Scifi Sunday’s with the HighPriestess

It was the Autumn of ’79 that I had first truly considered my mortality. I thought of Death as nothing more than a malingering shadowy haunted figure that perpetuated itself through the dream-memorae of the old and the sick. Earlier that year, we had laid my grandparents to rest, dying only a month apart from one another. I had spent the weekend with my aunt Faye as my parents went to the funeral and grieved.

By the time I had first heard of the Atlanta Child Killer, I had already well formed the concept of the dead as something forever lost. It was only a little over a year later that one of my classmates JoJo, had been found after his father had killed himself.

The race riots were still an ever prevalent specter to which I could still recall my mother taking us into the basement with her twenty gauge and us hiding there as some roaming pack of blacks had been seen in our neighborhood. I never really knew if they ever actually did anything to anyone. I only remember my mother’s fear. The news was that some crazed white man of the KKK was going around killing young black boys. I was white, but part of the poor whites of Atlanta, Georgia, yes we were poor white trash.

It ended much of the simplicity of life for me. From those that once seemed as resilient and enduring as my small world had always seemed, to those that existed beyond those confines of my little known world. I think the most immediately devastating memory from that time was that I had begun to consider that I never really knew God at all…

I was seven.

“What’s wrong Chip?” I had only been inside the door for a few moments before my mother found me in my room.

“Nothing,” I lied. Truth be told, I had my first, of several altercations, with the older boy, Jojo a black boy who lived next door. a little while later, we became best friends. There was always something a little cruel in the way that JoJo played through his life. Not particularly noted as the best and the brightest at Stiles Elementry School, even then there was something likable about him to me. JoJo never really dealt with people well, and un-beknownst to most was that his older brothers were beating the wholly living shit out of him on near a daily occurrence. Even when they were only playing, they were riding him down the road on the handle-bars of their bikes and steering for the biggest pot-holes they could find, or knocking him out of trees with rocks. There would inevitably come a point where the middle brother would intervene, and the oldest of the Hollis boys near made JoJo appear to be a genius.

JOJO had said something about my lunch pail the day before, which at the time had scenes depicted from the television series with H R Puff n stuff. I had normally had hot lunch at school, but I seen the lunch pail, and like a typical seven year old– I wanted it. The next day, after insulting it the day before, he wanted it and tried to take it from me. He got it, though not likely the way he wanted it. There was only a small dent in my lunch pail, but a rather large tear in my new school jacket that I had only had for a month or so.

Mama was beside herself, she just wasn’t going tolet this one fly, seeing as she was holding my “new coat” in her hand.

“You’re going to need to do a little better than that, especially once your father gets home and sees this,” she probably knew I had seen it in her hand already, but she held it out in front of my face likely for emphasis. “We paid quite a bit of money for that coat and…”

She stopped when she noticed I had been crying.

Mrs. williams my teacher had a point everyday, usually after lunch, where she would read to us. Mrs. Williams aside from the fact that she kind of resembled Lena Horne (which, among other shows, we watched faithfully until it was canceled); had it pretty much convinced herself that we were pretty petered out on all the running with Spot, the dog, that Jane did– an opted for a more mature sort of reading material. I am not sure how it worked for the rest of the class; but for me, it was virtual genius. I could rightfully not give two shits and a damn about Jane and her ever faithful side kick Spot, which led to one of life’s little ironies. Due to the dullness of Jane’s days full of four letter words that a kid could and should use, or at least learn– I was going to be placed in a remedial reading class. Mrs. Williams hadn’t a clue that my cousin and I had been reading comic books and Mad magazine for a couple years at that point, mostly him reading them to me in the beginning. She also had no clue that I knew who Lord Alfred Tennyson (compliments of my other grandmother who was still alive) was, and was beginning to learn the fundamentals of poetry.

Mrs. williams had opted to read “I Will Fight No More Forever” that day, from Dee Brown‘s book “Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee“. Up until that point, the only idea I had about the “Indians” came from the old cowboy pictures my grandfather used to watch. I really hadn’t considered that the story that she read that day would be about a man that I would admire for the rest of my life.

“What happened?” She set aside the coat and came to sit beside me on the edge of my bed.

