Louse (7 page)
Authors: David Grand
“Don't get me wrong. I appreciate your decision to give us the chance you have. But in the end, what value does our life have without the value of what we earned from G.? Why should we even pursue this if the risk is for absolutely nothing?”
“Your chances are good,” Poppy assures him. “At this point, it is a matter of will and wit. You do what you do. I'll do as I do. You will see it to the end for the same reason as I. Because the risk
isn't
for absolutely nothing. You know that as well as Mr. Sherwood.” Poppy pats down the edge of his blanket with his long fingers. “But there must a parting of the ways.”
“I don't accept this,” Dr. Barnum says, shaking his head angrily. “You've done this to disgrace us! Plain and simple. To humiliate us! The least you can do, Herbert, is to allow us the dignity to be worthy opponents.”
“And how might I do that?”
“By providing us with more information!â¦about the diagrams we retrieved yesterday from 747 Romaine. Without it, you've left us crippled.”
Poppy shakes his head indifferently. “You have what you need. I haven't done anything to disadvantage you.”
“Come, H. H.,” Dr. Barnum says as he waves to the boys to prepare the diagrams.
“You don't understand, Felonius. You're not going to find what you're looking for here,” Poppy says resolutely, holding up his hand to the boys. They obediently halt and return to the wall.
Dr. Barnum smiles with reddened cheeks. “Come, Herbert. For old times' sake then.”
“No,” Poppy asserts. “You've made a great deal of progress thus far. If you continue your interrogations you'll find what you're looking for.”
Dr. Barnum weighs this for a moment. “Please excuse us,” he says to the boys. The doctor looks across the room to me, and in a defiant tone says, “You too, Mr. Louse!”
I am deeply confused by this, by the nature of the entire conversation. My body stiffens as Dr. Barnum's glare flattens me against the wall. I look over to Poppy.
“Go ahead, Herman,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I say, and step out toward the western wing.
When I step out into the hall, the two boys are already turning the corner into the southern wing. Passing them are Mr. Bender and Mr. Godmeyer. The men's shadows trail along the museum cases whose planes look as if they are hovering in midflight.
I take a few short steps into the hall so that I am out of the path of the two men. As they step into the shaft of light coming from the kitchen, they fix their eyes on me until they reach the door to Poppy's chambers.
“Good evening, Mr. Louse,” Mr. Bender says.
“Good evening, Mr. Bender,” I say, shaken. “Mr. Godmeyer.”
When they reach the end of the wing, they turn into Poppy's chambers and close the door behind them. As the door slams shut, Mr. Lutherford and Mr. Heinrik peek their heads out of the kitchen and step into the hall. The two men remove the masks they are required to wear in “Sterilization,” and look down the wing.
Mr. Lutherford waves at me to come toward them. Beside the spindly Mr. Heinrik, Mr. Lutherford looks like a mountain. “Have you heard anything in the wings, Mr. Louse?” Mr. Lutherford inquires.
“Anything at all?” Mr. Heinrik follows.
I shake my head at them. “No, no, nothing, nothing at all,” I sputter.
“There is no reason to withhold information, Mr. Louse,” Mr. Lutherford follows. “You may discuss these matters freely. We are at liberty, if you recall, to discuss such matters freely.”
“I know my rights very well in this regard, Mr. Lutherford. Thank you for your advice and concern.”
The two men turn to one another as if to confirm what they believed about me. At this point my neighbor, Mr. Crane, the maintenance engineer, and Ms. Morris, a member of the cleaning crew, a diminutive woman with a squeaky voice who is a little hard of hearing, greet Mr. Lutherford and Mr. Heinrik in the hall. They stand huddled around, speaking confidentially. All with the exception of Ms. Morris.
“No, he never does,” Ms. Morris squeaks. She looks up from the group and smiles at me as though I can't hear what she's saying, as though she thinks I can't tell she is talking about me. “But I've just come from Communications. They found out, a moment after, from Pan Opticon.” Ms. Morris pauses and looks at me again. “They are saying,” she continues, then breaks into inaudible whispers. When she is through with what she has to say, she looks at me again. So does everyone else. No smiles this time. Everyone just looks intent on saying something more. “Yes. Well, you know, you can always trust most of what you hear,” Ms. Morris says plainly.
“They've come out with more names,” Mr. Crane says, diverting their attention.
“Oh yes?” Mr. Heinrik inquires.
“Fordham, Reynolds, and Olivier,” Crane informs.
“Is that right?” Ms. Morris squeaks.
“I believe I've met Reynolds,” Mr. Lutherford boasts.
