Grasshopper Jungle (27 page)

Felek Szczerba, whose American name was Felix Szerba, was the first victim of
McKeon Industries Plague Strain 412E
.

Nobody knew anything about it.

They sure found out fast, though.

As we let the film play through, Dr. Grady McKeon's voice spoke over a series of frozen pictures. The pictures showed the faces of the scientists and secretaries who worked with Felix Szerba at McKeon Industries. Dr. Grady McKeon explained how these brave patriots lost their lives while developing an Unstoppable Soldier to fight against Communism.

Unfortunately, the Unstoppable Soldiers McKeon Industries created were nothing more than accidents of nature resembling six-foot-tall praying mantises with lightning-fast arms that were studded with rows and rows of needle-sharp, barbed teeth.

Unstoppable Soldiers liked doing only two things: fucking and eating.

They were also nearly impossible to stop.

Dr. Grady McKeon said that, through research, scientists at McKeon Industries did find one way to stop his Unstoppable Soldiers.

And that was exactly when Reel Three of Five ended.

“We need to go back,” I said.

Robby said, “Uh.”

Shann said, “Back
where
?”

“We need to go back to Grasshopper Jungle. Robby and I need to go back up on the roof. We left something there,” I said.

“What did you two leave up there?” Shann said.

I could have said a lot of things about what Robby Brees and I left behind up on the roof of Grasshopper Jungle.

I said, “The rest of this film is up there. Shann, we
need
to see the rest of this film.”

Shann said, “Oh.”

And Robby said, “And I think we need to hurry.”

FELEK SZCZERBA WAS
nine years old when his father was killed.

It happened at a place called Cisterna.

Cisterna is in Italy.

Andrzej Szerba had joined the United States Army in 1942. He enlisted in the Army because he wanted to fight against Hitler, and because he was so unhappy living in Iowa with Phoebe Hildebrandt.

Andrzej Szczerba was homosexual, but nobody knew anything about that.

The only person who ever knew about Andrzej Szczerba's homosexuality was Herman Weinbach.

Herman Weinbach died from pneumonia in Midvale, Iowa, in 1934.

Andrzej Szczerba never got to meet Herman Weinbach's uncle, a man named Bruno Wojner, who performed with
Bruno's Amazing and Incredible Dogs
with a circus in California.

In the summer of 1944, Andrzej Szczerba was shot through the back of his head while he was crouching down to take a shit in a little place called Cisterna, Italy. He received a medal for getting killed while shitting.

Andrzej Szczerba's great-grandson, Eric Christopher Szerba, also received a medal for having his balls torn off by an unstoppable homemade bomb.

Dulce Et Decorum Est
.

Felix Szerba was very intelligent. He graduated from high school in Iowa City at the age of fourteen. His mother, Phoebe Hildebrandt, remarried when Felek was ten years old.

Phoebe Hildebrandt began having sexual intercourse after the long lonely spell that followed the time Andrzej Szczerba stole her virginity and gave her his son, Felek.

Phoebe Hildebrandt hated Felek's name.

Against Felek's will, Phoebe Hildebrandt had her new husband, whose name was Daniel Barton, adopt the boy and change his name to Felix Barton. It is a little-known fact of history that I was nearly named Austin Barton, a name that has the kind of ringing sound Iowans appreciate.

Daniel Barton owned a radio station in Iowa City. He was fifty-two years old when he married Phoebe Hildebrandt in 1945.

Daniel Barton also had defective semen. He had a low sperm count, but Daniel Barton never knew anything about it. He never knew because his wife, Phoebe, became pregnant three times from three different men before Felix graduated from high school.

Daniel Barton was convinced he had very powerful sperm.

Phoebe Barton was a real dynamo at having sexual intercourse with numerous men in Iowa City.

Phoebe Barton was unstoppable. She liked doing exactly the same two things that bugs like to do.

Phoebe Barton never knew how much she would enjoy sexual intercourse until Andrzej Szczerba was shot in the head while taking a shit. Before that, Phoebe only believed that sexual intercourse was painful, interminably long, and sad—and that it would make you bleed. Phoebe Barton's three new children—a boy named Eldon Wayne and two girls, Chastity and Linda—were presumed by everyone to be full-blooded Bartons. Daniel Barton believed it, too.

Phoebe Barton's youngest daughter, whose name was Linda, was a product of semen that was produced in the testicles of Felix's high school physics teacher.

