Looking up through the canopy above, the trees appear to arch inward slightly, forming a strong cathedral ceiling overhead.
Invisible birds are up there somewhere like spirits singing religiously. An orchid-pink sky hints that the sun might be rising,
hopefully, or... perhaps setting, dreadfully.
Looking up, the trees now appear to lean further inward as though their tremendous weight might come crashing down,
crushing, crunching, crunching leaves, twigs, footsteps...
"Whoah!" gasped Peter, startled by a man looming over him. Peter instantly sat up. "Jesus! You scared the living daylights out
of me! I must have been daydreaming."
"Can I... I mean, may I use your razor, please?" asked the intruder. The stranger now didn't look as tall and menacing.
In
fact, he looked skinny and weak. Yet, he appeared strange somehow. Probably it was his cockeyed eyes: one blue, one brown.
His blue eye piercing and constricted, his brown eye absorbing and dilated.
Peter wondered what medical reasons could explain those eyes...
"Maybe I could use use your razor? Or not?" asked the man as he limped closer.
"I mean, I'd like to look at my face and clean up before dark fall and moving on.
Shaving always makes me look younger than my years, and heaven dear! knows how I need that."
"Well," responded Peter, "I suppose. But watch out though, it's old and it's sharp. It's an old straight-edge. I stropped it sharp
so it'll split a hair."
Peter was very trusting with people generally. He wasn't a policeman or social worker, so he had no reason to wonder why a
stranger would wander into his campsite. Peter handed him his mirror, razor, and shaving cream.
"Thanks," said the stranger. "But I don't need the cream tho, I found some soapwort which works better, plenty well, for my skin.
If you'll be so kind, please put them into my backpack, carefully. Thank you sir."
With that, the man dragged himself off toward the creek singing a song from Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of
Fleet Street. "Lift your razor high, Sweeney! Hear it singing, 'Yes!' Sink it in the rosy skin of righteousness!"
"Peter," said Mary, returning from the campground water pump, "I've got the water.
Do you want coffee?"
"Sure," replied Peter. "One hobo cup. Thanks."
"Anyway, I probably shouldn't make you any," said Mary. "What's with that creep you were talking to? Why'd you have to give
him your razor? What gives people the right to think that they can borrow whatever, whenever?"
"Oh, he's probably harmless," replied Peter. "He's an interesting character.
Maybe I'll use him in a song. Besides, I just thought that he could use some kindness.
Apparently he's been living out in these woods for a while, by the looks and smells of it."
"If he comes back, don't use it again, O.K?" said Mary. "I mean he's probably got HIV." Mary was a nurse and therefore probably
had a better grasp on reality than her husband.
"You think so? No, I'll bet he's lived here for years, probably never had a chance to contract the virus... Anyway, I'll boil it
before using it again."
"Well, I'll bet he's escaped from prison. I bet he's a con artist or rapist who's going to rob and then kill us."
"Jeez Mary, you're crazy.... You've been watching too much TV." Peter looked at the campfire, "The water's boiling."
"That's O.K.," said Mary. "She's asleep now, I don't need it."
"No, not for her. I mean for my coffee." Peter started pouring water into his coffee grounds. "Anyway," continued Peter, "he's too
thin, not well-fed like a convicted felon. Just look at his teeth.
And what about those eyes! What caused that? He obviously has no health care plan. Oh, he's probably just a burned-out
grade schoolteacher or something like that. Life's been hard on him. He's been
thinking too hard, probably been too serious about life."
"More likely he's criminally insane with a diseased brain..." Suddenly they noticed the unshaven stranger again standing
by their tent waiting to be next in the conversation. He has been very observant, noticing a nice campsite all around, a nice minivan,
a guitar, an open cooler with plenty of food, and a can of baby formula.
"Umm... that coffee smells glorious!" exclaimed the man. "Wish these woods would grow a descent cup of
jo. I'm getting really sick of roasted chicory, wheat, and barley hobo coffee. You
just don't know how..." The man looked down toward the creek. "You know, I found a few crayfish down there. That's why I didn't
shave yet, in case you noticed. What do you think of them? If it weren't imposing too much I'd barter with you. Say, swap a few
coffee beans, or a cup! for a few crawdads. That's a good deal. Good deal! Ever had
'em? Delicious. Just delicious! Just like lobster. Oh, those baby lobsters!"
