by Nina Post
“No, I got it.” Papp tossed up the keys jauntily—but Af grabbed the keys and gave Papp a look that maybe made him believe.
Kelly ran the results of the Amenities Committee by Charlotte, showing her the list of new amenities.
“This includes the death worm lap pool?” Charlotte said.
“Yes.”
Charlotte sighed in disapproval. “This is what the residents want?” she said, looking over the list.
“Yes. Especially the death worm lap pool.”
“I want you to attend every one of these,” Charlotte said. “Ones that are attend-able.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me. I want you at each of these.”
“You got it.” Kelly looked at her online organizer, and more specifically, her list of next actions, which filled her with despair every time she saw it. It included things like purchasing bulk fire extinguishers, meeting to discuss terms of the elevator maintenance contract, review usage of the business center, talk to the phone provider about the cost of outgoing calls, meet with vendors for door and lock installation, meet with vendor to discuss the pool lights, and many, many more entries, each with about fifty steps attached.
“The book club already met,” Kelly said, showing Charlotte the flyer.
Many thanks to Pothole City Donuts for providing the doughnuts and coffee for the first meeting of the Amenity Tower Book Club. We would also like to extend a special thank you to the Jackal for the sharply-cut tea sandwiches and for heading the questions and discussions for our December selection. Our lively discussion reflected on relationships, mortality, grief, and, of course, secrets. February is about the Swiss Civil War, March is about the American Civil War, and April is about the Spanish Civil War.
“I don’t really read,” Charlotte said, with a slight unapologetic shrug.
A few minutes later, Af, Papp, and Thaddas were back on the highway heading toward Columbus, Ohio, going under the speed limit. When they reached Dublin, Af clicked on the signal and calmly exited as he was not under the impression that he was on a Formula 1 track. He pulled into a cornfield spiked with more than a hundred six feet tall white cement corncobs.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Papp said. He and Thaddas got out of the car.
Af removed a blue cooler. “Do you want lunch or not?”
Thaddas raised his hand and followed Af. “I want lunch.”
“What is this?” Papp said.
“Field of Corn,” Af told him as he headed for the middle of the field, cooler in hand. “Locally, however, it’s known as the Cement Corn, commissioned by the Dublin Arts Council in 1984.” He unfurled a blanket and spread it out on the grass.
“Oh, you were serious,” Papp said, crossing his arms. “But I didn’t bring my boater hat.”
Af opened the cooler. “Pastrami, PB and J, ham, turkey, and roast beef.” He tossed a variety of Cluck Snack-brand chips on the blanket. “I’ve also got fruit salads and chocolate chip cookies.
“Field of Corn was designed by a sculpture professor at the Ohio State University named Malcolm Cochran. Help yourself to bottled water or coffee drinks or club soda.”
“I’ll take pastrami.” Papp held up his hands and Af threw him the pastrami. “No soda?”
Af gave him a look like, of course not. “Thaddas. Sandwich?”
“Uhhh…” Thaddas deliberated. “Umm…”
Af gave Thaddas a turkey and cheese, and took the roast beef for himself.
“So, Thaddas,” Af said, opening a bag of Cluck Snack Cheezy Flats. “What were you doing hitchhiking on the Indiana border?”
“Oh, um,” Thaddas paused to clear his throat, as though unused to answering this question. “I’m a junior representative, Midwest region. Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Ohio, Wisconsin.”
“You don’t have a company car?” Papp asked. “That’s so lame.”
“Oh, I’ve only been on the job for a few weeks. I get a transit disbursement, but there’s not always transit, and sometimes I’d rather be out, walking. But I guess, to be more specific, I specialize in account managers. I’d taken care of a chain account manager for a national beef company and was on my way to the next job before I go out to see my family.”
“You kill account managers!” Papp burst out. “Cool!”
Af shot him a derisive look. “Why would that be cool? What is cool about that? And he’s not a contract killer, he’s a grim reaper.”
Papp looked at him blankly. “What’s the difference? He’s paid, isn’t he? He gets a transit dismemberment.”
Af touched his forehead. “Disbursement. He gets a transit disbursement. And it’s already their time when he comes.”
“But he, like, reaps them,” Papp pointed out. “They apparently wouldn’t die on their own—otherwise, why does he even exist?”
“Hey!” Thaddas pouted as though what Papp said mattered at all.
“So maybe, you know, there’s a fine line between contract killer and grim reaper,” Papp said.
“A contract killer involves only man’s free will,” Af said. “More is involved with what Thaddas does.”
Thaddas smiled a little, mollified, and continued eating his turkey sandwich.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Papp pressed.
“More.” Af squinted at the field and changed the subject, gesturing at the cobs. “Cochran sculpted each cob using a set of three molds. He rotated the molds so that each cob would look different.”
“Kind of how there are only so many types of people, right?” Papp said, ripping into a bag of Cheezy Flats. “Basically. So, Thadd, my man. How exactly do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Reap people!”
Thaddas got flustered. “I haven’t been doing it for long—”
“A general sense.” Papp stretched out on his side and propped himself on his elbow like a mockery of a Rubens painting.
“I find the person—”
“How?”
