Body of Immorality

by Brandon Berntson

  He might hurt the guy’s feelings, Henry thought, but he wasn’t in the mood for games. Something about the way the man joked put him on edge. It wasn’t how Henry wanted to enjoy Idaho’s scenery.

  He shifted in the seat again. The cool evening wind felt good against his face. He took a deep breath and shut the man’s voice out of his head, trying to enjoy the ride. Fifteen minutes went by without a single interruption, a distraction, a single car driving by. Talk about enjoying your time alone.

  Maybe it was faulty wiring, he thought, and wondered why he had this thought.

  Surprising him, somehow—after his relaxing fifteen minutes—the voice came through the radio again, despite the switch turned to the ‘off’ position. Henry thought he was imagining it.

  “I don’t understand why you’d cut me off right in the middle of our conversation, Rohrey-ole-girl,” the man said. “What is the meaning, I would like to know? Did I offend you in some way? Did I bring out the worst in you, Booby?”

  The radio was not an old one. He knew it was in perfect, working order. When he shut it off, he knew he’d put an end to any incoming calls.

  Cold sweat broke out on Henry’s neck, armpits, and the crack in his buttocks. His heart skipped a beat. His furrowed his brows. A minute ago, life had brimmed with meaning and satisfaction. Had some unruly, unnatural thing just happened? Was he home in bed, dreaming foolish dreams? In seconds, percipience took a sudden leap, a noticeable shift into a territory he’d never been before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was a trifle…frightened?

  But doesn’t that justify there is something wrong with it? Henry thought. Obviously, the radio is not in working order. Obviously the damn thing has malfunctioned, and now I have to listen to this creep whether I want to or not!

  Henry looked at the switch turned to the ‘off’ position.

  Confirm what? The switch doesn’t work. That’s all.

  It did not explain, however, the cold sweat. Where was this sudden, barren fear coming from suddenly, as if he’d stepped into a freshly dug grave? The fear came from knowing the c.b. was in perfect working order. The voice was stronger than radio transmitters. In the coldness of his heart, Rohrey knew this.

  Where’s Rod Serling when you need him? he thought.

  “Now, then Rohrey, ole girl,” the voice chimed in. “What is the cause of your actions? What is the reason for your behavior?”

  He did not care that the voice had crossed from one unknown dimension to another.

  Henry picked up the c.b. and heatedly shouted into it:

  “Look here, you sonofabitch! I’m in no mood for games, you got that? I don’t know who the hell you are, but you get off this line right now! Is that understood? Do I make myself clear?”

  Waiting for a reply, Henry received a long lapse of silence instead. After twenty seconds, the voice started up again:

  “You know something, Rohrey? You’ve pushed the wrong buttons, you have. Shouting is one thing, old girl. It’s rude and doesn’t suit you. But, ‘sonofabitch…Now, that was not a very nice thing to say. ‘Sonofabitch’ will take you to some unlovely places, Rohr-buster. ‘Sonofabitch’ sure wasn’t the right thing to do.”

  Henry gripped the wheel, knuckles white, teeth grinding together. His ears hurt.

  The idea that the voice was coming through on its own didn’t concern Henry Rohrey. He accepted the fact that the radio had malfunctioned. Now, he was simply irate. Henry wanted a moment alone with the bastard, whoever he was. Just five seconds in a dark room…

  Rohrey reached out with his right hand (left hand still holding the wheel) and clutched the radio mounted on the dashboard. Using all his might, he yanked, tugged, and pried at it, all the while keeping his eyes on the road. After some vicious, sweat-gathering violence, the radio came lose, sending black particles of plastic through the air. Irritated his relaxing drive had been ruined, Henry tossed the radio out the cab of the truck and onto the highway. He looked in the side mirror and watched it shatter on the asphalt of Highway 91.

  Henry was sweating, breathing heavily. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and managed to smile.

  Was he going crazy? Christ! Nothing like this had ever happened before. My Feet Are Burnin’ was a practical jokester, a disgusting one even, but he didn’t know any truckers who were downright sadistic.

  Henry was, however, aware of the dark region he’d slipped into. Another side convinced him nothing was amiss at all.

