Authors: David Grand
Louse (13 page)
Mr. Louse:
When you return to the thirty-third floor, Mr. Blackwell will command you to perform an unpleasant task, one you will not think safe. I write this letter to inform you that you are to act counterintuitively; this duty you are to perform
will afford you and others safe passage to the future. Failure to follow through with this task will lead to the worst possible outcome. If you hesitate, you will be arrested and interrogated in the most unpleasant manner. Please take this warning to heart. You will not have a second chance.
Yours sincerely,
Mortimer Blank
Sanctioned Conspirator
When I reach the signature at the bottom of the letter I promptly fold it up and stuff it back into the envelope, which I promptly stuff back into my pocket. I look to my right and my left to be sure no one was reading over my shoulder, feeling panicked, thinking, why? Knowing there is no answer for me.
The elevator doors open.
I step in and ride up.
“Yes or no, Ms. Berger?”
“No, Dr. Barnum.”
“Yes or no, Ms. Berger?”
“Yes, Dr. Barnum.”
“Did Kovax or Blurd approach you? Yes or no, Ms. Berger?”
“No, Dr. Barnum.”
“Did Nester or Blurd approach you? Yes or no, Ms. Berger?”
“No, Dr. Barnum.”
“Did Blurd or Blurd approach you?”
“Yes, Dr. Barnum.”
“Did Blurd say he was the one who led you to the funds?”
“No, Dr. Barnum.”
“What did I say, Ms. Berger?”
“Yes, Dr. Barnum.”
“No no. What did I say?”
“I don't know. I don't remember, Dr. Barnum.”
“A little juice, Mr. Bartleby.”
“Aaaaa! Aaaaa! Ohâ¦oh god oh god pleeeeeeaaaaaase oh god!”
“Did Blurd say he was the one who led you to the file?”
“Did Blurd say he was the one who led you to the file?”
“Blurd said he was the one who led you to the file.”
“Blurd said he was the one who led you to the file.”
“Blurd said he put the money in the account.”
“Blurd said he put the money in the account.”
“Blurd said I put the money in the account.”
“Blurd said I put the money in the account.”
“Was it you, Ms. Berger, who transferred the funds?”
“No, Dr. Barnum.”
“Then who was it?”
“Blurd.”
“But Blurd said it was you.”
“But Blurd said it was me.”
“Bring up the juice, Mr. Bartleby!”
“Aaaaaaaaa!!!!! Aaaaaaaaa!!!!!”
When I exit the off-duty elevator on the thirty-third floor, Mr. Slodsky is standing before me.
“M-M-M-Mr. Louse,” Mr. Slodsky stammers. He is desperate, very desperate. His forehead is sweating and his hands are shaking.
“What is it, Mr. Slodsky?” I ask, stepping past him. His nervousness quickly creeps into my breath, which makes me realize I would be best off if I avoided him.
“M-M-Mr. Blackwell is aw-waiting your arrival. He says to come immediately. I have b-b-b-been dismissed.”
“Yes, all right,” I say. “Thank you for informing me, Mr. Slodsky.”
“Y-y-you're welcome, M-M-Mr. Louse. Do you m-m-mind if I walk with you?”
“No, not at all,” I lie, wishing he would leave me.
“It's just that I ha-have s-s-some m-m-more to say to you.”
“More to say of what, Mr. Slodsky?”
“M-m-moreâ¦M-M-Mr. Louse.”
“If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Slodsky, why have you chosen to tell me your news? Why not retire and enjoy your time off?”
“B-bâ¦Because, Mr. Louseâ¦,” he says letting out a great long breath.
I look over to him.
He looks at me, and then looks at his hands and then looks at me again as though I should already know the answer to my question. I nod my head as though I am ready to hear what he has to say. Mr. Slodsky rolls his eyes up into the back of his head in search of some serenity but can't seem to find any.
“P-P-Pan Opticon is rep-p-portingâ¦n-n-new news of one of P-P-Poppy's attendants, you s-s-see.”