“Normal ways,” Thaddas said, with a slight shrug. “I find them, and I wait for a relatively good time if I can. That’s not always possible. Sometimes I don’t have latitude in my timing. Like any situation, really, some people are glad to see me. Some are not happy to see me. Some are angry with me for being what they perceive as late. Some think I’m beautiful. Some, not so much. Then I touch them. Not inappropriately. In a reaper way. There’s a difference.”
Papp snorted. Af rolled his eyes.
“And?”
“Is it…” Af wasn’t sure if he should ask. “Emotionally grueling?”
Thaddas’s face both relaxed and lit up. “Yes. Sometimes. So far, anyway.”
“How do you take your mind off of it?”
“Oh, I spend time in my memory palace.”
“Where’s your memory palace?” Af asked him.
“At home,” Thaddas said. “What used to be—well, where I grew up.”
Papp yawned over-dramatically.
“Each of these cobs weighs fifteen hundred pounds,” Af said. “They were shipped here from Georgia, where they did the casting.” He got up, fearing a brain malfunction of some sort. “I have to call someone.”
Af walked straight down between two rows of corn as tall as he was and brought his phone up to his ear. When she answered, he realized again this was his tie to the world, and it filled him with joy. But he felt awful because he had left on this trip, and worried that he’d hurt them irrevocably.
That was all before, “Hi.”
“Af,” she said, sounding relieved.
“Hi.”
“Where are you?”
“In a field of cement corn.”
She laughed, making him smile. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you later. We’re in Ohio.”
Her voice took on an edge. “Only in Ohio?”
He sighed. “Yeah. I know. It hasn’t gone how I expected. I probably shouldn’t have done this, but I need to�
�”
“I know.” She paused a beat. “Have you written anything?”
He leaned on one of the cobs. “A piece about jar design and pump bottles.”
“Frustrating, both jars and pump bottles,” she said. “Either they have that stupid lip on top where you have to carve the product out with a tool, or the pump stops working when the bottle’s still half full. Though I guess for the manufacturer, it’s half empty. Time for a new bottle. I wonder if they do it that way on purpose.”
“That’s similar to what I wrote about it.” He loved that she understood what he did.
“Oh yeah?” She laughed again.
What was he thinking, doing this? Every time he thought about her or talked to her, it seemed more and more preposterous, this quixotic notion of confronting the guru and getting his money back. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. I have to go. Don’t let the pump bottles bring you down.”
The call ended. He was deep enough into the field that Papp and Thaddas were barely in sight.
What was he going to do? He wanted to escape the confines of Amenity Tower—for Kelly, for both of them—but couldn’t stand to be around any loopholes in the form of chaos demons or ferrymen. Was he being punished? He didn’t even know.
He turned and rested his forehead against the cool, solid corn kernels, and wrapped his arms around the cob.
Gnawed-On Cheese Wheel
hey got back on the road and drove for a few hours while Papp slept, and it did not escape Af’s attention that although Papp would not let him sleep while he himself was awake, Papp could sleep anytime he wanted, whether or not Af was awake.
Thaddas took some medication for motion sickness, and Af listened to Erik Satie, which Papp would hate, but the chaos demon was asleep, using the gnawed-on cheese wheel he stole from the Cracker Barrel as a pillow.
Af saw construction ahead, and vehicles backed up for yards, so he got off at the nearest exit and found a smaller road that could take them east.
“Are you hungry?” Thaddas whispered.
Af glanced at the clock. It had been four and a half hours since lunch. “Yes. I’ll look for something.”
He kept driving down a two-lane road and noticed a sign promoting a Chamber of Commerce Open House and Fish Fry. He turned around by an old barn selling gifts and homemade toffee and parked in the Chamber of Commerce lot.
“Wake up, Papp,” Af said loudly.
Papp murmured.
Af reached into the back seat and shook the chaos demon by his meaty shoulder. “Papp!”
Finally, he stirred, confused. His face made a squelching sound as it peeled off the cheese. “What?”
“Dinner.”
For this, Papp gathered himself and made his way out of the car, blinking at the sign. “This some kind of joke?”
“No, it’s a fish fry,” Af said, cheerfully.
The two-room Danville Chamber of Commerce was gaudily festooned in nautical and holiday decoration to celebrate the fish fry dinner, supplied on a long table in the next room to the right of the door. Perhaps thirty people were there, some talking amiably in small groups, others wandering alone, unable to achieve group inclusion.
Folding chairs took up most of the main room, where someone had applied maritime flourishes such as a ship’s wheel, a map of ocean voyages, thick rope, a print of a painting of blue whales, a few album covers of sea shanties, and, horribly, a mistletoe. A tall, shiny plant stood weakly in the corner.
Papp did not hesitate: he made for the fish fry table like a surgeon summoned to the ER. Thaddas merely stood in the corner, hands clasped behind his back, looking like a grim reaper.
Someone came in behind them and said excuse me; Af stepped aside, noticing the donation box. He got out his wallet and put enough money in the donation box to pay for three comparable restaurant dinners.
“Do you want to—” Thaddas tilted his head at the food.
