The Butcher's Theatre (50 page)

printed on each one. They lay in a pile, one on top of the

other. You peeled them off one by one, starting with a whole

person—naked—and then peeling and getting the muscles, kind of a striped, red muscle man. Then off came the muscles and you got the organs, then a fringey-looking man made only of nerves and a brain, then a skeleton.

Two of them, actually. A plastic man and a plastic woman.

He liked the woman better, liked learning that inside, tits were mostly fat.

Funny.

Insides were beautiful, all the colors, really complicated.

School was fruit flies and words, not reality, nothing like this.

Not science.

When he was finished with the cat, he cut its diaphragm and it stopped breathing.

Then he cleaned up, took his time doing it, being super-careful.

That was the key, to clean up really good. You’d never get caught.

Without the cat she got worse, crazier. Spent a lot of time in her room talking to herself and barfing her meals—she was definitely losing it. The maids called her Senora Loca, didn’t even bother to hide the fact that they thought she was nuts.

He wondered why she and Doctor stayed together, why Doctor didn’t just kick her ass out. Then he heard them fighting once, she accusing doctor of fucking candy-stripers at the hospital, saying that he better not pull the shit he’d pulled on Lillian—she’d take him to the cleaners if he ever tried that shit on her. He’d be taking the bus to work, eating beans for dinner before she was finished with him.

Doctor didn’t answer, so he figured there was something to the threat.

Not that the fights happened too often anymore, ‘cause they didn’t. Because Doctor was almost never home. But when he was, the shit really hit the fan.

He missed going down and listening. Even though his mind was working good, he had plenty of mental pictures and killsex memories to work with, there was nothing like actually hearing it, actually peeking through the door and seeing it.

They had a real good one when he was fifteen. A week after his fifteenth birthday, which no one had celebrated. He hadn’t expected anything—she was too drunk and Doctor had ignored his birthdays since he’d refused to have a Bar Mitzvah.

Fuckbrain never did anything religious—why the fuck should he learn all that Jewish shit?

He’d waited for it to feel like a birthday. When it didn’t, said fuckit, fuck them, and went out for a night walk. He found the dog a couple of blocks away—a ragged-looking ter-with no collar—choked it out, then brought it home hidden under his coat. Up in his room he anesthetized it and set up a terrific anatomy session, using the big Liston amputating knife and really enjoying the weight of it. The power.

Later that night he had terrific dreams, bunches of animals and girls all dancing and screaming and begging him to do it to them; he was sitting on this throne-type chair looking down on this pit that was half fire, half blood. An outrageous scene that he cleaned up perfectly and felt good about.

They woke him with their fight. All right! Happy birthday!

He was down there again on step six, feeling rich with memories, really comfortable.

He’d missed part of it but could tell it had to do with Sarah—the best ones always did.

She’d graduated college with honors, had been accepted to the first medical school of her choice, and Doctor was flying

up to see her, rewarding her with money, a new wardrobe, and a trip abroad, all expenses paid—first-class airfare, the

best hotels, a couple of charge cards.

When the hell did you ever give me anything like that? When the hell did you ever deserve it?

Screw you, you cheap bastard. I gave you my life, that’s all. Ruined myself for you! Here we go again.

Don’t sigh at me, you bastard. You’re damned right here we go again. Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re doing.

And what’s that?

Giving her all your money so there won’t be any left in the community property.

Thinking about inheritance, are you?

Damned right. What else is there to live for?

Way you’re going with the booze and the purging, Christina, I wouldn’t count on being around to inherit anything.

Just you wait, you bastard. I’ll be standing there when they put you under, laughing, dancing on your grave.

Don’t count on it.

I’m counting.

Ten to one your electrolytes are out of whack, God knows how much liver you’ve got left—you even smell like a drunk. Jesus.

Don’t Jesus me. Jesus loves me and he hates you, ‘cause you’re a Jesus killer. Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, you fucking kike Christ-killer.

All of a sudden you’re religious.

I’ve always been religious. Jesus loves me and I love him.

You and Jesus have a regular thing going, do you?

Laugh all you want, you bastard. I’ll be saved and you’ll burn—along with that little hooknosed bitch and her hooknosed mother. I’d take you to the cleaners right now, show the world what a thief you are if it didn’t mean they’d stick their grubby hands in the pot, get their kike shyster lawyers to take it all away from me.

