Tales from Purgatory by S. Zachary Schumer - HTML preview

OLD

Well, old pal, here we are. You know, I never thought that it would turn out like this. Here we are. Me, an old fart, talking to a big grey rat. Maybe both of us are rats. Here we are, birds of a feather.

This relationship is a good thing. I like to make friends everywhere I go. That has always been the strong part of my personality.

So, lets talk.

I have no one else to talk to. I am damn tired of talking to myself. You know, the answers I give myself, and the conversations I share with myself, are not all that rewarding. So, as long as you are interested, I may as well talk to you.

If you get bored, or have some place more important to be, feel free to excuse yourself. I quite understand.

Thinking about it. You remind me of this young college fella I used to talk to. He was a pretty good listener. Just like you. You two even have the same eyes. If you ever write a newspaper column, I’ll be the first to read it.

Anyhow, we both do the best we do. That’s all that we can do!

So, here we are. We are twins in a way. Twins not clones.

Both of us got smart. We figured out that the only way we could survive was to leave the city. Just pack up our stuff, call the moving van, and discover country life.

I figure all rats come from the city.

The only thing left for us in the city was rat poison. If you pound down enough of that stuff you are dead. Stone cold dead.

Not ready for that amigo? Either am I. Now we can live off the fruits of the earth and enjoy the seasons.

As you noticed I arrived at this barn maybe two weeks ago. I’m still waiting for my furniture to be dropped off. The moving company is taking its own sweet time. They probably scratched the good pieces. I hate to see the Chippendale beat up. It was a wedding gift from the Nixon’s. I was always a favorite of Laura and George.

So, here I am, a former city slicker. Now I am a down home country boy with a country friend.

Yesterday I took my morning walk and guess what? I discovered a field of lettuce. I filled up my shipping cart. When I paid the cashier she gave me a pile of stamps, and I trucked on home.

There is nothing healthier than fresh vegetables. You know, if I could have found a pig wandering around, I could be eating a BLT right now.

The only thing better than that would be having a winery for a neighbor. Oh well, we can’t have everything.

Remember, we shared our bounty. You eat your fill; I figure you took some home for the family. I respect that. A family man that lives up to his obligations is something I could never be.

Let me tell you about my marriage. The secret to a fine marriage is communication. You should have none. Just grunts and “what the hell do you want.”

The more talking the more yakking. The more yakking the more fighting. Just pull your head in like at turtle, and do whatever you want.

Take it from me. I know.

You’re thinking, what the hell does he know?

I know because I was married for a while. Funny, I can’t remember her name, but I can see her face at night.

I figure that’s why I have nightmares.

Weird, I think her name was Rose, like the wine. She had eyes like the landing lights on a B52. Her hair was like an oil slick. She was something. Something to fear.

I think she ran off with my best friend. I used to hate Bill with every fiber of my body. If I had ever ran into him, I would have ripped out that bastards liver and eaten it.

Then came the revelation. You know what that is? That when the peons string up the king and take over.

Not much of a joke? I’ll try harder to entertain you.

So, I figured out one day that Bill did me the favor of a lifetime. He took that bitch off my hands. If I ever run into him I will buy him a steak dinner, a bottle of Bordeaux, and a head of lettuce.

Keep eating old pal. I would like to see you get nice and fat. I may have to eat you this fall.

 2

Hey, big grey rat. Where have you been? I guess you found another source of food. Used up your stash? Now you are back here with me.

Some people may call that two faced. Not me. I call it survival in postmodern America. It doesn’t take a genius. It takes a big fat grey rat.

So, here we are. I got the goods and you got the appetite. Here you are. Eat some cucumber. If it’s good enough for me it should be good enough for you.

Do you realize that with a few more veggies and some fancy dressing, you are eating at the Four Season?

You and I at the Russian Tea Room. Hobnobbing with Putin and Pushkin. That was the life.

Do you remember when I used to live in that pretty red dumpster? I enjoyed that life. I believe that dumpster was a first rate example of art deco trash.

Your family and I, enjoying what other people dream about.

Tuesday night, at the box, behind Midtown Pizza. Feasting on leftover bread and burnt pizza. The Chinese joint almost any night. All you could eat fish and chips, Friday night, at Crazy Dave’s Diner.

We ate good and often.

Germs you say. I have never seen a germ in all of my life. Have you?

Just like God.