I stop walking.
Mr. Slodsky stops with me.
“Yes, Mr. Slodsky, I've already heard the news,” I say coldly.
I look at him with his back to one of the glass cases filled with paper planes. And as I look at the horror on his face, a shock of fear runs up my back.
“Th-they are s-s-saying that I am inv-volved with a group of sanctioned c-c-conspirators.”
“I don't know what you are talking of, Mr. Slodsky,” I say, feeling the weight of Mortimer Blank's letter pressing upon my chest.
Mr. Slodsky's eyes become panicked. As they are about to roll into the back of his head, I turn away from him and continue walking down the hall.
“Th-they say I'm g-g-g-going to be arrested,” he says, trailing after me.
I don't say anything to him. I choose to remain silent for my own self-protection and begin walking faster.
“Th-th-they say that I am p-p-partly responsible for the p-p-predicament w-w-we're in. Th-th-they're sayingâ¦m-m-many things,
M-M-Mr. Louse⦠Pleaseâ¦,” he continues. But I can't understand anything he says. All I can hear is the sound of his voice muffling the hum of the air conditioner when I hear him scream, “You see! You see!”
“You see!” he screams again.
I stop walking and turn around to find Mr. Slodsky looking back to Mr. Bender and Mr. Godmeyer, who are turning the corner of the south wing.
“You see!” he screams again, this time directly into a camera.
I turn back around and continue walking, not wanting to hear or see any more.
“They will c-come after you,” he says. And then all of a sudden Mr. Slodsky's voice is muffled and I can hear his feet kicking at the linoleum as they drag him away. I don't dare turn my head. I continue walking toward Poppy's chambers, trying not to think of the gurgling sound Mr. Slodsky's voice made as it was being dampened.
I continue down the wing toward Poppy's chambers. As I approach the doors, the cellos of Mozart's “Requiem” vibrate the glass of the museum cases. When I enter, Poppy is sitting up in bed. His tray, prepared for his early morning injection, rests on the western night table.
“Mr. Louse, come to the side of my bed,” he says with gravity in his voice. “I need to say something.”
“Yes, Poppy. Of course.”
I walk across the chambers to the bed, where I notice three syringes filled to their last measure; they are set on top of three puffs of white gauze, his rubber tube is all wound up into a circular maze, three empty vials, top to bottom, snugly rest against the lip of the tray.
“Come, Mr. Louse,” he says, patting the mattress. “Sit beside me.”
“Yes, sir,” I say nervously, wondering what exactly he has in mind.
I cautiously sit down, unable to remove my eyes from the three syringes.
“Closer, Herman.”
“Yes, sir.”
I inch up the bed so that our faces are nearly touching each other. He raises his left arm, takes hold of my face with his hand, and turns it toward him. I can feel his trembling finger nails curl around the back of my ear. When my eyes meet his, he doesn't blink; all I can think of are his shallow breaths rising in and out of his nose. His pupils tremble with his fingers, back and forth, as though they are becoming detached from whatever holds them in place.
“Will you take pity on me, Mr. Louse?” he asks in a very small, strange voice.
“Of course, Poppy,” I say, suddenly feeling great sadness and fear, fearing for myself and all the life beneath us, all for no reason I can understand. But before tears can swell in my own eyes, they swell in the corners of Poppy's eyes. He doesn't make a sound. The water runs down his beard onto the linens. He shuts his eyes and lets go of me. Then, from some place deep within, he points to the tray and says, “All three, Mr. Louse.” And with that, Poppy's breathing becomes erratic and his skin begins to bead with sweat. I am unable to talk or move. All I can think of is the letter in my pocket from Mortimer Blank, the thought of what the detonation might feel like, the thought of Karl Arnstedt falling onto the bank of the Thames.
“You needn't be afraid, Mr. Louse,” Poppy says.
“I can't, Poppy. I⦔
“You will, Mr. Louse.”