“I got in a fight with JoJo,” the tears came again. “He tore it.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” tears were one thing, but what followed that was one long gush. “I think I hurt him,” I bellowed out. I proceeded to tell her all of the gory details, about the lunch box and how I had swung around and knocked him down. He’d cried, but not from the fall so much as I believed that he thought I was going to keep hurting him.

My Ma tried not to laugh, she really did. “You want me to call his mother and find out if he is alright?”

“Alright,” I did and I didn’t. JoJo and I had already had more than a few words with one another, and there seemed to be some kind of concession in this. He was only a year older than me, something that had become moot when he flunked out in second grade, but he wasn’t in Mrs. Williams’s class. He was in the other section of second graders at Stiles.

I felt as if I had failed. Not in the fight itself (if you can really call it that), something that I hadn’t wanted but JoJo just kept pushing me. I had come to the conclusion that if it came down to a fight, you had already lost your best chance to resolve anything… something that Chief Joseph had taught me.

“His Ma said he is fine, and he will be over in a few minutes.”

“Why?” This was not the sort of resolve I was looking for in this particular situation. Just because I felt bad for hurting him did NOT mean I wanted to apologize for it.

“To apologize for tearing your coat,” she said, her brow arching as she considered my reaction to that.

“Alright,” I was in no way, shape or form going anywhere near that door when he did show up.

She left when she heard the knock at our front door, and I pulled out a book that I had borrowed from the library. I remember the librarian’s look she gave me when I checked it out.

“Are you sure you want this book?” The librarian asked, and I gave a half shrugged nod of assent. “This is in the fifth grader’s section, and you were supposed to stay in the books on the long low shelf in the back.” I wasn’t sure if she was scolding me, or just assuring herself that this was the book I wanted to check out. “There aren’t many pictures in it.”

“I know,” was my only response.

“Alright then, but you have to bring it back next week.” There was another look in her eyes as she executed the borrower’s transaction, a book of poetry in a second grader’s hands was one thing. That the poet, in this minority school, was e e cummings, Mrs. Williams used to say her son was alot like this great harvard graduate, . I won’t lie, I understood very little of it until I got to one short stanza…

“why must itself up every of a park
anus stick some quote statue unquote to
prove that a hero equals any jerk
who was afraid to dare to answer “no”?
“He wants to talk to you,” my mother came back a few minutes later, and I just sort of stared up towards her, my expression blanked and dumbfounded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, he just said he wanted to talk to you,” she said and glanced down towards the book in my hands. “Is that something you have to read for school?”

“Yes,” I lied, not even truly appreciating why I thought I should.

“I thought they were going to put you in a remedial reading class,” she looked between my eyes and book. I think she knew I was lying.

“I guess so.” I got up and moved past her before anymore questions could surface, as suddenly the meeting with JoJo seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Lying was one of my mother’s pet-peeves, along with the use of the word fuck. Technically at that time, I wasn’t allowed to use any of the four letter words that were not in that droll assed reader they were trying to goad me into reading in school; but something alike Dante’s versions of Hell, there were different punishments for the shits, damns, and hells over the word that should never be uttered in our household. Not even my father and his friends used it around her, though it seen a lot of use in conversation outside her earshot.

“Hey,” JoJo said as I opened the door and seen him standing there, watching a fox squirrel run along the road towards the neighbor’s oak tree.

“Hi,” I wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“Your Ma said you were worried that you hurt me,” he glanced back towards the squirrel as I closed the door in behind me.

“You tore my coat,” I wasn’t conceding to that to him.

“I know, I’m sorry about that.” He sounded pretty much like he meant it, which left only an awkward silence to follow. “You didn’t hurt me neither, I just thought I was going to get into trouble. I thought you would tattle on me or something queer like that.”

“I kinda did,” my face flushed.

“Naw, ya didn’t really.” He said after considering it. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I said as I seen him wave and watched him move across the small field that separated our yards.

I went back in to try to figure out something that had puzzled me from much earlier, something that had led to my mother and I having to hide down in our basement with a loaded shotgun. I had never known about slavery (beyond the Hebrews in Egypt), which was in part what made e e cumming’s book of poetry particularly difficult to grasp. I wouldn’t really until the weekend when I showed my grandmother the book I had borrowed, and wanted to know what he was talking about.

