subrosa: the adventures of bill chase chapter_10

Chapter 10


Morning ripped me out of sleep. For a few minutes I did not know who I was or where I lay.

As I related to familiar things in my surrounding, I pieced together my consciousness. It was very early in the morning but I could not return to the dream world. I relied on the morning rituals involved with shaving and showering to prepare myself for the new day. I relived my dream in my mind several times as the hot water drilled me with the comfort of sensation.

After drying off and putting my robe on, I went to Jimmy’s room to find he was not there. I decided to go to Suzanne’s room. I thought if I could share my dream with someone, I might better understand it. I pushed open the door, went to the window and opened the curtains. I stood beside her bed and watched her face respond to the warmth of the sunlight. She was beautiful to watch.

"Are you awake yet? The sun has started its assent into the day."

"Uh."

"The birds are singing in celebration of another day of living."

"Isn’t this Sunday?"

"It might be."

"Then it’s the day God set aside to rest."

"Not in my religion. In my religion you can rest when you are old."

Suzanne gave up on sleep and sat up. Her night dress concealed very little. I wanted to crawl into bed with her to explore her sensual pleasures that she must hold as a woman of such grace and beauty. I longed for physical satisfaction.

"I had a strange dream last night."

"And are you about to tell me?"

I sat on her bed.

"You and I were on a beautiful paradise island, comfortably relaxing in our easy chairs on the warm beach. Behind us was a magnificent bright white dwelling. A wooden deck, with plants hanging from it, encompassed the first floor. The sky was a clear blue, filled with birds singing for the joy of being." I stopped to look at Suzanne to observe how attractive she was. "Do you get the picture?"

"It sounds beautiful, like a summer vacation that we couldn’t afford."

I reached out to touch her hand. "It was more than beautiful. It was, what you would call, heaven." I took time to study Suzanne’s face. I wondered if I could actually see her as a child as well as an old woman. "But it did not remain beautiful. The beauty was superficial; something tainted it so subtly that it happened before I knew it had changed. It was horror and dread. Everything represented dread. It all symbolised death. Anything left alive was dying. Total destruction was inevitable. The house turned grey and fell into disarray. The sea, that was once clean and full of beautiful life, turned a dark grey, green, murky sludge.

The wind howled. The air was heavy rancidness. Out of the water emerged monstrous mutant tortoises. They fled from the raging sea only to turn into melting ugliness and die. There was no life. Nowhere. You and I were no longer together. We were no longer there. But I could feel being there, even in a larger kind of presence. The sky was getting darker. The only sound was the screaming of the wind with the thrashing of the heavy waves."

I looked at Suzanne to see if she had understood what I had said. It was hard to tell.

"Well, then it started getting strange. Like a movie, the picture, my seeing, focused on a skull, no flesh at all, no body. But it felt like I was watching me. This skull somehow was me. I felt like a boy in inescapable pain.

"The empty skull was aware of its existence. The sound in my head became very eerie and powerful. Overpowering. Loud. Like a pure production of sound. A metal guitar sound. Something totally without limits and beyond all sense of reason.

"In its pain, the skull seemed to be laughing. Sardonically laughing at nothing that was at all humorous. In its pain, which was all mine by this time, it raised up off the ground slowly, leaving a trail or backbone of electrical intensity. The skull, lifted off the ground by only this pure light, turned into a magnificent, powerful, bird-like head. It appeared stronger than a myth. More mighty than fear. The air became darker. The atmosphere became even heavier. The sky, sea and land were not distinct anymore. It was more like a murky void.

"Out of the bird-like head, grew a thick neck covered in matted dark fur. A heavy reptilian body appeared with thick, hairy, short, cumbersome legs. When the beast was fully physically formed, it felt out of place. It was outraged, cheated and resentful of its limited condition. Its form was too barbaric. Too senselessly maladroit. It hated and feared its existence.

"It opened wide its jaws and sank its horrible beak into the back of a similar creature. Blood spilled from the victim’s back as it writhed and withered in pain. Everything was a terrible sickness."

"If that’s anything to do with how you see things, it might be time to start worrying," Suzanne said gently caressing my hand.