"Well," responded Peter, "can't say that we've ever eaten them. But I've heard Creole Cajuns
'Ooo, wee!' about them. What do you think honey? Give 'em a try?" Mary gave Peter a wishful look
like 'just tell him to bug off, please.'
"Hmm," replied Peter, "sounds great but we do need to be shoving off soon. We need to catch some fish for supper."
"Yeh, O.K. I know..." said the man. "But you know, I have a big sheep's head, probably a few pounds, down there on a stringer
that I wouldn't mind sharing with you over dinner. Yeah, several pounds gutted, at least, I'd say. I'll even give you the 2 stones,
the 2 precious stones from inside its head."
"Wow, sounds great," replied Peter, sounding more enthusiastic than he'd intended. "But we'd better not... I'm sorry,
what's your name?"
"My name is 'Super Bum.' When I belonged to the carnival, my master, Lobster Boy and his henchmen, Chimma and Blockhead;
they named me. Those few who know me call me 'Super.' You can call me 'Super.'"
"That's quite a story, Soup... Super. I'm sorry," said Peter desperately, "we really need to move on
tho. Why don't you ask those kids down over there?" Peter pointed toward a group of
teenagers sitting around their campfire down in a valley. "I'm sure they'd like to eat that sheephead thing of yours."
"I would, I would, but you... you are such nice yuppie people. Yes, you're... right. I mean you are right, those kids look like a nice
fun group. Those kind of explorers come down here a lot. Oh, how I love their curiosity! Their passion! Their mysticism! They've
taught me a great deal during my years in these woods. I've found that anyone can learn from anyone. Yes, the most profound ideas
come from the most unlikely people. All the details are in my manifesto. You can read it, yes.
Peter tried to interrupt, but Super Bum continued without a breath, "There was a time when I would not have listened to
anyone, especially those kids, because I thought that no one could understand me and all that I knew. But I've discovered that they
are so much wiser than me. When I was their age, I was an entrepreneur in the carnival. Yes, I was a very
lazy entrepreneur.
The only one big question in my life was 'How would I survive?' I survived in tents, trailers, straw heaps, and streets, just preying on
misguided sympathy. I let people know the depths of my poverty, the depths of my misfortune. I could squeeze a handout out of
most anyone. Just ask me how."
Super Bum, now appeared to lip-sync. He spoke in a deeper, slower voice, "I should stay with you for dinner this evening.
We should take part in some vestigial communion around this
campfire."
"What?"
"After all," he continued in a normal voice, "you could learn
something from a bum like me. The world would certainly be a better place if everyone would realize that they could learn
something from anyone, no matter how despicable."
"What gives you the right!" huffed Mary. "Why can't you take a hint? And for your information, we're not yuppies. Can't you..."
Peter interrupted nervously, "We're not saying that we cannot learn something from you. All we're saying is that we want to
spend some quiet, private time together. Surely you can understand that."
"Oh yes," said Super Bum, "I can understand that. That's why I escaped to this place in the first place... to these woods."
Super Bum's face seemed for a split second to morph into what looked like a
Junebug larva, that of a human embryo, lonely and
empty. His head began to shake and vibrate so violently that his face became a blur of foam and saliva.
After what seemed like an eternity, his seizure
ceased. He returned to consciousness, his eyes rolled back down
into their sockets, and he remained quiet now, as if to purposefully force a tension-breaking response.
At this point, Peter didn't know what to think of Super Bum. Either he was a brilliant psychopathic, murdering con artist as Mary
had suspected, or he might be a sincere man, down on his luck, down on his health. Or perhaps he was merely schizophrenic. In
any case, Peter thought that the safest way to get rid of the stranger would be to humor him so as not to set him off.
Peter broke the silence, "Why don't you just tell us what we're supposed to
learn from you, then we should be leaving.
O.K?"
