Cartoons in the Suicide Forest

by Leza Cantoral

  “Feeding time!” she announces.

  The girls moan and wail. They tear off their clothes and crawl toward her on their knees.

  She begins to transform. At first her head morphs into that of a giant insect, covered in black shiny eyes. Then her body blows up into the shape of a giant bee with many arms, like the pincers of a scorpion. She fills the room and towers above us all.

  The girls crawl toward her and lay beneath her bulging backside with their mouths open and their legs spread.

  Mother buzzes loudly, waves her many legs around, and begins expelling a thick blue honey from her bottom. The girls drink it up and lick it off their lips as it falls on their faces. They rub it into their genitals and try to get as much inside their mouths and vaginas as possible, by swallowing big mouthfuls, licking it off each other, grabbing giant gobs and shoving it inside themselves, filling up their mouths and then spitting it into each other’s orifices. They’re moaning and eating and touching themselves in a narcotic feeding frenzy.

  I cannot believe what I am seeing.

  I am so thirsty but I cannot bring myself to join them. Once I drink her honey I will be her slave forever. No matter how sweet, I am not prepared to give it all up to anyone.

  I feel my back pocket. I still have the knife and I know what I have to do. I focus on rising up in the air and I begin to lift up off the ground and I fly straight at her many eyes.

  They are windows to the trapped souls of thousands and thousands of girls who answered her call to the Suicide Forest. I look into one of the eyes. It is a window into a void. There is nothing inside of her. Just an empty hole where a heart once was. A hole to be filled with the feelings of girls on the edge of the abyss. She calls like a deadly Siren. She calls us to the forest with promises of peace and refreshment. She lures us into her honey trap just so she can suck up our sadness like a milkshake.

  I take out the knife, aim it for the center of one of her eyes, and sink it in. Black bile bubbles out and spills down my arm. She lets out an ear splitting and inhuman scream.

  I fly underneath her and slice right through her whole abdomen. Black goo dumps down on me and upon all the girls writhing underneath. They scream and scramble to get out of the way.

  Mother is struggling to stay alive. She buzzes fiercely and tries to fly away but her size does not allow for much movement.

  The black goo spreads until every inch of the room is covered. It glistens and shimmers as it swirls on the floor.

  Mother sinks into the black goo. Her many legs spasm in their death throes and her wailing becomes a bubbling as her head goes under.

  All the goo in the room rises up and goes down my throat on one big spinning funnel. I cannot close my mouth. My arms are thrown back as the darkness fills me. It tastes like ink and licorice.

  I rise up off the ground, spinning in the black vortex of ink. I am filling up.

  Something is changing in me but I cannot tell yet what it is. I don’t understand this feeling.

  I look down at the girls. They are looking at each other as if they just woke up from a dream.

  The sadness of thousands of girls is coursing through my body. It shoots through my brain like a bullet of pain. It fills me with blackness.

  The girls stare up in awe and raise their arms to me.

  “Mother! Mother!” they scream.

  SIBERIAN HONEYMOON

  We look fabulous standing outside the Kremlin in the falling snow. I always wanted a winter wedding.

  This is not exactly how I imagined it as a little girl, when I pictured walls of roses, Roman columns, doves and dancing, laughter, and merriment.

  Armed guards lurk on the sidelines with their shotguns slung across their chests, behind the gathering crowd of gawkers, strangers and supporters. We are flanked by a wall of television cameras. Yes, we certainly have gathered quite a crowd for our little ceremony.

  Odette is wearing a white fluffy beaded dress fit for a Swan Queen and I am in a black velvet tux. Odette beams at me, her beautiful long black hair piled upon her head in a pearl beaded net.

  I look into her big blue eyes; for one drop in eternity, nothing else exists but the two of us, floating upon a rainbow cloud.

  The spell is shattered by a purple smoke bomb exploding close by. That’s our signal. Our vows are spoken, till death do us part.

  It is time for us to bolt.

