19
Apr
08

My second novel: Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of my second novel. Don’t know if I’ll ever finish it. Its taste may not be for everyone; it’s decidedly influenced by Vonnegut. See what you think. I’ve got about 9,000 words done. There were some texting issues at the end of this chapter from transferring it from a Word file.

Chapter 1

 

 

Come now and look. This way, just down this damp, gray hall. Let’s look, as we pass each barred cell, notice the shades within. No not the shadows, the cool, ever reaching shadows that fill those concrete cubes. Notice the men, each with a dream, his own history and pains. They are animals, each and every, have no doubt of that, Friend. But so am I, so are you. Don’t stare too long and most definitely don’t make eye-contact. Obey their code while you’re here, just for a short time and then maybe you’ll understand, maybe you won’t judge or feel repulsion.

     Just a bit further, to cell one hundred forty. Look in there. That’s Jonny Kimble. Three years ago, Jonny learned that the universe will stab you in the back when you’re not looking, twist the knife just to feel the bones separate. Jonny found out that not everyone in life comes out a winner, no matter how some may try or how well-intentioned they be. Yes, three years ago, Jonny came home to his lovely wife blowing Jonny’s neighbor. And all he knew how to do is what he did. He smashed the toilet to a pile of powdered porcelain with his not-so-noble neighbor’s face. The only thing that really bothered Jonny was hearing his little girl crying from her bedroom, awakened by the horrific thunders of flesh-on-crapper and the woeful simpers of Mr. I-like-to-stick-it-in-my-neighbor’s-wife.

     He didn’t say a word to his wife after that, just saw her in the courtroom during the divorce. He’d called the police himself, while the horny neighbor rolled on the floor, grasping his visionless eyes, smearing blood on his naked skin, covering that with sharp biting granules.

     “There’s a man in my bathroom that may die,” he’d said. “But I’d prefer that he didn’t so if you could send an officer and an ambulance that would be great.” 

     Jonny sat in the bathroom’s doorway watching the man. There was no rage, just the question of why. And the question was not directed at his bellowing neighbor, after all, he knew what the man’s answer would be or at least should be: “I had to get me somma that.” No, the question was intended for the Cosmic Jester. Jonny thought he’d slapped the Jester around and put him in his place in previous years, thought the Universe’s Fool inhabited a straightjacket somewhere on the plains of Nebraska. That’s where Jonny had last seen him, on a night that sleep had rescued him from one more day, Jonny laying in an abandoned car, empty Twinkie packages licked clean and strewn across the backseat.

     You see, our man in there loved his wife. And she’d said that she loved him too, couldn’t live without Jonny. And that had given him the means to pull himself from his sewer-of-a-life. No more stealing and lying and losing. Got a job, he did, went to college. Didn’t wear his blotchy tattoo quite so proudly. Love was the only thing that had ever motivated him, ever made him anxious to wake up and do something. Well, other than wanting to see the sun so that its warmth could be his. Love latched onto him with a steel cable and yanked him out of the ditch. But love’s banishment came that night, on the second story of his little blue home.

      Elevated aggravated assault. That’s what the District Attorney hit him with. And he didn’t fight even a little, didn’t pull the woe-is-me garbage. He’d argued with his attorney over a crime of passion defense. Looking at the event truthfully, he didn’t remember any passion, just a cold Fuck You to the laughing Jester as the toilet exploded. Besides his daughter, there was no reason to get up and go to work, to brush his teeth, to pay taxes or mow the lawn. A better thing actually, and he’d thought about it carefully, was to play in the heavy traffic on I-95. Not rush-hour. The vehicles moved so slowly then. He thought that a good game of Hacky Sack, performed in the passing lane, would be sufficiently romantic, with a copy of Joseph Conrad’s, Heart of Darkness, tucked into his back pocket. That’s the way he wanted to be found, flattened and thrown into the weeds—rundown by a teenager talking on her cell-phone, a stinging classic which condemned all-that-is jutting from his pants. He wondered if the Jester liked to read. Jonny was sure that he did, in between sending children to burn wards and pushing old ladies in front of speeding cars.

     By the time the police arrived, Jonny had mapped out the dramatic I-95 plan, but he was in shackles before he could find his Conrad classic. The Jester laughed again as Jonny was escorted out the front door, because Jonny caught a glimpse of Heart of Darkness on a lamp stand in between a copy of Ain’t Life Funny? and Why married men live longer.

     Other than what I’ve told you, there’s nothing that special about Jonny Kimble. Except that he can walk through walls. Phase out-of-sync with the Jester’s universe. The prison’s cinderblocks are but burned-out illusions to Jonny; that is when he can muster the courage to care. He’s only cared on two occasions since discovering his wondrous ability. He cared about a pack of smokes then he cared about seeing the leaves change color one October. Actually he did care one other time. He wanted to see his daughter, but she lives too far away. Each time after caring, he’d returned to his cell, phased back to the Jester’s reality and lay back down in his cot.

     There was never any question as to whether he would come back to the New Hampshire State Prison. After all, there was no other place he could so easily not care. Even his Hacky-in-traffic idea had faded. Instead of a persistent despair or a gnawing desire for self-annihilation, buzzing numbness had settle on Jonny causing him to act like a stoned automaton. Get up. Piss. Lay down. Get up. Stare at a corner. Lay down. Read, The Crying of Lot 49. Wonder what the hell the book meant. Scratch his ass. You get the idea.

