Shudder (10 page)

“So, what was the end of your story, Dave? There was this kid with frozen hands, no anesthetic, and what did you do?”

“I chose the coward's way out. I went out of the operating room, got my coat and hat, then went out of the hospital. I got myself a freezing taxi, went home, took my money and my essentials, and went to the freezing railway station.”

“So, you literally ran, eh?”

“Yeah, literally. I got myself a ticket and a bottle of vodka at the station, then half a bottle later I was in the train, en route to Yekaterinburg.”

“Wait.” Anton strode into the kitchen, where the kettle had stopped making noises, and returned in forty seconds with two steaming cups of coffee.

He put one in front of Dave and sat down again. The rain beat harder at the windowpane. Anton prepared to light another cigarette and looked at Dave. “Yekaterinburg you said. A bigger city?”

“Right, third biggest.” Dave sipped his hot coffee tentatively. “There I walked into the airport and saw what flight was available right now, just to get the fuck out. There was a seat on a flight to Hungary. I just grabbed it and flew to bloody Budapest, then tuned out there for two-three days. Afterwards, I flew back home, back here.”

“Well, did you learn anything valuable over there, or was it just a depressing waste of time?”

Ah, enter the teacher,
Dave thought. Good question though, he hadn't asked himself that. “Difficult to say. It put life back here into a different perspective. I also got acquainted with Russian humor. It's pretty specific.”

“It would have to be, from what you've told me.”

“Here's just one example. Quite possibly, the most horrible joke in the world.”

“I'm all ears.”

Dave leaned forward conspiratorially, “A young deckhand sees an old experienced sailor smoking his pipe. The smoke smells funny. ‘Whatcha smoking?' asks the young deckhand. The old sailor replies: ‘Whenever we go on a long voyage, I pluck some hairs from my old lady's pussy and smoke 'em up when I get lonely.'”

Anton cackled, and Dave got his attention back with a ‘Wait, wait.' wave of his hand. “So, on the next voyage, the young deckhand goes up the deck, takes out rolling papers, makes himself a cigarette, and lights it. The old sailor smells the smoke and comes over. ‘Whatcha got there, boy?' he says. ‘I got myself some hairs from the girlfriend's pussy.' answers the proud deckhand. The old wise sailor takes a critical whiff at the smoke and says: ‘You pluck them too near the ass hole, boy.'”

Anton curled up in laughter and so did Dave. It was difficult to tell whether the joke itself was what made their faces go pink and their faces contort into shaking masks of manic glee, or was it because the joke allowed them to exhibit a violent emotion connected to their meeting.

Perhaps it was both, combining into an unstable, but joyful third emotion.

“Nothing like a little misogynistic humor to bond, eh?” Anton said after the burst of merriment had passed. Dave knew what the word meant and felt a stab of guilt, but saw that Anton was grinning.

The albino stood up, opened the window, and lighted another cigarette. “All in all that's quite a Russian adventure, Doctor Livingstone. Now, you're back here, a former surgeon, a former soldier...” Anton suddenly made a face and stuck out his tongue for a second, “and a former death metal legend, working as a detective for the city police.”

“Death metaaaal.” Dave said and made the heavy metal sign. “Yup, I am all that, sitting here with my, ahem, chain-smoking, albino, racist friend, who has a black stepdaughter and works at monitoring the mental health levels of the city.”

“Touché. Exactly what is your field now?”

Dave took a breath, “Sex crimes.”

Anton's eyes twinkled with merriment. “Ha, ha, ha. You have to watch a lot of porn, no?”

“It's not only that, but yes, I have to.”

“So do I, part of my job too. Shouldn't underestimate porn.”

The muffled rumble of faraway thunder rolled outside the window. Both men grinned at each other to show that they appreciated the comedy value of this timely dramatic emphasis.

Dave stopped grinning first. “What do you mean? How can one ‘underestimate porn'?”

“Well, we do live in a pornographic world, if we are to be honest. It's been like that for about thirty years now.”

