I sat on the floor. Cognitive dissonance burrowed itself into my brain. The Munroe I knew from television, the energetic dancing prancing suck-up, replaced by this? An angry, bitter man bent on revenge, using those who tormented him all his life to placate his loathing. I didn’t want to know this; I’m not so deluded as to not see the similarities.
“You have some serious problems,” I croaked. “Have you ever sought therapy?”
“Advises the kidnapper.”
“Touché.”
“Besides, this is better than therapy. I can say whatever I want, and you’ll tell no one. Besides, even if you did, who’d believe you? You just kidnapped a universally beloved television personality.
They’ll stone you before you get one word out.” He tested his nose, wriggling it up and down, wincing as he flared the nostrils.
“You want some ice for that?” I asked, feeling stupid.
“No, it’s fine,” said Munroe. “You’re not that strong. I don’t think it’s broken anyway, just sore.” He awkwardly moved his head, wiping his face against the couch.
I pushed myself up, making myself comfortable on the couch next to him. “But couldn’t you just stop?” I asked, trying to sound calm. “You’ve made enough, you’ve made whatever point it is you wanted to, why not just walk away, if you hate it so much?”
“It’ll never be enough,” he said. “No matter how much, there’s always more to have. I’ll never stop.”
“How about just stopping the book club?” I asked. I was grasping at everything I could. “These people are serious, and I can’t stop them. I don’t even know if I
want
to stop them. Drop it, maybe they’ll let you go then. That’s all Aubrey cares about. Maybe we could make this all go away.”
“You believe that? You think he’ll let me go? You really think I’d just let all this go?”
“No.”
“Fucking right I won’t. I never let the fuckers win, not them, not you. I’ll play along. More evidence for when they fry you.”
“We don’t have the death penalty in Canada,” I said. It didn’t seem to faze him. Didn’t make me feel any better either. “You understand how serious these people are? I am the only thing standing between you and an angry mob.”
“A mob of bookworms. Excuse me if I don’t defecate in terror.”
“You admit, the books are shit.”
“Doy.” Munroe spit another bloody stream to the floor. “Of course it’s shit. It’s all shit. I tell them it’s gold, they rush out and buy it. Gives the mouth-breathers the feeling like they’re intellectuals. Ooh, look at me, reading a book, if the boys at NAMBLA could see me know. Everyone watches Oprah, suddenly they all think they can write a book. Course, no goddamn way she’ll publish them, that bitch can read, she has a reputation. No way. So they come to me. I had manuscripts up the ass, so many everywhere. Fuck, I didn’t even read them, just had the idea. You get someone who doesn’t have a clue, pisses all over themselves
when you notice them, and have them sign their life away.
“Agnes, boy.” He made a face of mock shame. “She is so trusting, right? Sitting there at her kitchen table, pouring her heart into this shitpile of a book. She would have kneeled down and blown me in public when I agreed to help, and smiled when she swallowed. Sure, she’s comfortable. She’s a star now, she meets the people she sees in
People
, she’s ecstatic. Too stupid to even consider getting an agent of her own. She needs an agent, I suggest Kura. He’s my agent too, so I figure what the hell. Talk about no scruples, he’d push his mother down the stairs, there was a dollar in it for him. And the others? Same thing. Not one of them smart enough to realize they’re getting screwed. Do you know what I make in residuals from these things? Shit, I’d quit now, I wasn’t having so much fun!”
“Man, you are
ice,”
Warren said. He’d walked in sometime during the last few minutes of Munroe’s diatribe, hanging back by the kitchen. “I cannot
wait
to fry your righteous ass!”
“Ah, Gigantor, you’re just in time. I think I’d almost convinced the retard here to let me go.” Munroe winked at me. “Isn’t that right, sport? I feed you some sob story, and you get all weepy-eyed.”
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Let me tell you something, the both of you assholes.” Munroe yawned in boredom. “I’m holding all the cards here, boys. You two, the others, you are all now officially fucked. Only question is, how bad are you going to get it?”
“Okay, everything’s set,” Aubrey announced as he walked in. He tossed a snow-coated Margarita onto Munroe’s lap. “Car’s hidden, Danae’s getting the fire a-blazing. Warren, the calls’re made?”
“Check,” Warren replied. “Man, you should listen to this guy talk, brother. He is all kinds of seriously fucked up.”
“Said another kidnapper,” Munroe murmured.
“No doubt,” said Aubrey. He looked to me. “You get everything you need, Thomas?”
