Prostitution Divine. Short stories, movie script and essay

Михаил Армалинский

Prostitution Divine. Short stories, movie script and essay

Copyright © 2014, 2020 M.I.P. Company, Minneapolis USA.

The Deal[1][2]

to Brian Kvasnik

It was a town in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by endless fields of undistinguished grain. My only reason for going there was to conduct a business deal with a man who had the distinction of owning nearly the entire town. His name was Rail, a veritable lord of the manor who counted among his possessions two banks, impressive acres of land, and several large warehouses of nonferrous metals.

Though I had known this man more than a year, we had never met face to face; all our business had taken place over the phone or through the mail. Our last phone conversation had degenerated into an argument over his refusal to accept an order of high quality aluminum cast at my factory. This considerable order had just been loaded for shipping when Rail phoned with the news that it wouldn’t pay him to accept such a large amount of metal at that time. When I insisted that he accept his merchandise, he refused, I lost my temper, and threatened to drive the load to his home and dump the entire shipment on his doorstep.

Rail hung up at that point, and we hadn’t spoken for nearly a month.

Now he had unexpectedly called to say he was prepared to accept and pay for a substantial part of the order. In the same breath, he invited me to come to his estate and inspect a scrapped wreck of a bomber plane he had acquired.

I found the prospect of further dealings with Rail abhorrent, yet I hadn’t the strength to reject business for the sake of catering to personal feelings. Even as I completed the arrangements for our meeting, I consoled myself with the thought that I would sell my factory as soon as it was large enough to provide me with enough money to last the rest of my life. The problem was, I could never seem to decide what exactly I meant by “large enough”, as no matter how big it grew, it always looked small to me, as a son does to his mother.

It was evening when I arrived in town and checked into a hotel located in the standard, artificially cheerful downtown area. I had just signed the register when the clerk handed me Rail’s message to call him. His eagerness irritated me, and I decided to take a long, hot bath before making that phone call.

I was undressing when the phone rang. It was Rail.

“You’ve arrived? How are you? Did you get my message? When you’re ready, I’ll take you out to dinner and show you the town.”

Rail saved me the problem of answering him in a civil tone by not bothering to wait for my replies. We agreed to meet in an hour’s time in the lobby.

I got there on time, but it was obvious from his pacing that Rail had been waiting for me. He was around fifty-five, with a bald spot that made his hair grow in a horseshoe shape around his head – a configuration which had apparently brought him luck. From the moment he realized who I was, a smile never left his face. It also never quite reached his eyes. Still, he managed to radiate an impression boundless joy, slapping my shoulder in a simulation of friendship of which I was thoroughly sick.

Shaking my hand, he noticed my ring with a small, but very pure diamond.

“Oh, what a marvelous ring,” he gasped in delight, holding my hand in his and bringing it up to his eye level to examine the ring more closely. I carefully freed my hand from his grasping fingers.

As we drove down the main street, my introduction to the town was reduced to a litany of the following phrase spoken glowingly by Rail:

“That’s my bank, beautiful building, isn’t it?”

“I build those apartment buildings two years ago, and their value’s gone up five times since then!”

“You can buy the finest clothing sold in New York in that store. My policy is that the word ‘provincial’ has no place in consumer goods.

The Chinese restaurant in which we ate also belonged to him, and the food was excellent. He had brought the chef from Hong Kong and found him a local beauty to marry so that he wouldn’t be homesick. During the dinner I noticed Rail’s gaze on my ring several times, and as we were finishing dessert, he expressed his delight in it once more. I saw that the bargaining was about to begin.

“How much do you want for that ring?” The possessive gleam in his eye revealed the sparkle of my stone.

As I did not want to part with the ring – it held too many associations for me – I named a sum about quintuple its real value.

Rail smiled politely and dropped the subject, but I sensed that he hadn’t given up.

With dinner finally over, Rail next drove me to his mansion. It was cavernous affair in which he had lived alone for many years, his wife having divorced him long ago. With no real family, Rail had still managed to turn his castle into a home of sorts: a home for the stuffed carcasses and soft pelts of a collection of animals which, had they still lived, would have stocked a small zoo. Rail had even decorated one room entirely in animal skins. Dark brown and black furs covered the floor, light tans and beiges were on the walls, and snowy white ones quilted the ceiling.

From somewhere in his furred abundance, Rail produced an enormous red fox. He held it out to me, its bushy tail dangling lifelessly, and declared, “Let’s trade for your ring.”