With some due consideration to my age, she explained what cummings meant, and read some of the poems aloud to me that I didn’t get. After she was done, I told her about Ma and I having to go into the basement; and she just gave a knowing smile and nod as perhaps she had figured out my original curiosity. I also told her about the fight I had with JoJo Hollis, and the story about Chief Joseph that Mrs. Williams had read.

It was funny in that I never realized while I would go to my mother for more practical matters, to my father with any help I may need with homework; that anytime I wanted to know anything about the world, I always went to my Grandmother. She understood things differently, and what’s more she had time to listen. She never called me by the nickname I abhorred, and she was the first one to realize that I had sense of humor. God only knows she had sit through more than enough of my dumb jokes, but it was not a month later that I wrote my first poem. (Contrary to her “opinion”, it sucked.) I had asked for a typewriter for Christmas, something that had led to Ma and I sitting around and expanding my vocabulary by asking her how to spell countless words and then plunking them out on the cheap old manual typewriter. I used to type my spelling words for a while, until I pretty much knew the words that came on the list before we were expected to know how to spell them.

I went back to school on Monday, a friend and I were playing on the swings when one of the third graders decided that he wanted to take the swing from us. Ahmed Washington looked over towards me as I shook my head, and then started to go back to sit on the swing when the older kid plopped his butt down into it first.

“What are you doin’ Ahmed?” I hear from off to the aside as I am still considering what my next move was, and I see JoJo standing there with his arms folded as he leaned against the metal upright that held the swings up.

“I am going to swing on this swing,” he said, and JoJo just sighed and shook his head, NO.

“There’s one just down the way that you can use,” JoJo moved in front of him so that swinging was impossible.

“Let them take that one then,”Ahmed said and JoJo just shook his head tightly.

“Get off,” he said, and I was a little surprised that Ahmed actually did. But he was standing up just in case that JoJo tried to hit him or something. That stand didn’t last very long as I moved in beside him, and my friend just sort of lingered in behind JoJo’s other shoulder. Ahmed gave up the swing, and JoJo turned back towards me before nodding towards the swing. “You ever had a really high underdog?”

I shook my head as he held it for me to get on and then proceeded to push, and then pull me back; only for a few minutes before he put his hands on my knees and ran forward, ducking under me as I began to come back down.

I saw Ahmed and JoJo talking as I pumped my legs, trying to go higher. Jo Jo kept ducking under as my swing got higher, everytime my swing got lower JoJo gave me another ‘underdog”

JoJo and I became best friends. I wrote lyrics and He would sing them. He loved to sing and sang at his church’s choir, every Sunday, he’d be all dressed to go to church, I asked once if I could go with him, and his ma spoke plain and simple,

“there’s no white people allowed in our church, but you can wait for JoJo outside if you must.”

I waited for Jo Jo and then we’d peal off our sunday best after church and go swimming down the creek.

It was there an older boy who was swinging from the rope and jumping into the creek, told JoJo about this radio producer looking for young singers.
Jo Jo was all excited, he said he was going to be famous, have his face all over the place. The older kid gave jo jo a flyer, we read it on the way back to our house.

Jo Jo was going to audition cause he was a fine singer. I read the name, and got excited. Hey the radio guy’s name is Wayne Williams, I wonder if he’s related to Mrs. Williams my teacher. She sure is the finest teacher in the school.

The next morning was the first day of summer. JoJo was gone when I knocked on the door to the Hollis house. I never seen JoJo again. But his face was posted everywhere, all over the streets the tv and the newspapers, just like he wanted.

The grim reaper shot out of bed then grabbed at the bedpost as the room began to swirl violently.” What now,? for God`s sake.”

God frowned. “I have warned you about this before.”

Sorry, sir. Quietus mumbled, his face turning a lighter shade of pale. What`s the matter?”

“What is the matter?” God repeated, his voice booming around the cavern.” What is the matter? You are what is the matter. “What are you doing in bed?”

Quietus flinched.” Eeeerrrrrrr, would you mind keeping your voice down a bit Arghhhh… got a bit of a headache.”

