Louse (6 page)

I enjoy being here for many different reasons; in part, because I can walk slowly and take an inventory of what's here, in part, for the sensation of my feet sinking into thick, plush carpet.

Everywhere else is linoleum and marble.

The carpet makes me feel buoyant and alive. I am able see my footsteps, like fossils, traces of my being. I feel an inexplicable and uncanny sensation of familiarity. I enjoy it so much I begin to hum. It is a melody of my own, one resembling the third movement of
Mozart's “Requiem,” but somehow a little different, a little less melancholic, a little bit mirthful even, in a major key.

I walk with light steps, humming, letting the melody build, louder and more complex until it turns into something completely its own, or at least feels to have its own beginning, middle, and end. The intermittent pulse of sound reminds me of a scene from
H.A. 13-3
in which a train, blowing its whistle, slowly winds through a mountain pass. I can clearly see the scene in my mind, and see beyond it, to a distant desert. However, the desert isn't part of the film. In fact, it isn't an image I can ascribe to any place I remember. I try to locate a place for it in my mind, and as I do, the image fades. The desert dissolves. In its place, another image is revealed, this one of myself with a full head of hair. I am reflected in a large tinted window, through which I can see a dry, unobstructed valley expanding and eventually rising into mountains. There is another figure reflected in the window somewhere behind me, but the features of this figure are hazy and distorted and shimmer with motion.

As I walk over the carpeting, I continue to hum this melody, wishing the darkened figure would reveal itself. But the images freeze as I pass a photograph on the wall of a large propeller plane on fire diving down in a spin and a blur over an open meadow. Focused in the foreground, standing shoulder to shoulder, are Poppy and Dr. Barnum. Both of the men are youthful, dressed in flight jackets and khaki pants. Their posture is stiff, their smiles candid. Poppy's hair is short and well groomed. He is clean shaven, all but for a pencil-thin mustache that hugs his upper lip. His eyes are stern, almost shy. He holds a revolver in his right hand. Dr. Barnum holds the tail of a dead opossum over an open ditch.

I immediately stop. I stop humming. I stand motionless. The memory fades as quickly and spontaneously as it came.

Although I don't remember anything within the memoranda that states I should not be humming, humming a tune like the tune I hum as I am ready to inject Poppy with his pharmaceutical, I do not wish… But now…yes, I do remember. I remember a caveat to an old memo, in which he stated that staff members should know better than to mix forms of behavior appropriate to one particular task with similar forms of behavior associated with a completely different task. It would be performing what he considers an act of free will,
a variation of [his] aesthetic
, which is considered as much a form of defiance as sneaking a peek into the camera.

I move. I move quickly. I go directly to the safe without trying to show any signs of haste or guilt, anything out of the ordinary. I dial the combination, open the door, walk in, and deposit the box among the hundreds of other boxes exactly like it—all containing butterflies of varying colors.

There is no need to report my negligence. By now it has undoubtedly been noted. I will be fined accordingly. There is part of me that believes I should report my negligence; however, in no official capacity am I responsible for reporting it. Poppy takes great pride in the accuracy of his surveillance system and all those who work to enforce it. Admission of my guilt, therefore, as ethical as my intention might be, in actuality, may prove to be counterintuitive in producing a more sympathetic conclusion. And so, I can only surmise that silence is the most sensible response. Besides, there is the slightest chance that what I did went unnoticed; or perhaps what I did will be judged with compassion and immediately dismissed. It is impossible to say.

I exit the study, lock the door, and walk the southern wing. I put the humming in a major key out of my head, I replace it with its proper minor key until all resonance of the impure melody is comfortably forgotten.

When I return to Poppy's chambers, there is a loud explosion in the distance. The room rocks back and forth. Dr. Barnum is standing before the bed with his hands clasped behind his back. Poppy is no longer conscious. Two male attendants stand against the eastern wall holding three rolls of blueprints each. They look like twins, but aren't. They are both the same height and width, with boyish features, dark hair, light eyes, and sallow skin. They stand motionless and stare straight ahead.