“Olivierâ¦Olivier. I know that one,” Heinrik remarks.
“Fordham somehow doesn't surprise me,” Crane asserts.
“Nor me,” Ms. Morris seconds.
“We all know him,” Lutherford proclaims.
“He's been through here, hasn't he?” Ms. Morris queries.
“On more than one occasion,” says Crane.
“What does that make it now?” asks Heinrik.
“Fordham, Reynoldsâ¦,” Crane lists.
“Olivier, Lumpitâ¦,” Morris lists.
“Nester, Kovaxâ¦,” Lutherford adds.
“Blank, mustn't forget Blank! And Berger and Blurd,” Heinrik finishes.
“Oh Blurd. Blurd, Blurd, Blurd,” Crane says contemplatively.
“No. Blurd doesn't surprise me at all,” says Lutherford.
“Imagine. With a name like thatâ¦,” Ms. Morris says.
“Yes. I've passed that one in the hall,” says Crane.
“He likes to hum, that one, doesn't he?” says Heinrik.
“Blurd?” Lutherford blurts.
“Oh yes. Blurd is a hummer,” confirms Heinrik.
“I've heard Blurd hum,” Ms. Morris says sheepishly.
“It's no wonder a man of such free spirit is under suspicion,” denounces Lutherford.
“Have you ever found yourself humming?” Crane intones.
“No. I can't say that I have,” Ms. Morris confesses.
“As far as I know I've never been much of a hummer,” Heinrik jests.
“Oh, but that Blurd surely is,” Lutherford confirms.
“They say Blurd hums nonstop,” Ms. Morris announces.
“They are thinking of putting him in isolation,” Crane conjectures.
“Sending him to the outer wings,” Heinrik elaborates.
“To the under wings,” Lutherford embellishes.
“That Blurd!” they all exclaim. “That Blurd!”
“May he find some self control,” Ms. Morris snaps. “Some self discipline.”
Ms. Morris glimpses over to me. She can't contain herself. Nor can any of them.
Rumors of the accused do not merit truth. Invention for invention's sake is appropriate and encouraged. Fictions cast onto the suspicious enables the authorities of truth to reveal more truth
. Ms. Morris giggles. She and then the rest.
“That Blurd must have a strong reprimand coming to him,” Lutherford announces.
“He must have already lost his privileges to Paradise.”
“At least bumped back on the list.”
“Bumped completely, I'd say.”
“Oh, no doubt,” they say. “No doubt.”
They all stare gravely as though they have moved the conversation a little beyond the boundaries they are allowed.
To speak of Paradise in vain is a punishable offense
. I feel great pleasure as Ms. Morris raises her hand to her mouth and as Mr. Crane bites down on his lower lip. Lutherford has cast his eyes to the floor. Mr. Heinrik, as well. However, Mr. Heinrik slowly lifts his eyes and looks at
me, suddenly possessed with a new spirit. “Oh, that Blurd,” he says and lets out a short staccato giggle. The giggle distracts everyone from their contemplation and infects them with a little humor. They look at each other. “Yes, that Blurd,” they say, one after the other, and the giggles grow louder until they all simultaneously wilt into expressions of discomfort.
Mr. Heinrik and Mr. Lutherford, without bidding anyone good-bye or good fortune bow their heads and silently turn back into the kitchen. Ms. Morris and Mr. Crane follow.
I remain standing alone beside the entryway to Poppy's chambers.
As I lean against the wall, for some inexplicable reason I can hear voices drifting through the intercom next to the door. They are soft, but clear, and when I stand still I can hear each and every utterance. Considering that this is my position for the time being, and there is none other I can think of to go to, I stand at attention.
“Your bravado is unnecessary, gentlemen,” Poppy says.
“You still don't fully understand our position.” It is Mr. Sherwood. His voice is stern and unforgiving and twice as loud as the othersâperhaps because he is speaking to them from his office over the intercom.
“You'll simply have to be more clever, Mr. Sherwood. I told you there are many doors and many passages, many dead ends. Track down the money and it's yours. If you don't find it, you will lose it. How can I be more fair?”
“You're playing games,” Dr. Barnum insists. “Games in which you have the advantage and games meant to distract us.”
“But it is a game,” Poppy insists. “It's a game of devices and deceits. But other than that, it's not a game at all. It's deadly serious,
Felonius. There is one last thing that I wish to accomplish. I believe you're in my way of accomplishing it, and therefore, I must either surrender my vision on your behalf or push you aside to obtain it. It's as simple as that. Yet, I'm willing to play it out, gentlemen. Just to show you that it is nothing personal. I respect the loyalty you've shown me all these years. In fact, I cherish it enough to give you a fighting chance.”