“I think I know what you mean. Or do I?” Dave lifted an eyebrow theatrically.

Anton scratched at his chin, “Modern porn, young man, especially since the Internet appeared, is a unique phenomenon in the history of the world.”

“Hey, come on, there's always been porn.”

“Yes, but never in the Internet,” Anton said, nipping in the bud a possible discourse on naked people on ancient Greek pots and vases.

“So?”

“So now, the whole world can watch as a group of people working in the porn industry, are exploring all the possible niches in the porn business.”

“Again, so?”

“To put it in another way: there is a group of people, whom market forces make dig as deeply as possible into the most primitive levels of the human psyche. They do this year after year, going deeper and deeper, in the full view of the whole world. That's why it's unique.”

Dave watched happily as Anton relaxed into lecture mode. “I never thought of it like that,” he said. “Still, why do you think this is so important?”

“Because it influences society,” Anton said flatly. “Because when porn unearths another level of infantile fantasies like incest, or playing with shit, it resonates with the deeper mental levels on which everyone has had such fantasies as a baby.”

“I haven't had such fantasies as a baby.”

“According to certain theories, we all have.”

The detective finished his second cup of coffee and again tried to understand Anton's point. “Wait, assuming porn does unearth baby fantasies and plays them out with grown-ups. So?”

Anton spread his hands theatrically, “So, it becomes crude magical theater. You underestimate the influence of the most primitive part of the human psyche. When you play them out in symbolical form, in some sort of ritual, that's how magic works.

“Now, for the first time in history, we have a bunch of people working this chaotic but highly potent magic, consisting of rituals which when viewed unleash emotions from the deepest layers of the psyche, and it's seen by everyone, including, let's not kid ourselves, kids.”

“Magical theater you say, rituals...” Dave raised an eyebrow. “You know—you may have something there.”

“Well, thank you very much, professor Cohran.”

“Ever thought of writing a dissertation on that?”

“You read me like an open n-pad. I tried, some years ago.”

“Didn't work out?”

“No. Absolutely politically incorrect. Now is the fashion to say that it's mature to not talk scientifically about sex. At least not concerning anything too human like psychology, it should only be talk of molecules and receptors, and leave anything else to preachers and specialized blogs.”

“You are not talking so much about sex, as about porn, right?”

“Well, about both, truth be said.” The albino waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, people feel safe only if you pretend that porn is like it was thirty years ago, and conclude your dissertation with something nice, like that it's mature to have porn, and not dig too deeply into it.”

He planted his hands on his thighs and leaned forward, giving Dave a knowing leer. “If you dig into sex, everyone feels threatened. They feel you want to take something away from them, to break the fragile magic that allows them to enjoy at least a little respite from the grind. The closest they have to touching God in a way.”

Dave smiled with deliberation. He had just been thinking along very similar lines while listening to Anton. He had forgotten how frighteningly perceptive the albino could be. Inside his head, he was defending himself against what he perceived as an attack. He was mentally on the defensive for about two minutes now. “Well, good thing they didn't chase you out with torches and pitchforks,” he said.

“Or rather with whips and butt plugs. Yeah.”

Dave gave a chuckle at the thought and then remembered something. “Wait, you're actually saying that new trends in porn make new trends in our society, is that correct?”

“Bang on.”

“That's a pretty brave statement.”

“It is, isn't it? Then again, you must remember, that people nowadays don't think about what they are doing, they just follow trends. Fashion. If it's fashionable to wear whorehouse boots, they wear whorehouse boots. If it's fashionable to drink pee—they drink pee.”

“So, you're saying that whatever new trend does appear, everyone just takes it in their strides?” Dave thought of his secretary and of Georgette. “I kind of agree. It's a little strange, isn't it?”

“Not really. Because you see, we are a civilization of legal and illegal stimulants and antidepressants.” Anton took another drag from his nicotine mood stabilizer. “So, no one has to ever change, and no one has to ever think deeply about himself or life in general.”

Dave tried to not lose track of the turns and twists of Anton's logic, which as always demanded considerable mental effort. “How does that follow from being on speed or antidepressants?”

