Murder Considered As One Of The Fine Arts (6) “I'm just trying to cheer myself up.” They stare over the banister and see an unlimited number of floors below them, each identical to the one they're on, each with an identical gibbering creature at the end of the hall. “I think that means we might as well see what he wants to show us.” They walk down the hall and follow the creature through a door and into what should have been an office. But there isn't any furniture, just ceramic figures on shelves from floor to ceiling. There are plaster statues of the Virgin and of Spiderman. There are Louis XIV and Hummel figurines and every other kind of ceramic statuette. The creature is holding something concealed in his cupped hands. The creature opens his hands to show an alabaster jar with a lid like a 9 headed snake. It pulses like a heart. David reaches for it, but the creature recoils shouting and clutching the jar possessively. “No, I dont want it. Just take out what's in it.” “Not take out, you go inside.” At this point, the figurines begin to move, very slightly and with tiny intermittent jerks like a fly in a glue pot. There is the sound of a bell or something like it. Something is jingling in the rapid complex rhythms of African drums. The figurines are moving with increasing confidence and the bell-like music is getting louder. Leslie coughc discretely “Did you make a deal with the Devil and not tell me about it?’ “No, did you?” “No. It's possible that we made one without knowing it.” “Yes, I believe that's the usual way.” 66 The creature leers. “The contract is due.” “It must be like a certificate of deposit. Cant we roll it over or something?” The creature laughs. ‘What happens now?” “Nothing happens now. This is it.” Absolutely motionless for 2 seconds then david says “I know the name.” Motion starts again “The name of what?” “The Name. The Name of God. The true name.” The creature drops the alabaster jar and it shatters. “Look fellah, I dont want no trouble. You leave me alone, I leave you alone. “I am about to pronounce the 1st letter of the 1st syllable of the NAME.” “Wait a minute, let's talk this over. We're both business men, just tell me what you want!!!” The creature starts to scream. David forms his lips into a perfect square. There is a vast whooshing sound and the field of vision comes apart like a jigsaw puzzle. Behind it is The Emerald City. STREET -AFTERNOON- David and Leslie walking hand in hand. He’s still thinking about it. “That was pretty good hash.” 67 ‘I think I've had enough of Kuwait City.’ HOTEL ROOM -AFTERNOON- We can go south, try to reach a Christian enclave across the Jordanian border. but 1st we'd have to cross the Arabian desert. Anyway, we can try. “What do you mean, we can try?” “We can get to Isfahan. It's straight up the coast road. The Irani will be so busy watching the show, they may not notice that we're there. “With 8 suitcases?” “We leave them. We can cable to have them shipped out, if we dont make it back here.” “Dont make it back?” It depends. We might have to slip across to Bahrein that might be a party. ‘ . “It might! It depends! We can try! It stinks!” “You want blind terror with no risk at all?” “Yes, that's exactly what I want.” ` "Well, next time be an 11 year old Watutsi. They lead you out into the jungle in the middle of the night. Then the Witch Doctors dance around you in devil masks and after a while they go away. And you come back the next morning convinced that you fought off the spirits of the dead." Does not compute "How do we get to Isfahan?" "We hitchhike. There's always some reporter driving there. That's not the problem. She starts packing a large shoulder bag. She puts in the brank 68 and the chain harness. David scowls "That weighs 40 lbs." "Just taking essentials. And it's time to go." The firefight in the hall had burned itself out for the moment. Partially disassembled bodies are leaking into the Persian carpet. The stairway is uncluttered and they make down the one flight without adventure. As they walk across the lobby, the desk clerk is shouting and waving his arms, signalling to them frantically. There is a massive dark man standing next to him wearing a red pinstripe brown suit over an apron shaped buller proof vest. The massive man stands with his arms crossed looking over the lobby with a proprietary air. David walks over and smiles at both of them. They manage to sneer at him without changing expression. Then the desk clerl throws a wad of money in the air like it's confetti. "Your money, this money, it is not money, it is no negotable." "You mean, it's counterfeit?" "American money, it is no good. it is not negotiable." "That is easily fixed." and reaches for his pocket, but the man in the suit had him covered. It's one of those mini-machine-guns with butt feed and a telescoping bolt. It isn't much larger than a pistol. David tries to look shocked, but