by Kelso, Chris
Both men tried to act like they had no idea what Huff was getting at.
—So, uh… like, he’s having a little “downstairs trouble”, know what I mean?
Mario pretended to look around the room trying to hide how naked and uncomfortable he felt.
—Jesus Christ, hard-on boys, he’s having troubles with his hard-on!
—Nope.
—Never had those troubles before in my life Huff.
—Hey, uh, me neither. Just thought I’d ask around, maybe get him a phone number or a clinic address or something, you know?
Dmitri had gotten distracted by the winking V of a soaring Copper Pheasant weaving outside. All of these men were bound in awkward silence but each and every one of them had missed the gleaming pearl of seamen, having collecting in the crescent of their hand as it wept into the darkened foot spaces below.
Outside, one of the lunar bodies had completed its final orbital phase and the orange moon beneath simmered patiently on the horizon.
What You Make It
Oh lovely deafblind girl in my bed, deliverer of noteworthy thrills.
My spiritual kam, well and truly fed
My bed side cabinet, bearer of strange and exotic tonics, pills and shrubs
Bernoulli effect shower curtains vale my fetid corpse in her washtub
I was born not from my mother’s womb and that’s my account
When the responsible adult from my childhood failed
The puppet on the television taught me how to count
An exhausted body puffing a gastric pall of skeptical decay into the streets
An ugly face facing ugliness
Pull free the wires in my brain and let the sparks reinvent reality, plucking a fresh new fabric of thought
Forget the lessons you never got taught
Here come the workers, oh the spectacle, here come the clowns
Paid in full to turn those frowns upside down
Hushed at the foot of a Pembroke table
My family speak in peculiar sounds. I’m sinking beneath this brassy cradle
I wonder if my life were a painting would the colours deluge from the canvas?
No colour dark enough no paint brush thin enough
The novel of one simple subjective digits forlorn meditation
Im aging quicker as im undoing my creation.
THREE
Downtown Wire was a wasteland of isometric projections— columns of reinforced concrete and crumbling edifices that had long since lost their stickum. Dmitri still couldn’t afford a place of his own, not on a bin-man’s wage. He’d found an abandoned hut on the outskirts which he used for shelter. It was a simple enough construct— devoid of any furniture or modern charm, lit by an oil lamp and smelling of paraffin and wood smoke.
The dustcart droned through the decayed schemes, halting at each trashcan that needed to be compacted. Dmitri pushed a button and a pneumatic grapple appeared from the trucks rear. Mario drove through another few neighbourhoods then headed to the local landfill for a drop-off. The dustcart came to a heavy halt inside and Dmitri jumped off.
—Ah home sweet midden— joked Mario as he groomed a roll-up cigarette, prodding the shag of tobacco into a loose filter and lighting it. He offered one to Dmitri.
—No… you know I’m trying to kick it.
—You ever hear what happened to Lester?
—No idea. Some say he went to Shell County in search of The Cure but killed himself in Ersatz.
—I hope that’s not true, that’d be so depressing.
—If you say a man’s name. he’s still alive.
—I guess, you just can’t win.
Mario was a small man but heavily built. He wore his hat even off-duty because he was ashamed of his baldness. Mario was also a little overweight and didn’t pull off a crotched moustache very well. Dmitri and Mario made their way over to the cubicle block where the dustmen ate lunch together.
Inside the site manager, Huff, poured a kettle of hot water into a mug. Dmitri and Mario got on fine with Huff because he acted like one of them. Sipping at his mug of tea, Huff greeted both men as they entered the lunch hall.
—Hi boys.
—Mr. Huff— said Dmitri.
—Huff— said Mario.
Blowing steam from his cup, the site manager crossed his legs and asked the boys how their day had been so far.
Dmitri felt drained, the morning starts and midnight finishes will do that to a man. His eyes were orientally narrowed as tiredness squashed him.
—Still no news from Lester Proctor?
—Not a whisper— said Huff sadly.
—Sad to hear his family went the way they did.
—He was a good man. I hope the rumours aren’t true.
—He wouldn’t go to Ersatz, surely?— Mario asked.
There was a formidable silence in the cubicle. Huff wriggled uncomfortably for a moment and opened his mouth about to say something.
—Say, uh, can I ask you boys a question?
—Sure— they said in unison.
—So, uh, ahem… you know this can go no further? I’m trusting you boys here.
—Whatever it is Huff…— Mario said making himself a cup of coffee.
—Okay, yeah. So, uh…
—Huff?
—What is it boss?
Dmitri’s impatience overcame polite endurance as his fingertips, once flat on the table edge, soon began to rap like the tom-toms of war
—Either of you boys ever, uh… have trouble in the downstairs department?
Dmitri and Mario shared a glance.
—The only reason I ask is cos Ignius on the 4th Ward is having troubles getting ay, ah… well, you know?
Both men tried to act like they had no idea what Huff was getting at.
—So, uh… like, he’s having a little “downstairs trouble,” know what I mean?
Mario pretended to look around the room as if trying to hide how naked and uncomfortable he felt.