  Rushing through the crowd, I catch a glimpse of a tall man in a black fur coat with a fur collar raised high around his throat, who is standing by an armed car. He looks right at me, sending chills down my spine, but he does not move to stop us. His brows furrow slightly and he talks into a phone on his wrist. My heart races as I start the car, looking back to see if he or anyone else is on our tail. There are no government vehicles or cop cars as I get onto the highway. Everything is already packed up in our old banged-up white Volkswagen van. This van has seen its fair share of music festivals, road trips, and moving days. We vanish into the outskirts of town like two little ghosts, speeding past the buildings and the farmhouses, towards the endless white expanse of the winter tundra. No one can know where we are. This is it. We might have to stay underground for a while.

  Odette beams at me and I smile back. “I would not take back a single moment of that for all the peace of mind in the universe,” I tell her, and I mean it.

  “You are my hero, Alexei.”

  “It’s not gonna be easy, love. There’s always the chance they will find us,” I say, squeezing her hand.

  “Don’t be pessimistic!”

  “You’re optimistic enough for the both of us, Odette.”

  We drive all the way there till we reach the cabin. It is deep in the Siberian forest. No cars behind us for the last 30 miles. The snow keeps falling and falling, covering up our tire tracks in a downy blanket.

  We are home.

  Odette

  It has been a week since we arrived at Alexei’s family cabin. We have managed to find plenty of firewood and fresh meat.

  We have been watching the news every day. It looks like we have stirred up some controversy.

  There are warrants out for our arrest for public indecency as well as unlawful marriage. On the news I see gay couples gathering to marry in public spaces and police brigades chasing and beating them up. Protests are breaking out. It looks like our little stunt had an impact. While it seems that we have inspired many people to do the same, the Russian government is remaining firm. They say that gay marriage is against the law and immoral.

  So we are pretty much stuck here indefinitely. I am bored out of my mind. Alexei is always out hunting. She used to hunt with her father and I am glad she knows how, though I wonder if she is just out there so that she doesn’t have to be in here with me, stuck with the fears and the doubts and the news on the TV. On the bright side, I have been making some new friends!

  The nicest feral cats live in these woods. As a child I never got to see any wild animals, growing up in the city. It was so dreary. There were plenty of rats and pigeons, but not much more. I would watch the nature shows on TV. I was always fascinated with the grace of cats. Once I found a stray black kitten and my mother made me take it to the shelter. She said cats were trouble and bad luck. I cried for days and days.

  I noticed them through the window, playing and jumping from tree to tree, one day when I was reading an old, beat up copy of Anna Karenina that I found in the cabin.

  I have never seen cats like this! They are wild.

  I sit outside and watch them play in the snow. They almost feel like a family to me. They have these soulful eyes. They gaze upon me with such tenderness and wisdom. They come up to me and rub themselves on my legs, purring loudly like little furry furnaces. There is something of a victory, being able to stroke and pet such a wild animal. I see them viciously decapitate squirrels and rabbits and yet they still look so sweet as they eat the carcass clean.

  They are the most beautiful creatures. Their fur is thick and feathery, and they
are the most graceful, majestic animals I have ever seen in person. They are larger than ordinary housecats. Their tails are like raccoons. It brings me such joy, seeing how free they are.

  It reminds me of how trapped I feel. I live vicariously through them. There is something very wild about the faraway look in their eyes, and yet they come to me and eat from my hand, sweet as kittens.

  I even started naming them. I gush about them during dinnertime to Alexei. I think she thinks I am going a bit batty but she’s happy I am trying to stay positive. Like I have a choice. She’s gloomy enough for the both of us.

  Some honeymoon this has turned out to be . . .

  Alexei

  Two weeks have passed and our faces are still being plastered all over the news. I have come to the bitter realization that we will probably die here. The violence is escalating. Some of our friends have been arrested and are being held indefinitely for questioning. This is why we could not tell anyone, especially our closest friends and family, where we were going.

  Odette remains cheerful. I need that. It’s easy to forget why it was worth it to risk everything.

