Man Made Boy

by Jon Skovron

  “A man like Carmine wouldn’t set foot in a theater.”

  We walked in silence for a little while, then I said, “Still, he seemed nice.”

  “He is very discreet. We have an understanding. I pay him exceptionally well and in cash, and he doesn’t question me about our excessive rat consumption.”

  “He didn’t seem all that freaked out by me. And he was pretty comfortable with you, too. What about all that predator and prey stuff you were talking about?”

  “Carmine may not believe in monsters, but he knows they exist.”

  “Humans are pretty complicated,” I said.

  “No, Boy. Rain-forest ecosystems are complicated. Humans are just a mess.”

  ONCE WE WERE safely back in the lobby of the theater, I felt a weird mixture of relief and disappointment. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been out there. But I felt like I had just been getting the hang of it all, and now I was stuck back in the theater and its underground caverns. It was all so…small here.

  “You did well, Boy,” said Ruthven. “Perhaps we could make this a regular occurrence.”

  “Really?” I tried not to look as pathetically eager as I felt.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Boss,” called Charon, still sitting at the box office window. “The stage manager says that the Minotaur and the Siren are at it again.”

  “Damn,” said Ruthven. “Can’t the Monster handle it?”

  “He’s covering the stage door tonight.”

  “Right, of course.” Ruthven looked at me. “This may take a while. I need you to deliver these things.”

  I looked down at the box of rats under my arm. “This, too?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Naturally,” said Ruthven a little impatiently, his mind clearly on domestic disputes. Then he glanced at me and I must have looked worried. “It will be fine. Remember to be polite, and for God’s sake, don’t just leave it at her door without saying hello. That pisses her off to no end.” Then he was gone in a blur of darkness.

  “So,” Charon called from across the lobby. “How is the big, wide world of humanity these days?”

  “Huh?” I pulled my attention away from the task of delivering the rats. “Oh, it was cool. Humans are weird.”

  “That’s the truth, Boy. Why, when they come to the window, looking for front row center, of course, and I tell them those seats have been sold out for months, somehow they think that if they just whine long enough, the seats will magically open, and…”

  Charon went on talking about his favorite subject, but I stopped paying attention. I stared down at the box in my hands and listened to the tiny furry bodies scramble around inside. Like they could sense their impending doom.

  I considered putting it off for a little while and delivering the trowes’ clothes first. But if I got the chance to give Liel her outfit, I definitely didn’t want to do it while holding a box of rats. So, I would have to see the Diva first.

  3

  Three Women

  THE DIVA’S PRIVATE room was the biggest and best furnished dressing room in the theater. I stood in front of the door and stared at the gold-painted star with the script written across the top: Madame Medusa.

  I’d only been in the same room with the Diva a few times, and never alone. Dad spent a lot of time with her, because she sometimes demanded company and when he was “switched off,” he could look directly at her without turning to stone.

  I placed the box on the ground and knocked twice, very softly. The Diva didn’t like loud noises. I waited for what seemed like a long time, but there was no response.

  “Madame Medusa? I have your…stuff from the pet store.”

  “Boy?” Hearing her voice felt a little like the brain freeze you get from eating ice cream too quickly. “Is that you?”

  “Y-y-yes, Madame.”

  “So…Mommy’s finally letting you out from under her apron strings….”

  I waited, shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet. I repeated to myself over and over that there was nothing to be worried about. Give her the rats, a few minutes of polite conversation, and then I could go give Liel her shirt.

  At last, the Diva said, “Well, come in, Boy.”

  When I opened the door, I was hit by a blast of humid air that smelled like rotting cedar. The fluorescent lights were off. Instead, the room was dimly lit by floor lamps draped in red and purple silk. Unlike all the other dressing rooms, this one had no mirrors.

  Behind a white curtain, I could see Medusa’s silhouette on a divan in the corner. She appeared to be lounging on a pile of pillows, her back slightly arched. Thin shadows writhed around her head—the tiny snakes she had instead of hair.