  All systems clear, Henry thought. We got a deadline to make.

  Yet, he was breathing heavily for reasons he didn’t understand. If he were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears accompanied by the sound of a screaming locomotive.

  A malfunction was the only explanation, but he’d need a new explanation in the following seconds because suddenly—without static, without radio—the voice was everyone around him. It was bouncing through the cab of the semi:

  “Now then, Rohrey-ole-girl, a rule or two in the etiquette of politeness. No name calling. Is that understood?”

  The voice was right next to Rohrey’s ear. The stranger was invisible yet—somehow—sitting on the seat beside him.

  “I SAID, ‘IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?’”

  Henry did not reply. He was testing the voice, seeing how far it would go. Rohrey was infuriated, throttled at the same time. He was silently daring the voice to show itself. He’d settle this confrontation! He considered slowing Baby down, stepping out of the cab, onto the road, and shrieking, “SHOW YOURSELF, YOU SONOFABITCH!”

  “Henry, you are making me very angry. If you do not answer me, several things are going to happen. I will take control of Baby-doll here and drive you off into the land of Mary Poppins. I will set fire to the fuel tank. I will grab your nuts from between your legs and squeeze so hard you’ll wish you’d filled out an application for the Vienna Boys’ Choir. Do you hear me?”

  The preposterousness of these threats made Rohrey think otherwise. Suddenly (he didn’t know how), but he believed what the voice was telling him. He believed it could do all those things and more. It could reach up between his legs with invisible hands and pluck his manhood from between his thighs. Oh, yes. It could do all that and more.

  The slip was real, only Henry wasn’t aware of the slip. This time, the slip was darker. He forgot his failed marriage, his dying mother, the unease he felt at never graduating high school. He wasn’t aware of the deadline at 11:30 pm that night. He didn’t even know what state he was driving in. The scenery disappeared, unnoticed and unappreciated. The semi was only a semi. Baby was part of a fading dream.

  Like an obedient child, Rohrey replied:

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Well then, that is very good. I mean that is just faaan- tastic! That is suuu-pernal. Joy and laughter, yes sir! What do you think of that, Rohrey?”

  “I think that’s just fine,” Henry said, like a robot.

  He did not believe in the supernatural. He did not put his faith in the Almighty. When he heard ghost stories or tales confirming visitations from the dead, Henry questioned, scoffed, and raised his eyebrows. He was a good skeptic, shaking his head in disgust. He made contemptuous sounds. Sometimes, Henry even laughed with considerable volume at these stories.

  Rohrey, however, was listening now, virtually slapping his heels together. Yes, sir! Okay, sir! Anything you say, sir! He did not question the authority because it was more powerful than he was. Gradually, it worked its way under his flesh, a gentle, oozing acceptance. Henry felt as if he’d been drugged.

  “What do you want from me?” Rohrey asked, after a time.

  “That is a very good question,” the voice replied. “That is a very good question, Rohrey-ole-girl. I should give you about a million points for asking a question like that. A question like that has got depth; it’s rich! Why, a question like that might take you to some happy places. How did you come up with a question like that, Rohrey-ole-girl? I didn’t think you had the faculties to g
et in touch with a question of that magnitude. Are you Buddy’s Boy’s Pet Rocket Assistant or something? Can you tell me that, Rohr-buster? Are you some kind of fucking genius?”

  Rohrey sat and thought about it.

  This is not the slip, he thought. The part where my brain accepts the unnatural and becomes a part of the unnatural with acceptance. I am not losing my mind. This is not happening. I am just bored! I’m making it all up!

  “It’s a simple question,” Henry replied, not seeing the road, but still driving. Something was driving him while he was driving the truck. “What do you want from me?”

  “Who’s to say what I want, Henry. I mean everybody wants something, don’t they? President wants a good hand job, and not from his wife. Athletes want more money because they think they’re worth more than ten-zillion-goddamn dollars for putting a big orange ball in a tiny fucking basket. Artists want inspiration. They’re all a bunch of greedy cocksuckers, if you want to know, Henry. Hate the whole goddamn lot of them. The question perhaps, Rohrey-girl, is what do you want? What does your little brain-pan think about more than anything in the known universe?”