“No, uh, yeah,” I said. My tongue was the Sahara. “Yeah, all set.” I gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up.
“Well then, let’s get a move on and fry this fucker!” Warren hooted.
Aubrey shushed him with a look. “Please, brother, a little
restraint. This is a solemn occasion, after all. A grave injustice is about to be righted tonight.” He hunched down before Munroe. “And what about you, Mr. Purvis? Any words before we begin?” Munroe sighed something, an inaudible response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Aubrey said, leaning in close. Munroe hawked and shot. A bloody glob of spit landed on Aubrey’s face.
“Did you catch that, asswipe?” Munroe said. “Clear enough for you?”
“Clear enough,” Aubrey agreed, and forced a tennis ball into Munroe’s mouth, reapplying the duct tape over it. “The festivities are about to commence, brothers,” he said to Warren and me. “I suggest you get ready. Warren, if you would be so kind as to haul Mr. Purvis outside when you are ready?” Warren left to look for his jacket. “Thomas, have you prepared Mr. Purvis’s rebuttal?”
“Rebuttal? Aubrey, have you any idea, has it even crossed your fucking mind how fucking screwed up this all is?”
Aubrey heaved his shoulders in a sigh. “Fine. If you want to leave, Thomas, then leave. We won’t stop you.” He stood to the side, motioning me to go. “Go to the police, tell them everything. I’m sure they’ll get here in time. They’ll take us in, arrest us and lock us away. You’ll be a hero. Munroe here will make a star of you, I’m sure. Warren and I will rot in prison. Danae will rot. But you, you will be a hero. Maybe Munroe’ll publish your story. Is that what you want? Will that make you feel better?”
“This is madness, Aubrey,” I whispered. “Please don’t make me choose.”
“You’ve already chosen, brother,” he said, drawing close to me. “When Vikram teased you, so many years ago, you chose. It’s us and them now. No middle ground exists, not now, not anymore. You’re either with us or them now.” He pointed to Munroe, busy bouncing his lap up and down to rid it of its furry inhabitant. “You want to side with that, brother, you go ahead. You let that go, and you think of this world in five years. In ten. Where is it going to be? Where will you be?” This last sentence in an urgent whisper.
“Where will you be, brother?”
he hissed.
I couldn’t help it, Eric. I loved Aubrey. I loved Danae, I think. I hated Munroe. Nothing made sense anymore except this. What I thought I loved versus what I was unquestionably sure I loathed.
The choice was clear.
“I’ll do it.”
Munroe grunted noisily behind the tape as Warren squatted and tried to position Munroe’s body for a fireman’s carry. After fussing with him for a good minute, it was clear Warren was not in the best of shape to hoist Munroe’s ample frame with ease. Shamefaced, Warren grabbed Munroe by the feet. “Let’s go, guys, time’s a-wasting,” he said, dragging Munroe out the door like a squirming sack of apples. Aubrey clapped my shoulder to follow.
“Could I have a minute alone, Aub?” I asked. “I need to clear my head, get my arguments together.” I held up two fingers in the classic salute. “Scout’s honour, I’ll be good.”
“I know you will. You’re one of us, brother. You always have been.” He stepped out into the cold. “Take your time, brother. The rest of us will be outside.” He trod off into the snow.
And now is the point in the story where everyone reading this will scream, “Go for the phone! Call the cops!” Because that would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it? Why would someone stay in such a situation when they had a way out? I could give you the abused woman syndrome explanation: I thought they’d change their minds, I thought they’d never go though with it, I thought I could change them if I tried harder, I loved them and they loved me and everything can be fixed if I only show a little patience and understanding. It’s all true; every justification for staying rushed through my thoughts. But in the end, I stayed because I wanted to. I wanted to see exactly what I was made of. I wanted to see how the evening would unfold (it had been a doozie so far), and I didn’t want a contingent of police officers breaking up the party before the fireworks display. So I raided Aubrey’s fridge for a beer, sat on the couch, drank it down, and weighed the pros and cons of the evening thus far. The wind rattled, and the walls of books groaned as the house shifted itself slightly. I stared at the bloodstains on the rug, considered the empty bottle in my hand, and couldn’t come up with one good reason not to see this thing through.
I sullenly trudged my way out to the field. The congregation was there, vibrating in the cold. Danae and Warren huddled their heads together for warmth. Whatever fire Danae had managed to light had blown out, the coals glowing bright red as the wind blew
past. Aubrey sat leisurely atop a lumpy, strangely shaped blanket, keeping what lay beneath it from the others. Margarita sat next to him, salivating and
ubf
ing contentedly.