  “Very kind of you to bring me my weekly rations. Would you be a doll and put them here?” The silhouette of her arm rose up, then her finger slowly uncurled and pointed to a chair just outside of the curtained area next to her divan.

  I moved slowly over to the chair. The curtain shielded me from the full impact of her magic, but my muscles still felt stiff. I put the box on the chair, then took a few steps back. When I did, I heard a muffled crunch beneath my feet. I had stepped on a large sheath of dried, colorless snakeskin.

  The curtain parted slightly next to the chair, and Medusa’s hand slowly emerged. Her skin was absolutely white and gleamed with the wet-looking sparkle that snakeskin had after shedding. She placed her hand on top of the box and let it rest there a moment. Even seeing this small bit of her made my jaw clench and unclench.

  “Tell me, Boy. Have you ever seen my act?”

  “N-no, Madame.”

  She drew her fingernail across the tape that held the box closed, cutting it cleanly. I could hear the rats inside scrambling around, squeaking in panic.

  “I suppose your mother has deemed it unsuitable for minors.”

  “Yeah.”

  She laughed quietly and a chill ran through my body, bringing with it more muscle spasms.

  “Well, you’re not a child anymore.”

  “No, Madame.”

  “Nearly the human legal age of adulthood, I believe.”

  “One more year, Madame.”

  Her hand hovered over the open box, weaving slowly back and forth.

  “I get a little peevish after I’ve just molted. It’s hard to restrain myself onstage when I’m in that kind of mood. You know what happens then, don’t you? You’ve heard, at least.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Humans are such fragile things. It’s hard not to damage them.”

  Her hand lunged into the box and withdrew a single struggling rat. It shrieked pitifully as she drew it back behind the curtain.

  I watched her silhouette as she held the rat by its tail above her head. Her lips parted as she lowered it down. Then her mouth opened larger and larger, her jaw becoming completely unhinged. Then she snapped, the shrieks stopped, and the rat was gone.

  It took her about a minute to swallow the rat. Once she finished, she said:

  “On a night like this, when I’m feeling a bit waspish, it soothes me to have someone watching me whom I really like.” She turned her head toward me, and even behind the curtain, her direct gaze made my entire body freeze. My rib cage was so tense I could hardly breathe. “I really like you, Boy. So, will you watch my act tonight?”

  “S-sure, M-Madame,” I said through my teeth.

  She turned her gaze away and my muscles relaxed a little. I took a deep breath.

  “Wonderful, Boy. You are most kind.” She nestled deeper into her pillows. “I’m feeling sleepy now. You may go.”

  “T-t-thank you, Madame.” I stumbled shakily back to the door.

  “See you tonight at The Show,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “Of course not, Madame! See you tonight!” Then I left, wondering how I was going to do that when my mom had specifically told me I wasn’t allowed to see her act.

  THE TROWE WERE the ones who had dug out the catacombs bene
ath the theater that we all lived in. It was some impressive work, navigating around city plumbing, sewers, electrical lines, and subway lines. Most levels were furnished like apartments. But the trowe lived on the lowest level, and they had purposely left it more cavelike. The rough stone walls gleamed damply in the harsh halogen lights that lined the stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs was a large, black, iron door, dotted with rust and grime. I lifted the massive door knocker and brought it down three times. Each time it struck, it echoed back up the stairs. After a few minutes, I heard a bolt slide open. Then the door swung inward. Ku’lah stood in the doorway.

  “Boy.” Her thick, white eyebrows curled down. “Again.”

  “Good evening, Lady Ku’lah. I have, uh, well, I went with Ruthven to pick up some clothes for the den.” I held out the bag.

  Ku’lah nodded and took it from me. “Thank you.”

  “Oh,” I said. “There’s a…a shirt…in there for…uh…”

  “Spit it out, Boy. I have things to do.”

  “It’s a shirt for Liel.”

  She looked at me for moment, her face totally expressionless. I caught myself holding my breath. I was half expecting her to tell me to get lost and stay away from her daughter. But then she turned her head back inside and bellowed, “Liel, come here!”