  Henry (what was left of him) sat, still driving, heedless of the world, and thought about the man’s question. He sifted through a whirlpool of wants and ideas. He thought of a million different things he’d wanted over the course of his life. He was still in there—locked in the back of his mind perhaps—only wanting to be alone. He didn’t want the voice in his life anymore. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the landscape while there was still light in the sky. He wanted to feel the cool breeze blowing through the window. Henry Rohrey suddenly realized his thoughts and desires were out there for this phantom fiend to read. All he had to do was think them. The voice had all it needed.

  How had this happened anyway? Hadn’t he been perfectly normal minutes ago?

  “Well, that is quite a heap, quite the old dung-pile of garbage you got in that skull of yours, Rohrey. And I must say, I’m a little insulted. I mean, I’m not just gonna go away now, am I? After all I’ve done? There’s still so much to do, so much to accomplish! We have cities to build, treasures to bury! It all depends on the fate of man, the togetherness of a new earth, all of its lovely highways. Does it make sense to you, Rohrey-ole-girl? Am I making myself clear? Or is it sailing far and fast over your head, completely out of reach? You’re not grasping the situation is what I think. Ladies and gentleman, I think we have ourselves a SIT-U-A-TION!”

  Henry Rohrey didn’t know. Life, for whatever reason, suddenly made more sense now than when he’d discovered truck driving nineteen-years ago. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad, having a companion to share these lonely stretches of road with. Maybe chains were good. Maybe all he ever really needed…

  Was a friend.

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet,” the voice said.

  Henry’s mind shifted into, yet, another dimension. He tried coming back to himself, but it was hopeless. It was better to let go, let the current take him. The invisible phantom manipulated him perfectly, controlling every thought and action. Henry would never regain his nerve as long as the phantom was here.

  For a minute, Rohrey did come back to himself. For the briefest second, he did everything he could to banish the demon from his thoughts, his last attempt to salvage whatever sanity he had left, his position as a humorous, quiet man in the throes of everyday life. After all, he had something to live for!

  “Why don’t you just leave me the hell ALONE?” Henry shrieked. He’d said that before, hadn’t he? “Why don’t you take your goddamn insults, your condescending tone of voice, and shove ’em up your ASS? Do you HEAR me? Are you listening, you invisible prick? Why don’t you bring yourself into the light where I can SEE you?”

  He’d worked himself up, could feel the sweat under his collar, the heat, the pressure of his running pulse. The more he thought about the voice, the more unbalanced he became. If it would show itself, he’d grab it by its thin chicken neck and—

  “Henry!” the voice cracked like a shotgun blast. “Henry, my friend, you have just caused a dispute that will annihilate the masses! You’ve just bought a one-way ticket to eternal darkness! Do you have anyone who can speak in your defense?”

  One last gasp at his normality, his life away from the unnatural:

  “Do you think I’m scared of you?” Henry asked, sweat dripping into his eyes. He realized at that moment, that he might be a trifle lunatic. “Do you think you frighten me?”

  “Ooo-ooo. You keep it in check like a good little boy. Anger is what I’ve been driving you toward! You know those dreams you had as a boy? You see them, don’t you? Right there? On the horizon?”

  Henry was seething! He was ready to tear out the hearts of men! He was burning under his collar! His ears were on fire!

  “That’s right, Henry! Let’s see it! And speaking of seeing it, let’s show it to you, Rohrey-ole-girl! You want to see the land of marauders and self-desolation, the birth of destruction? You got it, Titty-bop-Booby. Or Wilted Titty, as the case may be. Nothing would please me more! You just take a load off! Relax. Stay a while. Sit back and enjoy the ride. You’ve earned it. I’ll get you a lemonade. I’ll show you some wonderful sights, yessir! I’ll show you what’s on the other side of this roundabout highway!”

