Some elves were startled as the bunny stomped past in
a determined panic, a silver metal box in his arms. The modest
handful of codeine he'd swallowed in the billiard room's bathroom
after losing four snooker matches in a row was just now
beginning to kick in. He slogged down the long hallways, up a
stairway, down a corridor pooled with melted snowy water, and
stood tottering slightly in front of Mary Holiday's bedroom
door, the drug numbing the edges of his perception.
He lit another cigarette and sucked on it, standing in
the damp hallway, smoking and listening to the dripping noises.
There was no sound coming from Mary's room. This could be
interpreted as both a good thing and a bad thing.
The bunny decided to take his chances. He knocked
heavily, almost obnoxiously, on the door and flicked the
remaining half of his cigarette into one of the shimmering
puddles on the floor. It landed and sizzled out with a faint
splash and hiss. He stood there a moment longer, staring at
the door and then knocked again. Still there was no answer.
"Sir?" he called through the door, knocking one more
time. There was no response. He tried the doorknob but it was
locked. Barbed strands of worry were beginning to get through
the codeine barricades.
"Sir, are you in there?" he tried. "Are you okay?"
He was about to give up and go look for him elsewhere
when he heard a faint, choked gasp from inside.
"Pardon?" he said and leaned in close against the door.
"....Nnnngh... go... away...." rasped Mary's voice.
Forgetting the metal box, it crashed to the ground. He
expertly threw himself against the opposing wall and then with
the force only giant bunny legs had, he stomped the door in,
the door frame splintering off with the hinges as it crashed
into the room.
Mary had hung himself.
The bunny knew this not only because of the
overwhelming visual evidence (which was Mary hung from a rope
by his neck) but because rarely when he received vicious blows
to the head from Mary did he receive them at such an angle.
"Leave me alone!" yelled Mary from above as the bunny
groaned, getting to his feet again.
"Stop kicking at me!" he yelled as he uprighted
a chair. He climbed onto it, grabbed at Mary's thrashing legs as
they swung at him and with his other arm pulled a knife from
his side pocket and cut the rope, sending Mary crashing to the
floor.
"Go to hell!" howled Mary, clutching his sore red
throat.
"Sir, you know you can't die!"
"It was working, dammit!" Mary yelled like a mad
scientist. "It was working!"
He sprang to his feet, grabbed a guitar and rushed the
bunny swinging it. Luckily it was already so badly damaged
that when it struck his face it collapsed completely to pieces.
"FUCK!" yelled Mary.
"Just calm down! Calm down, sir!"
"Get out of my way!" Mary screamed and charged
directly out of the room. The bunny gathered up the box and followed responsibly like
a mother following an infant which has been zapped by a growth
ray and started destroying the city. As he rushed past shocked
people in the hallways he tried to gesture apologetically to
them but felt he did an unsatisfactory job.
He followed Mary through the hat and all the way to the
control room, where a wild and raucous party was in full
swing. There were party streamers strewn all about, the fog
had thickened into a bubbling waist-high foam and a drunken conga line
stumbled its way around the room, stupid like a cold insect.
Everyone had party hats on and they were just beginning to
consider getting down to business and actually dancing when
Mary burst in, pale-faced with anger in his eyes. He took in
all the people with a horrified prolonged stare, shrieked
and then dropped to the ground, disappearing into the heavy fog.
The bunny rushed in after, out of breath, panting heavily, the
drugs weighing on his mind.
"Has anyone seen Mary?" he shouted, clutching his chest.
Nobody could hear him. There was intensely wild pop
music drowning him out from above. Nobody had even noticed
Mary charge in and sink into the fog. They continued their
intoxicated conga procession unaware.
"EVERYONE!" the bunny insisted with urgency. "LOOK OUT!"
But it was too late. Spots began opening up in the
conga line as one by one people were sucked down into the deep
fog. The bunny thought he saw Mary's tangled hair occasionally
near the surface but he couldn't be sure. When the conga line
had thinned sufficiently, Mary sprang up behind his throne, did
a little fanciful pirouette over to the supply closet, opened
it, pulled out a fire extinguisher, stuck the nozzle as far
into his mouth as it would go, and turned it on. His eyes shot
wide and he dropped back into the fog again. By this time
the hat had figured to turn off the music and begin making
fretful noises. It was quiet, except for the members of the
conga line who continued to drone along with the missing music
as they moved slowly.
The bunny rushed over to where Mary had last been
seen. "Sir?" he called frantically, on his knees, searching
through the fog.
"Sir? Are you okay? Talk to me! Please!"