After Felix Barton, whose real name was Felek Szczerba but was called Felix Szerba by American people, graduated high school at the very young age of fourteen, Daniel Barton and his wife, Phoebe, enrolled the boy into Stanford University.

Stanford University is in a place called Palo Alto, California.

Palo Alto
means tall stick in Spanish.

There are big trees near Stanford University.

Spanish missionaries were real good at naming shit.

Felix Barton was very lonely and unhappy in California. At Stanford, Felix tried to kill himself once by mixing chemicals that created a poisonous cloud of gas.

It was not a good idea.

Felix Barton only ended up burning the lining of his airways. As a result, Felix Barton, who had been born Felek Szczerba, had a chronic cough for the rest of his life.

After he graduated the university, Felix had his name legally changed back to Felek Andrzej Szczerba. He sometimes went by Felix Szerba, because Americans get so uptight about all those bunched-up consonants and shit like that.

Felek married a Catholic Polish girl he met in California. His wife was named Ksenia. She was very beautiful. Ksenia Szczerba was my grandmother.

Unlike his adoptive father, Daniel Barton, Felek Szczerba did not have any problems at all with his sperm.

In 1960, when Felek was twenty-five years old, his first son, Arek Andrzej Szczerba, was born. Arek Andrzej Szczerba was my father, Eric Szerba.

Felek and Ksenia Szczerba had four more strong Polish sons together. Their names were Krzys, Mieszko, Gabrysz, and Jacek.

In 1965, Felek Szczerba and his family moved back to Iowa, to Ealing, where Felek accepted a position in the research laboratories at McKeon Industries.

In 1968, Felek Szczerba was killed in a motorcycle accident. The history recorded in the Waterloo paper described how Felek Szczerba apparently lost control of his motorcycle and ran himself beneath the wheels of a freight car that was carrying liquid fertilizer.

The fertilizer was made in Ealing, Iowa.

What actually happened to Felek Andrzej Szczerba that day was this: Felek Andrzej Szczerba hatched out.

Felek
means lucky.

Felek Szczerba was the first Unstoppable Soldier.

SAINT KAZIMIERZ WAS
not an Unstoppable Soldier.

When he was a teenager, his father ordered Kazimierz to lead the army of Poland to conquer Hungary. Some Catholic scholars claim Kazimierz refused to do it. They say Kazimierz did not refuse because he was afraid. Kazimierz refused because he thought it was unjust to go to war against Hungary. Some historians claim Kazimierz, who was only thirteen at the time, went to war, but was defeated.

Hungarians may have masturbated less often than Polish boys. This is probably true.

Kazimierz's father punished him for not going to war. It is difficult to imagine how you could punish a boy for
not
going to war. It is kind of like punishing a boy for skipping dinner by giving him cake.

In order to resist sexual temptation, Kazimierz wore a hair shirt, which was something coarse and irritating that was made from goats' hair. Devout people like Kazimierz would wear this garment as underwear so it would rub against their skin. The only purpose of a hair shirt is to cause injury and pain. Some historians claim that Saint Kazimierz may have worn his hair shirt in direct contact with his penis.

Hair shirts work like dynamos.

Nobody makes hair shirts nowadays.

I TOLD SHANN
Collins everything that night.

I told her about what happened at Grasshopper Jungle. I said Grant Wallace and the Hoover Boys had broken into the place looking for alcohol, and that Robby Brees and I should not have been there, but we were. I told Shann Collins what we found inside Johnny McKeon's office, and how Tyler Jacobson dropped the glass universe and splattered what we knew was
412E
all over the alley behind
From Attic to Seller Consignment Store
.

This is what I said to Shann Collins: Robby Brees drove me out to Waterloo, so we could look into the future. We went to the
Tally-Ho!
, where a homeless man we called Hungry Jack stepped in front of the path of a speeding Dodge truck, and then this horrible creature hatched out of his body and ate him.

Shann had to go home. It was late.

Shann changed out of her Eden Project jumpsuit. She could not go home dressed in a strange uniform. Wendy McKeon, Shann Collins's mother, was one of those types of mothers who paid attention to things like what their children were wearing when they left the house. Wendy McKeon would ask questions, and we did not want anyone to know about Shann's silo.

Nobody knew anything at all about Eden.

Robby Brees and I kept our Eden Project jumpsuits on. We left all our clothes, except for our shoes, down inside the silo. Wearing the jumpsuits made us feel like we were an Army or something. It made us feel like we belonged together.