“Well, imagine you are raised as a Christian. Then, as you grow and mature, years pass, shit accumulates and finally you begin to have hints of doubts along the line that maybe life sucks and there is no God.”

“Yeah,” Dave agreed, again feigning detachment.

“Even before you really think it, when only the shadow of the hint of doubt arrives, you start feeling anxiety. To take another angle, if your thoughts edge towards actually comparing the life you lead with what the good book teaches, again, at the very hint of this thought anxiety jumps out of the bushes.

“So, you either take some speed to outrun the anxiety, or you run your ass to the doctor, which is what all respectable folks do these days. There you get a pill which dulls the fear.”

“Sounds logical.”

“In another time this person would have felt his doubt and would have tried to deal with it by examining himself and his faith. In the end he would either have left the fold or have become a true believer—who has looked at the world and at himself unflinchingly, and still found the light of Jesus. Now…now you just have someone who never leaves the level of a trend.

“You grew up and were told that you were a Christian, and you never questioned that, and that's it. A pill helped you to not change, when the time for change came. So you didn't.”

“So, you are saying we have very little real Christians left?”

“Very little real people left, is what I'm saying.”

Anton stopped to get his breath, or rather, his smoke. Dave looked at him and wondered whether the talk was becoming personal, or was still purely theoretical.

Anton fumbled with his lighter and a crumpled cigarette and continued. “Any issue, which in the past could have been life-altering, is now evaded, so this basic human trait, the ability to reason and to change, has been successfully suppressed. The same goes, of course, for the maturity crisis, mid-life crisis, making peace with old age, and everything else.”

“Oh, I agree. I hate this stuff myself.” Dave spread his hands. “Everyone being on pills all the time. How does that help people drink pee?”

Anton leaned in, forgetting for the moment that he should try to spare his guest's face from the cigarette smoke. “Because no one has to examine why this notion excites them, what exactly they feel when they do it, or why. They just do it, because that's what's being done this season by trendy people, and maybe it even makes their hearts flutter and their limbs tremble in an exciting manner and generally feel very spiritual, and if anxiety or doubt start hovering on the horizon, they take a pill or snort a line and everything is a-okay.”

Understanding stirred in Dave's mind. “So, you're saying folks can be fed any shit and they will accept it, because if it makes them feel bad, they take pills to not feel it.”

Anton nodded forcefully, “Precisely. Not with everyone but with a sufficiently large percentage. Not only if it makes them feel bad, but also if it make them think too hard. That's already frightening enough in itself.”

“The Russians are the same, only with vodka.”

“Nooo, nooo.” Anton waved his hands. “Being constantly drunk makes you an inefficient fatalist. Our civilization can't survive on inefficient fatalists. It needs intense manic depressives in order to function. You know—run around, make money, be afraid of losing money, wring yourself out for the sake of the firm, impossible things if you are just an old-fashioned drunk.

“We need the 1980's ideal—a young speed freak, pretending he isn't a speed freak, wringing himself out, pretending he's having fun.”

Dave gave him a military salute. “Good thing we have rational chain-smoking albinos to tell us that.”

“Asshole.”

The afternoon turned into evening, and evening into night. Both old friends, being coffee freaks, drank cup after cup of the stimulating brew, Anton smoked through a pack and a half, jumping up every half-hour to open the window for a minute for the sake of his guest, and Dave relaxed, and debated with his friend every topic under the sun.

Anal porn and geopolitics, the economic situation and the decline of polite politics, contemporary music and contemporary school crime, everything was chewed over and passed back and forth.

Finally, it was eleven in the evening and Dave stood up. “It's been great, man, I missed these talks.”

“Yes, and we both have much more to talk about now.”

“A sign of getting old, probably.”

“We should do this again soon, detective.”

“Absolutely, let's give each other a call at the end of the week.”

Dave went out and heard the door lock behind him. As he drove back to his home, he thought of the aged Anton. He was still smoking far too much but it was so good to hear him ramble.