If you can’t see it with the naked eye, it does not exist.

Remember when the truck came to empty the dumpster, and I was asleep on a plastic garbage bag? Did you ever see an old geezer move that fast?

I guess being professionally unemployed has its hazards.

Maybe I should have taken a ride in that garbage truck? Living in the dump may have been a step up.

On second thought, I hate gulls. And don’t believe what they say, gulls do not taste like chicken. Chicken tastes like chicken.

 3

Glad to see you, old pal. I have been wondering how you have survived?

It seems to me that you have changed. I remember that your body was brown. Today it appears to be grey. Could you have aged that much since we last spoke?

I don’t know. Many things in life are strange to me.

However, I can’t just call you rat. That almost sounds like an insult. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is insult you. Good friends are hard to find.

Our relationship has blossomed. I believe that I need to give you a name. Therefore, it shall be refined and respectful. As of this second you will be called Elliot.

Yah Elliot, that suits you just fine.

So Elliot, you seem to be making your visits daily. Although, you seem to change your outfit often. Can’t blame you for that. If you got it flaunt it, I always say.

How is the family? Perhaps you could come by with the wife and kids. I would very much like to meet them. You have a family, don’t you?

Let me tell you something about the old lady. They are all the same. They have two eyes. I want and I need. That’s all you need to know about women.

You deal with that pal. I’m flying solo. I am on a voyage. You may even call it an odyssey. A trip to a higher state of mind. No peyote for me. Just good old fresh air.

I will transform myself into a crow and fly with the eagle.

Yah, leave this drab old life behind and leave bad luck flopping in the mud like a stuck pig.

That’s what I’m gonna do.

Just wallow around in reality. Groceries and the pay check for the old ball and chain.

Not me. I tried that. Believe me once is more than enough.

The only person I need to make happy is the fellow whose food you are pissing on. Please find another place to relieve yourself.

Elliot, when you remember your manners I will toss you a carrot. If I were you I would stash the treasures I give you. That’s because winter is in the wings. That crappy weather has got your name and address.

Let me tell you why I am smarter than you.

Two days ago I liberated these fine clothes. Yah, I’m wearing them right now. I would save them for a Bar Mitzvah, if I had an invitation to one.

Thank you. I agree with all my heart. These clothes are quite a fashion statement.

Anyhow, eventually the local KGB will figure out that Zapata is in the neighborhood. If they have any brains at all they will pick me up.

The fools, they think they are protecting the neighborhood. The reality is that they are securing me a suite in the Holiday Inn.

You, my friend, can spend the winter in this barn. I’ll be thinking about you every time I use the indoor plumbing.

I figure it this way. I am cashing in my pension.

 4

WHERE THE HELL AM I? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? WHERE AM I? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ME? YOU BASTARDS, WHERE IS ELIOT? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM? GET THESE DAMN ROPES OFF ME.

All right, calm down. Get a grip on yourself. You have been in tough spots before.

Look around, figure things out.

MY HAND. MY GOOD RIGHT HAND. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME? You bastards, show your selves. You bastard cowards.

I know what that needle is. YOU’RE GOING TO EXECUTE ME. Death for trespassing and stealing vegetables. All right, I admit it, don’t kill me. Save my hand.

Calm down. Control your breathing. Look around.

You are still tied down and wrapped in white. This place must be a hospital or lab. A clean place with doctors and stacked nurses.

The lights are dim. It must be night outside. That means they will leave me alone for a while and give me time to think. Think about my bandaged hand and these damn straps holding me down.

I remember the sheriff’s car pulling up with the lights flashing and the siren screaming. You would have thought Barney Fife was after Dillinger. I figured he was after me because Eliot never broke the law as far as I knew. So Eliot and I took off under a big pile of hay. I told him to be quiet; I guess his yakking gave us up.

That damn cop grabbed me by the collar of my good coat and beat the crap out of me. What did I ever do to him? Were they his damn vegetables?

He didn’t lay a hand on Eliot. I guess he was after me.

Yah. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the cop car. The prick slammed my good right hand in the car door. My fingers were hanging by a thread.

Me, standing there, crying like a baby. The cop shoving my busted up bloody ass into that car. Now I know why they use vinyl seat covers in cop cars.

Can this make any sense? Eliot, the conduit of disease, he is the prince of the bubonic plague. He goes back to lunch and I am busted and locked up. At least one of us is free to be free.