“Yossarian!” Aubrey shouted as I approached. “The circle is complete!”
I nodded my hellos to the others, who looked more or less equally miserable. “Let’s just get this over with, Aubrey,” I said. Danae held back, holding Warren’s hand. I guess I had to prove myself to her. Fuck, I can’t believe I still cared. “Start the damn thing, let’s do this.”
“Calm yourself, friend,” Aubrey said between chattering teeth. He spread his arms wide to the group, held them there as the wind buffeted his open jacket, ruffling his shirt. A black-red fire rose above him, his hair twisting angrily. “Brothers, sisters, I call to order this historic gathering of the Shelf Monkeys!”
“Aubrey, my ’nads are fuckin’ cold,” Gavin/Ford Prefect piped up. “What’s the emergency, anyway? I thought we all agreed to just stay home tonight, try to forget Munroe’s show.” Hoots of agreement from the other Monkeys.
“In good time, Ford, in good time.” Aubrey’s continued insistence on pseudonyms wearied me. “First, let me put forth a question for you all. Exactly why do you think we were put here on the Earth?”
“Oh, Christ, it’s too cold for this, I’m going home,” Tracey/Lyra Silvertongue said. “I don’t even have a ’tag for tonight.”
“I’ve got one, something by Bertrice Small,” said August/Raoul Duke, “a real stinker, let’s toss it on, get some warmth.”
“Yeah, Small blows,” Cameron/Ignatius said. “Throw a Bertrice onto the barbie, what do you say, Aubrey, let’s —” Cameron abruptly stopped, looking afraid. I guessed the hard look Warren zapped him with had something to do with it.
“We were placed here,” Aubrey continued, “to right the wrongs of literature. To incinerate the infidels. To remind the world that books still matter. To bring to an end the tyranny of those who would foist their inferior prose upon us, who would feed us shit and have us call it ice cream!” This was getting tiresome fast. “And so, my Shelf Monkeys, in the spirit of the cleansing fire, I present to you, the ultimate montag!” He whipped the blanket off with a flourish. What lay beneath spilled out into the snow.
“Oh, my God!” someone yelled. Munroe writhed at their feet,
snuffling breaths through his bloody nose. Warren had blindfolded him with tape, bands of grey wrapped again and again around his head. Small, terrified grunts escaped from underneath the ball and tape.
“What have you done?” a tiny voice said, almost inaudible. “What is this?” It may have been Muriel/Lady Fuschia, I’m not sure. William/Valentine Michael Smith fell to his knees. Someone retched in the dark.
“I’ve struck a blow for our cause!” Aubrey was now dancing excitedly about, Margarita in his arms. “I’m bringing an end to the despotic rule of Munroe!”
“Ubf!”
“Oh, dude, this rocks!” That was Warren, joining in the celebration. He clasped Aubrey to his sunken chest, an enormous skeleton waltzing with Moses. Danae clapped her hands in happiness, the smile on her face more chilling than the wind. “Oh man, this rocks, this is gonna be awesome!”
“Stoke up the fire, Kilgore,” ordered Aubrey.
“Hora fugit,
brother. The hour flies, and we have much to do tonight.” Warren began throwing wood onto the embers.
“Much to do?” William/Valentine bellowed. “You fuck, what have you done?”
“We’re going to jail, aren’t we?” a hushed Burt/Gandalf asked.
“All will be explained, my friends,” Aubrey said. He sounded so sensible, like a professor lecturing an exceptionally dense group of pupils. It was killing me.
“Yeah, let him explain,” Danae said. “Let’s hear him out, guys. Please?”
“How’d you get him?” asked Gavin/Ford. He had walked over to Munroe, still flopping about in the snow, and now stood over him in what looked like amusement. “I’m dreaming this, right? There’s no way this is real.” He nudged Munroe with his foot. “You real? Huh?” he asked, getting moans that were most assuredly ballgag-muffled obscenities in response.
“It’s real,” I assured him, lightly pushing Gavin away. “God help us, this is real.”
“I like reality,” said Aubrey. “It tastes of bread. Who said that? Proust? Anouilh? Anyway, this is reality at its tastiest, brothers and
sisters.” He began to stride around the group, stroking Margarita affectionately in his arms. “We have been afforded an opportunity many of our ilk have wished for for eons. Thanks to the tireless efforts of myself, your muscular brother Kilgore, and comely sister Offred, we now have our chance for revenge. Here on this chilly night, where this dish is served to us most definitely cold.”