     Back up for a minute. Here comes one of the guards. Oh, that’s Bill Bompus. Don’t say anything about the chili on his lapel, and don’t stare at his bulging gut. Looks like he’s got something to tell Jonny.

     “Kimble. Someone here to see you.”

     “I’m not available.”

     “Yes you are. This guy’ll see you in your cell.”

     Must be Jonny’s lawyer, got an appeal lined up, a technicality to throw into the gears of Justice.

     “Hello, Jonny.” Never trust a man wearing a black sport coat and armed with a briefcase.

     Bompus slides the metal bars aside, the suited man walks in. He sits on the steel toilet, opens he briefcase without looking up at Jonny, who’s laying on his cot counting the spiders on the ceiling.

     “Have I got a deal for you, Jonny, a real sweet deal,” says the man.

     “I’m getting the Playboy Channel on my TV?”

     Presently, the man scans a dossier with Jonny’s name on its tab. “We can do that too, and the TV can be yours, just yours.” Nameless-Man flutters the sheets of Jonny’s file, hoping to disperse Jonny’s disillusionment. “We know about your abilities. And we can make use of them. You’ll be duly compensated of course. A new car, new clothes, and we’ve got an impressive lineup of Russian girls who’d love to meet you. Or perhaps Japanese. Little dark girls with cute smiles and submissive attitudes.”

     Jonny stops counting. You can hear his thoughts just as well as I can. Don’t be embarrassed for being able to read his mind, Friend. You’re here with me now, in the Jester’s Universe. I’ll walk you through it; just don’t lose sight of me—ever. I’m sure the Jester would love to have a little fun with you. Make you play with fireworks or run with scissors.  Didn’t you notice that the rays from the sun felt a little different, oblique and shifting? Or perhaps you can tell that the people’s souls are colder, just a bit. Like the entire of humanity has succumbed to a cool melancholy, admitted defeat, each person waiting for its turn in the barrel. It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to be here. We need you here, so here you are. Remember what you see, what you hear, but most of all—what you feel.

     “Let’s go for a ride, Jonny. You need to smell the fresh air, see the sights of the happy,” says Nameless-Man. “Get up. Let’s go.”

     “I’m not going anywhere. Take your shit and go.”

     “Jonny. I’m trying to be diplomatic here. Truly I am. But I do have certain…levers, if I have need to employ them.”

     “Get-the-fuck-out.”

     “There’s still some life in you after all.” Nameless-man looks at the dossier again. “Your first mission, should you choose to cooperate—and you will—is to meet up with Joe.”

     “Who’s Joe?” Jonny finally regards Nameless-Man, if only obliquely.

     “Joe works at the Seven Eleven two miles from here. Works nine to five, weekdays. Go there and ask for Joe. Get up, Jonny.”

     “Piss off. You’re out of your mind. I have no idea who you are, why you’re here or why I should do anything you ask.”

     “I’d love to tell you Jonny, that you should do as I say because it’s the right thing to do, and you always do the right thing. But the truth is…” Nameless-Man puts a finger to his lip, creases his brow and stares at the floor. “your daughter will remain unharmed should you cooperate.”

     Stand back, Friend; things could get ugly. A little further from the bars, should Nameless-Man get launched through them at an extraordinary velocity. Jonny swings his legs off the cot, his feet touching the cement like settling feathers. Look at those eyes—they care. Nameless-Man cares too, backs up a step.

     “I’m gonna kill you.” Jonny stands, deliberately slow.

     “We don’t want to harm her. But our mission is of the utmost importance. You’re not from here, Jonny. I know you feel that, you know it deep down. Have you ever felt like you belonged? Haven’t you always felt out of sorts, like your gears are grinding with the universes?”

     Jonny’s a lot of things. A fool isn’t one of them. He sits again. The Nameless-Man knows something about him. Maybe though, he’s employing the fortune teller’s trick. Speaking in generalities that apply to everyone.

     “Just go meet with Joe. He’ll fill you in on more than I can. You won’t need anything, since you don’t have anything. Follow me.”

     Nameless-Man’s hand beckons to Jonny. Nameless-Man presumptuously tells the guard to open the gate, steps out and looks back. Look. Jonny cares just a little—just enough. Maybe the inertia’s been broken. Stepping behind Nameless-Man, Jonny eyes the guard, who obviously approves of the prison-break.

     Down the hallway again, through the prison’s intake area. There’s paperwork for Jonny

to sign. Then out the heavy steel door to freedom. The sunshine stings his eyes, pulling forth

tears that had remained buried in dry tombs for many years. Too bad they’re not caring

tears. We’ll know, Friend, that Jonny’s journey is nearly complete when the wetness in his

eyes accompanies a softened heart. You’ll see. You’ll know. You’ll feel.

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4 Responses to “My second novel: Chapter 1”


  1. 1 Avis
    April 20, 2008 at 2:07 pm

    Okay, now that you have whetted my appetite, you have to finish.

  2. 2 Candy
    April 21, 2008 at 1:51 am

    what a tease… i agree, you have to finish!

  3. April 22, 2008 at 1:37 am

    Hell no! Make ’em buy the book, Doug!

    I say publish it.


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