Factory Town Page 9

  He felt a terrible rage, and he knew this rage would be inside of him forever. He knew what he would do, what he had to do. He hid in the deep dark forest while the rain fell and the crows hovered. Hours passed and then she appeared and she was drunk, staggering down the path. When he stepped out from behind the boughs, she didn’t recognize him because his face was hidden in the shadows. She gasped and placed her hand over her heart, but then she recognized him and a smile spread across her face and she said, Darling you scared me. You scared me terribly. He didn’t say a thing, just took a step toward her and then another one. A man can only take so much. And so it was that he placed his hand around her neck and squeezed, and she was too weak and drunk to fight him, her face turning red and then purple, her eyes bulging. And when she was nearly dead, he released his grip and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder and walked toward that ancient well, hidden deep in the forest. Oh, how she begged for her life, too late, too late, and he pulled her over the edge of the stones and down she fell into that darkened tunnel, down she fell.

  Days passed and they came after him with torches and gunnysacks and rifles. And so he hid in a cheap motel that smelled of gasoline and cigarettes, and he paced back and forth like a caged animal, drinking bourbon, spitting up blood. A man can only take so much. And so a bullet to the head.

  And with that the short man with the cane and the broken glasses stepped off the platform and disappeared into the crowd. The woman on the harp started playing and singing again:

  From the land of yearning

  To that without yearning

  From the land of pity

  To that without pity!

  And then the same burly men that had carried and loaded the casket now lifted it and started walking across the roof as the rest of the crowd followed them in line. But there was no place to go; they reached the edge of the roof. Then they did something that caught me by surprise. Without warning, they started swinging the casket back and forth, back and forth. Then they heaved it off the roof. For what seemed to be an eternity, the casket floated in the black night before finally smashing against the pavement below, the wood cracking and splintering open, displaying the corpse in all his ghoulishness.

  Not fifteen seconds after it smashed against the ground, several grotesque-looking men scurried onto the pavement and surrounded the casket. Many of the men were naked, and all were badly emaciated. I recognized one of them: Estaban from the party, from the card-playing room. The fellow with the chunk of meat that they’d forced me to eat. Ostrich meat, they’d called it. But there were no ostriches in Factory Town.

  The crowd watched from the roof as the men, the Vultures, shrieked like banshees and, in a frenzy, pulled apart the casket. They used knives and scissors, scythes and sickles to tear at the body. Watching in horror, the mute gnashed his teeth and pulled his hair. Many other mourners sobbed and screamed, but all watched helplessly. Within thirty seconds, the body was torn apart completely, and the Vultures vanished into alleys and doorways and vestibules.

  And then stunned silence. I turned to one of the mourners, a woman with a beak-like nose and beady blue eyes. Why? I said. Why did you throw the casket off the rooftop?

  The woman looked at me like I was crazy. Why? Because we’ve always done it that way, that’s why.

  Well, what could I say to that? This town had rituals and traditions that made no sense, no sense at all. I was beginning to think there wasn’t a single righteous person in this whole town…

  And then another commotion among the mourners. A young woman, golden hair flowing in the night breeze, was standing on the edge of the roof, the next suicide. Take care of my mama! she shouted, tears rolling down her cheeks. And tell her I’m going to meet my Lord!

  And with that she jumped, and her scream sounded distant, otherworldly, and then she was sprawled on the ground, body contorted and bloody. I couldn’t watch so I turned away, despair like a giant tarp thrown over me.

  Madness overtook the mourners and things got out of control quickly. Other members of the group followed the young woman’s lead and began jumping off the rooftop. A puputan, the abortionist had called it. Mass suicide. Every time I tried preventing one of them from leaping, talking them down, physically restraining them, another one would sneak past me and join the mangled and maimed on the asphalt landing below.

  Not all jumped. Some slit their own throats with knives. Others came armed with guns. And still others took to pounding their heads against the cement wall. Death to them all.

