The book spits up blood. A major problem with talking books is that as they get older, they assume the infirmities their human creators possessed in life. Celia’s copy of Keats’ Complete Poems has grown tubercular. Simon wipes the blood off the lips. It feels like blood, but when he looks at his fingers, he sees liquid words. He rubs his fingers together, smearing the words together into a blob.
He shakes the book. It sputters and fast-forwards through a few lines before continuing in its normal mechanical voice:
The book spits up blood again.
Simon rips Keats’ paper head out of the book. He tears the head apart in his right hand. He wanted nothing more than to hear these words that filled Celia’s heart and mind and spirit like balloon animals, but the book is a malfunctioning piece of shit.
As the words leak out of the destroyed paper head, tiny blue strings, so nearly
invisible that he failed to notice them before, blacken and fall away from the book.
CATERPILLAR BUS
Simon prepares to leave the apartment for the funeral. He does not care that he will arrive early. He cannot remain where he is. He simply cannot stand his own company in this space of so many memories. He cannot stand knowing that the book was alive. It was Celia’s favorite and he killed it. He loosens his tie. Maybe he’s just anxious about the funeral.
On his way out, he slams the door on a hideous noise.
He spins around.
A tiny elephant’s trunk has been crushed in the door.
He was not prepared for that.
Hands shaking, he fumbles with the door key. He finally manages to turn the key in the bottom lock. He opens the door.
The tiny elephant’s trunk has been severed completely.
The tiny elephant lies on its side, bleeding to death, choking. Simon takes off his suit jacket and wraps the tiny elephant in it. He failed to notice the creature on his way out.
It must have tried to follow or squeeze out behind him.
He sits on the floor in the doorway, cradling the elephant in his right arm.
The elephant dies. Its strings dissolve, floating off in wispy flakes. Simon holds his breath so as not to breathe them in.
He shakes the elephant out of the jacket, onto the floor. Blood has seeped through the jacket. Blood stains his pants and shirt.
He moves the elephant’s severed trunk with his foot until the elephant and the severed trunk lie side by side.
They look like two sleeping creatures. If not for all the blood, they would look peaceful.
Feeling disgraceful, Simon puts on his jacket and leaves the apartment, careful not to smash any elephants on his way out.
He is concerned about riding a bicycle with only one arm. Even if he removes the electrical tape, his left arm will not function, so he leaves the arm taped, the left sleeve of the grey and bloody jacket unfilled.
When the hospital called with the date and time of the funeral, they also gave him directions and an address. He takes the piece of paper he’d written these things on out of his pocket. He looks it over. Although the hospital is only three miles away, Simon has never visited the city sector where it is located.
He gets on his bike. He pedals down the street, right hand on the handlebars and then no hands. This is the first time he has left the apartment since Celia’s death. He realizes how hard this is going to be.
He failed to consider how seeing strings might affect his getting around. Biking one-armed isn’t even the hard part. There are so many things alive in the world, so many strings crossing other strings. He feels as if he is riding into a citywide spider web. The blue strings of people, birds, sloths, elephants, badgers, and other city dwellers thread the streets and sky, connecting the invisible dots of the psychogeographic landscape that maps every impulse, routine, pressure, and pleasure of the city’s circuitry.
An eagle swoops down. It is tiger-eyed, its talons outstretched. A tiny elephant stumbles into Simon’s path. The eagle’s strings coil around the elephant’s strings as the eagle swoops down. Unable to swerve out of the way, Simon crashes his bike out of fear that his strings will crisscross those of the predator and its prey.
He sits up, strawberry patches for elbows and knees, as the eagle lifts the elephant toward the sun.
He must hurry to the funeral. He is no longer due to arrive early. He picks up his bicycle and wheels it along beside him.
He steps in a gutter full of water and says, “Fucking hell.”He contemplates running into the street and pulling all his strings. Why wait to die. He figures he’d better wait until after the funeral. Touching Celia’s coffin is the closest he’ll ever get to holding her again, unless there’s a Heaven and they both get to go there. Maybe they’ll reincarnate as slugs. They will rejoice, reliving the love and happiness of their human days, only slimier.
A caterpillar bus turns onto the street. Simon has always been afraid of caterpillar buses. He has never been good at riding with other people, let alone a few dozen strangers all at once.
The conductor of the caterpillar bus yells at the passengers to slow down. “Where you heading?” he calls to Simon.
“I’m going to the funeral home,” Simon says.
A few people shout for him to go away. The conductor tells them to knock it off. He turns to Simon. “That’s a steep climb. What are you willing to pay?”
Simon reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He removes a wad of bills from his wallet and hands the bills to the conductor, feeling glad that he always carries his money around despite the many times he has been called old-fashioned for doing so. Unfortunately, he is now totally broke. The conductor counts the money and nods.
“Climb aboard,” he says.
Climbing is not actually necessary to board the caterpillar bus. It is a huge metal caterpillar with bicycles instead of legs. The passengers pedal to operate a hydrogen engine located in the head. When the caterpillar bus moves fast enough, the hydrogen engine forms bubbles.
The bubbles float out of a brass smoking pipe welded between the caterpillar’s lips.
Simon secures his bike just behind the caterpillar’s head, upon which the conductor sits behind an enormous steering wheel. The conductor shouts for everyone to pedal. Simon and the rest of the passengers begin to pedal.
Since there are not many passengers, the caterpillar bus is very wobbly, like it is missing most of its legs.