the man in the suit beats him to that too. There's a sharp intake of breath and the man in the suit rounds his mouth to a perfect O of astonishment. Leslie had stabbed him up the rectum from behind. David takes the assault pistol out of his hands as he falls. "I've noticed that they never acknowledge the presence of a woman. Why is that?" "No good reason, that's clear." the desk clerk is slapping the counter 2-handed and making little sqeeking sounds. David shoots him through the face with the 69 assault pistol. the ehad comes apart like a watermelon hitting the sidewalk. he drops to a squat and swivels around. if there had been anyone else in the lobby, they had run for it with the speed of long practice. he walks behind the counter and cleans it out of all the money with Arabic writing on it. The lobby clock says 7:42. The street is empty and the sounds of battle are mving away. They walk down First Ring Road toward the hilton. the sky is red as a stop light. Half a block later they find a diminutive tweedy type loading a word processor in the trunk of an antique Renault. He looks up in terror sags into complacent conempt. "American? You better ride with me if you want to get out of this. If you're in trouble the American Embassy doesn't want to know you. I'm undersecretary to the British consul. We'll generally help any English speaking person." They get into the Renault with him, sitting three across in the front seat, riding south east on Al Fuhayhill road. They pass the souhern end of the city at Rumaithiyah and a sign assures them that it's only 35 km. to the airport at Minagish. OLD RENAULT -DAY- David and Leslie are staring straight ahead, comatose with boredom. The consul is taling. He seems to be having a good time. "You Americans think that Churchill's greatness is one of the great myths of the 20th century, along with the idea that the British are more civilized than the Americans. Certainly he was the worst chancellor of the exchequer that England ever had, but in a larger sense, seen as an organizing personality... I'm aware of the English vice of claiming that every defeat is as a moral victory and certaimly OrdeOrde Wingate accomplishment in Israel were as questionable as they were in Malaysia, but taking a slightly longer view..." Then David shoots him through the head, grabs the wheel as the undersecretary lets go and slows down just long enough to pitch the body out. He drives south along the coastal road past Mina Ahmadi and Urafjan, then the road cuts straight through the salt 70 marsh west of Mina Sa'ud. It runs along a steep granite ledge that tents up and down at steep angles. The Renault beginds to wheeze loudly. The transmission whines more than John McEnroe then gives up and falls out onto the road wiyh a soggy thunk. STREET IN DAMUR -DAY- David is haggling with a driver. Then he and Leslie get into a crowded ancient stretch limo being used as a bus. There are at least 10 other passengers. HIGHWAY -DAY- They're riding north on the coast road. There is a tremendous, but unidentifiable racket that keeps getting louder. It's a narrow hilly road and, suddenly, from the other direction is a patrol of 3 Iraqi T-80 tanks. The tank commander is wearing a full suit of armor, looted from some Crusader museum. 2 rear view mirrors have been welded to either side of the helmet. He has a necklace of human ears around his neck. The limo turns so fast that it turns over twice, lands right side up and races back the way it came. Then the transmission falls out. David, who is more agile than most, makes it out the window dragging Leslie dragging their shoulder bags. The other passengers dont make it. They're still inside the limo when it's crushed flat, 6 inches high, by the lead tank. An arm is sticking out what used to be a window and holding string bag of apples. David takes one and starts eating it without interest. The tank commanders are sitting half out of the hatches. They turn to look at Leslie. They smile and wave. Then one of them drops his lit cigarette inside the tank. He doesn't notice at first. Then a wisp of smoke spins by his face. He looks down. He looks puzzled. Then the tank explodes. Then the other tanks explode. The entire patrol goes off like a string of firecrackers. “Bad design. The driver is sitting on the gas tank and the ammunition is hung on the wall inside the turret. Very bad design.” He takes out his Browning 9m and points it at Leslie "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" 71 "I think so, yes." "What are you waiting for?" "I enjoy the feeling." "You could at least kill me with your hands." "Come here." He raises the gun. "You dont need that. I'll do anything you want." "That's the fucking problem. Dance." "What kind of dance do you want me to do?" "Forget it." "Did you bang your head or something?" It's getting cold. If they're still there in the morning, the