Dyscountopia (11 page)

They arrived at a small open plaza, where a pile of white-walled tires lay burning underneath some blackened, indistinguishable animal on a spit.
 
It might have been a pig.
 
A group of pasty faced men stood nearby, gathered around a train of heavily laden animals the likes of which Albert had never seen before.
 
Albert stood gawking as the men unpacked cartons of milk and bags of donuts from the animals’ woolly backs, stacking them in a pile.

“Never seen a llama, Zim?” Dr. Zayus tugged him along by his sleeve.
 
“Not surprising, I guess.
 
Did you know that, when Omega-Mart shut down all the zoos on the planet, they just let the animals up here to roam free?
 
Some of them make great pack animals.”
 
He gestured to the fire.
 
“And some are just good for eating; and some of them will eat you, if you give them a chance.”

Albert watched the Roofers scatter into their huts, toting their newly unloaded groceries in baskets above their heads.
 
“Where does all this stuff come from?”

Dr. Zayus shrugged.
 
“Milk past its sell-by date, day old bread and donuts, irregular socks, misprinted hockey jerseys; all the dregs that are no good for selling get tossed up here.
 
We may have been severed forever from the ecstasy of bargain shopping, but the Omega-Mart family is much too cruel to let us die.
 
Instead, they make us live up here forever, in a wasteland of free second-rate merchandise that no one in their right mind would ever want, robbed of our God-given right to purchase.”
 
Dr. Zayus sighed.
 
“It doesn’t make much difference.
 
Everything we
want
may be down there, but everything we
need
is right here.
 
That’s all it’s about on the roof – survival.”
 
He smiled wistfully.
 
“Heck, I hardly ever think about shopping anymore.”
 
But Albert didn’t believe him.

The Doctor led Albert to a small hut with a shower curtain for a door, ignoring the growing number of Roofers that milled curiously around them.
 
He opened the plaid plastic curtain and waved Albert inside, then turned back to the gaping crowd.

“Beat it!” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
 
“Give the man his space.”
 
The rag-tag group dispersed reluctantly, amidst a flurry of murmurs and low, half-formed protests.

Inside, Albert found the hut in complete disarray.
 
Books and pornographic magazines littered the single-room enclosure, mixed with dirty laundry, used paper plates and candy wrappers.
 
A large, torn bean-bag lay slumped in one corner of the room, hemorrhaging Styrofoam beads onto the floor.
 
Zayus waved Albert over to the only other piece of furniture in the room; a stained pleather loveseat that tipped slightly to one side as Albert sat down.

The Doctor rummaged nervously around the hut, stooping over to keep from dragging his head on the roof as he tried in vain to clear up some of the mess.
 
Albert waited patiently, examining the only wall adornment in the Doctor’s home -- a sloppily glued picture frame displaying a cheap looking paper certificate that read:

OMEGA-MART SCHOOL OF MEDICINE

Certificate of Achievement

Most Improved

“Impressive, huh?”
 
The Doctor shoved a plastic cup filled with brown-tinted water into Albert’s hand.
 
Albert took a sip, hoping it was iced tea.
 
It wasn’t.

“What kind of Doctor are you?” Albert asked, trying not to grimace.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.
 
“Oh, didn’t I give you one of my cards?”
 
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little paper rectangle and thrust it toward Albert, waiting anxiously for his reaction.

Albert examined the bit of paper.
 
It was a homemade business card, written in blue magic marker.
 
He squinted at the Doctor’s shaky scrawl.
 
“Dr. Robert Zayus, the rapist?”

“
Therapist
.”
 
The Doctor frowned.
 
“I’m going to make better ones after I give all these away.”

“You’re a psychiatrist?”

The Doctor nodded as he flopped into the bean bag, sending up a flurry of Styrofoam beads.
 
“Used to work in Sector 932, Poultry, Delta Quad.
 
Those people were fuckin’ crazy.
 
Nothing makes you crazier than poultry, Zim.”
 
He gestured to the walls around him.
 
“Of course that’s nothing compared to these sick freaks.
 
You won’t find a bigger trail-mix of fruits, nuts, and sociopaths than what you get on the roof.
 
Mostly kleptos, you know, just stealing for the rush.
 
Won’t admit what they did, even to themselves.
 
Seriously, ask them, any one of them why they did what they did and you get the same bullshit story –
I didn’t steal anything.
 
I just forgot to pay.
”

Albert inspected the Doctor curiously.
 
“So how did you end up here?”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and mumbled something inaudible. Albert immediately wished that he hadn’t asked the question, and attempted to change the subject.
 

“Have you been practicing medicine long?”

The Doctor shrugged.
 
“Whenever I can.
 