  Throughout, the harpist played, the music of the damned, and when she saw that they were all gone, she carefully placed her harp on its side, reached into her blouse and pulled out a very small bottle. She uncapped it, made the sign of the cross, and then swallowed it down. Her eyes remained closed for a minute, and her face was calm and peaceful. Then the poison took effect and she fell to her knees and then to her back and began convulsing uncontrollably, and it was a terrible thing to watch, a body being consumed by death, and soon blood appeared through the pores on her face, and her eyes bulged like in some kid’s cartoon, and then she was still, other than her right foot which kept twitching for several minutes. Then it too was still.

  Shrieks echoed through the streets and the Vultures returned, this time with wheelbarrows and barbed nets and burlap sacks, gathering the bodies, twenty at least, a forever feast, leaving behind only blood and torn clothing. I knew it would only be a matter of time before they arrived on the rooftop to finish their scavenging.

  Overcome with a terrible sadness, I sat down, pulling my knees to my chest. The wind blew cold and the snow started falling again, specking my sleeve with white. I couldn’t go on any further. I closed my eyes and felt a great wave of exhaustion spread through my body. Just to sleep, if only for a few minutes…

  I could hear the Vultures coming up the metal stairs, footsteps and rabid yelps. And then I saw a woman walking slowly across the roof and she was the woman from the carnival, the woman I’d followed, the woman I once loved, and she too tried to leap but I wouldn’t let her. I pulled her close to me, and I could feel her trembling, and she flailed against me, trying to escape my arms, trying to escape this world, and her eyes were sad, so sad, and her lips were soft, and I kissed her, and without beauty, we are lost, and we have nothing to do but sin and hate, hate, hate.

  CHAPTER 14

  Time stayed still and then the Vultures arrived and they were human, but hardly so, storing up the scattered bodies for the winter. I grabbed the woman’s hand and we raced across the roof, snow falling harder. The Vultures weren’t interested in us; in fact, they fell to the ground and huddled against one another in fear as we rushed past them.

  We made our way into the staircase and started down, our feet echoing loudly on the metallic stairs. And once again everything was dark and once again I was lost and once again hope was fading fast. But the woman sensed my incertitude and pulled me forward. I know the way, she said.

  We came to one of the staircase platforms and she stopped and placed her finger on her lips, even though I hadn’t been speaking. She got down on her knees and it was then that I saw a narrow opening in the wall. This is the quickest way, she said. At first I didn’t think that it would be wide enough for either of us to crawl through, but the woman got down to her stomach and pulled herself through, vanishing momentarily from sight. I thought about the rats and cockroaches that must be making this strange tunnel their home, and I hesitated to enter. But then I heard terrible screams echoing in the stairwell, and I fell to my stomach and entered after her.

  The tunnel was dark and I couldn’t see the woman, my companion, but I heard her voice, encouraging me to follow. At first the tunnel was extremely narrow and I felt claustrophobic, fearful that I would become stuck, but after a while the tunnel widened enough for me to get on my haunches and then to stand upright, only slightly hunched. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and it soon became obvious that
we were no longer in the building. The walls and floor of the tunnel were made of rock and dirt nearly completely iced over. We were underground, travelling like moles.

  There were no footprints in the dirt, and I found that disturbing. Cold breath spewed from my mouth and I couldn’t stop shivering. Where are we? I shouted out. Where are we going? But the woman didn’t hear me or, if she did, didn’t bother answering.

  And so I followed. Water dripped from the ceiling and bats flew past, shrieking in rage. On the ground I saw artifacts of mining days past: An ore bucket connected to a long metal chain. A miner’s hat and pick. A rotted wheelbarrow. And still the woman walked, her dress and hair swaying like in some long forgotten dream.

  By the time we finally reached the end of the tunnel, my legs were sore, and I felt dizzy and exhausted. My companion stepped out of the tunnel and for the first time since I’d entered Factory Town, the sun was shining. She smiled and said, Here we are! We made it, darling!

  I stepped outside and looked around, my eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. We were now in a suburban neighborhood lined with endless rows of identical houses, young trees mostly bare, leaves scattered across the empty asphalt. A neighborhood I knew well.