I took the fox from him, enjoying the feel of the soft fur as my fingers tightened around the inanimate throat. I hefted it for a moment, then handed the fox back: No. Rail acquiesced meekly, and the fox disappeared.

Though I had no interest in a trade with Rail, I was becoming curious to see how high a price he would put on his desire.

We moved to another room, this one dominated by the huge form of a bald eagle, wings outstretched in a frozen moment of flight. The wingspan was easily two yards. Rail was quick to note my undisguised admiration, and he casually added, “All right, I’ll throw in the eagle, too.”

I shook my head no, still gazing at the magnificent bird, and began unconsciously rubbing the ring with my hand.

Rail’s watchful eyes caught this motion, and he remarked benignly, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it by peaceful means.”

“Is that a threat of military action?” I asked in surprise.

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” Rail assured me.

We continued to tour Rail’s house, but he no longer mentioned anything about a trade. His restraint did not fool me. In his own discreet way, Rail was keeping careful note of the effect of his various treasures on me, and I knew plainly that he hadn’t given up.

The next day, Rail took me to the enormous warehouse where he had stored the remains of the plane. Its stark metal framework, so skeletal in appearance, reminded me vaguely of last night’s silent menagerie. I was glad I had only to finish the business at hand and go home.

As I looked over the plane, I noticed a whispered conference between Rail and a workman. Rail looked at my car; the workman nodded and walked away.

Rail waited patiently as I completed my inspection of the wreck. When I had seen enough, we went to Rail’s office and spent the better part of an hour coming to terms on the price. It was only then, when were shaking hands on the completed deal, that I thought I saw the possessive gleam of the night before in Rail’s eye. When I looked again, though, he was only smiling at me. Had I imagined it? Or had the sparkle of me diamond somehow been reflected in his eyes?

It was time to leave. We walked back to the warehouse where I’d parked my car. I was expecting a final assault on my ring, but Rail remained strangely aloof. We stood for awhile by the car, exchanging the last few required pleasantries and a farewell handshake. I reached out to open my car door and abruptly recoiled without opening it. There, nonchalantly perched on my front seat, was a luminous white human skeleton, its skull turned toward the driver, the left hand hanging familiarly on the back of the driver’s seat.

I looked in dismay at my car, then at Rail, then back at the car. Rail was enjoying my predicament. Patting me reassuringly on the back he said, “Nothing to be frightened of – she’s completely harmless.” He smiled and continued, “I thought you might get lonely on your long trip, so I took the liberty of arranging a traveling companion.”

I continued to stare in disbelief. The intrusion of the skeleton had imbued my familiar auto with the appeal of a coffin.

“Man or woman?” I asked, while trying to think of some way to evict this mass of bones from my front seat.

“A woman, of course,” he answered. “Look at her – see how wide the pelvis is?”

I stared at this fleshless apparition, trying to imagine a human female somehow draped around those bones.

“I’m glad it’s a woman,” I said at last. “I like them thin.”

The attempt at humor came hard. What I really wanted to say was, All right, you’ve had your fun, now get this damned thing out of my car! I didn’t want Rail to know how badly he had startled me, though, and I became determined to play his little charade to the end.

I opened the door and got in. I paused a beat before putting the key in the ignition, certain that at any moment Rail would blessedly call to one of his workmen to remove the skeleton form my car. Rail, however, did nothing but bend down to my window and cheerfully wave me goodbye. There was nothing left for me to do but start the car, turn around, and drive off.

I was driving through the warehouse exit when I saw the workman Rail had spoken to earlier, the one who had, I was certain, taken care of the skeleton. He wore jeans, one leg dark blue, the other light blue. He waved to me without smiling, and I watched him for a moment in the rearview mirror before I turned onto the road.

At least the isn’t carrying a scythe, I thought darkly to myself, though that omission did nothing to relieve my uneasiness.

The road was in poor repair, and my otherwise silent partner signaled her presence by jangling constantly in response to every bump and jolt. She listed violently towards me on a particularly nasty pothole, and I instinctively put my hand out to catch her. I struck the cold hard bone of her empty hips. It was then that I noticed the connective tissues of the joints had all been replaced by thin wires, neatly joining one bone to another. The intricacy of the finger joints particularly caught my eye.

Cars that passed me slowed down while everyone inside, waved, and tried through gestures to ask, “Well, what’s it like driving around with a skeleton?” I smiled tolerantly and indicated ‘OK’ with the familiar thumb to forefinger circle. They invariably laughed in response, and sped away.

My companion had no need of food, but I was getting hungry. I pulled up to a roadside restaurant just as an elderly couple was leaving. When they recognized what was seated beside me they reeled. I saw the fear in their eyes as they hurried away, crossing themselves. I locked the car, just in case.

