The Eden Express Page 23

  If it worked, did that mean I had to go through life with this awful threat over my head? If I didn’t get laid every two days or so I’d go crazy? Maybe the problem would get more serious. It would get to be once a day and then once every twelve hours and so on till someone had to invent a twenty-four-hour-a-day fucking machine just for me.

  Maybe the object of my affections would work the same way. Now I could stay out of the nut house by giving in to my sexual impulses toward Kathy, later I wouldn’t be able to resist chickens and get away with it.

  I was supposed to take my immigration physical the next day, the same goddamned physical I was supposed to take when I went bonkers the last time. What is it with me and this physical, anyway?

  Just a few hours earlier it was nothing to worry about. Just another dumb thing. Nothing very exciting one way or another could happen. But now all that was changed. My body was all fucked up again. I was hot when others were cold, cold when others were hot. I was going into faints and shakes bordering on convulsions. My heartbeat seemed all wrong. What would happen if I blanked and ran amuck or whatever it was I did in those blanks? My voice was unrecognizable and words were getting out of place.

  Was the prospect of an immigration physical screwing me up this bad? What would happen if anything serious came up?

  No matter what it was that was cracking me, there would always be fans, Joe and Marys, rain and wind and smoke in the air. There would always be weird conversations and immigration physicals and sexual confusion and all the other kinds of confusion. What bothered me wasn’t so much the shit, but my low and getting-lower shit tolerance.

  I got up and talked with Kathy. I got up and tried to read. I got up and found myself talking with Joe and Mary. Did push-ups, trying to exhaust myself. I tried yoga, meditation, drawing, writing, anything I could get my hands on, and then tried to sleep and then got up again.

  I heard voices in the living room. There was light coming under the door. It was Joe, Mary, and Fan talking but their voices sounded strange. I tried to go to sleep.

  Very low and wispy, like wind: “Mark, Mark, Mark.” Being polite, I got up and went into the living room. Mary was wearing some priestess-type outfit. She told me to sit down in a voice too low to be hers or anyone else’s for that matter. Her legs were spread and her crotch was glowing smoky Day-Glo orange.

  Why couldn’t it be her fingers or something else? Why her crotch? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don’t I have enough problems without Day-Glo crotches? I tried not to stare. It seemed an unnecessary touch. I wasn’t about to argue that whatever my problem was, there was a lot of sex involved. Day-Glo crotches seemed to be rubbing it in.

  “Do we have time to move to higher ground?” There was that voice that wasn’t Mary’s coming from Mary again.

  “Huh? Come again?” I had heard but was stalling for a little time.

  “Do we have to move to higher ground?” She sounded impatient. The storm outside took on a new meaning, or rather a meaning I had been trying to push out of my mind.

  “Higher ground?” I looked at her, trying to catch a glimpse of humor. There was no movement in her face.

  “Higher ground is within.” It seemed to be the right thing to say. There was a long, long silence.

  Well, these people need a prophet and I guess, times being what they are, short notice and all, I’m the best they could do. They seemed to think I knew something they didn’t, that I had access to cosmic truths. So I started talking. I started teaching. I started preparing them and me for what we were going through. How to deal with the end of the world and how to deal with being crazy. There were plenty of parallels.

  “The first lesson is about time. ’Cause time is what you’re about to run out of. The first lesson is no matter how little or how much actual clock-calendar time remains to you, there is enough. Enough to get done whatever you have to get done. So don’t panic. Even if it’s only a minute or even just a second, there is time. There is enough time.”