Super Bum paused for a few seconds. "I could go get it. You know, that great big fish and show it to you. Yes, I could even
smash open its head for you and give you the stones, the 2 precious gems from
inside its head, hard as porcelain they are, all polished and honed, polished and honed all the fish's life."
"Stop it with the fish!" flashed Mary, trying to restrain herself.
"I'm sorry, we're just not hungry for that, O.K? You've obviously got some problems, and we're sorry for that, but I think it's time for you
to leave us alone."
Super Bum spoke again in that alien voice, "Don't you even
want to know what I heard inside my head, what I learned from
those kids down there, those young, stupid, weed-smoking degenerates? Oh, how naive and trusting. I could bring death to
them at any time. I could bring them mushrooms, maybe death angles, Amanita phalloides, and they would eat them. They are
delicious. One cap will kill. Some people would get a kick out of that you know. I mean... watching those younglings die like that,
writhing painfully in cramps, in a slow death, vomiting and shitting for 18 hours; watching the alkaloid toxins destroy their livers and
kidneys, finally seizing their respiratory systems."
"Is that what you wanted to tell us?" asked Peter, trying to act as though he was unbothered by what he had just heard.
Peter was now more certain of what kind of person was visiting. He now held his pocket knife in his pocket, ready, just in case. "That's kind of
morbid isn't it?"
"No, no!" exclaimed Super Bum. "What did I learn? What did I learn? Aren't you paying any attention? I'm to tell you what I
learned!"
"Oh yes," said Peter submissively as he glanced at Mary, "we do want to learn."
"Up until then, when I met those kids, all my life, all I asked myself was one question of life:
'How to survive?' And I'd pretty
much succeeded at answering that. I'd survived in the city, and later I'd learned to live in the wilderness.
At first, I mooched off
those kids: food, medicine, shelter, clothing... At first, I thought I was going to die of starvation.
I spent every waking moment
looking for food. I was just like an animal. Yes, even a lazy man is motivated by starvation.
I experimented. I ate bugs, I ate plants. I
rummaged and grazed like a moose. I didn't care whether my food was palatable.
All I needed were digestible plants and insects.
Yes, even a lazy man hates to vomit his guts out on poison herbs and bugs. But those kids really taught me how to survive.
They helped me strive for decency, ...morality."
"That's interesting, Super," said Peter, relieved that Super Bum now appeared to be a bit more calm and a bit more sane.
"But most importantly," continued Super Bum, "they taught me integrity. They taught me how to ask the second question of life:
'Why to survive?' This especially happened when I met an angel girl who was camping with a group of those kids. Her name was
'Athene.' She was so very young, yet wise. She dreamed of being a
neurologist one day. But she was born with muscular dystrophy, trapped in a torture chamber of a body. The only question of life
she ever asked herself was 'Why to survive?' That question had never occurred to me.
"Well," responded Peter, "maybe that was the only question she could ask herself."
"No, no! She could have asked herself only 'why?' Why? She could have thought only about the injustice of it all, the atrocity
and perversity of Atropos twisting her limbs painfully, inextricably,
involuntarily. She could have resented it all and descended into hell... she could have been consumed by the lure of hate. She
could have become evil like my carnival master, Lobster Boy, who was born with claw-like hands and club feet. He made life terrible
for all who knew him."
"Wasn't Lobster Boy murdered by his wife last year?" asked Peter.
"Murdered? He deserved it. He was a raving alcoholic."
"Maybe he was abusive," said Peter, "but surely he didn't deserve to be killed. His family should have sought help."
"Oh yes, you understand," yelled Super Bum. "'Abuse' was not the word. He was evil, evil as Satan. I should know.
I saw him.
Many have paid to see him perform his freak show. I learned a lot about survival from him... He would do
anything to survive. Do
you understand? Anything. Evil."
"Of course," answered Mary. "Do you really think we live under a rock? What's the point?"
Super Bum began to cough uncontrollably. He coughed up a walnut-sized chunk of dark phlegm. "I could leave right now, but I
think you'd be sorry later..."
"Please, please," interrupted Peter, wondering just what he meant. "We don't need to criticize.
Just tell your story and we'll
go."