“You have what?” God yelled, his voice rising ten decibels. “Well you do look a little Piqued! But who can tell?”

The grim reaper groaned and sank down onto the bed.” Ugh! Out last night on the town. celebrating ‘All soul’s day’ sir. Well, it is my holiday. just feeling a little morbid.”

“What on earth ..? You should have been on Earth doing your job, not joining in with the natives. No wonder that your quota is down again this month, if you spend all your time in bed. Get out of here, now. El turned and walked out of the cavern, muttering under his breath. “They just do not understand how hard it is to run things.” He dematerialized then, changing his mind, appeared near the bed again. “I will be back in ten minutes, to check on you.” He yelled, “Nobody works as hard as they used to…..Hurry up before I get someone else to take your place….”

The Grim reaper let out a ghastly shudder and gazed longingly at his pillows. He knew that it was not an idle threat, so he would have to go. He climbed into his black robe and gathered his hourglass, scythe, gurgling stomach and fuzzy head together and wandered out of the cavern; taking care not to bang his scythe against the walls….His pale horse was no where to be found, what the hell was he supposed to ride on? Time to think rationally once again……

“My job is to rescue those who are suffering from great amounts of pain and those who are about to go into suffering from great amounts of pain. For years, I’ve saved a lot of lives. But, as always I get harsh responses from the masses. The only time they seem to be happy is when I miss a job, which is not good for my record. Plus, most of my misses would most likely still be in pain.
I’m in a nonprofit organization. That means I am not being paid, so I’m doing this for free. I wish they could be a little more grateful that their loved ones are not in endless pain or sipping their food through a straw. Few understand that my job is necessary but at the same time, they cuss me out.
I don’t hate them for hating me. It’s just that I would appreciate that they give me some credit and respect for my work.”

There were rules to the job. He could only collect souls and dispatch them to Lucifer and his lackeys. He hated that part of his job. According to the rules, he must wait until the moment of death before moving in, he himself could not take a life,. God would be very annoyed if He even suspected that Quietus murdered anything. The grim reaper was very discrete..and knew what to do when his time came…..

Quietus dispatched the souls five monkeys, three polar bear and a fox in quick succession, then, got his eye on a pair of frogs mating. They were both young and healthy but, the queen frog suffocated under the bull’s weight and met her demise, and Quietus went off to look for larger game. (It was ten days before the bull frog noticed that anything was wrong.)

Quietus found Newell sitting at the breakfast table in his shirt-sleeves. Perfect. He chortled, rubbing his meta carpals together. Mid forties, obese, stuffing his face with lovely, greasy, bacon and eggs. Oh, there is even a stogey burning in the ashtray; and a bottle of ale. Beer at 7:30 in the morning?
Newell clutched at his chest and groaned.” Oh, my God…..NO!!”
” Don`t say that. the grim reaper hissed, his head swiveling around. If he hears you we will both be in trouble….”

Newell looked up and saw the dark, robed, figure. “Don`t just stand there, you fool, get me a doctor. Aaaaaaaargh ..” he screamed.
” Oh, my head. Quietus groaned, putting his hands over his ears. “You don`t have to shout like that.”
” I Can`t….. stand pain…..Aaaaaaaaaargh..”

“Pain, shpain’s, all in the mind. Don`t be so bloody spiteful, it will only last a couple of minutes. The grim reaper stamped his foot and put his hands on top of his head.” My head, oh, it is going to come off. You are a selfish sod, stop it, my head is exploding.”

For a few seconds there was silence. Then, Newell slumped over, onto the floor, gasping. Quietus grinned.

Newell gathered all of his willpower and strength together and screamed. “I feel like death warmed over.”

The ghastly figure of death stopped shadowing Newell, It wasn’t worth the extra points he could claim for a human soul and shot out of the building, clutching his head again.

Newell recovered sufficiently to use the phone, then lay on the floor, exhausted, until help arrived. He later thought that he had imagined the robed figure. Must have been the pain. “Death wasn’t just knocking on the door, it was right next to me.” He explained to his wife.