  I know she hates being alone but I do not want her with me when I go out. If someone

  were to find me, then she would be dead too. I could not live with that. Every time I go out, I take my father’s shotgun and I scout the perimeter of this land, up to the edge of the forest, for any sign of intruders. So far, so good. The game is getting scarce as the winter months grow colder. I have to stay out longer and longer. I am glad that my father took me hunting as a child. It built up my stamina. After hours of retracing all my empty rabbit traps I finally spotted a lone caribou, grazing on some berries. I got it with one clean gunshot. That should last us a while. Odette cooked it to perfection.

  The cats now surround us. Proust, a smoky gray longhair with cobalt blue eyes, gnaws on a bone while Emma Bovary, a pure white Siberian, licks her creamy paws, and Anna Karenina, a black kitten with bright green eyes, lounges by the fireplace. I am starting to love these furry companions as much as Odette does.

  Odette and I, we are like these cats. We can survive in the wild if we must, but we won’t turn down a warm fire and a hot meal, either.

  I clean the dishes as Odette opens a bottle of red wine. She pours us each a glass and sits down on the sofa by the fire. I join her when I’m done with the dishes and she lays her dark head on my shoulder. We stare wordlessly into the leaping flames, eyes glazed, sipping the wine.

  “Are you scared Alexei?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Me too. I love it here, but I wish we had a choice, you know?”

  “I know. But we did make a choice. We knew this could happen.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you, Odette.”

  “I love you too.”

  We fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  Visitor

  I am startled awake by a persistent pounding on the hardwood door. The dying embers are crackling in the fireplace atop a pile of gray ash. Odette’s head is still resting on my shoulder.

  Three thundering knocks. Odette sits up. Her eyes wide with fear.

  The door bursts open. The tall, dark haired man who had glared at me at our wedding trudges in through the door. He’s wearing a thick, floor length black fur coat and a round fur hat with the gold and silver pin of the Russian flag upon it.

  He takes out a gun and points it at us. Our three cats look up, startled.

  “I don’t want to waste your time or mine. I am here on behalf of the Russian government. You two have caused us quite a bit of havoc. We must make an example of you to get the city under control. You have three choices: you make a televised public apology for breaking the law, lifetime prison for treason, or death right now for resisting arrest. It is your decision. I am here to execute these orders.”

  “What?” I gasp, unable to process what is happening.

  “There must be a mistake!” Cries Odette, scrambling to her feet.

  “No mistake. These are my orders,” he says, taking a few steps towards us.

  “You can’t do this! We are human beings and you are treating us like cattle!” I cry, running to Odette and wrapping my arms around her.

  “Lady, don’t give me trouble. You heard your choices. If you have any sense you would come peacefully with me, apologize, and get on with your life. Problem solved,” he says, reaching for his gun.

  “You fucking bastard. I would rather die standing by the woman I love! Fuck you, you fascist pig!” screams Odette.

  “Fair,” he says and shoots her in the head, splattering her brains across the sofa.

  I scream and duck behind the sofa.

  The little kitten, Proust, hisses at him and he shoots him next. His yelp pierces the night and I scream again. The other cats run outside and he points the gun at me.

  He towers over and kicks me in the chest with his steel-toed boots. I lose all breath as he drags me outside by the hair.

  The moon is full and the snow reflects the icy light. I catch my breath as he ties my hands together above my head and hooks them onto a tree branch.

  He rips open my t-shirt, exposing my breasts to the bitter cold. He pulls off my pants and my underwear as I try to break free.

  I swallow big gulps of icy air before he sticks the gun in my mouth. It is still warm from shooting Odette. I gag and choke as he slides it deeper down my throat. My tears are streaming and my body is becoming numb. My scalp crawls with terror. The only heat I feel comes from his body upon me. He grunts as he thrusts. He forces himself into me. He pounds hard and fast as I choke on his gun. His thick fur coat rubs coarsely against my frostbitten skin.

  He finishes quickly and lights a cigar.