  Back under my sleeping bag. Shaking, not knowing whether I was too cold or too hot. Cut off. The storm was raging. The fire was out. The heat I had was all there was. There was no way to move. I just lay there groaning trying not to. Way out at the end of Highway 101. A broken phone, broken plumbing, a broken furnace. Were the others dead? Why couldn’t I move? How long had I been lying there? Cabin fever. Jack London. The waiting, lying, trying to hold on to whatever so there would be something for them to save when they got there. Oh, shit, why did I ever leave Massachusetts? Trade the friendly, nicely scaled hills and plants for these monster trees, monster mountains, monster beauty where man didn’t really belong? Barnstable Harbor for Powell Lake? A rotten trade. Rock and water, no mud. I’d give anything for a little mud. Cut off. Shit, fuck, cunt, bitch, whore. Remember old rock songs and old friends to pass the time. Wait for the inevitable, the earth claiming back what was hers. The antibody systems of Mother Earth wiping me out. It made such sense. It was just surprising it hadn’t happened earlier. How long did I think I could get away with it? Stupid stupid stupid. I’d so much rather die in the Barnstable marsh instead of British Columbia. Why, when I got out, didn’t I head home? Talk about being willfully dense. Talk about being Taurus. Talk about being perverse. I’m sorry again, too late again.

  When I was a child I fell thirty feet from a tree onto my head. I realized I was dying but wasn’t really very upset about it. I was dreaming, drifting back through my life like a cloud, and everything made perfect sense. The dream had given me promise that pleasant enough things were ahead, so I kept sinking back into that dream world. Why get sore? But gradually I wasn’t able to sink into the peace as deeply as I had before. I kept coming back to the very real pain. The pain became stronger, the dream weaker, and I realized I was going to live after all.

  Darwinian explanation of why your life flashes before you just before you die is impossible. Evolution has no use for dying things. Since it can’t be an evolutionary thing, probably all organisms experience something similar. More complicated entities like friendships, love affairs, cultures and institutions seem to go through a comparable process. There’s something in consciousness that seems to favor neat endings.

  I knew something was ending. The voices, the dreams, the visions and other wild things were all clues to what was dying, but I couldn’t put it all together.

  “Let me go, Mark. Please let me go.” It was my father again, begging me, pleading with me, trying to explain, trying again to make me hate him. Again I got the feeling he wanted to kill himself.

  “Don’t you see I’m responsible for all this pain you’re going through? How can you not hate me?”

  “If you weren’t the fifteenth joker through here in the last few hours trying to claim responsibility for the hell I’m in, I might be able to take you more seriously. I admit you’ve got a better case than most. A lot of what’s going on certainly has your flavor to it, but there are plenty of others who have a reasonable case. Virge is pretty sure she did it. Mother certainly had her hand in it. Bob Dylan, believe it or not, was just through to apologize and try to make it all better. He figured the whole thing was his fault. I told him to tell you that. Tolstoy was sorry I had taken his work so seriously. Said he was awfully sorry, he just couldn’t have known what would happen but all the same he’s glad to know how it turned out. Jesus said he’d do what he could but I could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t sure he could be of much help.

  “The thing I’m telling them and want to tell you too is that it’s not all that bad. I’ve really had an awfully good life and don’t feel sore at anyone. I have a feeling that I’m somehow where all you big deals were afraid to go. Where you all drew the line and chickened out. That may sound grandiose but it certainly feels like that’s what’s happening. You all feel shitty because you figure that where I am must be unbelievably awful and that things you did steered me to this. It’s true I never would have gotten here without you, but it’s not all that bad
. I’m finding out lots of interesting stuff. Doing lots of things I’ve always wanted to do.

  “Every time I say something like that you get this unbelievable look of horror. How could I possibly be digging this? Like you’re afraid I’m going to drag you into it. What would it take for me not to dig something? Well, I’ll admit this is hell. I mean, if I was going to try to really do the worst possible thing I could do to someone, this would be it. Whoever set this up is some sort of a genius. But maybe that’s what I dig about it. This is awful, the worst thing I could imagine and it’s happened. I’ve taken whoever the fuck is against us’s worst punch and I still chuckle a bit about this and that. Isn’t that good news?”

  MIRACLE. In the morning the trees were green again. Somehow the destruction had been reversed, the earth reprieved. There was still time.