“Our intent has never been to obstruct your ambition, Herbert,” Mr. Sherwood says.
“I've seen your objections to my plans, Mr. Sherwood. I have read them carefully and know with what intent they were drawn.”
“You'll excuse me, but I've had enough of this,” Mr. Bender breaks in. “Let's just get this over with. You two act as though there is some chivalry involved in this.”
“Shut your mouth, Mr. Bender,” Mr. Sherwood orders.
“This is ridiculous. There's no reasoning with him,” Mr. Bender continues on defiantly. “You act as though he is going to give us what you want on his own free will. He is stubborn, more stubborn than you.”
“I think the young man is correct in his assessment, Mr. Sherwood,” Poppy replies. “You two would do well to listen to the younger ones.”
“We should be rid of him once and for all,” Mr. Bender continues.
“Yes, very clever, Mr. Bender. I like your style,” Poppy declares. “You have chosen well, Mr. Sherwood.”
“But really, Herbert, what's keeping us from it?” the doctor asks.
“I don't know. You seem ready for the worst of all outcomes. This one you could be sure of.”
“Please, H. H.,” Mr. Sherwood intones.
“What is it you're afraid of?” Mr. Bender demands.
A moment of silence passes.
“He claims that if we were to harm him, the Head Engineer can and will destroy G. and Paradise as well. We believe he has a cache of explosives to do as he says.”
Mr. Bender doesn't say anything at first.
“It's a bluff,” he finally asserts. “If he destroys G. and Paradise, he will destroy everything.”
“Look at him,” Dr. Barnum says.
“Yes, look at me, Mr. Bender,” Poppy says.
Another moment of silence passes.
Mr. Bender is speechless.
“And now that's he's managed to launder the accumulated wealth of G. from our accounts into his private coffers, he'll have his vision,” Mr. Sherwood surrenders.
“Paradise Beyond Paradiseâ¦,” Dr. Barnum broods.
“Wasn't Paradise enough for you?” Mr. Sherwood asks.
“No,” Poppy says. “It wasn't Paradise enough.”
“I've had it,” Mr. Bender declares somewhat more timidly than before.
“Enough,” Mr. Sherwood affirms.
“Enough,” Dr. Barnum agrees.
And with that the voices disappear as mysteriously as they appeared. I lean my head toward the door to see if I can hear anything else. But the hall is perfectly still. Some sounds drift from the kitchen where I can hear Ms. Lonesome cleaning something in the sink. And then suddenly, the door to Poppy's chambers opens. Mr. Bender, Dr. Barnum, and Mr. Godmeyer exit and storm down the wing in the same manner that they arrived.
Dear Members of the Board of Directors:
We, Homo sapiens, rule the world. We rule by destroying that within the reach of our hands to create the unreal illusion of our destinies. In part, this is because our brains in proportion to our bodies are large and are growing ever larger to parallel the exponential rate of our expanded consciousness. Our instincts, more than any other creature's, more than in any other time, are becoming fashioned in the shape of what we once defined as God's. Though we may be in the form of animals, die like animals, decay like animals, we are no longer animals in thought. Only when we remind ourselves. Millions of years of an evolutionary fallacy have shaped us into creatures who grow in concordance with belief as opposed to necessity, therefore, disassociating our consciousness from our physicality. Primarily, our belief has been in our inner selves, in what we perceive, and not in those invisible external forces that shape us. Yes, it is true, that we react when darkness envelops us,
when fear grips our imaginations, causing us to grunt, howl, and shriek like the presyllabic animals that we once were. However, when the danger is gone we return to our cages and revel in the reflections of our human form, forgetting the intermittent threats of the bygone wilds; instead, we believe in the peace of restful moments and ignore the involuntary movements of our bodiesâbreathing, blinking, beatingâand don't look to see the microscopic life that sinks into our pores and hangs on the end of every strand of hair. The invisible is masked by dreams of larger forms and by convincing ourselves of our species' immortality. We dream to survive and sublimate our desires into compulsive acts that we don't even see when they are happening. They pass us by like the mist and ooze of the primordial earth we arose from; we shock ourselves with repetitive actions to simulate the sensation of the chase or of being chased by animals across open fields, the entire time daydreaming of ephemeral things such as love and wealth and beauty.