The point is that Athene, despite her suffering, did not become evil. Why? Why?
Miraculously instead, Athene asked herself why she was to survive, for what purpose.
She could have remained as a child, self-serving and trapped inside. She could
have chosen evil, but she emerged from her grotesque cocoon as a beautiful spirit.
She was even empathetic for me! Honestly, sincerely, she knew my pains, my troubles.
She actually cared, even though she knew that I wanted to exploit even her sympathies!
She actually wanted to help me! She taught me love. Now she is always with me.
She is always in my head, polishing my fractured
spirit."
"That's a touching story," said Mary, "Really. So now we'll go.
Thank you so very much, we've learned so much."
"So what about that coffee now? You know, for the 2 gems?"
"Is that all you want? Sure! Why didn't you just say so?"
"It looks like all the water's boiled away," said Super Bum.
"That's O.K." said Mary hurriedly. "It'll only take a second..."
"Good! Thank you. Then I can ask you something which just occurred
to me a minute ago. Yes, then I'll be leaving. Please answer me this question:
'Just why do you suppose that people
would pay money to look at him? I mean gawk at my carnival master, Lobster Boy?'"
"I don't know," replied Peter. "I suppose curiosity."
"Yes! But I think it's much more than that. They want to be freaked out, stimulated somehow. Like why people read horror
stories, or at the carnival, why they watch Blockhead pound steel nails into his head, or why they look at
Chimma's Formaldehyde Freaks Collection. Yes, people want an
adrenalin rush, the high of the roller coaster. They want to learn something about their
primitive unconsciousness. They want to believe that they have some control over their destiny, that they can even cheat death..."
"Never thought of it that way," said Peter. "I prefer not to dwell on such dismal matters."
"I thought you'd be interested to know the how-to and why-to
of survival in these woods. Don't you come to the wilderness for some primitive experience, for some vestigial memory?
Don't you
come here, where there's no TV, no police, no law and order, to escape the safety of civilization?
Don't you want the scare of your
life? the kind of fright that chills you to your bone marrow? shakes you to the core of your existence?"
"Hell no. No!" cried Mary. "Are you kidding? We come here to relax and to be where it's clean and QUIET! We come here to enjoy
the beauty of nature."
"Beauty of nature! That's a good one! Well, I'm here to tell you that nature is not always so very pleasant. It's not always as
righteous as you might think. At the carnival, just one glimpse at Chimma's Chernobyl Collection would curdle your blood..."
"Your coffee's ready!" cried Mary. "Your coffee's ready!"
"Oh that's glorious! Just special... I wonder if you'd be so kind as to help me in one last way as I go. Please, please, I'd be grateful
for life."
Super Bum's face flickered strangely, back and forth from
angelic to demonic in the campfire light. "I wish I could see life your way.
You know, so optimistically. I wish you could teach me
that. You know, I have been depressed; yes, I have been sad. Mary, your face, you remind me of my
Athene, my beloved Athene. Oh, how I loved her."
"Nothing," said Mary, "nothing can be that bad... just think positively. Just stop thinking about all those bad memories..."
"If only I could, if only I could." Super Bum was now sobbing uncontrollably. "But after what I've seen, how could I?
I am
wretched, I was born wretched."
Now Mary truly wanted to help, but didn't know what to say.
Super Bum continued, "How can you trust, how can you believe in life so much? How could you do it in this day and age? I
mean, I can see that you're pregnant. I would never have children with all the monsters that are out there waiting... Besides, I would
never pass on my morbid curse. Oh, if Nature were merciful, She'd have selected me out!
Survival of the fittest, not survival of the wittest. Why am I trapped with this vision? Why did I have to see?"
"Have you ever gotten counseling for this... these visions?" asked Mary. "You should go you know. They could help you."
"Oh, oh! Ha! Those Gestapo wardens, I could have brought death to them at any time!
Super Bum now spoke in that creepy voice again, "Don't tell me what I should be doing!
I have looked Evil in its face. I have seen Lobster Boy's carnival freak show.
I have seen his evil sacrament..."
Super Bum's face became twisted in wrinkles as he spoke.
