The Woman Who Married a Cloud: The Collected Short Stories (51 page)

“You see Mr. Gallatin, everything is all right. By the time your wife’s ride is over, you’ll know everything and the two of you will be back home again. But in the meantime she can be having the time of her life. Do something she’s always wanted to do. Isn’t that super? We try to make everybody happy.”

“No it’s not super! I was supposed to be there with her! How come Vito gets to go while I’m here with a sore ass talking to you in the dark? Who are you anyway? Can’t you turn on some lights?”

“You wouldn’t want that. You don’t want to see me.” He said it quietly and kind of to-himself sad.

“Why’s that?”

It was quiet a minute. Then he said something that slammed-shut every door in my head. “Do you ever look in the toilet after you go?”

“What?”

“Sneak a peek at what your body didn’t want. Check to see what your stomach set free?”

“For God’s sake! That’s disgusting.”

“Tell the truth now, son.”

“You’re not my doctor! Why should I tell
you
that? I’ve had enough. I want out. How do I open this door?”

“If you open it you’ll see me and that will be the end for you.” The tone of his voice said this is the truth—don’t doubt it. “I asked about looking in the toilet because in a way that’s what I am. I’m everything about yourself you don’t like, Mr. Gallatin. I am the shit you look at in the toilet. Once a delicious meal, now just brown stink.”

I would have laughed in his face if I could have seen it. But since it was so dark, I barked out a loud phony one to give him the same effect. “You’re nuts. And why did you lick me? What was
that
all about?”

Now he laughed. “That wasn’t me—it was your old friend Cyrus. Who’s right here next to me. Remember him?”

“No. Who’s Cyrus?”

“Why he’s your soul, Mr. Gallatin. Don’t you recognize it when you are touched by your own soul?”

“My soul’s warm and furry and has a tongue like a dog? I don’t think so, Mr. Beef-low.”

“Beeflow. You disappoint me, sir. Shall I give you a demonstration?”

“You can give me the key out of here.”

“All right.”

Suddenly the truck door opened—bam—and I didn’t think twice. I ran for the daylight and jumped off the lip of the back of the truck. Something smart told me don’t look back. Was there really a Beeflow or a Cyrus or anything else to further cook my already-barbecued brain? I didn’t want to find out. The only thing on my mind at the moment was to get the fuck out of there.

When my feet touched pavement I started running. I was so bent on getting someplace, anyplace away from there that I didn’t really look around. Why should I? This was my town. I’d lived here all my life. All I had to do was grab a quick glimpse of what was around me and I’d know exactly where I was. And just when the thought of taking that quick glimpse came to me, I heard something coming up very fast behind me. The sound it made scared me right down to the basement of my blood cells.

And whatever it was got closer while I ran faster, as fast as I could. Just as I cried out ’cause I knew I was caught, doomed, the thing jumped on my back and knocked me flat on my face.

It was heavy. Huge. Whatever hit me had a lot of
weight
and that fact made it a ton more scary.

So I stayed down, a mouse with a cat on its back, my cheek flat against the hot street asphalt. I could smell it, along with other things. Something in my mouth was bleeding, my nose honked hurt. I tasted blood; pain flew around my face. I smelled the hot street.

“Pose, get down boy. Come back here.” The man’s voice wasn’t familiar but just hearing the thing on my back
had
a name, a name I understood made me feel sort of better. But “Pose” stayed standing on me and did not move an inch of its heavy self.

“Damn it, dog, what’d I just say to you? Get over here!”

The weight left and I was free again. Looking up a little, I saw four large hairy paws moving away. Slowly I put my palms flat on the ground and pushed myself to my knees. My arms were shaking because I guess I wasn’t finished being scared.

“Jeez buddy, I’m terribly sorry about that. Pose gets carried away sometimes when he sees someone running like you were. He wants to get in on the fun. Still pretty much a puppy.” The voice tried to be friendly and apologizing at the same time. I was finally going to kick someone’s ass: Pose’s Daddy.

Standing again, I brushed off my hands and looked up real slow, Clint Eastwood-style.