  “Joe and Mary, quick! Pack your stuff, grab your kid. Get in your bus and split. Get to wherever you want to get to quick.” I was so happy. Maybe everyone could make it to wherever home was for them. Or maybe just enough time to say “Good-by, I loved you” to a few more people.

  “I’m going to step outside, check the weather, get a little fresh air.” They looked at me as if opening the door would let death inside. Mary had been so adamant about my not opening the door the night before.

  “Are you sure you want to do that, Mark?”

  “Yes, my God, yes. Do you think that if there’s a prayer of getting out of here I’m going to pass it up? How long will this break last?”

  No one had the energy to stop me. I opened the door. It was still raining pretty hard but the wind had calmed. I breathed shallowly, just tasting it to make sure it wasn’t death. The world smelled like it was still alive. “See, I can breathe, nothing bad happening.” They looked at me worriedly.

  “We can make it, don’t be so afraid. Come on, get with it. Wake up! This is our chance.”

  They just kept looking at me. “What about your physical, Mark?”

  “My physical?” How could anybody think that was relevant to anything? I had a hard enough time taking that shit seriously before the apocalypse, shit storms, and eternal truths. “My physical?”

  “We very much want you to pass.” Why was it so important to them that I pass? It didn’t mean diddly to me. Their tone of voice seemed to say that if I took my physical I’d flunk.

  “Are you going to tell them about your crackup or not?”

  Questions, questions, questions. “I really haven’t figured it out.”

  “Well, Mark, you know it’s only physical,” Kathy said very meaningfully. The whole sex thing came tumbling down about my head. Why did it have to be Kathy who said that? Like she knew that I knew that she knew that everyone knew the whole thing was sex? Why did she have to look so beautiful? Why hadn’t we made love the night before?

  Joe and Mary talked about some nice doctor who had taken care of something for them. Said he was an awfully nice guy and that he’d probably be willing to help out. I guess they made a phone call. Anyway, they had it all arranged for me to see him later that same morning.

  “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks, why don’t we set out now? I mean, just in case the car breaks down or something. We can have coffee at the marina with Bea. That would be nice. I really want to make sure I don’t fuck up this appointment. Let’s get moving.”

  Joe drove. I sat in the front passenger seat. Kathy and Mary were in the back. The bus started. Thank God, thank German mechanics, we’re going to make it. Hot shit, I’m not going to die in this shit hole. Gush bump gurgle slop, the bus worked its way up the dirt driveway and climbed up onto the good old solid pavement of Highway 101. Just outside the driveway there was a road crew at work. Thank God for the salt-of-the-earth workers keeping this road in shape. The storm had destroyed it but they had gotten up bright and early to repair our link with the rest of the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Everyone’s so wonderful. I waved at them with tears of gratitude streaming down my face. They waved back.

  “Mark, are you all right?” Joe asked.

  “Ya, Joe, I’m fine. It’s just that everyone’s so wonderful. I never really appreciated it before. I’ve been terribly blind, I think.”

  “It’s all right, Mark. Just relax. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Things looked none the worse for that dreadful storm. A few branches had come down but that was about it. Then the sun came out and everything got bright, too bright. The whole bus was shaking. The road was shaking and everything on it started to fall apart. Oh, shit, oh, shit. Just hold on. Make like it’s not happening. By force of will I kept the road from breaking up, the sun from exploding, the bus from falling apart, and Joe alive and seeing and keeping the bus on the road.

  Trying to induce a leisureliness, a lack of urgency, I reminded them about the marina. “Well, let’s go have our coffee with Bea.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that, Mark?”

  “Yes yes yes. I’m in no hurry to see the doctor. It’s not like this is an emergency or anything. I’d like to have a cup of Bea’s coffee.” So we stopped.

  One foot in front of the other into the little snack bar. “Hi, Bea.” She looked worried. Paul, her youngest son, was crying. “Don’t worry, Paul, please don’t worry. Everything’s going to come out fine. Just you wait and see.”