Dr. Felonius Barnum is one of the few individuals outside domestic staff that visits Poppy on a regular basis. He is a handsome, elderly man with a trim, rectangular figure. He wears a finely sculpted beard, horn-rimmed glasses, and is always dressed in a nicely pressed pinstripe suit and a pair of glowingly polished, white and black wing tips. Based on the photograph in the study and on the EKG Productions in which Dr. Barnum appeared in his youth, it seems to me that the doctor has aged well. He is still fit and dapper, and though he doesn't have nearly as smooth a complexion as he did when he was a young man, he barely has a wrinkle that isn't flattering to his disposition.

Dr. Barnum usually comes by during the swing shift, between 11:30
P.M.
and 6:00
A.M.
, when Poppy is most alert. They will often discuss various aspects of Paradise and then turn to the TV. They watch old movies I call into Godwin Beeles at the television station at the beginning of the evening. It isn't uncommon for Poppy to pick the 1947 EKG Production of
Dying With No Tomorrow in Sight
, a melodrama about a blind Christian folk singer and his semiretarded wife whose child, a brilliant musical prodigy, is dying of leukemia. The film stars Felonius Barnum as Dr. Felonius Barnum, the brilliant and determined young doctor incapable of curing this young girl's fatal illness. There are many close-ups of Dr. Barnum's moistened, haggard eyes as he looks down onto the bed at his ailing patient. Somber horns and strings rise through apologies and consultations as montages of the young girl's musical genius flash back to more glorious times. Dr. Barnum battles until the very end of the film, when the story reaches its climax and the doctor throws his hands over his face and barges out of the hospital room. The mother, distraught and inconsolable, guides the blind father to a bed post, then falls over the dead little girl. A close-up of the mother's face reveals strange contortions as she holds up her daughter's hands and pretends that the child is once again playing a piano concerto.

More often than not, when Dr. Barnum visits, he and Poppy watch the patrons in the casino downstairs on the closed circuit network. With the Zenith Space Commander in hand, Poppy flips from the roulette wheel to the craps table, to blackjack, baccarat, and the slot machines. They mostly search for desperate faces, for losers who have fear in their eyes, the ones groping for their wallets and begging the cashiers for a new line of credit. Poppy will wait to find a close-up of a face or a manner just like this. And when he
does, the two old men linger over it with their eyes. They don't say a word to each other. They simply invite it into their stillness and sit with it in silence.

Tonight, however, Dr. Barnum appears to have come to discuss Paradise. Once a week, as a rule, he retrieves the blueprints of Paradise from Mr. Moorcraft, the Head Engineer, and delivers them to Poppy's chambers. They then discuss the updated designs, the most recent acquisitions, the deals that need to be made, and so on and so forth. Though I have never seen one of the diagrams, I know that Paradise is Poppy's greatest endeavor to date and is the origin of all the intermittent explosions in the distance. We are told that with each detonation we are brought closer to Paradise and the closer we are brought to Paradise the more secure we will be in our futures. The more G. sways with the violent thrust of the detonations the nearer we come to realizing another of Poppy's accomplishments, and thus, the closer to fortune we come. What's more, we have been promised that all of us who achieve trustee status upon Paradise's completion are secured a place in its wings.

“Bring me that chair over there, Mr. Louse,” Dr. Barnum orders.

“Yes, sir.”

I walk to the southwest corner and retrieve the chair. I carry it over the papers to where the doctor is standing. I nestle the legs into a brochure, a tuft of tissue, and several dailies with the same picture of a rocket ship lifting away from the earth, plumes of fire billowing over the crowns of palm trees.

Dr. Barnum stretches a pair of rubber gloves over his hands, takes hold of Poppy's wrist and feels for his pulse. He delicately replaces Poppy's hand onto the bed and looks over to me in the
shadows of my corner. For some reason he looks suspicious of me. I wonder if it has anything to do with Poppy's increase of Librium. By Poppy's orders I am giving him twice the dosage indicated on the bottle. I'm not sure why he has ordered me to add the extra dosage; at the same time, when considering his physical condition, it seems obvious. I would like to tell the doctor, but it simply isn't my place. As it stands, I am to abide by the rule which states:
Contradictions and illogicalities discovered by staff members are to be ignored and not spoken of unless a formal query is made by Mr. Sherwood, Head of Intelligence, a representative of Mr. Sherwood, or by Mr. Blackwell himself
.