  “What is it?” Liel’s voice called back. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Now!” yelled Ku’lah.

  After a moment, Liel’s head poked around from behind the door, her slanted, diamond eyes glittering in the light.

  “Hey, Boy,” she said.

  “Hey.” I tried to sound cool. Not sure I succeeded.

  Liel looked back at her mother. “Awesome, Mom. Thanks for conforming to trowe stereotypes yet again and being rude to guests. Couldn’t you at least invite him in?”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I can’t stay long, anyway.”

  “Boy has something for you.” Ku’lah thrust the bag back into my hands and went inside.

  Liel and I stood for a second in silence. I wondered if she felt the same kind of crazy electricity that I did when we were alone together. She looked at me curiously as she leaned against the iron door, her long, white hair framing her smooth, dark green face.

  “You have something for me?” she asked.

  “Yeah, uh, I went shopping with Ruthven and—”

  “No shit!” She leaned forward. “You went outside? How was it?”

  “Oh, uh, it was cool. Kind of intense, but you get used to it.” Sure. First time out of the theater. No biggie. “Anyway, uh, Ruthven was buying clothes for the trowe so, I, uh, picked out yours.” Before she could respond, I grabbed her shirt out of the bag and handed it to her. She held it up and examined it for a moment, then nodded appreciatively. The knot in my chest loosened a little.

  “You picked this out?” She sounded surprised.

  “Well, uh, this girl helped me.”

  “You went shopping with a human girl?” Her eyes grew wide. “That’s so amazing!”

  “Yeah, I guess. It was—”

  “Liel!” Ku’lah’s voice came from inside.

  “Listen, I have to get ready for The Show.” Liel put her hand on my upper arm. “But I definitely want to hear more about going outside and the human girl. Stop by the dressing room after the performance tonight.”

  “Really?” I tried not to gush.

  “Totally! We’ll go to the Cantina and you can tell me the whole thing.”

  “Okay, yeah…uh, sure, that sounds awesome!”

  “And thanks for the shirt,” she said.

  “You like it?” I asked.

  “Completely.” She smiled at me, her sharp, bright, perfect teeth gleaming in the halogen lights.

  “Great.” I melted into her sparkling, colorless eyes. If I was watching myself, I probably would have been totally disgusted. But I couldn’t help it. She was just so beautiful.

  After a moment, I realized I was standing there staring at her like a complete freak. “Oh, uh, here’s the rest of the clothes for the den.” I handed her the bag. “Break a leg tonight. See you after The Show.”

  Then I practically sprinted up the stairs.

  “WELL?”

  Mom loomed in the entrance to our apartment, her misshapen hands resting on her hips, her column of black hair sticking straight up with a white streak on either side. A slight crease along her temples told me that she probably would have been frowning if the stitching on her forehead wasn’t so tight.

  “Hi, Mom.” I gave her an innocent smile and tried to slip past. But she pressed her hand against my chest and held me in place.

  “Where were you?”

  “You weren’t around, so I had to ask Dad.” If she didn’t know yet, she’d find out when she plugged Dad back in that night. Better to hear it now from me.

  “Ask him what?”

  “I went shopping with Ruthven.”

  “Shopping?” she said. “Outside?”

  “Yeah.”

  She stared down at me. Her right eye had been giving her problems, and she hadn’t had time to replace it yet, so it looked off somewhere over my left shoulder. But her left eye was piercing.

  “Don’t worry. They thought I was human.”

  “A real human?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “They thought I was a human who had been in an accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “You know. Because of the stitches.”

  “And that was it? Just a human with stitches?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Ah.”

  She stared at me for a moment longer, then turned and walked back into our apartment. It was so hard to read my mom. When Victor Frankenstein had made her, he’d wanted her to look beautiful, like a porcelain doll. But he hadn’t taken function into account at all, so her face was almost completely immobile, frozen in this vaguely surprised look. And she wasn’t really much for talking about her feelings, either. So I couldn’t tell if she was really pissed or relieved that nothing bad had happened. I followed cautiously behind her into the apartment.