  The woman pointed to one of the houses. 3155 Winding Brook Circle. An American flag hung proudly from the front of the house. A sign hung on the door: HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. There were four planters filled with flowers, a rocking chair, wind chimes. The woman wiped a wisp of hair from her face, smiled broadly. Wait until you see what I’ve done with the house, she said. Just you wait and see! I got a new tablecloth for the dining room and a lovely new coffee table for the living room. The table was on sale for eighty-nine dollars. Can you believe it? Eighty-nine dollars! This is our home, Russell, and you’re just going to love it!

  * * *

  So I moved to the suburbs.

  Life was slow and calm and comfortable. I pruned the bushes and got a job in sales. I waxed the floors and shopped at Wal-Mart. I mowed the lawn and brought the trashcans out on Tuesday mornings.

  The woman took good care of me. She made wonderful dinners (steak and potatoes, pasta and salad, burger and fries) and did several loads of laundry a day. She watched her figure and got naked occasionally. She enjoyed romantic comedies and read cooking magazines and took Xanax. We were so happy together.

  I asked her if she wanted to have a date night. Just like old times. Grab a bite to eat at Red Lobster and then catch a movie. Heaven Can Wait, maybe. Or the new Superman, staring Christopher Reeve and Gene Hackman.

  Oh, darling, I’d love to, but I’m working on knitting that sweater for you. I’d like to have it done by your birthday. Why don’t you go? Maybe call some of your friends? Grab a drink afterwards? That’ll also give me some time to vacuum the carpets and clean the bathrooms. They haven’t been cleaned in three days. And with a man in the house…

  I thought things over. Okay, I said. If you don’t mind. I guess I’ll go after dinner. Maybe invite ol’ Charlie. I haven’t seen him in ages.

  That’s a wonderful idea, she said. After dinner, then. Speaking of which, do you have any preferences? I was thinking of making a lasagna, but I could switch to beef brisket if you’re in the mood.

  I shook my head and grinned. I love your lasagna, darling. Of course, you could make a pile of shit taste good.

  And she wore a white apron and a blue dress and high heels. And her face and hair were perfectly made up. And she loved her self-cleaning oven and her automatic dishwasher and her rotating vacuum cleaner and her electric mixer.

  While she cooked, I watched football and drank Miller from cans. The Broncos beat the Chargers. Craig Morton threw for two touchdowns, one to Jack Dolbin and one to Riley Odom. The Orange Crush did their part—Gradishar was all over the place.

  Soon the woman called me to dinner. Everything was perfect. There was a bouquet of flowers on the table and a bottle of champagne on ice. She took a thin slice of lasagna for herself but gave me a real man’s portion. And when I was done, we talked about agreeable things: the weather, the decorations, her hair.

  Everything was pleasant, and I watched the snow fall gently to the ground. Factory Town seemed so far away, so distant. Factory Town. Just the thought of it caused my anxiety to return. I pushed my plate out of the way and rose to my feet, a bit unsteadily.

  Darling? she said. What’s the matter? You look a little panicked.

  And then suddenly, the photograph was in my hand and I was waving it around. This girl, I said. Her name is Alana. She’s gone missing. I’ve been entrusted with finding her.

  The woman looked up and smiled, her eyes blinking rapidly. She took a sip from her coffee and said: That’s nice, dear.

  From what I can gather, she’s here in Factory Town, and she’s in terrible danger. If I don’t find her soon, I fear she’ll die. This is no time for rest. Time is running out.

  Mm-hmm. Darling, you’re almost done with your beer. Would you like another one? Would you like some more soufflé?

  Listen to me, I said. I need your help. Don’t you understand? I can’t do this alone.

  Help?

  Finding this girl. Do you have any information? Do you know where she is?

  The smile remained frozen on her face. After several moments, she shook her head and said: No. Of course not. I’ve never heard of Alana.