There was no answer for some time and when it finally
came, it wasn't what the bunny had been expecting.
"Hi," said a calm voice from below.
"Mary? Mary, are you okay?"
Mary seemed to think about this considerably before
replying. "Well," he said. "No. I wouldn't go so far as to
say 'okay.'"
The bunny searched for something to talk about. Even
outside of crises they didn't have many common interests to
talk about. "Uh, how did therapy go?"
"Oh, it went well. I feel we really connected."
"Really?"
"Uh huh."
The bunny looked around. The conga line, leaning in on
itself to fill the gaps seemed to be stuck in the corner.
"Why don't you come up here, Mary? We can... talk
about this..."
"I like it down here."
"Okay, okay," said the bunny, improvising. "How about
if you tell me what's wrong and I'll see if there's anything I
can do about it?"
"What's wrong?" Mary howled. "Look at this place!
All these... these... filthy people!"
"They're not filthy!" yelled Maxine from somewhere
inside the conga line.
"Yes they are!" insisted Mary. "And they smell," he
added under his breath.
"They do not smell!"
"Pfah."
"I was just coming to tell you, Mary," said the bunny
in the most passive voice he had. "Mary?"
"I'm over here now."
The bunny shifted around. "I was just coming to tell
you that the results came back from the lab." He set the box
down into the fog and heard it being dragged away a little bit.
"Well, it's about time."
"They said they had some difficulty tracing the origin
of the artifact."
"Dandy," said Mary. "Is it worth anything?"
"I don't know, actually. They didn't say. I could
check, if you..."
"No, never mind. It's not important. It's too ugly to
sell anyhow."
"Yes, well, hmm," the bunny said, clearing his throat
and waiting a moment. "I, uh, I hate to bother you further,
Mary. But are you... are you interested in knowing where it
came from?"
"No," said Mary. "But I guess you might as well tell
me."
"They say it's some sort of religious idol from --"
"Now that I think of it," Mary said pensively. "Maybe
it's better not to know. I mean, everyone loves a mystery,
right? Why ruin the suspense?"
The bunny wished he'd taken more codeine. "Do you want
to hear this or not?"
"Sure, why not."
"It's a religious idol from a race called the Kraelians."
"I see."
The bunny waited for a bit and then added, "Yes."
"What would they want with my body?"
"I, I don't know, Mary. We're trying to find that out,
but it's going to take a bit of time."
"All right, well, I'll talk to you later then."
"Okay," the bunny said without thinking about it. He
paused. "Are you going to be okay down there, sir?"
"Oh, I'll be fine," said Mary. "Say, where's the next
mission?"
"Poughkeepsie, New York. We're already there."
"Thanks."
7:13pm, October 13th, 1989.
It was a cool Autumn evening. The air was moist, but
it wasn't yet raining. Instead it just hung there heavily, rubbing
against your skin like a wet dog.
Mary watched the sky darken from the steps of a closed
church, where he sat cross-legged with his hat in his lap. He
silently watched small swarms of people walk past, scurrying
through their evenings. Every now and then someone would
notice him, approach hesitantly with guilt in their eyes, and
drop a modest coin or two into his hat. Mary found their
kidness amusing and happened to be in that certain melancholy state where
you're without the energy to thrash those around you.
Half an hour later, the cold fully entrenched in Mary's
thin bones, it began to drizzle softly. He watched small
raindrops splatter against the pavement, unconsciously counting
them. When he got to fifty he decided maybe he should start
trying to figure out what it was he had to do, although he
wasn't all that anxious to get back inside the hat.
He wandered down the street a bit, dimly aware of the
cars hissing by through the rain beside him. Occasionally one
would come too close to the curb and splash water on him, but
he paid it no attention and kept walking until he came to a
large but rather worn looking motel. He plodded around behind
it.
There was a small park in the grass behind a parking
lot, and from it you could see the rear wall of the motel. It
was full of windows: some pitch black, and others lit with
slow, intriguing shadows. He watched them with vague
curiosity, soothed by the sound of the rain thumping softly
against his hat. A lot of his time was spent thinking about
therapy. About change. About the crowds now swarming through
his hat like parasites. The irony that he was wearing his
torment on his head.
It was around nine o'clock when he caught a glimpse of
a curious figure walk by the side of the motel, down where he
could see the sidewalk and street, leading to a large permanent
bridge. He leaned forward to get a better look at the figure,
but they were already out of view. Mary took a deep breath,
straightened his hat and went after them.