I thought I was giving it to them, anyway.

Don’t try to shit me, Charles. I know what you’re up to.

Fine, fine, whatever you say.

I say your hooknosed bitches are going to burn along with you. I say I’ll be damned if they clean me out before they do it.

Sarah’s a terrific kid. She’s earned it. I’ll give her what I want.

I’ll bet.

What’s that supposed to mean?

No smile anymore? You know exactly what I mean.

You’re disgusting. Get the hell out of my sight.

And your little hooknose bitch, she’s pure class, with her hairy legs and nose like a—

Lillian’s a thousand times the woman you’ll ever be.

—parrot beak. Real classy, that nose, huh?

Shut up, Christina-Shut up, Christina—trying to throw me out with the trash, are you? Well, I wasn’t so disgusting when you wanted shiksa pussy, was I? Ignoring me, hotshot? You didn’t ignore me when you wanted shiksa pussy, when shiksa pussy was all you wanted. You kicked your hooknose bitch out so you could have some of this, c’mere, look—all blonde and sweet and ready to—

You’re repulsive. Cover yourself .

Hooknosed bitches don’t have this, do they? Hooknosed bitches are all hairy and smelly and dirty, just like the animals they are. Hooknose Lillian, hooknose Sarah— Shut your mouth!

Ah, that wipes the smile off your face, the thought of your He angel having a dirty— Shut up before I—

Before you what? Beat me up? Kill me? Go ahead. I’ll come back to haunt you, dance on your grave. Enough.

Not enough, Charles. It’s never enough, because you’re a

king, lying bastard who wants to give away what’s mine to

some little slut because she’s convinced him she’s the fucking

Virgin Mary or something. What do you think, you stupid

bastard. she doesn’t have one too? How do you think she

got into med school? Got on her knees for some admissions

officer and—

Shut your goddamned filthy mouth. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

Listen, you stupid, drunken moron! She got into med school because she was a straightA student, summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, and has more brains in her little finger than you have in your entire alcohol-besotted brain. A straightA slurper.

All right, Christina, I’m not going to let you get to me. You’re jealous of Sarah because she’s a fabulous specimen and she threatens you.

She’s a little hooknosed bitch, just like her mother. Her mother’s a first-class lady. I should have stayed with her.

Then why didn’t you?

God only knows.

God knows, all right. Jesus knows. That you’re a hypocrite and a fucking liar. She was frigid and boring and hairy. You wanted smooth white legs, some nice shiksa pussy, come in the Virgin Mary’s mouth—wanted it so bad that you took me right in the examining room, all those patients still in the waiting room, and raped me, you bastard!

If any raping went on, it was you that did it—

Raped me and used me. Now you want to give what I earned—my blood money—to your hooknosed bitch.

Enough, I’m tired. I have to operate early.

You’re tired? I’m tired too. Of your bullshit. Giving her all those clothes and that trip—she’s already spoiled rotten

She’s a great kid and she deserves it. Discussion ended.

She slurps, just like her mother.

Her mother gave me a first-class kid.

And me? What did I give you? Tore myself up—I’ve never been the same!

Tore yourself? That’s a laugh. You had a pelvis someone could drive a truck through.

It tore me, you fucking bastard. What did I give you, you fucking bastard?

A weirdo.

Fuck you!

He’s a weird kid, Christina. No two ways about it.

Listen to me, you fucking kike. He’s beautiful—that hair, like a Greek god! Those dreamy eyes. A small, straight nose. And tall—he’s already your size, going to be taller than you going to be able to beat the shit out of you when I tell him to, to protect his mama.

He’s weird, Christina—got all of your weird genes. Ever try to talk to him? Course not—how could you? Too damn pickled—

Fuck you, he’s beaut—

Try it some time, you drunken moron. Say hello and catch the weird smile he gives you. He’s like you—bizarre, stays in his room all day, all night. God knows what he does in there He’s studying. He’s an intellectual—it’s in his eyes. Studying what? He’s flunking out of school, hasn’t gotten better than a D in three years. But you wouldn’t know about

that, would you? The headmaster doesn’t call you—nobody calls you because everyone knows you’re too drunk to talk. They call me. Teachers, counselors, every one of them thinks he’s weird. The headmaster called me last week. In fact, I had to bribe him with a new science lab to keep your beautiful kid from getting booted out.