  Our entire home was about the size of the Diva’s dressing room. The common living area was all one space. In the kitchen section, there were a mismatched refrigerator, stove, and sink, all rebuilt with parts reclaimed from late-night trips to a junkyard. My mom was amazing at fixing and rebuilding things. She didn’t get people. They made her uncomfortable, and she only ever talked to me, Dad, Charon, and when necessary, Ruthven. But she understood gadgets and machines almost like she spoke their language.

  In the center of the space was a table big enough to fit the three of us. In the corner was always a small, neat stack of metal and plastic odds and ends salvaged from junk. My mom spent a lot of time trying to assemble these parts into something useful. That was where our television came from, as well as the toaster oven, the stereo, and all my computers. But even though my mom had built all these things, she had zero interest in using them. When Dad and I watched television, she sat and watched us watching the television, as if her only real enjoyment was seeing us enjoy using it.

  After my adventures in the real world, I felt like I’d earned some serious computer time.

  But then my mom said, “Boy.”

  I stopped and looked back at her. She stood over the sink, staring into the drain. She did that a lot. Like she expected to see something in it. The only things I ever saw in the drain were roaches.

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “Were you scared? Outside?”

  “At first. But after I got used to it, it wasn’t so bad.”

  “Wasn’t so bad…” she echoed. “I wonder if it’s changed. Since I was outside.”

  “Sure.” I tried to sound encouraging. “You haven’t been out there in over twenty years. I’ll bet the humans have changed a lot.”

  She nodded once, slowly, but didn’t say anything else.

  There were a lot of creatures in the co
mpany, like Shaun and his crew, who just thought of humans as the audience who paid the bills. There were some, like Charon and my dad, who were comfortable with humans but distrusted them. And there were some, like my mom, who totally hated them. I couldn’t really blame her, after what Victor Frankenstein and other humans had done to her and my dad over the years. But I knew it meant she would never understand why I was so interested in them and their world.

  4

  Magic Numbers

  MY ROOM WAS crammed with computers. Not all of them worked anymore, and of those that did, not all of them worked well. But I never threw any of them out, because inevitably, Mom or I would find some use for them, either as salvage for spare parts for another computer or as something completely different, like the remote-controlled spotlights for The Show. There wasn’t much else in my room except an unmade bed with camo sheets and an old wooden dresser stuffed with clothes.

  I took off my hoodie and nestled down into the heaping mass of electronics. I rolled up my sleeves, then tugged the stitches loose on the undersides of my forearms. I lifted up flaps of skin to expose USB ports just below each of my wrists. Then I pulled out two USB cables that were connected to the back of my favorite computer and plugged them into my wrists. My hands were strong, but my fingers were too thick and clumsy to type with any precision. A few years ago I realized that I could type much faster if I just bypassed my fingers completely. So I wrote a program that decoded neurological impulses and converted them into digital commands. Then Mom helped me install some custom USB ports that connected directly to my nervous system at the wrists. So all I had to do was think about typing, and the text appeared on the screen.

  Well, it would if I had a screen.

  I pulled a DVI cable from the same computer. I lifted my hair up in the back and screwed the cable into the jack on the back of my head. When I first started using computers, I wore out eyes really quickly staring at monitors all the time. Eyes were relatively easy to replace, but hard to find in good condition. So, since things worked out so well with my USB hand bypasses, I just had my mom install a DVI jack at the base of my cortex and bypassed my eyes, too. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as easy as the USB bypasses. The jack installation took mom several hours to complete. And writing the conversion program was a lot more complex because I had to translate flat, digital binary into straight-up rich analog. It took forever to code, and even once it was done I still had to tweak the color calibration on a regular basis. Still, it saved Ruthven a lot of trips to the morgue for fresh eyes. And, you know, it was just cool that I could interface directly with my computer.