  I placed the photograph on the table in front of her. She didn’t look down, instead staring straight ahead with that empty grin. Look at this picture, I said. It’s a computer-generated image. It shows the way she might look today. They’re very good at this type of thing, nowadays.

  She looked down at the photograph and studied it for short while. Then she looked up. Darling, it’s getting late. Aren’t you supposed to meet Charlie?

  What?

  For the movie. Aren’t you meeting him at the movies?

  Yes. But right now… that is to say…

  I’ll take care of the dishes. You have fun tonight. Don’t worry about what time you get home. Take your time. I’ll just be knitting…

  I didn’t know what to say. She’d gotten me all flustered. The woman knew something, that much was sure. She was just like everybody else in this town with her share of secrets, terrible secrets…

  Oh Lord, she said, I almost forgot to tell you. They’re having a huge sale at Wal-Mart this weekend. Perhaps we could get you a new tie. The old one is fraying at the seams. And I sure could use a new apron.

  Well, this sudden swarm of trivialities was making me good and irate. Quickly, suddenly, I grabbed a hold of the woman’s wrist and gripped it tightly. I leaned in closely so I could see the pores on her face. When I spoke, my teeth remained clenched and my hands trembled. I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation! I shouted. I’m not fucking around here! If we don’t do something, this girl will die!

  The woman tried rising to her feet, but I squeezed her wrist tighter and she gasped in pain. Darling, she said. You need to let go of my wrist. You don’t…you don’t want to end up like your father, do you? You don’t want his prophecy to come true, do you?

  So that’s what this was about. I glared at her, my grip remaining firm, and I noticed that she had the same empty eyes as the whore, that she was no different, no different at all.

  You’ve got some nerve, I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

  Let go of my wrist.

  I nodded my head slowly and then released my grip. She smiled stiffly and massaged her wrist, bent it back and forth.

  Now, she said, I need to get started on the dishes. Do you need anything else? A glass of port? A cigar?

  No, I said. I’m fine.

  The woman, nothing but a stranger, straightened out her dress and began stacking the dishes, her bouffant perfectly quaffed. I watched her, never took my eyes off her. And then that old sense of dread rose through my body, and suddenly I remembered, remembered the terrible things I’d done, and I’d pay, we all pay.

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nbsp; * * *

  Charlie Gardner, my childhood friend, was waiting in the lobby of the theatre with a large Pepsi in one hand and a larger popcorn in the other, cradled against his chest. He grinned when he saw me, said, I’m surprised you managed to get out of the house, you domesticated son-of-a-bitch!

  What are you talking about?

  What do you think I’m talking about? Mrs. Piper Carver has turned you into a regular lapdog.

  Mrs. Carver…

  We walked through the lobby, and things were peculiar. There were no moviegoers. No ushers. The neon refreshment lights were flashing aggressively, but there was nobody behind the counter. I wondered where Charlie had gotten his popcorn and soda. Nobody was there. Nobody at all.

  We didn’t have tickets but it didn’t matter. There was nobody to collect them. We walked down the darkened hallway, past several auditoriums where movie screens flickered and soundtracks blasted, but all empty of people.

  Charlie didn’t seem bothered by the odd scene, or perhaps he hadn’t noticed. He talked about work and sports and women. That’s the thing you’ve got to realize, buddy. They’re all sluts. Every damn one of them. It’s such a shame, too…

  And then we finally came to the auditorium where Superman flashed on the marquee. I followed behind Charlie as he wandered into the middle of the last row of the empty movie theatre. He sat down and placed his feet on the chair in front of him, and I sat down next to him. He kept on talking. I couldn’t stand him, never had, never had. Goddamn whores is all they are. You don’t believe me? You should see some of the shit these girls will do. And I’m talking about the nice ones. In the mouth. Up the ass. It don’t matter. Piper even. You think she’s so innocent? Nah. She’s just like all the others. Born to fuck. Born to betray. You think she’s at home knitting you a goddamn sweater? You’re a goddamn fool! You’ve always been a goddamn fool!