Did you tell the headmaster he had a crazy, cruel father who never paid any attention to him or to his mother, whom he raped? That his father killed Jesus and wanted to kill his wife, too, so he could fuck candy-stripers? Did you tell him—

No friends, no attention span, sits in class all day staring off into space—your genes, all the way, Christina. God only

knows if he can overcome it. The headmaster suggested that he get psychiatric help. I talked to Emil Diefenbach—he works

with a few teenagers, said he’d be happy to meet him.

You’re not taking him to any kike head-shrinker.

I’ll take him anywhere I damn well please. Not my son.

He’s a goddamned weirdo, Christina—that’s what you gave me a freak. Maybe he can be helped, I don’t know. I’m going to give it a shot.

Over my dead body, you filthy, scheming bastard. All you want is to destroy him—poison his brain the way you poisoned mine, take away his share so you can give all of it to your hooknosed—

Pathetic.

-bitch. I won’t let you!

And how do you propose to stop me? I’ll get a lawyer. A mother has rights. You’re no mother. You’re nothing, Christina. You haven’t been a mother—or anything else—for a long time. I’m his parent. Jesus put me here to protect him. I’m his parent too. The only sane one he’s got. Don’t you dare mess with his head, you bastard! Good night, Christina.

He’s not yours to mess with, you bastard! There’s not an ounce you in him!

Discussion closed, Christina. Get out of my way. Take a good look at him, you bastard! His hair, his nose - there’s no kike in him. He’s not yours.

If only it were true. Let go of my arm.

It’s true, you stupid kike bastard. He’s not yours—he’s Schwann’s!

(Silence.)

He’s Schwann’s, you asshole. Don’t you see the resemblance?

What the hell are you talking about?

Ah, now he’s upset, now he wants to kill me. Get away from me—I’ll scream.

I said, what are you talking about, Christina?

The summer Schwann stayed with us, he had me every day is what I’m talking about. We did it in the house, on the beach, in the pool!

(Silence.)

Take a good look at him. Remember Schwann’s face. Strong resemblance, isn’t it, Charles?

Absurd.

You were absurd, Charles. Playing hotshot doctor, giving Schwann your pompous speeches about surgery and its place in society, thinking he was looking up to you and thought you were so hot, calling you Herr Doktor Professor, and all the time it was me he was after. I was the reason he kept kissing up to you, telling you how goddamned wonderful you were. The moment you walked out the door and left him here with your books, I was Johnny-on-the-spot and we were climbing all over each other and loving it and he gave me a beautiful baby with no filthy kike blood in it, SO STAY AWAY FROM HIM, YOU BASTARD, DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM, HE’S NOT YOURS!

(Silence. Heavy footsteps.)

Ah! Now he’s quiet, walking off with his tail tucked between his legs. Now he’s got nothing snotty to say!

The shithead will be proud of you,” said Shmeltzer as he entered the conference room. “Is this communication going to be horizontal or vertical?”

“Diagonal,” said Daniel. He was tacking a map of Jerusalem and its exurbs onto the wall next to the blackboard. The spots where both victims had been dumped were circled in red crayon. as was the cave.

Shmeltzer took his place at the table. He nodded at the Chinaman and Daoud while reaching for the coffeepot. Jt was eight in the morning, twenty hours after the discovery of the bloody rock. The room was on the ground floor of Headquarters, whitewalled and refrigerated by an overexuberant air conditioner.

Daniel finished hanging the map and picked up a pointer, Shmeltzer passed him the coffeepot and he filled his cup. The Chinaman and Daoud lit up. The cold air filled quickly with smoke and tension.

“Where Cohen?” Daniel asked the Chinaman. “Don’t know. He was supposed to meet me at seven, do a walk-through of the Armenian Quarter. I haven’t seen him or heard from him.”

‘Ah, the vagaries of youth,” said Shmeltzer. He filled his cup, took a long swallow.

“We can’t afford vagaries,” said Daniel. He picked up the