Anyway, Robby Brees and I had some shit to do.

Nobody would ever know if Robby and I didn't go home that night.

It was 8:30. Shann had missed dinner with her family. Her cell phone hadn't worked when we were down inside Eden. She was going to be in trouble. Good Lutheran kids in Iowa do not forget to come home for dinner with their families.

Coming up out of Eden under a big, black, star-filled Iowa sky made us feel like we were climbing from a spaceship and onto the surface of some alien world. Everything was different.

We were the New Humans.

That was exactly what Dr. Grady McKeon told us we were.

Robby waited for me in his old Ford Explorer, so I could walk Shann to the front door of the McKeon House. I asked her if she wanted me to say something to her mom or to Johnny McKeon, but Shann said no, that she was going to be in trouble and I couldn't possibly make things better.

So I hugged Shann. It felt really good squeezing my body against hers in my jumpsuit, like I wasn't wearing anything but my boxers. I kissed her for a long time and ran my hands up and down from her butt to her shoulders. I was trying to get her to accept Dr. Grady McKeon's advice about our mission. I had forgotten all about Robby waiting in his car and about big monstrous bugs. I pressed my hips into Shann's.

That was exactly when Shann whispered, “I think Robby is in love with you, Austin.”

I felt a lump in my throat, and I asked Saint Kazimierz to make things okay.

“Uh,” I said.

“I can tell he is,” Shann said.

I said, “Is there something wrong with that?”

Shann backed away from me a half step. Her eyes tracked up and down, up and down, all over my body. Jumpsuits are no good for hiding erections. I tried to adjust myself.

Shann said, “Is there
something
wrong
with that? Don't you think there's
something
wrong
with that, Austin?”

“Uh,” I said.

I honestly did not think there was anything wrong with Robby Brees being in love with me.

I was probably wrong about that.

Shann said, “Have you guys ever
done
anything?”

I felt all the blood draining out from every part of my body. It felt cold and wiggly.

“What do you mean? Like skate? We do lots of things,” I said.

I do not lie. It is my job not to ever lie.

I wanted a cigarette.

“Have you ever kissed Robby?” Shann said.

I had to tell her. I loved Shann, and I do not lie.

“Um. Yes,” I said.

“Oh,” Shann said. “Like, I mean, a
real
kiss?”

“Yes, I did,” I said.

I looked away. I was suddenly aware that Robby was waiting. I could hear the
clunk-clunk-clunk
of the old Ford's engine.

Shann backed up against the front door.

Then Shann said, “Have you and Robby ever had sex with each other?”

“Uh. Um,” I said, “no.”

I did not lie to her.

“Come on, Shann. Please.” I said, “You know I am totally in love with you.”

Shann looked as though I'd just kicked her in the stomach. She did not say another word. She went inside and closed the door behind her. I heard the sound of the deadbolt turning within the door's locking mechanism.

And that was my day. You know what I mean.

What was I going to do?

The end of the world was nearly one week old.

The end of the world was nearly one week old and only three people in Ealing knew about it: Me, Robby Brees, and Shann Collins.

ROBBY SLID A PACK
of cigarettes across the top of the dashboard toward me when I climbed into his car.

He did not say anything.

I did not say anything.

Robby could tell something else had gone wrong. Another something else. Robby always knew everything about me.

I lit a cigarette.

The engine clunked and clunked.

“This car's on its last legs,” I said.

ROBBY TOOK ME
home. I needed to get my history books, and Ingrid, too.

I wanted to take Ingrid with us to Eden.

Maybe I was crazy with grief. Maybe all the shit—thinking about my brother, Eric, my grandfather, Felek, and his lost and sad father, Andrzej, poor Herman Weinbach who loved him, Saint Kazimierz, Shann Collins, and the talking European starling named Baby—playing all of those thoughts through the reel-to-reel between my ears made me feel like I was all alone and standing on the edge of a razor blade.

Robby played one of his father's old cassette tapes in the Explorer.

We listened to
Exile on Main Street
.

And the car shuddered past Curtis Crane Lutheran Academy, which was located in Ealing, Iowa, on
Main Street
.

“So. You want to tell me about it, Porcupine?” Robby said.

I knew what Robby was talking about. I played dumb, anyway.

I said, “Tell you about
what
, Rob?”

“What happened between you and Shann back there. That's what,” Robby said.