"I worry about man’s reptilian brain and his violent hostility toward life."

"What?"

"We have evolved from a primitive reptile only to become an insane killer primate."

"Jesus, what are you talking about?" Suzanne asked.

"I am talking about the demon lizard, the oldest part of our brain, the reptile that lurks behind our consciousness, waiting."

"Waiting for what? Why do you think there’s a lizard in your brain?"

"That is our ancestry. It is our blueprint. We have evolved by adding, so that we are left with parts of us being millions of years old. Our brain has changed by adding new layers, but the innermost core is still reptilian and always will be. It is there with most of our simple functions. It is waiting to make us forget what we have learned. Since most of what we have learned is nothing, we have little to protect us."

"Protect us?"

"From ourselves."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I did not just make it up."

"You think we are modified reptiles. Is that right?"

"It is a scary thing but that is the way it is."




I felt restless and uneasy when I went down to the kitchen. I helped Betty set the table for the Sunday breakfast. I felt dishonest on Sundays because I knew too well it was all a farce. But I said nothing against their feeble myths so as not to offend my hosts.

"Looks like a nice day."

"Yes, it looks like a beautiful day," Betty answered.

Suzanne came into the kitchen and said something about Jimmy and I taking her to the swimming hole after church.

I thought about the ship of Christianity sinking while we were frantically paddling down Victoria River towards the falls. We would all be screaming when we finally had to leave the security of the broken boat and try for the shore that we were unlikely to reach before we fell into the dark jungle. Somehow, it saddened me to see people still believing.

"Beautiful, beautiful day!" Dave screamed as he crashed through the door and kicked off his boots.

"How many eggs do we have this morning?" Betty asked.

"Six."

I had a strong desire to be sacrilegious and break all the rules of the game of civility. I wanted to challenge every belief, from Jesus to blue jeans. The talk of church and the customary Sunday niceties that were exchanged and the praise of the preacher and the good will of particular old ladies in the church with their bread baskets for the local poor and what the missionaries in foreign countries were doing for the ignorant aborigines that had never heard about the saving grace of God’s son, it all irritated me to frustration.

But I said nothing.

When breakfast was prepared, we sat for the Sunday morning eating ceremony. When she asked who would like to bless the meal she caught my eye and said my name. She likely assumed that I should know how to give a blessing after having heard enough of them. I had never made it clear to her that I was opposed to her pack of lies she touted as the one true religion.

Instead of saying no like I should have, I answered, "Okay. Dear Heavenly Father." They almost always started like that. If I could keep it short I would not be tempted to stray from Hoyle. "Thank you for the nice sunny day that you have given to us." If I mentioned something about food, I could wrap it up and we could start eating and nobody would be disturbed with my inner thoughts. "We thank you for our daily manna that you have given to us. And all the other bounteous gifts which you so freely bless us with." I could have stopped there. "Thank you that it is millions and millions of other people that a dying of hunger while we continue to exploit arable land with tropical, single-crop starvation development. Thanks for polio, arthritis, warts, aids, retardation, deformity, malaria, VD and millions of other diseases and viruses. Thank you for drought, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes and tidal waves. Thank you for rape, child abuse, soap operas, over the counter drug abuse, greed, hatred, murder, genocide, mindocide and bloody war." I paused for a second. I wondered if anyone cared to interrupt my call to God. "As we see from when you played games with Job’s life and killed his family and took away all that he had, you make life miserable for people’s own good and we can grow strong from the wretchedness in our lives. It is your promise of looking after us that allows us to be idle about any problems the world has. The problems that we could rectify if we cared about the present. But as long as you feed us, we will be complacent and content just waiting for heaven. Please let us stay dumb and you keep counting the hairs on our heads and the dead sparrows on the ground. The bad people that we do not like, send them to hell. In you son’s holy name, Jesus, our messiah, Christ, we ask these things. Amen."

"Pass the butter."

"One of the chickens got his tail feathers plucked off," Dave said.

"Is it bad?"

"No, no."