  Outside the cab of Baby, the world turned into a blazing inferno. The twisting, rolling hills of southern Idaho, suddenly vanished. Everything was flat. Colors swirled and coalesced, bright, warm, and mesmerizing. Everything—from a foot in front of the semi’s grill, to the horizon miles away—owned the attributes of fire. The sky burned hot yellow with billowing, black smoke. Sheets of loud, red and orange flame licked the sky. The horizon blistered and crumbled into smoldering paper. Smoke burned Henry’s eyes. He choked on the billowing fumes pouring through the cab. Baby was roaring through a holocaust.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Rohrey ole girl! Times a’changing, see? You have drawn your last breath. The jungle is on fire! Strawberry Shortcake has been sent to the dogs, and it’s all your fault! The end is near! The torrential downpour! You are driving through the unending fury of Hell, Titty-bop-Booby! There’s only way to beat me, you licentious, overweight Godzilla! Put the pedal to the floor and drive on through! Or break on through, as the case may be! You a Doors, fan Henry? Jim Morrison a little out of your league? One thing he said that rang true: ‘There’s a killer on the road,’ and that sonofabitch is you, you wilted cocksucker! For shame you let this slip away!”

  Laughter bounced in every direction through the cab. It ricocheted off the windows. It seeped under Henry’s flesh.

  Was there something he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, something not only wanting to befriend him in a strange, unnatural way, but something trying to get him to do things he normally wouldn’t do?

  Of course, things were different. If he let himself go, he might never come back. He knew it. Trucking was already a distant memory.

  But that’s not so, Henry. This was a voice—not outside of him, but inside now—moving his conscience aside, making room for rationale. Your trucking life has just started. You just never saw it until now! This is the dream! This is what I did not want you to let slip away!

  Henry was willing to participate, a silent deal made with the phantom.

  “I just want to drive,” Henry pleaded.

  He didn’t know it, but the phantom smiled, looking in his direction. Rohrey kept his eyes on the flaming road, the burning terrain.

  Yes, as long as he could drive…

  Again, the view outside the cab shifted. The burning horizon disappeared, and he was back among the twisting roads of southern Idaho.

  The road, however, was no longer under the wheels of the semi. He’d taken a detour during the holocaust. Highway 91 was behind him to the east. Baby was now brutalizing one of the small island civilizations under the relentless fury of eighteen wheels. Henry steered Baby over and through backyard barbecues, swing sets, garbage cans, mailboxes, doghouses,
tool sheds, lawnmowers, motorcycles, and other various, gangly forms of motorized vehicles and lawn equipment. The rig bounced and jolted; it wailed and screamed, but never wavered. Baby roared through neighborhood houses. Baby screamed through American lives.

  A shovel landed on the scarlet hood. Twisting metal screeched through the air. Glass shattered. A bright shiny red smeared the windshield. A living room curtain replaced the shovel and quickly blew away. Various tools flew through the air on each side of the rig as Henry plowed through manicured lawns, fences, houses, and tool sheds. People of all shapes, sizes, and ages—hands in the air, terrified, and screaming—fled in all directions.

  He’d never had so much fun in his life!

  Rohrey pressed the pedal closer to the floor.

  If this wasn’t entertainment, nothing was! If this was how he was supposed to replace the lonely nights, he welcomed it! He was a child. His dreams had come true at an absurdly tender age…

  It’s been a long time since you were able to relax, he thought. Soak in good cheer. Root for the bad guys.

  “Yes sir! Whoo-eee! That’s what I’m talking about, Rohrey ole girl! That’s the issue I’ve been trying to make! The light, Rohrey, the light! You have come into the light, and things are definitely brighter! Or at least more red! Hehehe! Yee-haaww!”

  Something nudged Henry’s ribs, an elbow in his side. The phantom laughed. It was sitting next to him, a tangible shadow.

  He’d never found a situation so comical, he admitted. Yes, Rohrey was enjoying himself. A clown lived inside him, and goddamnit, he was making the most of every second!

  From what Henry saw, the town he’d bulldozed through was completely demolished, a blood-filled graveyard as Baby roared through it all. The screams echoed in his ears, the sight of horror-stricken faces…

  Then suddenly, all was quiet.

  Rohrey turned the truck around, rumbling over broken fences, and upturned lawns. He looked for the highway again. No one chased him. He did not hear sirens.

  Dusk moved over the horizon. Stars came out one by one.