temperature will go up to 150 Fahrenheit and they'll be dead of dehydration before noon. He makes space for her on the boulder and she sits down beside him. Hours pass. Small creatures appear at the edge of the road, stare at them in disbelief then vanish. Hours pass Then there is an enormous vehicular racket coming from the south, heading back toward Kuwait City. They're standing by the road in a hitchhiker's pose. Their thumbs point in the same direction as a sign pointing to Shiraz.. An American armored personnel carrier goes by. It's Viet Nam War surplus, the type with the bird cage armored turrets for the 2 heavy machine guns. It has Israeli markings and it's run by the Christian Militia wearing black hoods and carrying RPG-7's. They haul David and Leslie aboard. Then their leader takes off his hood. It's the Colonel. “Ah, my good friend, consider. To quote Michael” Ragon: The Artist is a man of the past because he is prejudiced in favor of the unique object, of the artificial scarcity of his product so as to increase it's price. That is a metaphor, but I dont underestimate the power of metaphor. The Prisoner's Dilemma is a metaphor that almost caused Word War III. 72 In fact, maybe it did and this is it... NIGHT They turn off the coastal road, west to Minagish. The desert at night is uninteresting as only a desert can be. Then black shapes are all around them at once. It's the Irani camp and it's deserted. Apparently, no one wants to miss out on the looting of Kuwait City. The colonel dismounts and gets six grunts out of the M-113 and Into a ragged formation. There are slow noises ahead of them, the sound of machinery being wheeled into position. David and Leslie tip toe the other way. It's a strangely long time before the screams start and it's very far away. HOTEL ROOM-SHIRAZ-LATE AFTERNOON- Rose colored wall paper, smoky red sunset, brass bed, just like in NAKED LUNCH, the grandmotherly smell of cedar wood and camphor and the Morse code pop small caliber gunfire---one of those Czech things with a name that's all numbers and dashes like a European license plate that spit .32's "Really, dear heart, I think I should do the planning. You dont seem to have any flair for it." "Isfahan North. it's about 4 hours from here. "There's no war there. There is nowhere else." "Now?" "Tomorrow. There's a bus. There's supposed to be a bus." "Why dont we fly out? I'm getting tired of cattle cars." "The airport's closed, again. "Then how do we get out? "I dont know." HOTEL ENTRANCE- AFTERNOON- They're coming down the steps. "Let's stop. Take my picture on the steps". 73 "You dont stand still in Beirut or someone decides that you're a target." "We cant be killed. Isn't that obvious? So, this will just go on forever. Anyway, we're in kuwait." On cue, a shot chips the stone at their feet. He grabs her elbow and hustles her down the stairs. They walk for an hour along the highway before he hears something coming out of the darkness. He sends Leslie out to the middle of the road to wave it down. It's a pubescent on a motor scooter. Leslie is pointing up the road with a lot of nodding and gigling. The pubescent nods emphatically and says Shiraz several times in the middle of a lot of Farsi. David looks away, he's tired of watching the reruns. He hears her gunning the pathetic little engine and he comes out of the darkness to get on behind her. STREET-DAY- They're getting on a bus with a crowd of locals carrying goats and chickens and the usual peasant paraphernalia. Leslie is feeding a fashion magazine to an intelligent looking goat. In fact, The goat looks vaguely like Trotsky. "Like a page out of the National Geographic." "Cool it, these people go homicidal if you think they're quaint." BUS-DAY- They ride north from Shiraz. The land is yellowish grey and in the pocess of turning to desert. Not sand desert like home, it's caked dust like Sinai. Water just rolled along it without penetrating. Too many wars and, mostly, too many goats. The goat Leslie had been feeding is watching them expectently. It has eyes like gold coins and seems pleased with himself, like he's just done something wonderfully clever. David looks out the window. Suddenly they're passing through non-stop rose plantations, packed solid, rank on rank. The ground is red up to the mountains, a solid color without variation like in a comic strip. David unpacks lunch. Two sandwiches and an apple for each of them. 3 cats march up and stare at him. he starts feeding them 74 half a sandwich. A child is staring at him. He gives him the other half sandwich. He keeps feeding the cat. Another child is staring at him. he gives her his last half sandwich. he holds it out to the cat who sniff it and walk away. He's almost about to eat it when The 1st child is staring at him again. He hands over the apple. Leslie has been eating, oblivious of all this. "May I have half your apple?" "What