—Jesus Christ, a fuckin hard-on boys, he’s having troubles with his hard-on!
—Nope— lied Dmitri.
—Never had those troubles before in my life Huff— lied Mario.
—Hey, uh, me neither. Just thought I’d ask around, maybe get him a phone number or a clinic address or something, you know?
Dmitri had gotten distracted by the winking V of a soaring Copper Pheasant weaving outside. All of these men were bound in awkward silence but each and every one of them missed the gleaming pearl of semen, having collecting in the crescent of their hand as it wept into the darkened foot spaces below.
—So, uh, how’s the wife?— Huff asked Mario.
—She’s just fine.
~
Huff arrived home for lunch and waited outside the front-door for a few minutes before putting the key in and entering. The toilet water of shame was all over him. He’d never felt so inadequate. The ditches and fields surrounding each of the apartments had been reduced to marsh as the rain clattered down from Shangri-La. Huff lived right in the black, ugly heart of Wire with his wife and two kids— but even in the nightmare city there was the occasional glimmer of accidental beauty. From his window he was able to see a crucifix atop a small church building in the distance as it caught dying sunlight on its cross. It was these moments which helped Huff get through his day and made him look forward to coming home. This past week had been a different story…
—Hi honey.
—Hey, Steve is in his room.
Huff’s wife, Sue, hugged their infant son, Johnny, hungrily close, dandling him ever so slightly on her knee. Wee Johnny murmured some baby-gibberish before burrowing deep into the pillows of his mother’s bosom.
—Jeez, what the hell does that kid do all day in there?
—I don’t think we want to be asking questions like that Huff, do you?
—Good point— Huff was surprised to find himself a little resentful of his son’s masturbatory habits, given that he hadn’t had an erection
himself for a full week.
Huff had unusually narrow cheek bones and unkempt hair but there was an appealing air of simplicity to him which, he suspected, kept Sue devoted. Huff often speculated about what his wife was really thinking. He thought that with The Black Dog prowling around that it was Sue’s love for her family that kept it at bay. She was perhaps worried too that their teenage son might succumb to it. Huff was becoming more and more morose and depressed. He might already be infected. His eyes glittered like geodes. Each angle held a different spectrum of colour within it.
—Free your mind and your ass will follow— Sue said. Huff looked at her all surprised.
—Excuse me?
—It’s on this flyer we got through.
—About what?
—I have no idea. I think it might be about The Cure.
—I want to be free of the need to be free.
—And what does that mean?
—I don’t know? That I wish I could be content a slave maybe?
—Jesus, isn’t that really dumb?
—Probably. What’s the flyer about?
—It’s about The Black Dog…
—Pah, The Black Dog, it doesn’t even exist, I’m tellin’ you. It’s a media created scare tactic.
—For what purpose?
—Well… uh, I don’t know Sue…
—What about Hollow Earth?
—Technocratic Garbage.
—I wouldn’t be so skeptical.
—And what is that supposed to mean?
—Nothing!
—I hope you’re not alluding to our… uh, you know… our…
—Bedroom troubles?
—Uh, yes, thank you!
—Relax Huff, I told you it doesn’t matter. Middle-aged men go through these things.
—Exactly.
Huff noticed that Sue’s eyes were like two brilliant glass bathyspheres, reflecting back a stunned, heartbroken image of himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to satisfy her again and this was the greatest torture of all…
FOUR
Mario waited for Dmitri in a window seat. A cigarette base hanging from his lower lip and the very size of the residual butt indicates he’s been sucking on it hysterically. He looked anxious. Mario possessed a strange shape— he had a large, muscular neck but a very flat face like a sign-posts surface. Bad posture plagued the meaty block of body, making him appear heavier than he really was. He seemed fleetingly happy to see him. Dmitri pulled out a chair and sat.
—Everything okay? What‘s wrong with you…?
—My wife left me. Sheila, she left me.
—Jesus, I am sorry. Damn deceitful species.
—She said she has no place with me, my Sheila actually said that
—Hmm…
—I don’t fully understand it myself. But it’s over, totally over.
—Sorry…
—It’s okay, I reckon I’ll live, heck, I’ll have to.
—For that I’m glad, you‘ll live.
Mario pulled his cigarette.
—So, what’s the matter with you these days? You look like something the dog dragged in.
—A few things. Nothing major, well, I say that…
—I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.
—What?
—It’s the fuckin’ company.
—Well, what about the fuckin’ company?
—They’ve hired some arrogant android to replace me, one of Van Klee’s creations.
—An Immitant?
—No word of a lie, Huff pulled me in this morning. Told me it was over. Contract terminated with immediate effect. He was real cold about it too.
—I’m sorry…— Dmitri’s apology came off insincere and distracted. The last gasp of sunlight was sinking. Dmitri could tell Sheila was still crawling around in Mario’s head.
—The world has been unkind to us— Dmitri added somewhat redundantly.
—Huh, yeah…
—Why would the company risk letting go someone of your ability and experience?
—Apparently north of the equator the bloody Arctic Circle is completely submerged under water with temperature rising so high that it’s only a matter of time till Wire will begin to smell even more like an open sewer.