“Oh.” I said, “Nothing.”

History does show that
nothing
means a hell of a lot more than
nothing
when teenagers talk. In this case, Robby knew it meant that I did not want to talk about it, so he left me alone.

Robby Brees was such a good friend.

It was awkwardly quiet inside my empty house with Robby Brees that night. It was one of those exceedingly dumb moments where I did not know whether I was supposed to actually say something to him. I felt myself wanting to act like an asshole to Robby again, so I closed my eyes and asked Saint Kazimierz to help me shut the hell up.

Ingrid came bounding for the door as soon as we were inside. She ran out into the nicely mowed front yard.

I left the door standing open, a kind of message to anyone passing by that Robby Brees and I were
not
conducting experiments inside my house while my parents were gone.

Robby knew what I was doing.

Leaving the door open like that was the kind of thing an uptight asshole would do.

I grabbed my cell phone from the coffee table where it had been sitting all day. I saw that I'd missed a phone call from Eric, my brother. Eric left a message. I sat on the sofa and listened to my brother's voice. Robby stood by the door and watched me. He knew what was happening. We were soldiers in this together, wearing our Grasshopper Jungle uniforms.

Robby Brees and I could be unstoppable, too, if we told ourselves to be.

This is the message Eric left for me on my phone:

Hey, Booney. I miss you and I hope you're out having fun and smoking cigarettes and shit like that. I wish you were here instead of Dad and Mom. I'm sorry if I scared you or anything. I'm going to be okay, Booney. I promise. You be okay, too. I'll see you soon.

When I was nine years old and Eric was fifteen, my family took a trip to Nashville, Tennessee. I still do not understand why we went to Nashville, but I do remember that my mother and father enjoyed the trip quite a bit.

Because Eric was a teenager, my father and mother would go out at night and listen to music. They felt comfortable leaving my brother and me alone at our hotel.

Eric was mature and sensible enough at fifteen to take care of me.

These days, mothers and fathers end up in jail for doing shit like that. At least, you frequently hear terrible stories about what happens to kids left alone in hotel rooms, even if the kids happen to be sensible and mature.

While we were in Tennessee, my father bought me a fake coonskin cap, which I wore for so many continuous days and nights I began to develop a bald spot on the back of my scalp. My bald spot was right below the place on the cap where a plastic button had been stitched to the inside, in order to secure the fake raccoon tail.

The coonskin cap was a souvenir from a place called Crockett-Land.

The coonskin cap was made in China.

Richard M. Nixon, president of the United States of America, brought some Unstoppable Corn to China in 1972. He used the Unstoppable Corn to dissolve Prime Minister Chou En-lai's balls.

To my knowledge, my fake coonskin cap did not adversely affect my balls.

CrockettLand sold souvenirs that cashed in on a man named Davy Crockett, who was a frontiersman from Tennessee.

Eric started calling me
Booney
that summer when I was nine and he was fifteen because he said I looked like Daniel Boone, who was also a frontiersman from Pennsylvania.

History shows that neither Davy Crockett nor Daniel Boone ever wore coonskin caps, but movies made people believe they did. Meriwether Lewis wore coonskin caps, however.

I was happy my brother did not start calling me
Meriwether
.

I do not know if movies ever showed Meriwether Lewis wearing a coonskin cap. When you think of exciting movies about frontiersmen, you tend to think about Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, as opposed to some guy named Meriwether.

Movies made people believe a lot of shit about history.

Robby Brees and I believed what we saw in
Eden Orientation Series
.

It was the truth.

There were two prostitutes who lived in the same hotel in Nashville where we stayed.

One night, Eric and I were playing catch with a foam rubber football out on the balcony that connected all the rooms on the third floor, which was the floor our room was on. We said hello to the prostitutes.

The prostitutes were named Tiffany and Rhonda.

I do not know their last names.

History shows that a lot of prostitutes do not necessarily need last names.

Tiffany had hair the color of whipped sweet potatoes and skin like creamy hot cocoa. Rhonda had lemon meringue hair and always wore lipstick the color of cotton candy.

Eric knew what Tiffany and Rhonda were doing. I thought it was curious how my brother would watch Tiffany and Rhonda come and go, and come and go, and how Eric always acted so nice and proper toward them. The girls winked at us both, and sometimes Tiffany, who was quite fat, would comb her hands through Eric's hair and flirt with him suggestively, and rub the back of my neck with her thick warm fingers.