Dr. Barnum's gaze doesn't abate.

I would be more than happy to inform him without compromising myself. However, I don't know how to go about it. I am not clever enough. I am exhausted. I haven't slept in a very long time.

Dr. Barnum, the boys, and I watch the TV.

The closed circuit network scans the floors of the casino. Every nine segments the camera closes in on a man who's full bodied, round faced, well dressed, and unshaven standing at the head of a roulette table in Gaming Room Three. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers each time he lays down ten thousand dollars on a spread of 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 32, 33, 35, and 36. He doesn't appear to have a system; he just continues to bet the same numbers over and over in different variations of one-number, two-number, and four-number bets. He is losing miserably and as far as I can remember has been at the same table for the past three hours.

Obese women licking ice cream cones and dressed in tight white polo shirts gather around to watch. After a moment, this man's image becomes fixed on the screen. The rotation of the cameras
ceases, which means he has reached a certain debt ceiling, the exact amount of which I can't tell. The gold bars of the pay-out/collection counter glisten behind him.

The television begins to chime loudly.

Poppy's eyes hesitantly flutter open.

The sonorous expression on his face makes me feel groggy.

The croupier, a man with puffy cheeks and chin, is approached by a tuxedo clad pit boss whose thick mustache brushes against the dealer's ear. As these two men whisper to each other, the man gambling reshuffles his new pile of chips once, twice, a third time. The pit boss walks away and the croupier spins the silver ball over the track. Once the ball is released, the man gambling pinches the bridge of his nose, hesitates a moment, and evenly distributes his bets. As the ball orbits the inner wheel, two security guards who have been standing in the background step up and stand directly behind the gambler. They place their hands on his shoulders and the guard on the left of the screen whispers something to him. When the ball slows, drops, and settles into place on number twenty-three, the croupier cleans up the chips and the security guards swivel the man around in his seat. They lift him up and escort him away by his elbows.

Poppy is now fully awake.

He awkwardly bends down to his feet and pulls his blanket up to his waist.

“Dr. Barnum,” he says. Poppy's voice is weak, but much stronger than it was earlier. The two bearded men stare at one another and I can feel a silent and strange tension begin to surface on their faces as the hum of the ventilation system changes keys.

“How are you feeling tonight?” Dr. Barnum asks.

“Fine, Felonius. Just fine.”

Dr. Barnum reaches for Poppy's wrist to take his pulse again.

“There's no need for that,” Poppy admonishes, pulling his hand from the doctor. He sits up, pressing his palms into the mattress.

“No, I imagine not,” Dr. Barnum says with an uncharacteristic, nervous smile as he slowly pulls his hands back into his lap and bows his head. His cheeks deflate. After a moment, the doctor lifts his head from his chest as though he has carefully thought through what he wants to say.

“They have begun to talk, H. H.”

“Yes, I know. I've heard them.”

“They understand the full gravity of the situation.”

“So it seems,” Poppy contemplates. “You've done a fine job of spreading the word, Felonius.”

Poppy and Dr. Barnum's eyes briefly engage each other's and then drift away to different sides of the room. Poppy looks to the two boys standing against the gray wall. Dr. Barnum looks at me but doesn't seem to see me this time.

“Herbert.”

“Yes, Felonius.”

“Mr. Sherwood and I were hoping you might explain your sudden change of heart.”

“I have explained. It has been explained.”

“Yes, you're right, of course. But…Mr. Sherwood and I…I mean, consider,” Dr. Barnum says, turning back to Poppy. “We've been dedicated! Loyalists from the start! And now…well…in a matter of hours, you've managed to take away everything we worked for, everything you've promised us.”

“I've done what I've done for good reason,” Poppy says. “I don't expect you to understand. But in all fairness, Felonius, I've given you a decent chance to regain what's yours. I suggest you keep at it. To the end.”