“I won't!” I say. And with these words enunciated in defiance, I feel an automatic and intense wave of nausea and see an image of myself reflected in a mirror. I'm naked, strapped to a reclining chair. My lips are blue, my clavicle is pronounced, black and blue marks the size of half-dollars cover my body, a fresh laceration runs along the curvature of my left breast. And for some reason, I can feel all the pain I felt whenever this took place.
“You will do this, Mr. Louse. You will do this because there are things you can't yet imagine. You will do this without question and without hesitation if you wish safe passage for yourself and the others.”
Poppy's eyes still don't blink. He now talks to me with the energy and magnetism of a young man. I want to say no again, but when I think of saying no, I can see a man gently wrapping black and red wires around his forearm, greeting me with pleasantries like, “I hope you had a nice rest, Mr. Louse,” as he delicately drops the thick wires into a deep tub of viscous liquid. And I want to say something to this man in my memory, but I am frozen, literally frozen, clenching down, chattering on a large piece of rubber that is somehow attached to my head.
“Begin with the syringe on your left, Mr. Louse, and work your way to the right,” Poppy says as he rolls onto his stomach. “You will understand momentarily. You will understand clearly.”
“Yes, Poppy,” I say, but wanting to say, “I don't understand.” I know, somehow, that I must do what I must do for him, do as Mortimer Blank has instructed me. Do my duty. For I can't do anything else without feeling the pain.
Poppy presses a button on his Zenith Space Commander remote control. The doors to his chambers shut and lock down and the third movement of Mozart's “Requiem” plays forcefully over the chambers' speakers. I remove a pair of rubber gloves and a mask from the western night table. I slip on the gloves. Tie back the mask. I act as I have acted so many times in the past. I hum along to the loud torpor of the music and contemplatively prepare Poppy's leg.
As I wrap the band tightly around his thigh the image of my body reflected in the mirror returns. I can see my penis is pierced with a catheter; a thin green tube runs out of me into a large plastic bag. I can feel the laceration under my left breast, feel the skin folding over into a triangle of fat that jiggles as I shiver. A few frozen rivulets of blood trickle down to my hip. I make a loud whale groan through my sinus cavity, and I continue until I attract the attention of the man with the red and black wires. He removes my mouthpiece, at which point, when I'm finally free to speak, I have no control over my jaw muscles. I grunt a few times deep from within my diaphragm and cough with frustration. “Yes, indeed!” the man says, smiling, promptly replacing the mouthpiece. “Yes, indeed!”
I delicately lift the first syringe, tap away its air bubbles, search for a point of entry and slowly and deeply insert it. I push the plunger halfway. I lift the plunger to mix the blood with the compound. I shoot it hard and can feel it struggle into his vein. The thought of it nearly makes me sick. The thought of pushing death into his veins causes me to turn cold and feel blue. I feel as though I have pushed a knife through his belly and have my fist caught in the viscera. With this pump, I can see the vapor of his breath and the dimming light in his cloudy eyes, which remain open as though shocked by what no human can see or imagine. With the plunger
depressed, he now moans with pleasure and breathes without fear. I, on the other hand, begin to shake violently, hardly able to lift the second syringe. I defiantly look up to the surveillance cameras on the ceiling, looking straight into all their lenses simultaneously, showing whomever may be watching that I do not do this alone, that they, if they are watching, are doing this with me. And with that in mind, I plunge the second syringe into Poppy's leg, and push the death deeper into the back of his brain, into the dry chambers of his heart. The liquid spills so easily inside him now, it is as though his body has relaxed, as though his veins, arteries, and corpuscles are conspiring with the needle, commingling with it in an embraceâ¦as if together flesh and metal know it is the last time they will feel each other's presence. And finally, they begin to reject one another with the third injection. My reliable vein, my thin but loyal streak of blue, submerges under the skin and disappears from sight. But too late. I accidentally prod him and push the plunger hard with my anxiety. A bubble forms under the skin and grows to the size of a miniature parachute that slowly but surely deflates. I can't help but stand back from it, thinking that when it withers, I too will moan with a final pleasure that I, like Poppy, will not sense.