  My entire body has become an icicle and my lips are lead. I want to throw up. I can taste the gunmetal on my lips.

  He opens my chapped frozen lips with his leather gloved fingers and he spits a big wad of cigar phlegm into my mouth. I cough and choke and he laughs.

  Snow begins to fall and I see a million cat eyes glittering in the moonlight.

  Ice catches in my throat. Icewater in my lungs.

  The hot air leaves me in misty puffs that dissipate into the air.

  I am no longer Alexei.

  Cats

  We lick and bite her frozen fingers, but her heart is in the snow. It is spilling out—a red river between her legs.

  We call our brothers and our sisters and they come from miles around. We gather in a circle around her, and we yowl at the moon. We see the beast go back into the cabin. We will trap it.

  We surround the cabin and climb onto each other to peer through the windows. We see the beast sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, smoking a cigar and drinking a bottle of Vodka.

  We scratch the windows with our claws and start yowling in unison, higher and higher.

  The beast opens the door, gun in hand.

  We hiss and yowl and swarm into the cabin.

  We circle it, meowing, licking our lips. The beast looks like it is full of meat. Our bellies growl.

  It screams.

  We leap at the creature all at once, scratching and clawing in a frenzy. Fur flying, teeth gnashing. It waves its arms frantically, trying to throw us off, managing to catch our sisters Anna and Emma, throwing them at the rough log walls, while more and more of us come in droves, clawing and biting at its arms and face. It waves its arms around frantically, uselessly.

  Flesh against claw, claw against bone. Tooth and claw, rag and bone. Crunch. Gnash. Chew. Eyeballs. Tongue. Entrails. Munch. Munch. Munch.

  It coughs and chokes on red stuff while it clutches at the flaps of its shredded throat. It falls to its knees and vomits the blood onto the hardwood floor.

  We lap up it up—a heart for a heart . . . drop for drop, until our bellies are nice and full.

  We are home.

  BEAST

  There is a darkness. I am in his castle. I have lost track of time. A rose brought me here a
nd a promise keeps me here. His eyes are sad and every night I dress up for a lavish dinner.

  Every night he asks me the same question, “Will you sleep with me.”

  Every night I say, “No.”

  Every night he leaves quietly and I return to my room.

  Every night I dream about a beautiful prince with the same sad eyes of the Beast. I love him completely but he will not let me kiss him and I cry. I wake up with tears still wet on my lashes like the morning dew.

  Every morning I wake up wet between the legs with tears in my eyes from unrequited desire.

  Every night the Beast asks me, “Will you sleep with me?”

  Every night I say, “No.”

  It is the Eve before Christmas. My first Christmas without my family. I look out the window at the falling snow before I come down to dinner. I am no longer the innocent girl who asked her father for a rose. For my love of flowers I got a Beast as a reward. It has been a bitter year of laying my childhood selves on the ground, shedding them like old petticoats until all I have left is the spiked heart of an iron maiden underneath. I look at the falling snow and it looks like me; pale and weak, almost transparent.

  My brain is frozen in this nightmare and my body only comes alive when I dream of my handsome sad prince who will never kiss me. A tear escapes my eye and it freezes on my cheek as I lean up against the windowpane.

  If I jumped out this window I would feel alive for a minute of free falling, free from fear, free from sadness, free from desire. I punch a hole through the window and marvel at my fist covered in blood with shards sticking out of it. A shard cut into my wrist and it forms a bright river down my white lace dress. My heart leaps with excitement and I take the leap. The air whizzes past my ears. I feel free as I am free falling down and down into the soft white icy bed covering the dead rose garden beneath my tower window.

  I see the prince in my mind but I feel the coarse fur of the Beast on my skin. My body is broken and I am frozen and I cannot stop smiling. My head is cracked open. My legs are broken.

  He loves me. I see him in my mind and I feel him on my skin and he is sobbing massive, salty tears down upon my face. He lifts me up and carries me inside. My world goes black but I am in a bed by a roaring fire.