"Nobody knows this, but there were children, many children, and their mothers too, who entered Lobster Boy's dark trailer never to
exit again. Yes, he always began with his victim's hands. Yes, yes!
It's true. 'People have been so cruel, life has been so unfair!' "
Super Bum continued, "Lobster Boy was consumed in raging hate. His whole life was a
freak show. He had truly become a monster. You probably don't believe in monsters and the power of hate, do you? But I do, I have
seen death, and I have seen it at its worst. Lobster Boy abducted young children, the younger the better. Yes, he grabbed their
small hands while they were still alive! with his claws and began slicing, slicing, and splitting. He squeezed their
tender hands until they
crushed. I could hear the bones cracking. I could hear the screaming! 'No! No!'
Blood and muscles and cells oozed out of
their sinewy stumps. Lobster Boy meticulously baptized his claws in their fluids. He slurped up and swallowed the solid parts. He
consumed himself. Yes, he was worse than any animal ever was, gnawing, gnashing, and licking their pulsing limbs."
Super Bum rambled on without a breath, "And as his killings continued, he began eating younger and younger children, until at last, he began performing
Cesarean sections. Yes, he even attacked pregnant women for their fetus
inside! I don't think you can understand the horror, --unless you saw.
'Why? Why?' Just ask why if you want to be filled with the fear of God.
In his diseased brain, no matter how perverse it might seem, Lobster Boy believed that extracting and eating these fetal tissues would
cure him. He thought that eating the cells would normalize his own.
Worst of all, he also wished his pain onto others, as if it would migrate
like a parasite. He wanted other people to understand..."
"That's it!" said Mary angrily. "We're outta here! Stay away from us!"
"But..."
"Where do you get off telling us stories like that? Please leave. Now!
"I know, I know," said Super Bum. "I told you it was bad. I suspected that you didn't trust me enough. I'm sorry, I shouldn't
have told you." I thought you'd trust me! After all, you trust society so much to...
"If you do not leave, we will make you leave!"
"Oh, ohh, ohhh!" Super Bum began to gasp, breathing heavily and wheezing asthmatically. The skin of his face began to tighten
as it was sucked in against his skull. He spoke in a horrible voice
now, his foaming lips barely moving, "There was a time when I would have been offended, gotten angry being treated rudely like
that. Sometimes things just happen in life that just confront you
and, well, make you just wake up and smell the coffee. For example, if you'd check your tent now and find that your precious
child, your baby daughter, was no longer there. Well, you'd be agitated..."
"What are you saying!" cried Mary. At this, Mary and Peter rushed to the tent behind them.
"Where is she? My God, she's gone! What have you done!"
Peter began to charge toward Super Bum yelling, "I swear I will kill..."
But Peter gasped at what he now saw. Swinging high above his head was his razor held in claw-like hands!
Super Bum mumbled, "I wonder how rearranged one's molecules can become? You know, I just wanted a cup of coffee
and some stimulating conversation. Just look what has to happen! Yes, he was my father. Why? Why??? He passed his curse on to me!
Look at my hands!" Super Bum now brought his claws down towards Peter's neck. They are smooth and pearled, glazed and razor sharp.
"Athene and I, we wanted a child... but how could we? No! I could not continue to pass on this tortuous curse to anyone else."
Super Bum screamed, "And now... I will
kill! Yes, I will kill you all. I shall now be empowered!
Yes! Lift your razor high..."
His face flickered again in the fiery light. His face now
metamorphosed into something angelic. He began crying again.
Super Bum continued, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He began to pull his backpack off his back. "I just wanted
to know what it would be like to be a father, to have a baby, if only for a moment.
Just so I could cherish the memory, hold it close to
my heart --keep me warm the rest of my life."
With those words, Super Bum took their just waking baby daughter from his backpack and placed her down, carefully
alongside a mirror, a razor, and 2 sheep's head stones.
"Meditate on these. Hope and pray that God will not need to teach you wisdom the hard way, like he did me, to ask the
important questions of life. Know how lucky you are! Thank you for teaching me trust and happiness.
Thank you for letting us hold 'Grace' our angel child who never was."
The End.
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