Five feet away a giant Irish wolfhound stood next to a nothing-looking man. Both of them were on fire. I mean, both man and dog were
in big bright flames.
The guy was smiling and came towards me. Before I could do anything he stuck out a burning hand to shake and said, “I’m Mel Shaveetz. Nice to meet you. We just moved in here a couple of days ago. Haven’t met many people yet.”

Taking one giant step back, I jammed both hands as deep into my pockets as they’d go. Through his flames Mel frowned until it dawned on him. “Oh for God’s sake, I’m sorry!” He blew on his index finger. All the flames on him went out like he’d blown out a birthday candle. Like he was blowing himself out.

“I keep forgetting. Sorry about that.”

“Who are you?”

Instead of answering, he reached down and squeezed the dog’s nose. Its flames went out too. “Mel Shaveetz. And this is Posafega.”

“You were on fire!”

“Yeah well, that happens where we come from.”

“And where’s that?”

“Hell.”

“You mean you’re dead?”

“Couldn’t put on this kind of light show if I was alive. Did you think I was one of those monks who burn themselves alive?”

“You and the dog are dead?”

“No, I
am.
Pose is just a hound from Hell. He’s my roommate.”

“A Hell hound!”

“That’s right.”

“How come I didn’t get burned when he was standing on my back?”

“Because you’re not dead.”

“It just looks like a big wolfhound to me.”

Mel shrugged. “Nobody ever said what breed Hellhounds had to be. You want to come in the house and have a beer?”

“Which house do you mean? I know everyone who lives around here.”

He pointed to a brown and white saltbox across the street. “You’re looking at it—number 88.”

“88? I know who lives in 88 and it isn’t you. Chris and Terry Rolfe live there.”

He looked away and tried to make his eyes busy. “Yeah well, not anymore. They moved.”

I remembered what our refrigerator movers had said about seeing piles of people’s belongings left out on the street. And I remembered the Brothers saying that was because the dead were being moved back to earth from hell.

“I went to school with Chris Rolfe. He’s lived in this town as long as I have. I’d know if he was planning to leave.”

“Look, you want that beer or not?”

I wanted to check out the inside of that house. I didn’t believe for a minute what he was saying about Rolfe. As far as I knew, that house still belonged to a living guy I saw at least once a week for the past twenty years.

We walked slowly up to the front door, Posafega keeping us company all the way. Not only was that dog big, it was also seriously ugly. Its hair looked like stuffing out of an eighty-year-old mattress. Its face was thin enough to open a letter. The animal was so big that if it stood on its hind legs and had a good hook shot, it could have played pro basketball. So that was a Hellhound. I said the word inside my mouth to myself—Hellhound.

Just as we were walking in the door, I smelled smoke. Sure enough, Mel was beginning to go up in flames again. “Hey man, you’re on fire.”

“Yeah well, I’ll fix it when we get inside.” He kept moving while his flames kept rising. The big dog’s too.

Remember I said we love the movie
Back to the Future!
Well my wife and I are just overall big movie fans so it isn’t the only video we own. And that’s where my next problem arrived. I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see the inside of a dead man’s house and look around for Chris Rolfe. Plus the invitation was offered on a silver platter. But when I think about it now, maybe going in there wasn’t the best idea I ever had. Because here’s what happened next: Opening the front door, Mel and flame-dog marched in, no big deal. A lot more carefully I followed but got only a few feet into the place before I froze and my jaw dropped below sea level.

I recognized what I saw immediately because I’d seen it so often before and had always wished I could go there. Now I was. The inside of Mel’s house, the house that used to belong to Chris Rolfe, was now ‘Rick’s American Bar’ from the movie
Casablanca.

While my brain tried to swallow that fact, Mel sat down at the white piano and began playing the movie’s theme song, “As Time Goes By.” He wasn’t bad either. Then he began to sing it but I was walking around the room so I didn’t pay much attention. The dog plumped down on the floor and went to sleep. I was in such shock that I didn’t realize until later that both of them lost their flames as soon as we got into the house. Like once they were home they were normal again. Although my idea of normal that day had taken a vacation to another planet.

As far as I could see every detail in the room was perfect, right down to the ashtrays on the table and full bottles behind the bar. The room was empty except for us, which gave it a whole different feeling from what it was like in the movie. Other than that though, this definitely was Rick’s place. If Humphrey Bogart had walked in at that minute I would not have been one bit surprised.