“Sure,” Af said and went into the other room. Thaddas gave Af a plate and took one for himself, which Af appreciated. Papp had already loaded his plate with a veritable Mount Rainier of food: a thick base layer of fried fish, heaped with coleslaw, burdened by what looked like scallion pancakes, then baked spinach, topped with a caldera of baked potato, and ruffled along the perimeter with mac and cheese and the occasional pretzel.
“That’s a marvel of civil engineering you have there, friend!” a man said to Papp. They had the same physique, Af observed.
“Yep,” Papp said and left to eat his food in the corner like an animal.
Thaddas selected much more gingerly. “I have a delicate stomach,” he explained to Af. He picked some toast, some baked potato, some cauliflower, and a slice of cake; an all-white plate.
Af took some roasted chicken, the crispy parts of the green bean casserole, ziti, and a slice of the sheet cake, which had most of a ship drawn on the top. Were they even near a lake? Weren’t they in the center of Ohio?
“So what do you do?” a woman in a sensible skirt suit asked him. She had white-blonde hair and small glasses. Her voice was high-pitched and a bit nasal.
“Um…” he started, buying a few seconds of time, and for good measure, took a bite of ziti.
Think of something. Anything. People don’t listen, anyway.
“I’m a lawyer.” It was probably illegal to present yourself as a practicing attorney when you weren’t, he thought, aware of how tired he was of letting other people affect him so much, of allowing every interaction to be fraught.
“What’s your specialty?” she asked.
Hadn’t his answer been enough? “Animals. Yes. Animal law. I travel quite a bit, uh, following bird migration patterns.” He was pleased with his answer; it didn’t involve people.
“Really? But you’re based here in Danville? I haven’t seen you before. I would have remembered.” She smiled flirtatiously.
“I travel a lot,” he reiterated.
“I see,” she said, almost suggestively. “You know, I have a dog that—”
“Oh, I focus mainly on federally owned animals.” In case her dog needed representation.
“Federally owned?”
“The federal government frowns on state-to-state transport of animals protected by federal laws.” What was he even saying?
Papp lumbered up to join the conversation and Af closed his eyes. “What’s up?”
“We were discussing animal law,” the woman said affably.
Papp snorted. “Why?”
Because when you had your dinner at a business networking event, you should expect to do some networking.
“That’s what he does,” the woman said and looked back to Af. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name…?”
“Roger,” Af said, using the first name that came to mind.
Papp snorted. “He’s not an animal lawyer. He’s the angel of destruction.”
Af looked at the ceiling, wondering how he got into this mess and wishing that a wormhole would open in the floor directly underneath him.
The woman smiled and blinked. “Excuse me?”
Papp pointed. “He’s the angel of destruction, I’m a chaos demon, and that dude right there is a grim reaper.”
Thaddas waved weakly. “Junior representative, Midwest region.” He handed the woman a business card and she took it automatically.
“Well,” she said, at a complete loss, the card in her hand. “Nice to meet you all.” She looked over her shoulder. “I see someone I need to talk to.” And she left.
“Papp!” Af said through his teeth.
“What? I’m not going to misrepresent myself. For people I’ll never see again?”
“It scares people,” Af said. “What we are scares people, and why shouldn’t it? Why do you have to shove the rest of us into conflict because you don’t care?”
“Dude, you shouldn’t care either. Besides, it’s more fun to mess with people.”
“I’m trying to have dinner. I’m not here to frighten people.�
�
“You care way too much what people think,” Papp said. “They’re usually pretty terrible.”
“I don’t think so,” Af said. Even though he was in this situation because of the death wormery and a fake guru.
“Dude, are you sure you’re the angel of destruction? I’m starting to think you’ve been punking us about that.”
“I’m sure. And why should I care what you think?”
“Oh, touché, mon frère!” And with that, Papp went back to wandering and eating.
Someone else approached him, another woman, with red hair and a cardigan sweater. She looked at his chest, perhaps for a name tag.
“And what do you do?”
Really, he thought—not even his name was of more interest? “Angel of destruction,” he said, with a pained smile. He suddenly remembered his plate of food, and spotted Thaddas out of the corner of his eye, hiding in the corner. “Excuse me, I have to attend to my friend. He has a serious panic disorder. A pleasure meeting you.”
Her face turned serious. “Oh, of course. Nice to meet you.”
Af made his way over to Thaddas, feeling way too far from Kelly.
Thaddas ate his food in small pieces, slowly. When Af came over, he seemed relieved. “I’m not good at interaction,” Thaddas said. “This may surprise you, but there’s not much opportunity for this sort of thing in my line of work.”
“Oh, really?” Af feigned surprise and watched with a raised brow as Papp returned to the table for seconds. Already.
“Like this one job I did. First week. A client relationship manager, livestock and dairies, Minnesota. I got him in his favorite bar, easy job, no fuss—and hung around for a while, playing darts, shooting some pool. Do you think anyone talked to me? No.”
Af shook his head in disbelief as Papp loaded up his plate as high and as densely as the first time. In his regular form as chaos demon, Papp apparently ate more than Af did in his angel of destruction form, which was much bigger than Papp; he had, in fact, the largest form of all but the most important of the angels, and it required much more energy than he did as a human.