In the car, on the way to church, I stared out through the window and lost myself in contemplation. Dave and Betty were in the front seat talking; it brushed by my head like wave on a small lake lapping at a sandy shore. It washed me away into a void until I sensed Suzanne’s hand touching my shoulder and her words nipping at my ears. Easing back into the car, I turned and smiled a feeble smile at her, nodding in agreement even though I had no idea what she was saying.

When we arrived at the house of the heaven bound lost but now found, we all put on our appropriate masks so that we could communicate superficially. It was imperative not to stir the inner angers of the reptilian brain. It would be a frightful thing to see clean white sheep, lashing out like terrified lizards.

After the fashion parade and the exchange of handshakes, we congregated, like puss coagulating in a wound, in the sanctuary. There we sang praises to the one God Almighty. After a song of pathetic servitude, a few announcements and another grim song, we all sat to watch as the preacher made himself ready on his pedestal.

"Friends, we have gathered here today."

I shut him out. If I listened to him, I might start yelling back. Looking around, I noticed other people quickly losing interest in the sermon. Because of the exposed legs and the made up faces, I imagined the boys were thinking of forbidden sex. Most of the men had suits, though they were farmers. Every head of hair was neatly combed. Hair spray, mousse, gel, and the odd hat decorated most of the skulls. Pantyhose or nylons, lipstick and blush were well used in the honour of the fashion religion. I imagined many mannequins, finely fitted and seated in the theatre where a tape played back the recordings of animal chants.

Some mothers were trying to pay attention to the preacher. Children were told to keep still and be quiet. People coughed. People scratched. Young women, finished early with being girls, looked in their purses. I speculated that the purses were practical presents that would be nice to take to church. I noticed some of the older people nodding when the preacher raised his voice. When he laughed after his bid at humour, some of the more attentive would chuckle in return.

I leaned over to speak quietly to Jimmy. "War ship. Worshipping in the old war ship, captained by a fat assed blind man."

"And we’re all dying of scurvy."

The two old ladies behind us seemed upset by our inappropriate behaviour. I looked back at them for a while to study their faces. They would not look at me. They looked sternly at the preacher. When Suzanne elbowed me gently in the ribs, I turned around.

The preacher was excited. This usually indicated he was on to something important. "...and the garbage, satanic rock music kids listen to and drugs in the schools, getting drunk when they are still kids . . . no respect anymore for their elders, who work hard to give them what they have . . . no fear for God . . . we have to guide our children. If my daughter steps out of line, though it hurts me more than her, I don’t hesitate to give her a good strapping. Spare the rod, spoil the child . . . is what’s wrong with the world today. They will pay. Hell awaits the unrepented."

On he went, gradually settling into a little antidote from his life. I stopped listening to him but I continued to study him. I was curious as to what he really believed.

"All jello is red.
Jello goes to heaven if it is red.
Jello any other colour,
Goes to hell instead."

Betty looked over at me with her index finger to her mouth. I gave her a smile and quit singing my song. I went back to watching people. Children were playing and reading Sunday school comics. I wanted to warn them of the danger. After concerning myself over the children’s pliable and frail minds, I was suddenly concerned about breasts. I compared their sizes and pondered how they sat under the face like a bent over ass. I wondered how they appeared to demand my attention. What was so compelling about breasts? I noticed that a pair of the breast were on a young woman I had failed to notice on my other visits to church. I observed that her breast seemed to compliment her body in a inspiring way. Her dress was pulled up somewhat to reveal her legs. I started to wonder how legs could be so exciting. I was sliding into a trance as I watched the light reflect off her black hair that caressed her back as she slowly moved her head. I hungered. This was a hunger I had never known before I had seen her. I started fearing the expanding empty within me. I looked at the preacher wondering if he would challenge me not to wait any longer to take Jesus in and make me hole.

The preacher closed off his sermon with a prayer, talking about sheep and guidance and forgiveness and trust and faith. After we had sung a hymn, we crawled out of our individual trances to return to the day that awaited us.

At the signal of completion of the sermon ritual, talk resumed as it had been before the ceremony. Everyone was chattering in the foyer. Suzanne was accosted by an excited boy who wanted to her about upcoming youth events. I escaped involvement in the conversation by making my way to the washroom.