  There was no one else there. That was usual. Except for us, they didn’t really have much business. All for us. Sam and Bea must be losing their shirts in this business and these self-indulgent punks come down from the lake once a month or so, buy a tank of gas, and give them shit about eating meat.

  Joe all of a sudden said to me very meaningfully, “You’re in. You’ve made it. Relax, you’re in.” It seemed like a strange thing to say. I was in where? Mary had spent the past day or so telling me I was out. I looked at Bea. She looked perplexed. Maybe she thought Joe was nuts and dangerous or something.

  “Well, OK, if you say so, Joe,” I said, sort of winking to Bea. I rolled a cigarette, sipped at my coffee, and talked about the weather some. Yes, it was a strange spring. No, Bea could never remember another that had been like this. Just what I thought, just what I was afraid of. Something had fucked up. What good did being “in” or “out” do me if the earth was dying?

  “Well, we’ll be seeing you soon, Bea. Give everyone my love,” and off we went.

  As soon as we got in the car, Joe turned to me and said pleadingly, “Mark, I sure as hell hope you believe in faith healing. I don’t think you realize half how many people are behind you.” It sounded more like a threat than anything else. If I didn’t pull through I would be taking a lot of good people down with me. Bea, all her children, Joe and Mary and Sarah and millions more were all counting on me. The pressure was on. Everyone I cared about had bet their lives on my recovering, whatever that meant.

  What kind of quackery show was this going to be? Was some joker going to put his hands on my head and say “In the name of Jesus Christ, be well”?

  “I swear to you, Joe, I’ll do my best. I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying. I’ll see the doctor. I’ll do anything he asks. Shit, Joe, I’ll try to walk on water if you think it will help.”

  Keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope everything comes out all right. Ride on tough. I didn’t see any alternative except maybe…maybe the going backward in time thing would work.

  “Joe, there’s a way for you to get out of this mess. Take from me anything that’s yours and run. Take me and leave me by the water where you met me. Do it all backward. Pretend you never met me. There’s got to be a way around this. I don’t want my not getting well to fuck you up. Just leave me by the water. Faith will meet me by the water.”

  Joe pulled into the hospital. The big red sign, EMERGENCY ENTRANCE. The dam was right alongside of me now. Oh, shit, the bomb is going to blow. “Keep driving, Mac. I said we had to meet faith by the water. This isn’t where you met me.”

  “Come on, Mark,” Joe
said apologetically, “we have an appointment.”

  “OK,” I said, scared to death, trying to steady myself for whatever was ahead. I couldn’t move. It was awful. It was over.

  Joe came around to my side of the bus and opened the door and took my arm. “Come on, Mark. I’ll go with you. This won’t be so bad.”

  I was clutching my “important papers.” My birth certificate, immigration forms, passport, etc.

  “OK,” I said weakly, and let Joe lead me out of the car into the hospital. “Did we have to come to the emergency entrance?”

  “Relax, Mark, relax.”

  Joe left me in a chair. I didn’t look around. I was too scared. He went and talked to a nurse in a low voice I couldn’t quite catch. It was all arranged. It’s not up to me any more. If it ever was, it’s not now. Joe and the nurse came over and they led me to a little curtained-off place with a bed on rollers. The nurse left Joe and me there for a bit.

  “Now, Mark, this isn’t going to hurt. Whatever happens, everything is going to be all right.” I just kept looking at him pleadingly. Why hadn’t he taken me to the camp site, to the beach, like I had asked? He had betrayed me.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, Mark, but I’m sure it’s bigger than mine,” he said, gesturing vulgarly at his crotch. It seemed like a joke in questionable taste.

  “Here, Joe, take this,” I said, giving him all my identification. “I want you to have it.” He looked puzzled.

  “Are you sure, Mark?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Take it.”

  “The doctor will be here in just a little bit,” Joe said, and he left.

  I sat there for what seemed like years, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Were they going to operate on me? Cancer? Sterilization? Lobotomy? I couldn’t get anywhere with it. So I just sat there and waited.