The figure, who appeared to be a thin balding man as Mary caught new
angles of him, went hesitantly to the bridge as though he was
afraid of it; wary and suspicious. Mary kept his distance,
unsure if the man knew he was being trailed or not. The man then went to the
middle of the bridge, leaned against the wet metal railing and
looked over into the rushing water below. He seemed to come to
some sort of decision after a few moments' contemplation and
climbed over the railing. Mary approached, his footsteps
drowned out by rain smacking the asphalt. He stood directly
behind him.
"Hey," he said. The man wobbled fiercely, straining
for balance and trembling with shock. Mary was sure he was going to drop right then and
there, but somehow he managed to hold onto the railing.
"What the fuck?!" yelled the man, lurching around at
him. Mary casually stepped over the railing and stood on the
cement ledge as well. Below was a black rushing river
prickled with raindrops.
"Don't come near me!" the man yelled in his anxiety.
"Don't worry," said Mary, folding his arms and leaning
back. "I don't care."
The man couldn't think of anything to say to this, so
he said nothing. Instead he tried to continue with his
suicidal contemplation as though no-one was standing beside
him, but felt awkward and forced about it. Like he was trying
to pee while being graded for form. Mary realized this and began
tapping his foot impatiently, as though he were waiting to use
the bridge after him and wished he'd finish up and get out of
the way. He enjoyed watching the man's expression change from
one of grave determination to common annoyance.
"Look," he said, turning around to face Mary. "What do
you want?"
Mary shrugged. "Nothing," he said.
"Then why are you here?"
Mary looked out over the river and up at the far off
buildings in a speculative manner and then shrugged again.
"Why, am I not allowed up here?"
The man swallowed, began some sort of imploring gesture
for sincerity but cut it off when he realized Mary was just
staring at his hands blankly, like television. "It's not that
you're not allowed," sputtered the man, "it's just that
I'm... I kind of want to be alone right now."
Mary looked past him. "You're going to kill yourself."
The man stared down at the water.
"I can tell these sorts of things," said Mary.
"Look buddy," said the man, his voice hard and loud
now, "would you just get the fuck out of here? I don't know
what the fuck you're tryin' to pull, but I'm not looking for a
fuckin' savior. I'm not looking for sympathy or an audience or
a fuckin' freakshow psychopath to jump with me, okay? Just
turn around and get the fuck out of here and forget you ever
fuckin' saw me!"
Mary slugged him in the face.
The man yelped and his knees buckled down onto the ledge. He clutched his face as blood leaked out over
his hands and wrists.
"You just watch your mouth," said Mary, leaning back
again and folding his arms. "I'm the living dead. You don't
talk like that to the living dead."
"What the hell did you do that for!?" wailed the man.
"Fuckin' crazy motherfucker! Hit me in the goddamn..."
Mary ignored his ranting and stared up into the sky.
The stars were coming through clear, like light through holes
in tin-foil. "Nice night, isn't it?" he said conversationally.
The man crawled back a bit and spit bloody mouthfuls
off the ledge. Red streaked down his chin, which he wiped on
his jacket. He kept his eyes on Mary. "Yeah," he mumbled
under his breath. "Yeah."
Mary turned towards him again. "You want to die," he
said, calmly.
"Yeah," said the man nervously with his fingers in his
mouth, feeling his teeth. "Yeah, I do. Is this your way of
stopping me? I mean, I didn't ask..."
"Why the bridge?" asked Mary, leaning over a little
bit, looking down into the water.
"What?"
"Why the bridge? Why not some other way? It doesn't
look all that high up here. What if you don't die?"
"Uh. I hadn't thought much--"
"The water looks kind of deep too," Mary said, mostly
to himself. "Was this your first choice?"
"What?"
"Are you deaf? To kill yourself. Was this your first
choice?"
"Well, uh, yeah. Yeah it was. I mean, I didn't
really--"
"What about a gun?"
"I don't--"
"That's how I did it," said Mary reflectively, as though he was recalling a certain summer's day. "Bang.
Loud solid shot in the mouth, through the brain, lodged in
the upper back of my skull. Minimal mess. Worked for me. I
highly recommend it. Of course there are other options," he
said, trailing off.
The rain rattled against the iron railing and dripped
off the brim of Mary's hat onto his pale face.
"Like what?"
Mary shrugged. "Read a book," he said. "Although I
can tell you that one of the most painful ways to die is to
get yourself nice and tied down in the desert and then slowly
be eaten alive by red ants. It'll drive you insane long before
it kills you."
"How do you know that?"
"I took a course," said Mary. "You learn a lot being
dead."
"You aren't dead," said the man. "Dead people can't
walk and talk and punch me in the mouth and shit."
"Oh, how very wrong you are," said Mary. "I can even
travel through time."