Mel finished playing with a big right hand display—DONG!—and afterwards everything was very quiet in there. Naturally I was tempted to say real coolly “Play it again, Sam” but I didn’t.

Instead I asked, “What is all this?”

“It’s Rick’s. Don’t you know
Casablanca
? The movie?”

“Yes I know
Casablanca
? That wasn’t my question. How come you live in this house now and it looks like a movie set instead of someone’s living room?”

“Before we come back, they ask us what kind of décor we would like where we live. We get to choose.”

“Choose what?”

“The décor! What’d I just tell you?”

“I’m very confused, Mel.”

He took a deep breath like I was the stupidest being he’d ever met and my dumbness was using up his air supply. “Before we come back here, to earth, they ask what kind of décor we’d like in the house they assign us. We get to choose. I said Rick’s American Bar from the movie because that was the coolest place on earth.”

“How long ago did you die?”

“Last Friday.”

“How?”

“I drowned in Aqaba, scuba diving. I stepped on a poisonous sea urchin and had an allergic reaction. Pretty pathetic way to go.”

“And you went to Hell?”

“Straight to. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“But you’re back here a week later?”

“Not by choice, pal. Not by choice.” The doorbell rang. Mel held up one finger for quiet. “Let me just get that. What kind of beer do you want? I’ve got everything here. There’s even a good Polish one. Zee-veetch or some name like that.”

He left the room and the animal followed. I wondered if it was some kind of satanic chaperone. What kind of visitors did the dead have? That thought grew so fast and so horror movie-ugly in my head that in the minute or so it took Mel to return, I was almost hyperventilating. What kind of visitors DID the dead have? Good God, what if they were—

“It’s for you.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened again. “
Me
? No one knows I’m here.”

“Yeah well, obviously they do. They say they want to talk to you. Two goofy looking guys with shaggy haircuts.”

“Brooks and Zin Zan!”

“Whatever.” Mel shrugged.

I started out but stopped short when I thought of something. “Were ... were you on fire when they saw you?”

“Sure. Any time I step out of this house I start to burn. One of the many drawbacks of being back on earth again.” He sounded angry about it, put out. “Did you
like
it in Hell?”

“I can’t say much about it because that’s against the rules; You being alive and all.” He looked left and right, as if some enemy might be listening. “But I will tell you this—ever think maybe that Hell stuff you’ve always heard is a bunch of crap? Maybe it’s given all that bad press because they want to keep people OUT of there? That if people really knew what it was like, an awful lot of them might kill themselves to get there sooner?”

The dog started growling. It was not a sound you ever want to hear.

Worse, it was staring at Mel while it snarled. That monster’s lip was curled up and twitching like it was going to attack any second.

“Shut up, Pose. How about that cat you told the other day? Don’t you think I was listening?”

“Whoa! You and the dog
understand
each other?”

“Different rules apply when you’re dead. Yes we understand each other. He’s pissed off at me for telling you about Hell. It doesn’t matter. You’d better go see your friends. I’ll get the beers.” He went to the bar and I left the room.

Sure enough, Brooks and Zin Zan were standing just the other side of the open doorway. They lit up when they saw me. I gotta admit I was happy to see them too, considering everything that had been happening.

“Hi guys, what are you doing here?”

Both opened their mouths and started talking but I didn’t hear a thing. Their faces and hand movements were busy too but came with no soundtrack. After a while I pointed to my ears and made a face that said nothing’s coming through. They seemed to understand and gestured for me to step outside.

Just as I was about to do exactly that, Mel Shaveetz’s voice said from about five inches behind my ear, “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you.”

Still looking at the Brothers, I asked why not? I don’t like being told what to do; especially not by dead people who live on movie sets with burning dogs.

“Because once you do, you can’t come back in here again.”

“Why would I want to?”

“Because the answers you need are in here, not out there with
them.
” Mel’s voice was snotty and know-it-all, all “You dumbbell—I’m smarter than you are” tone. Which I hate. Without even bothering to look back at the asshole, I stepped towards the Brothers. I heard a terrible savage growl from back in the house. The hairy Devil dog was coming for me again.