You can’t get better, if you don’t practice.
 
That’s what I always say.”
 
He grinned devilishly at Albert, nibbling at his ragged beard.
 
“But what about you?
 
You’ve had quite an adventure, haven’t you?
 
Must have been very traumatizing, psychologically speaking.”

Albert peered evasively into his plastic cup.
 
“What do you mean?”

“Blasting off into space, drifting around for months on end, crash landing on a 50 billion ton slab of cement.
 
That can be emotionally jarring for anyone, especially after a sudden layoff.
 
Wanna talk about it?”
 
The wiry old Doctor studied Albert with twinkling, hopeful eyes.
 
After years of having nobody to analyze but compulsive shoplifters, he was obviously itching to take a crack at what he’d determined to be a real nut.

“Umm… I don’t think so.”
 
Albert eyed the door, overwhelmed by a sudden desire to escape.
 
“I’m feeling a lot better, now.
 
I should probably go.”

“Where to?” asked the Doctor nervously.
 
He sprang from the bean bag and took a half-step toward the exit, standing between Albert and the shower curtain.
 
“You said you had a message to deliver, right?”

Albert stared back at him.

“From somewhere out there?”
 
Zayus pointed up through the ceiling.

Albert didn’t answer.
 

“Oh, come on, Zim!” cried the Doctor.
 
“What’s the message?
 
Who’s it for?
 
What’s going on in that scrambled brain of yours?”

Albert rose warily to his feet.
 
“Why do you want to know so badly?”

 
“Why?” fumbled the Doctor, searching the walls for an answer.
 
“Why?
 
I’ll tell you why.
 
Because I’m a professional, goddammit, and I took an oath!
 
And you’ve just been psychologically traumatized.
 
It’s my duty to help!”
 

“I’m just fine,” Albert protested.
 
“I don’t need anyone digging around inside my brain, thank you very much.”
 
He pushed his way to the door.

“Wait!” Dr. Zayus tackled him, wrapping his arms around Albert and squeezing him.
 
“I can’t let you go.
 
I can’t let you go.
 
Not in your state.
 
You’re obviously fucked in the head and I took an oath.
 
A fucking oath – you know what that means?”

Albert looked slowly up into the Doctor’s desperate eyes and for the first time saw the madness there; the raging fire of a life being wasted to no end, framed by the wild gray smoke of eyebrows in dire need of trimming.
 
The muscles of his left cheek twitched uncontrollably of their own accord, and Albert wondered if he should be afraid.
 
He resolved to push the Doctor over and run for his life.
 
But then Dr. Zayus said something that made him want to stay.

“I know the way back.”

“What?”

“I know the way back.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Zayus pointed to the floor.
 
“I can get you back down there.”

Albert shook his head. “You said there wasn’t a way back.”

“No I didn’t.

“Yes you did.
 
You said…”

“I can get you back in,” said the Doctor flatly.
 
“You interested or not?”
 

Albert nodded.
 
“Show me.”

“Not yet,” said the Doctor.
 
“Not yet.
 
First I have to be convinced that you’re medically fit.
 
You need to tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

Albert regarded the Doctor skeptically.
 
All of his instincts warned him not to trust this man.
 
“And then you’ll show me?” he asked.

The Doctor nodded.
 
“Uh-huh.”

“You promise?”

“Uh-huh.”

Albert slumped his shoulders.
 
“Alright.
 
Fine.” He took a deep breath.
 
“It all started when I got fired….”

“Wait, wait, wait.
 
Gimme two seconds.”
 
The Doctor disappeared behind a curtain of beads.
 
Sounds of rummaging followed.
 
He reappeared seconds later with a pad of paper and a chewed-up bit of pencil, taking a seat once again on the bean bag.

“Okay,” Albert began again, sinking into the loveseat.
 
“It all started when I got fired….”

“You can lay down if you want to,” said the Doctor hopefully, adjusting something in his vest pocket.

“I’m not one of your patients,” Albert protested.

“Of course not,” said the Doctor.
 
“I just want you to be comfortable, that’s all.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Albert spun sideways in the loveseat and lay down with his head on the arm, dangling his legs over the opposite arm.
 
It
was
relaxing.
 
“Okay, it all started when I got fir – wait, you’re not recording this, are you?”

Zayus shook his head.
 
“No.”

“Really?” Albert asked, eyeing him mistrustfully.

“Of course not!” insisted the Doctor.
 
“You’re really paranoid, Zim.
 
I’m gonna write that down.”
 
He scribbled on his pad.
 
“Now, let’s get started.
 
Whenever you’re ready.”
 

“Alright.”
 
Albert settled into the foamy cushions and focused on the ceiling.
 
“It all started when I got fired….”