"No shit?"
"No shit whatsoever," said Mary.
"Why'd you hit me?"
"Because you're a fucking whiner. What the hell do
you have to complain about? I've had a worse life and death
than you and you don't see me on a bridge -- well, other than
now, that is -- feeling sorry for my stupid-ass self just
because I'm too busy kissing my own ass to do something about
it."
The man tried to protest but Mary cut him off.
"No, shut up, I'm sick of you; and people like you. You think
you've got it so bad. Well, that's bullshit. You're like a
spoiled rich kid with parents you can run to every time things
get rough. Only your rich parents are death and every time you
get overwhelmed by the lack of direction or meaning in your
petty little lifey-life you can just run back to the womb and
feed off your mom like the little moral parasite you are."
"You don't even know me!" the man yelled.
"And you know what?" Mary continued. "The problem with
your rich bitch-daddy death is that you only get one shot and
once it's used up, you're out of turns. You automatically
assume like the selfish son of a bitch you are that as soon as
you move on to the next whatever you're going to have some
other parental figure to wipe your nose and pick up your toys
after you. Maybe God, maybe Satan, maybe some other floaty
motherfucker people have been lying to you about since you were
old enough to be tricked. You never stop to think that maybe
you're not gonna always have the luxury of an ambiguous magical
eject button."
"Nice advice," said the man.
Mary kicked his leg, hard. "It's not advice, you moron."
"Stop hitting me!"
"What the hell is your problem? Why do you want to die?"
"My girlfriend!" yelled the man in a sudden outpouring
of emotion. "She's a slut! She cheated on me with my best
friend--"
Mary rolled his eyes. "Oh, so what?" he said and
then turned to the sky. "ALIENS STOLE MY BODY!" He looked
down at the man. "Beat that. Can you? No, I didn't think so."
"You're crazy!"
"And you're so incredibly perceptive I could probably
gouge both your eyes out and you'd still notice when I rammed
your head up your ass, isn't that right?"
"Fuck, why are you doing this to me?! Just leave me
alone!"
"I've been hit by cars, I've been harrassed by fans,
there are people in my hat, poets are still writing poetry, and
I'm standing on a fucking bridge in New York talking to
some guy who needs a shot in the head worse than anyone I've
ever met before."
"Can't you understand!?" The man had tears welling up
in his eyes and his chin trembled. "Can't you see that I--"
"Hey!" Mary cut him off. "I've got a joke for you."
The man stopped talking and stared blankly.
"Knock, knock," said Mary. The man was shaken up by
the sudden change in mood. He was just getting used to being
yelled at.
"Who..." said the man slowly, "Who's there?"
"Nobody," said Mary. And with that, he hopped over the railing and
walked off into the distance, disappearing into the dark rain.
Later on he found a novelty beer hat in a park and gave
it to a wino camping nearby.
Mary's nervous breakdown had hit the bunny the hardest.
His gut churned with anxiety and he had depleted his small supply of over the counter drugs within a few days. Whiskey and
cigarettes, his eyes were blurry and his stomach felt burnt.
He hadn't eaten anything in days and yet had vomitted twice,
the last time only blood. But he forced himself to keep up
with the hat. There was much more to be done now than ever
what with the increased population and when there was no other
escape it was all he could do. It was all that gave his existence meaning. He lugged trash into the sub-basements for disposal,
he cleaned, he unclogged toilets, he refilled soap dispensers.
He felt like the manager of a paranormal resort hotel.
Everyone needed rooms to stay in, accommodations, meals, etc.
Luckily, capitalism was already rampant on the hat so whatever
people were interested in purchasing would eventually wind up
presenting itself to them, though usually in the form of cheap knock-offs. The bunny fretted and scurried,
trying to make everyone but himself comfortable and at home
while Maxine worked the crowds.
That was her thing. She was experienced with positions
of control; it was what she excelled at. She handled
personnel, complaints about the management, job applications,
relocations, domestic disputes, fights, mobs, disability
issues, ethnic considerations and all manner of impending
terrorist attack.
Increasingly though, people would come up to her and
not ask "Where can I go to the can around here?" or "Where can
I get a ham sandwich?" or "Where can I get a ham sandwich in
the can around here?" all of which she had concise, helpful
answers to. She wasn't always rosy and cheerful, but she had
answers. Instead, though, of practical things, they would now
ask "Why am I here?", "What does this mean?", "Is my family
here?", "Are all my old pets here?", "Is this Heaven or is this
Hell?" She tried to content them with beauraucratic gibberish which
had always worked well in the past, but in the end
she had to just avoid them. She didn't know the answers to
these questions. Nobody knew the answers to these questions.