A grainy sepia-toned establishing shot of an oil field. Men, who we first mistake at this distance for prairie dogs, scurry toward a gushing derrick, running and disappearing into the black waves pouring down around them.
Voice-Over (VO) Hagiography: Herbert Horatio Blackwell was born into humble, but dignified, beginnings. His family resided in the oil town of H., located near the Buffalo Bayou, the marshy tributary linking S. and T. His father was a sheriff and fortune seeker, his mother, a refined debutante from D., etc., etc.
Hagiography continues.
Establishing Shot Continues: More and more men, what seems to be an endless supply, run toward the gushing derrick.
Overdub sound of drills winding in their derricks (blender on slow).
Close-up: Large man wearing cowboy hat and thick mustache steps in front of the camera. Likeness of Herbert Robard Blackwell, father. He smiles, then sneers, then cocks his fist back and knocks the camera to the ground.
Close-up/Point of View (POV) camera: Lens sinks into black mud.
Cut to: Montage of victims suffering from small pox and typhoid fever, signs of yellow fever quarantines, gas light fires, mounds and mounds of bugs and beetles and mosquitoes, etc.
****
Lots of beetles. Many beetles.
Begin voice-over of Mr. Blackwell's poor mother and her horrible obsession with the perils of mosquitoes and roaches and flies, etc., etc.
VO: Only on crisp winter days would she take the young Mr. Blackwell out walking, during which time she made him write down all the miserable sights she sawâ¦the sickly children, the scurrying miceâ¦andâ¦
The VO continues on and the images change to stills of the young Mr. Blackwell standing before his family's two story house. He is dressed in a black suit, forcing a smile, standing next to an immense drill bit.
Story of fame and fortune follows, the inestimable wealth, the great genius and tragedy and mysterious illnesses that accompany the great man's great luck.
Live ActionâMedium Range/Upper Torso: Mr.
Blackwell lifts his large hand toward the camera and waves the cameraman away. He thrusts his hands into his trousers, turns and walks down the front walk of his home.
Camera Pans Right.
Cut to Handheld: The young Mr. Blackwell walks down the street. His image dissolves into an image of a distant airfield. As we learn of his mother's and his father's deaths, the image of the airfield cuts to the POV of camera following plane in midflight. In the distance is a cityscape covered by cumulus clouds.
VO: He began flying and designing planes, a lifelong dream he acquired while patiently attending to his mother. From her bedroom window he enjoyed watching the biplanes lift into the sky from the distant airfield and fly over the town of H., etc., etc.
The camera's POV shifts to the ground teeming with masses whom we mistake for insects.
The plane descends onto a runway, where a crowd of people are waiting. The plane comes to a halt from crowd's POV. The crowd, en masse, chases after the pilot, Mr. Blackwell. Handheld follows. Some men in the crowd lift him up onto their shoulders and carry him away.
VO: â¦for great distances and traveled the entire width of the North American continent nonstop, etc.
Cut to documentary footage of Mr. Blackwell riding in a convertible, standing and waving.
VO: People fell out onto the streets to celebrate his arrival. They had ticker-tape parades for him in all the great cities. By the time he traveled back across the country he had become a household name. He was visited by dignitaries from around the world and entertained by all the celebrities and movie moguls of the day.
Mr. Blackwell shakes hands with men in tuxedos, women in gowns, paparazzi cameras flashing in the background.
Cut to documentary footage: Mr. Blackwell walks the back lot of movie studio with a short man wearing a monocle. They approach the ornate cast iron gates of EKG Productions and vigorously shake hands.
VO: In the early years, he directed and starred in
H.A. 13-3, Trails of the Golden Horde
, and
Custer's Last Stand;
he later produced scores of others. Simultaneously, he continued designing planes and airports and constructed the ubiquitous Transit Air from the bottom up, etc., etc.