Exiting the washroom, I saw the beautiful creature I had been watching during the service. She was frighteningly beautiful. I wondered if she should not have a sword. I wanted to avoid a confrontation. I walled to the staircase and tried to understand why she made me think of a sword. My heart pounded. Before I recovered enough to trust myself on the stairs, she came through the door and brushed by me. She smiled so slightly, that I was not sure if I had noticed. My hunger hurt.

Someone was coming up the stairs. It was not her. She had gone.

I offered a weak smiling nod as I started my dissension.

"Good morning, Bill."

It was not unusual for people to know who I was. I was the only new face in their small church. At the bottom or the stairs, I waited a moment to wonder what had happened. I decided that it must all be natural. Thing that happen must be. Some things were just more natural than I was prepared for. After I settled down, I meandered back to the foyer.

I was greeted by the preacher who was talking to Betty and Dave. "Hi, Bill." He smiled with timid authority and extended hand. "I hear you are getting on good at the Harrison’s farm. Dave says you’re a good worker. I could use you the odd day at my place if you needed a little extra cash. I bet Suzanne is teaching you all the things you should know and Jimmy all that you shouldn’t."

"Yes."

The preacher pulled on a lady’s arm and brought her over.

"My wife, Grace."

"You and Jimmy and Suzanne have to come for some ice tea this afternoon so we can get to know you. We don’t live but a stone’s throw away," Grace declared.

"Bill might be interested in your cow milking machine," Dave suggested.

I suspected I was being set up for an afternoon of evangelising. I did not want anything to do with the preacher and his cow milking machine equipped farm. I was busy enough trying to fit the roll of an existentialist, I would not have answers to his Jesus the Saviour inquisition.

"I’ll bring the boys by," said Suzanne.

The preacher was on to the next member of his herd. He extended his friendly hand to all he talked to.

Jimmy and I went outside and waited for the ride home. I wanted to worry about things. I worried about Jimmy being a spy for Jesus. Maybe he was pretending not to think about the subject so he could build my trust before hitting me with the hell problem. I worried about being sexually attracted to Suzanne and weather or not I could let her know it. I was newly attracted to a stranger. I worried about how I could possibly get to know her without becoming more involved in the extra-curricular church activities for youth. She might not even want to like me.

"What’s up, Bill?"

"Just thinking about things."

"What ones."

"Jesus and girls."

"Don’t worry yourself too much about Jesus. It just stuff for when you’re older and don’t have things to do."

"And girls?"

"You can worry about them. And if you ever figure them out, let me know. I don’t think anyone else has yet. I even hear my dad saying he’ll never figure my mother out. Girls are just different from us. My friend at school says, fuck em’."

"I suppose."




On the trip home, the talk was of engagements and pregnancies, who was missing form the service, who was sick and how lovely the sermon was and how lovely the preacher’s wife looked today in her new dress and how her little girl was growing up. We would be sure to have a lovely visit on account there was always fresh baked sweetbread and cookies. I felt I was being fed into the inevitable events. They would chew me up and there was an unwritten contract that said I would comply to the digestion of the day without regurgitating any disapproval.

Help.

After a typical Sunday lunch where I managed to remain quiet, Suzanne, Jimmy and I dismissed our selves to go to the barn to saddle the horses. I talked to the chickens, to see if I could get any information from them, while Suzanne and Jimmy made the horses ready.

I watched Suzanne’s movements as she started preparing a horse for me. I went to help her and kept looking at her cleavage when she bent over. I wanted to touch her. She smiled at me as if she knew and did not fully disapprove of my hunger for her.

"If you’re done with the chickens we can go."

"Okay," I answered.

"Last one to the swimming hole is a dirty rotten egg!" yelled Jimmy as he left ahead of us.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Suzanne asked when Jimmy was gone.

"Not that I know of."

"You can kiss me."

She kissed me after a moment of tentativeness. She kissed me a few times; each time a little more passionately. She put my hand on her chest. I was swallowed with sensation. I wanted the full procreation procedure with her but she had eased away from me and sprang up on her horse.

"Jimmy will be waiting."

"Okay."

"We’ll get another chance to kiss later if you want to."

"And some touching?"

"Maybe a little."



by Joanne B. Washington

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