She had always just been an inspector specializing in internal
beaurau matters. It wasn't her business where people went when
they died, only that when they got there they didn't cause any
trouble. So she sent everyone else to Mary's room for divine
answers. Mary tried his best to deal with these questions in
his own way.
"What is the meaning of life?" someone would inevitably
ask.
"Who cares?" Mary would say. "You're dead now."
"Well what was the meaning of life?"
"I don't know," Mary would answer.
"Well," the person would pause and continue, not
knowing what they were up against, "What's the meaning of death
then?"
Mary would frown and gaze within his soul then say.
"Look, quit bothering me with this stupid shit. Who cares what
it means? It just is however it is. Why bother trying to
read extra stuff into it?"
"But why..."
"Who do I look like; God?"
"There's another thing I've been meaning--"
"Okay, you got me, I'm God! I run an amusement park!
I am, in fact, the being which created not only the universe,
but all the materials that the universe consists of, and I spend
my time dealing with you morons. Now go get God a Coke or he'll have you shot."
If he wasn't already, he quickly became a legend. His
awkward manner and erratic style quickly earned him if not a
sense of respect then a sense of fear from the majority of the
beings on the hat. It was all they could do.
Mary walked into the noisy barroom, a few people
cautiously said hi as he passed them. There were topless girls
bumping and grinding on a few of the tables, men and women
sticking money into their g-strings and a lot of different people drinking a lot of different things in a lot of different ways. Mary ignored them and
went to a table in the corner where a group of his new
friends were seated. He relaxed there for a while in silence,
absorbing the conversation of the others. Artists and a few of
the less serious revolutionaries.
"How fared your mission, young Holiday?" one of them
asked in an old British accent as Mary sat down.
"Utterly pointless!" Mary said brightly, clumsily
grabbing hold of somebody's drink and spilling most of it on
the tablecloth.
"Gads! Please be careful!" cried the owner of the drink.
"What feats of chivalry awaited you this time?"
"I had to give a broken beer hat to some homeless guy."
The group roared with laughter. Mary blushed faintly and
sucked Coke through a straw. "Screw off," he said through his
teeth.
Maxine approached the table, and Mary made an
impressive attempt to slide down under it but was blocked by
someone's legs.
"Mary?" she said. Mary lifted his eyebrows. "Can I
talk to you for a moment?"
"Well, I..."
"It's urgent."
"Cool," said Mary. He nodded to everyone, got out from
behind the table and they moved over into a dark corner.
"What's so important?" he said when they got there.
"Who's that creepy guy?" Maxine asked him, motioning at
one of the men sitting at the table.
"Who is he? He's Salvadore Dali!"
"He keeps staring at my ass."
"Let him! He's a brilliant artist."
"I don't care if he's brilliant! Tell him to stop
staring at my ass or I'll get my 'paints' and make my own
surreal creation on the canvas of his face."
Mary grinned a bit, frowned, and then grinned again.
"When you said 'paints', you meant weapons, right?"
Maxine put her hands on her hips. "Tell him to stop it
or I will. I'm just telling you because I know he's your
friend."
"Okay," said Mary, "but your ass is missing out on a
really wonderful opportunity here."
"And your ass is going to have a few opportunities of
its own if you don't tell him to stop it right now."
"Okay, okay. Whatever, fine. Was that all you wanted
to talk to me about?"
"No, the bunny's severely overworked down at Maryland.
I think it'd be a good idea if you went down there to help out."
"Yes," Mary said, "that does seem like a good idea."
Maxine regarded him carefully. "But you're not going to, are you?"
Mary nodded. "That's right."
"He's overworked! He needs help!"
"The kind of help that bunny needs, baby, I can't
provide."
"Don't call me baby."
"Okay," said Mary. "Baby." He smiled.
"Fuck off," she said and left the bar.
"Somehow, even if they suicide,
everyone survives."
- Harlan Ellison,
The Harlan Ellison Hornbook.
|
"Well, I've always been ambitious!" he called after
her. He wasn't sure if she heard him so he went back over to
the table. "Did you hear that?" he said to everyone.
"Hear what?" they asked, pausing their conversation.
"She told me to 'fuck off' and I said, 'Well, I've
always been ambitious!' Pretty good, huh?"
"I've heard better," said a man with a heavy
Spanish accent.
"Shut up," Mary said and slumped into his seat. "Oh, and
Maxine says to stop staring at her ass."
"Yo tengo chicle en cerabo!"
"Ah, go paint a house, you freak."
|