Doom decimated the rat population of a ghetto in down town Los Angeles , Then the reaper watched seven elephants and a giraffe near Johannesburg expire, then popped along to herd five thousand lemmings over a cliff. He thought that it was now time for a nap. He could only have a few minutes, because, if the flood dried up, Archangel uriel would send his mate to do a spot check. Raphael was a bitch about other people`s work schedules. He was the director of time, and punctuality meant everything.

When Quietus woke up he felt a little better, well enough to have another go at a human. But, this time, he would go for an easier target.

Little Anna’s face had become flushed as her temperature soared. Her tiny fingers plucked at the sheet, as she lay in the oxygen tent, struggling for breath. Her parents watched, her mother sobbing quietly, as the doctor spoke to them.

“She is reaching the crisis point now. We are pushing massive doses of antibiotics into her, but the pneumonia has a strong hold. We should know one way or the other in an hour or two.”

Quietus nodded his head. “Alrighty then… just give me five minutes, pal.” He stood at the head of the bed and gazed down at the baby’s face. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Hi, kid. How about you and me going for a little toddle up those stairs, eh?” He pointed at a staircase that had appeared in the wall of the hospital room, next to a painting of a pale horse…

Her eyes were glazed but, with an effort, she brought them into focus and grinned. “Who is the boney man, Daddy?”

“Boney, indeed.” Death rattled, leaning forward.” Come-on, time to go”

Suddenly, time stopped, as the child grabbed the reaper’s hourglass and began to tip it backwards and forwards. The room slipped sideways and Quietus stumbled; nearly taking off the doctor`s head with his scythe. The room was frozen in time. The doctor stood, immobile, with his clip board in his hand. The nurse had one leg raised in the air as she attempted to take a step forward. The father was halfway out of his chair and the mother sat, with her mouth open, reaching out to her child.

The grim reaper scrambled to his feet.”Hey, Give me that, you little brat.”

The child giggled and turned the hourglass. The room slipped again and Quietus rattled to the other side of the bed. “Boney man fall down again, Daddy.” She began to laugh, and her voice echoed around the room.

“Stop it. The reaper shrilled. “You are bringing my headache back again.” This made the child laugh louder, and she tipped the sand again. The grim reaper’s head began to ring.

It was all over in a few moments. The child got bored with her new toy and flung it on the bed. Destiny snatched at his time-piece and reached out for his victim. But, as soon as Doom came near, she began to laugh again. “You got no nose, no mouth, no eyes.” Her laughter grew louder and louder. With a snort of disgust, the reaper fled through the wall.

Time returned to normal and the child`s eyelids began to droop. Her eyes closed and she fell back onto the pillows. Her parents leaned forward anxiously.
“It is alright, we have won.” The doctor said, as he held her wrist. “She is asleep but it is normal sleep. I think that she should be alright now; we’re not out of the woods yet mind you, but the worst is over.”

The reaper was not making the toll. He was fed up. They were just not co-operating at all. This was worse than pulling teeth. He took his rolodex out of his pocket and checked on his score. He frowned. He would never reach his daily quota, and he was already a week behind. God was going to kill him. He laughed at the thought, then regretted it, as his head began to swim. Why me? he muttered, seeing three hens become roadkill, then he shot off to Puerto Rico, to admire the handiwork of a few Chupacabras. The fast traveling did not help.” Oh, God, my head….This must be what suicide feels like.”

He heard the answer, “Suffer”, and scooted off to a remote part of Antarctica to sulk.

His time on patrol was never over. It was times like these when he needed an assistant to take over. He asked for one once, but the answer was no. He was in deep trouble; up to his neck bone in it. He worked out that there were only about ten minutes to go. Slowly he circled the world before leaving.

He was just drifting over Central Asia when he saw them, thousands of them. He chortled with glee. “War, lovely war, never ending massacre’s…..my work is never done…”

There was no time to be particular, but war was chaotic anyway. Luckily, the little girl`s interference had messed up his hourglass, giving him extra time in which to do a good job. Happily, he totaled up his points, then he turned back. Just enough time for five more to make both sides equal. The grim reaper did not take sides, and both sides always lost anyway.

Quietus smiled as he wandered off. Forget the headache, pal, you are over your quota now. A quick trip home, to spruce up the image; it was poker night, . “YES! Thank you God, Shit, and to think, I nearly spoiled it. “This has to be the best job in the world.”

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