through his sweaty brown hair. "Look at me, Mama- I am a mountain. I'm huge and mean-looking and no man out there can hurt me. I grew up with heroes like Fred Blassie, Buddy Rogers, Gorgeous George, Crusher and Dick the Bruiser, The Masked Spoiler. This is what I want to do. It speaks to me."

  "The declaration has been made, Kelli. It's decided," Darryl said.

  "But people will recognize him. It might hurt our position in the community," Kelli insisted, and Tojo was shocked at how much his mama was bothered by all of this.

  "I will use a stage name and wear a mask, if I have to," Tojo assured his mother.

  "It's honest hate work," Darryl acknowledged.

  "I am leaving next week for a wrestling school in Humble," Tojo informed them. "I am going to make you proud. I am going to make Hell proud."

  Kelli sighed and smiled despite her reservations. "Hail Satan," she offered.

  "Hail Satan," Darryl and Tojo said together.

  "Please show your demon skin for the next part of the ceremony," Darryl said.

  They all swallowed up their human hide. Darryl and Kelli had the more common hue of gray to their scales. Tojo's were bright red, because Eden-born were usually more colorful than lower demons.

  Darryl collected three heavy goblets and a large dagger from the coffee table. His orange eyes glowed hungrily.

  "It is time for a toast!" he announced, walking toward the goat.

  4.

  March 1st, 1979

  Humble, Texas

  "Tojo Smith, get your tail in my office!" Samuel Dale barked from the back of the building.

  Tojo popped the mop, which was streaked with blood and vomit, back into the water bucket. He stepped slowly across the slick concrete floor of Samuel Dale's Hard Knocks Wrestling Academy. It was late, going on 10 p.m., and Tojo had piled all of the mats in a corner to clean the floors near the wrestling ring. The place smelled of ammonia and body odor, but it was a pleasant scent to Tojo.

  Samuel Dale trained him for free and gave him a cot in the back in exchange for custodial work and light maintenance on the old building.

  Tojo entered the broom closet sized office and spotted Samuel seated behind his desk. He had bifocals perched on his bent nose. A bottle of bourbon and a half-filled short and dingy glass rested in front of him.

  "Close the door," he insisted, though they were alone and the place was buttoned up for the night.

  Tojo did as he was told, taking the dirty seat in front of Samuel's desk. Samuel was a small elderly man. He was naturally hunched now. He had twin cauliflower ears and he grimaced whenever he moved his old body around. Behind him on the wall was a yellowing eight by ten that showed him in his heyday. He had been a slight but extraordinarily well-built man. His dark hair was greased-back in the photo and he posed, flashing a bulging bicep.

  "When I was in the business, I was a jobber- a punching bag," Samuel stated. "I was told I was too small to make it but I was a stubborn sumbitch. And though I didn't get past the mid-card, a lot of folks respected me. I always knew a guy of my stature would only go so far. That was why I decided to start this place and train future grapplers. There isn't much else a beat-up never was is suited for."

  Samuel paused to down some bourbon, and he splashed a little more from the bottle into the glass. "When I opened this gym, I realized that I could contribute something significant to the business after all. I have spent two decades ruining dreams and shattering illusions. When most of the boys see how much work is involved with this and how truly little it gives you back, they take their asses to college or trade school pretty damn quick. How many kids quit this week?"

  "Six," Tojo replied. "I think maybe four of them lasted more than a day but none made it past three."

  "And I knew they wouldn't," Samuel said. "But they showed up with a desire and cash in hand and they deserved an opportunity. After getting twisted up and taking some bumps, most of these farm boys and rednecks realize how painful and extracting this business is. It takes and takes and beats you down and it uses you up. It wrecks us all. It's like a whore that you love who treats you like dirt, but you just can't quit her."

  Samuel had another bourbon, but didn't refill the glass this time. "You probably want to know where I am going with all of this. Tojo, you are my greatest accomplishment in this business. You tell me you had no formal training and that you aren't part of a wrestling family. I find it hard to swallow, son."

  "Like I said before, Mr. Dale- my daddy is a Baptist preacher and my mama is his devoted housewife. I am just in love with the sport. I've followed it since I was little," Tojo maintained.

  "Then you are an honest-to-God prodigy," Samuel concluded. "That huge body of yours moves so gracefully. I don't think I have had to show you a hold or move more than once that you didn't perfect in a day. You can take a bump and carry a match and make a clumsy jobber look like a seasoned pro. Your body is ready. More than ready. Christ, you're barely old enough to shave, and you have the ring instincts of a veteran. You got something I can't teach, boy. It's either there or it isn't. Now, I could let you walk out of here and take full credit for what you bring to thi
s business, but you ain't there yet, and this is where I can make an actual and legitimate contribution to your career."