for?" "I'm still hungry." She shakes her arm and bounces a switchblade out of her sleeve and into her hand. She flicks it open and cuts the apple with unnerving concentration. She hands him half. He's about to eat it. An old woman is staring at him. He hands her the half of the apple. David is sorrowful. He skipped breakfast and He's hungry. He lights a cigarette. An old woman coughs "Smoking is prohibited on the bus." "You talk like a Jew!" They rode north for an hour leaving the strip of rose plantations, but the air still smells like a Moscow whorehouse. The roses are replaced by claw-like little trees with tiny leaves. They're packed close together, greenish-grey against the yellow-grey dirt. He can imagine the sincere Peace Corps worker trying to teach them soil conservation and the Iranis explaing that they weren't interested in the future because they were to poor to afford one. The bus is stopped by a trope of shaggy Iranis with ancient machine pistols. They're all wearing some part of an army uniform, but not all from the same army. They clamor on board barking in Sanskrit pull 3 Arabs off the bus. 2 of the Arabs are wearing crosses. The Dream Police, or whoever they are yank the crosses off their necks then line them up against the side of the bus and shoot them. Bullet holes appear in the side of the bus near Leslie's feet. Crying and screaming fill the bus. A vintage Browning 9m appears in David's fist, but Leslie puts a mother's hand on his arm and presses it back down. The Iranis have stopped to talk to the 3rd Arab for some reason. He's the only victim left and they can afford to linger over him, but he seems to be holding their interest. They shouldn't have let him start talking. "This is exactly what I expected and, 75 now that I see it, I dont believe it.' "They're going to kill him. What are they waiting for?" On cue the Iranis turn the 3rd Arab upside down. Liquor bottles start falling out of him. It's like the clowns at the circus. You dont know how so many of them could fit into that little car. You cant believe how many liquor bottles he had concealed. "I guess they didn't want to break the bottles." The 3rd Arab scrambles right side up and starts talking. And the Iranis listen. He keeps talking. Finally, he shakes hands all around. They help him repack his liquor bottles and he gets back on the bus. "He had to be really cool to get out of that." He gets up and sits down next to the 3rd Arab. "Salaam Aleichem." "Ciao, Baby." says the Arab "I didn't think you were going to get out of that." "No problem. Is not to worry, English." "You going to Isfahan?" The Walid nods without looking at him. "Where's the American bar? I mean, there's always one." "I take you, is on my way. I am called Walid." "David." Leslie is watching all this, annoyed at not being the center of attention. David is laughing at something the Walid says. Now, David is talking and the Walid is laughing, trying not to laugh and failing. Leslie gives up on them and starts reading the Paris edition of VOGUE. 76 LESLIE’S APT IN NY-NIGHT- Sarah is feeding Leslie's 6 cats. They scream and claw at her. She screams back. The cats back off and stare at her with upper class hauteur. She goes back to filling their bowls and the cats march forward righteously. BUS Mortar shells start going off around the bus. The driver speeds up and the bus starts zig-zagging between the sides of the road at 100 mph. "Are you seeing Sarah when we get back?" "Yes." "You've learned nothing." "If we did, we wouldn't need to keep repeating it." "You make this shit up as you go along?" "Sure." A fat man, a Lebanese business man with a suit tie mustache is smiling at them. He's the type who thinks that hospitality is the highest human virtue and, also, the most fun of anything. “You find it frightening?” “I would if I believed it, but it's unreal. There's no back-ground music.’ Obligingly, The fat man turns on a cassette player. It plays the theme from MASH. David smiles. “Thank you. I still need some popcorn.” The fat man hands him a plastic bowl of tabouli covered with Saran wrap. The fat man pats his stomach and holds up his hand like a traffic cop. “I eat too much. Is that better? Yes, I can see that it is.” 77 “Thank you, much better.” “I've decided that Sarah is cute. You must bring her to tea.” That was Leslie "She's not into it." "Just bring her and leave early." "Poor Sarah." "Poor you, you're going to lose her." "That's alright, as long as she has somewhere to go." HOURS LATER. A shot rips through the top of the bus. 2 feyadeen are sitting on a hill watching it. They shot at the bus for the fun of it. The fat man takes out a WW1 naval Luger, the kind with the 8 inch barrel, the drum magazine and the wooden holster that doubles as a rifle stock. “That's a museum piece.It's worth a fortune.” “Thank you. Which one you like?”
Copyright © 1999 Angel Obregon |