A twin engine Transit Air plane floats above the clouds. A blond stewardess smiles at the camera. A determined pilot
pulls the throttle. The plane banks off to the horizon and the rising sun.
VO: EKG Productions grossed more money than any studio in the history of studios. Transit Air was the most successful commercial airliner in the history of airlinersâ¦etc., etc.
Roll Title: HERBERT HORATIO BLACKWELL: THE UNTOLD STORY
Establishing Shot: Interior Hotel Suite. Photograph of Mr. Blackwell standing profile to slit in curtain.
VO (voice of Godwin Beeles, Director, Producer, Writer): With all the overwhelming details of such a life, he began to suffer long bouts of insomnia. And the less he slept, the more he thought of his mother and felt his life coming to a close. He had money and fame, but as he reached his midthirties, he could no longer enjoy them. His chronic sleeplessness made him paranoid and depressed. He sequestered himself in hotel suites for months at a time and began hiring detectives to keep track of all his business associates. It was during one of these fierce bouts of depression that he met Felonius Barnum.
A young Dr. Barnum appears on the screen in
Dying With No Tomorrow in Sight
, wearing a mask around his
neck and a smock. He is standing over a hospital bed in which the young dying girl stares up to the ceiling. The wife and her blind husband hold each other as they stand in a corner. The woman is weeping.
VO: He had taken a walk out to the club, where Mr. Barnum was soliciting acting work. Felonius Barnum was young, handsome, ambitious, but, in Herbert's eyes, talentless. Upon reviewing his screen tests, his shortcomings were evident. However, his frailties endeared Felonius to Herbert, and this is why Herbert took to himâ¦
Footage of
Dying
continues:
Dr. Barnum turns to the couple. A close-up of his face reveals moistened and haggard eyes. The sound track rises through the VO. It is full of somber horns and strings. “I'm sorry,” Dr. Barnum says, almost trembling. “I'm sorry.” He throws his hands over his face and barges out of the room. The woman guides the man to the bed by the hand and places his hand on the bed post. Then the woman falls over the dead little girl and gives in to her grief. A close-up of her face reveals strange contortions.
VO: He could read in Barnum that he would remain loyal. He took orders well; Herbert knew he wasn't too proud to be humiliated when push came to shove. The two men became inseparable.
Dying
Cont.: Dr. Barnum sobs onto the shoulder of a beautiful nurse.
VO: They dined together, attended parties together, dated the same women.
Montage of women posing for the camera on Blackwell's and Barnum's arms.
VO: And Barnum took care of Mr. Blackwell during his depressions. And Poppy in return cast Barnum in EKG films. But Barnum, as was to be expected, was a wash as an actor.
Dying
Cont.: Dr. Barnum delicately pushes the beautiful nurse aside and walks down the dimly lit hall toward a pair of swinging double doors.
VO: Mr. Blackwell, knowing Felonius' limitations as an actor, sent him off to medical school so that he could play out his one successful role on a permanent basis, and in so doing provide Mr. Blackwell with more continuous care. Which he did faithfully for thirty years.
Cut to: Close-up of Helga Zimmerwitz in Lounge 18. She exchanges her seat in the lounge with another woman.
Handheld follows her down the hall.
Cut to: Interior Elevator: Helga Zimmerwitz rides down.
Cut to: Helga Zimmerwitz in her quarters.
VO: When Herbert was young the only insects his mother found beautiful and harmless were butterflies.
Interior Quarters. Helga undresses. She opens her closet and removes a black gown. She lays it on the bed.
Cut to: Helga in the dress.
Cut to: Close-up of Helga's face covered by a veil.
She is now Madame, walking down the western wing to Mr. Blackwell's chambers, passing Dr. Barnum on the way.
Exchange POVs.
Dr. Barnum walks by the camera and disappears.
VO: Herbert orders Madame to bring him butterflies so that he might present them to his mother in the event that there is an afterlife and the world isn't the nightmare he has imagined it to be.