Now I’m getting worked up. Calm down. Don’t let them get to you.

Maybe it’s those drugs talking to your brain.

My toes. I can’t feel my legs. Nothing is moving down there. They have me pinned down and laying in my own crap.

I think I’m shorter. Those bastards must be aliens. Yah, aliens dressed like cops and doctors. This has got to be a space ship.

Alright, come to grips with it. Aliens must have abducted you and they are experimenting on your body. Are they going to take my hand and replace it with a tentacle or a blaster?

The facts are clear. Now its time to figure out an angle. I need a plan to get me out of this mess.

That’s it. Tell them you work for the CIA. Trade information for freedom. Tell them all they want to know about ICBM missiles or star wars or anything.

How smart can they be if they kidnapped me? Don’t they know that kidnapping is a federal crime? These guys are really looking for trouble.

Damn, I hate being short. Go figure, if they can make you shorter they can make you taller.

Just my luck. Fifty-fifty chance and I get the short end.

I sure miss Eliot.

 5

Vomit is the worst way to start a day. I’ts even worse than waking up in your own crap. All you can do is try to spit the taste out of your mouth. It just won’t leave. It lays in your cheeks and sours every breath.

Alright Mr. Sheriff, prosecutor, alien, whoever the hell you are. What have you done to me? Look at my legs. How the hell am I suppose to get around on these little stumps?

OK, I’ll calm down.

Yes please, take off the restraints. Of course I know where I am.

Jail, of course I’m in jail. You can call this place anything you want to call it.

A nod is the same as a wink to a blind horse.

So, if what you say is true and I am really in your jail there must be some charges against me.

Trespassing. You bastards beat the hell out of me, smashed my hand, and made me shorter, sold me to aliens just because I was trespassing.

Why the hell didn’t you tell me to leave?

Alright, I’ll calm down.

Now you want me to sign a release. How the hell can I sign anything? My good right hand is bandaged.

You feed me first you bastards then we can deal. First food then you give me back my height.

Go figure. Here I am. Cleaned up, bandaged up, well fed in a space ship. Aliens want to cut a deal with me. They must figure that I know something big. Why should I let them down? Perhaps I’ll sell Earth down the river if the deal is right.

Maybe it’s a ploy. I’m dead and this is the afterlife. Could be they shot me with a space weapon and sent me into another dimension. Only one way to tell.

Damn, I can’t pass through that wall. So I’m not dead. I still have my secrets to trade. You can fool some of the people some of the time. You can’t fool the CIA.

 6

Alright Mr. lawyer. What do you have to offer?

No I don’t want a lawyer. What are you going to offer next? You must be Satan himself.

Alright, alright. You want me to make my mark on this paper and this notary guy will sign it. That’s all I have to do and you bloody assassins are off the hook? Just like the Black Hole of Calcutta never happened.

How much? Five thousand dollars to sign. I just promise not to file suit against this town and leave the county. How much for my secrets?

OK, I’ll keep my secrets. Just take me back to Earth and set me free. By any chance could you make me taller?

 7

Well Sarg, can you believe my good luck? Here I am with five thousand dollars cash in my new coat. I have a healed up right hand and a bottle of wine. I even have a police officer driving me around like I am a big shot.

Nice seats. Ever been puked on?

Not so bad Friday? Did you check out that nurse? I bet you did.

The past two weeks have been like being on vacation. I had nothing but drugs and women. If that isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is.

I’m goanna miss you old pal. I’ll bet as soon as I put my old self on that dog I’ll think about the good times we had together. You and me like Pauncho and Cisco.

All right, play the stoic. All a man like you wants is the facts. It doesn’t matter. I like aliens.

So I’ll tell you some interesting facts about me. Could you believe it? I used to piss like a racehorse. You would have thought a dyke busted when I let the old yellow water flow.

That was the good old days when a piss was a piss. I guess I never appreciated that gift.

Now days I tinkle like an old woman. My piss is so weak I was ashamed to pee when a nurse was in the room. I was afraid she would hear the little tinkle.

What the hell, as long as I can piss I know I am still alive.

You know life through the neck of a liquor bottle is no picnic. I’m just saying pills, booze and drugs can’t be it. There has to be something else.

 8

Friday, why are we stopping here? I don’t have to piss. I don’t want to get out of the car.

OK, OK take the money. DON’T HIT ME.