We have dropped from the trees. We dropped our prehensile tails, stood upright to walk the plains and run through fields. We put our hands to air, fire, and water and the remainder of the material universe to make a simple equation of everything that we once thought of as magic. We laboriously thought through our dilemmas and applied reason; we designed, constructed. We split from the sensual to the divine as our tools grew more complex and evolution spired into paragons of reason. The concept of time became defined relative to the subject and no longer applied to the universe as a constant. Time for a man
became relative to that of a lion. Time for a lion became relative to that of a beetle. Time for a beetle became relative to that of bacteria. Time for bacteria became relative to that of a quasar. We have come to exist one next to the other, as equals regardless of species or purpose, and all of our complexity that we once thought of as divine has temporarily brought us to crisis. We have become closer to the truth of our ephemerality. We have learned that stars die and collapse, that universes may be numerous, or multiply, that holes spiral through the vacuum of space, that human life is not as precious as it might seem, that it may take on many forms all throughout the galaxies. There is, therefore, nothing particularly special about man and woman, other than that they exist for the time being as an entity equal to that of a dust mite, who perceives a crop of hair as an ocean of immortality which infinite generations will occupy. When all the knowledge is weighed from the data we collect what's left is the cruel acknowledgment that we are not immortal and never will be. But yet this is still our greatest desireâto procreate until we perpetuate ourselves throughout infinity.
I will say it bluntly. Before the sun ever ebbs into its final decline, we will have done, we will believe we have conquered, and then we will ultimately fail. For we are too complex. The fact of the matter is that bacteria, being one of the simplest forms of life and the most nefarious infidel, will have destroyed us. They are simple. They carry with them the map of life, from which anything can grow. We, in our human form, therefore, are merely intermediaries,
experiments of this life, that for a brief moment in time will allow these pests to carry their mission of survival forward. As I have said, the smaller the creature, the better likelihood of survival, anywhere, anytime. Consider that there are only four thousand species of mammals, whereas in the insect world there are five hundred thousand species of beetles alone! There is no telling what the single celled creatures are capable of. Not to mention the inanimate nature of any single virus, suspended in its state of unnatural perpetuity! It is a nightmare for me to imagine any of these invisible creatures. They are devious little pests who, if not persistently challenged and battled, or simply avoided, will take over on their wits alone.
Thus we are left with a great dilemma: As long as there is life, as long as there is a sun in the sky and a moon above Earth, bacteria and viruses will always be here to use us as their vehicle for survival, do as they will, and thrive beyond us. They occupy the bodies of the mites that occupy our bodies. They deliver disease and pestilence that leaches life from our veins. They can live with or without direct sun light, with or without oxygen. All they need is a vital energy source to feed from and they are able to sustain the most fundamental existence. Our decision, therefore, pertains to our desire to perpetuate a life form that wreaks such havoc on us. It is my belief that as much as we try to avoid them we cannot. But it is my intent to try.
It goes without saying that all solutions are no solutions to rid ourselves of such a foe. Any technological solutions we employ to solve our problems must retain their logic. This,
of course, is an impossibility. We are therefore faced with a determined paradox: to perpetuate human life for human life's sake or to perpetuate life (bacterial/viral life) at the expense of human life.
If my common sense is the purveyor of wisdom, I believe we should abandon the very source of life in order to dissect the contradictions inherent in this problem. I have therefore begun construction of a sanctuary for a select group of individuals. I have used a great deal of my fortune to gather the technologies and the resources, to make plans and designs to transport us to a place where we will hopefully become free from our servitude. Our futures will be built on the backs of all the hardworking men and women whose debt to us is being repaid by sacrificing their lives for this worthy cause. I offer no apologies to those who sacrifice unwillingly. If I have been a tyrant, let them say so. May they write epic poems about me as Pushkin wrote of Russia's Peter the Great. I will be proud to be a Bronze Horseman chasing young delirious clerks around my gift to humanity. Let them say one day,
Centuries passed, and there shone forth
From the abyss of a vacant prism,
Crown gem and marvel of the heavens,
The proud young city newly risen.
Where the debauched before,
Harsh cosmos' wretched waif, were plying,
Forlorn beyond any fallow field,
Their fates, with brittle wills trying
Uncharted scoresânow bustling,
Standing serried in well-ordered ranks
Of palaces and towers; converging
From the four corners of the earth,
Sails soaring to seek the opulent berths
â¦and so onâ¦
I will be the first inhabitant, as Peter was in his grand Winter Palace with his window onto the West. I will stand guard in my chambers as the rest of the world huddles in fear. I will ride in my ship to the landing docks and will rest comfortably in my chambers where nothing lives other than me and those fortunate enough to share in my experience.
We will not be eaten by germs!
This will be my legacy!
Yours sincerely,
Herbert Horatio Blackwell
Executive Controlling Partner