—Jeez, you think?
-Sure! What with these blasted greenhouse gases infiltrating our atmosphere and all. Human error among staff is too prevalent. The trash-collecting business is going to the Immitants.
—Human error? God, you’d think they were actually capable of saving the world the way they go on… I think they sometimes forget they’re only postponing “the end.”
—Maybe. There’s been a decrease in rainfall and that’s causing more droughts throughout Europe but the sea level is still rising. North America has already suffered huge loss of its high density forests.
Dmitri shuffled on the spot, dropping his shoulders as he maneuvered the cheeks of his buttocks to suffocate an itch. Mario kept talking.
—These new-fangled machines can allegedly delay “the end” by another six or seven months and collect enough trash to give scientists a shot at saving this fucking hole…
—Why don’t we get away for a week?
—And go where?
—Celestial 2 is nice and remote. Hollow Earth is an option too. No tourists this time of year.
—Dunno, maybe. It’s times like this when I’m glad this fuckin’ barge is going to sink soon…
—Two years…
—Yup, two years and this’ll all be over. It’s just maintaining ones happiness in the meantime that’s a real struggle.
—How about a beer at my house?
Mario lived on the upper-east-quadrant on a stretch of agricultural land marinated with wild horses and penned up livestock, although Sheila would most likely take him for everything he had. Returning home to a conurb apartment alone was never easy for Dmitri. Mario’s seclusion was self-imposed whereas Dmitri’s, even in this huge city, was an outcome he hadn’t been able to avoid despite his best efforts.
Sheila was still busily consuming Mario from the inside. She would continue to burrow her way out until she found freedom through a bloody wound in Mario’s chest.
Heartbreak is an inoperable, sometimes utterly fatal illness.
~
With a degree of difficulty, Mario bent over to reach into the cooler of beer. He procured two wet cans and forwarded one to Dmitri. The men yanked their respective ring pulls and a geyser of foam brimmed over their hands and onto their chests. Both Mario and Dmitri attempted to stem the malt spring by supping around the beer cans lip.
The outdoor sconces kicked into life about an hour ago but they were both just starting to notice how bright the beam was in the dark.
—How about suicide?
—Don’t think that’s a great idea.
—Well, I ain’t living my life like this, even if there is only 2 years of it left.
—You want to go out the same way as Lester?
—Listen, Dmitri, I’ve got nothing else to go on for! Why would I try to overcome it, huh?
Mario made a lot of sense.
~
That night Dmitri couldn’t bring himself to sleep. There was the sound of a man screaming from the flat next to him. Dmitri plugged his ears with wool and buried his face in his pillow in an effort to silence the screams from next door as well as the screams trapped inside his own mind.
Next morning on his way out the door heading off to work, Dmitri noticed two kitted-out Wire-City cops standing outside in the landing. When they spotted him, both men marched towards Dmitri.
—Nothing to see sir.
The men were wearing black body armour, held riot shields and spoke like machines. On their knee and elbow pads was the Council insignia.
—Move along.
One of the officers’ hands hovered above a laser holstered into his belt by a locking mechanism.
Outside, Dmitri was surprised to see Mario in the dustcart
waiting for him.
—Get in!
—I thought they terminated your contract…
—They did, and I hear they terminated yours too.
~
Mario laughed ferociously while he drifted the dustcart between rumble strips and plots of bushy-tailed road kill. One sharp turn in particular very nearly saw him swerve into some guard rails. Dmitri laughed too. They’d never felt so free of their depression. Who needed Hollow Earth anyway? Mario sped past a hitcher carrying a small pouch of belongings attached to a polka-dotted bindle. He stuck his head out the window and shrieked.
—Fuckin’ space cadet!
The un-surfaced road threw loose chippings up onto the car’s body, striking the bumper skirts like marbles. Mario made a banked turn left before the road forked.
Mario crouched over the steering wheel, his neck presenting the skull like a trophy, interminably focused on the road as seen through his windshield. His hands were large and fraught with warts. His two skinny forearms seemed like they belonged to a completely different body altogether.
Dmitri noticed that the radio had been ripped free, leaving a tangle of wires spewing out of the head-unit. He ignored it as he pulled the seatbelt across him and sealed the clip. Mario tightened his fists around the wheel. The windscreen wipers veered rain droplets with metal arms. Mario sat like a wax impression of himself. He sucked a final draw from his cigarette and tossed the butt into a hedge. The dustcart’s wheels glided through the rainwater puddles pooled in the road cracks. Rain always seemed imminent near mountains and the lawn of the moors were swaying like Hawaiian Hula dancers. In the distance, foothills rose as inverted martini glasses. An airborne mass of grey crept onto the scene while The Black Dog prowled and howled and fornicated loudly. As he exhaled, fumes swirled around his head, Mario abruptly motioned his head in the direction of Dmitri.
—They’re coming to take me home you know.
—Eh?— Dmitri was confused but tried to keep an eye on the road for both of them.
—Them…
—Who’s that then?