Madame enters Mr. Blackwell's chambers. Herbert's POV. Madame approaches the bed and kneels before him.
Close-up: Madame's face.
VO: A woman has been playing the role of Madame for many years now, since shortly after Herbert crash-landed in the desert outside of L. His knees and lower back were severely traumatized. The pain was so tremendous Barnum put him on triple doses of morphine.
The screen splits in three, showing the three holographic images of Jane Kathryn Betty Blackwell, as displayed in bathrooms.
VO: One night while heavily sedated, Herbert awakened and saw, or was dreaming, that his mother had come to his bedside dressed in mourning and she was carrying a glass case of butterflies. She held it in front of his eyes and told him to dress himself in them when he died so that she would recognize him as he walked through the valley of the shadow of death. She said she would come for him and show him the way away from the hell he was living on earth. From that day on, he began dreaming of the day he would die. He began listening to Mozart's “Requiem” night in and night out, thinking of his own funeral and the ugly things people would have to say about him. And the more he began to think of the ugly things people would say, he began to have this great feeling that he would need to leave something truly great and something absolutely horrific behind to justify their talk.
Cut to: Establishing Shot: Giant mushroom cloud blankets the desert. Soldiers climb out of trenches and run toward it with machine guns in hand. They run into the shadows with their hands over their eyes. The cloud billows higher.
VO: As early as the middle of the century Herbert was already dreaming of space. He began dreaming of rocket ships and space stations and life on other planets. While laid up in bed he began researching and developing plans for rocket ships and satellites. From this came high tech planes and weapons, tanks and artillery, that would be used in all the wars and conflagrations to come.
Herbert stands beside Mr. Sherwood as the two men shake hands. Mr. Sherwood whispers something into Herbert's ear. Herbert whispers something back. The two men smile toward camera flashes popping in the distance.
VO: It was at this time that Herbert joined forces with Ronald Sherwood, an actor from the early EKG days who moved on to arms dealing and who had State Department ties, the very man to whom Herbert entrusted his desires to move into the space industry. And as he talked and dreamed about moving into space, all that he had built on earth was being challenged.
A sweaty black boxer leans over the ropes of a ring and pulls a white woman up by the arms. He cradles her, soaking his sweat into her white taffeta. He pulls her close and kisses her directly on the mouth. She melts in his arms.
VO: People were questioning his business practices and the practices of government that kept him in business. He was questioning all the people coming together and screaming about injustices by men such as himself. He began to hear their voices creeping into his sleep and throughout his waking hours, and all he could hear were their voices buzzing and their millions of cars crawling about the streets.
Train tracks stretch ahead and disappear around a winding mountain pass.
VO: He decided he had had enough of this life and that he would do his important work from a great distance away.
A tunnel approaches. The train tracks disappear.
VO: He sold EKG Productions and then Transit Air. He then chartered a train and traveled across the country once and then twice and then a third time, at which point he stopped at the site that
would become the Resort Town of G. He bought the train and lived on it while he built the entire town. When it was complete he was transported from his rail car to his chambers and has never left them since.
The train tracks reappear. Brown hills slope up to a smooth vista. The train slows and stops. Dust rushes past and swoops over nearby brush. A large group of men walk out into the open land. They follow bulldozers. Dump trucks haul away mountains of dirt. An immense crane lifts steel girders to great heights. The Head Engineer stands in the foreground with a roll of blueprints tucked under his arm. A line of concrete mixers stretching out to the horizon drives one by one to masonry men. The Head Engineer confers with the men in hard hats and is followed by Mr. Godmeyer. An immense cylindrical skyscraper with the girth of a lake rises above the desert. It is coral and black, shimmering from the light and the heat. On the building's periphery are rectangular swatches of asphalt and rows of adobe bungalows spiraling out to the edge of the foothills. In the far distance, through a ravine, an oversized billboard in the shape of a pristine golden arrow glistens above an interstate, along which an occasional semi passes or pulls off onto the road leading to the casino.