Seated in the restaurant, I heard the brief wail of a police siren outside, which I forgot about as the waitress returned with my order.

I felt almost refreshed as I left the restaurant, only to walk squarely into the flashing glare of police car lights. My car was surrounded by a small milling crowd, through which two darkly uniformed police officers showed like grease spots. I noticed the elderly couple, describing something to the officers in an agitated manner.

The police were interested in my driver’s license and in my companion. I told them it was a gift form Rail. Though they recognized the name, they still wanted confirmation, and I willingly supplied them with Rail’s phone number. Luck was with me; Rail was still in his office and confirmed that the skeleton was his property, on loan to me. The intervention of the police had at least supplied me with one bit of information on my boney ‘friend’ – she was no gift.

The police said goodbye pleasantly enough, though they left me with a stern warning not to frighten any more people. I promised to go straight home and lock her in the bedroom in case, heaven forbid, she should try to escape. The laughter of the crowd was more a sigh of relief, and they scattered quickly, leaving me alone once more with my companion.

“Well, Mary,” I remarked conversationally as we pulled away from the restaurant, “We reminded the temporary living of death, didn’t we?” The sudden jolt of a pothole jogged her lower jaw open, and for an instant I thought she would answer me. The instant passed, and I noticed the tow rows of small, white even teeth. I reflected on this, and mused that my traveling companion had ended her life young, and if young, why not beautiful as well?

I didn’t arrive home until late in the evening. I welcomed the cover of darkness and carried the skeleton, bride-like, into the house through the connecting garage. I brought her to the guest room, where I tried unsuccessfully to stand her on her feet. She collapsed with alarming speed, and I caught her at the last moment before she crashed to the floor. I looked around, and finally decided the only thing to do was lay her out on the bed.

That night I had many dreams; dreaming rarely happens with me. I awoke with a headache.

My throat was dry, and when I got up to go to the kitchen, the room swayed dizzily. I downed a glass of water and headed back for my bedroom, but felt suddenly so weak that I stumbled into the nearest room. It was the guest room. About to fall, I sank onto the bed next to the skeleton and shut my eyes. My heart was pounding as if I had been running. I dimly felt the touch of a cool shinbone of my side.

The telephone rang abominably loud. I reached it with difficulty on the third ring, and it took me a full minute to recognize the voice of my secretary, asking questions about my trip and wanting to know when I’d be back at the office. I told her I had a fever and wouldn’t be in that day.

“Would you like me to come over and take care of you?” she asked in a tone of voice which reminded me we were lovers.

“No,” I answered after a moment’s hesitation, “I’m fine. Just take care of your business.”

“I’ll come by after work then, all right?”

“If you want. But I already have one here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously.

“You’ll see when you get here,” I said.

“Are you trying to tell me you have a woman there?”

“Well…” I thought a moment. “Let’s say a former one.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she answered irritably.

“I told you, you’ll see when you get here. Excuse me now, I’m very tired,” I said, and hung up. I fell quickly into a deep sleep.

I was awakened by a scream. It was my secretary, Mary, standing over the bed, shocked and confused. I forced a smile as she gestured vaguely towards the skeleton on the bed and asked, “What’s this?” in a trembling voice. “What time is it?” I finally asked.

“One o’clock. Afternoon.” she answered, looking at her watch.

“I thought you were planning to come after work.”

“What is this?” she asked again.

“Not what,” I corrected her, “Who. This is also Mary.”

“Where did you get it,” she demanded.

“A gift.” I was tired of explaining. “Make me some strong tea, please.”

Her mood changed instantly to solicitous concern. She placed her hand on my brow.

“Keep it there,” I said, closing my eyes. Then I asked her again to make some tea. She gave one last backward glance as she left the bedroom.

My head swam sickeningly each time I tried to open my eyes, but I could keep them shut only for a moment, then the spinning sensation forced me to open them.

The live Mary returned with steaming tea on a tray.

The tea was excellent, strong and hot, with a perfect touch of lemon she had thought to add. I felt my strength returning, and as I drank, I reflected that one of the things I liked about Mary was the way she would ask a question, and, not getting an immediate answer, would stop asking and simply wait for me to tell her myself.

When I had finished my tea, I told her of my boney companion. Mary listened indifferently, then asked, “What are you going to do with her now?”

“Love,” I said with a laugh.

“Well, it’s a good choice,” she said slowly. “I may as well tell you now – I’m moving to Florida.”

I decided to keep discipline. “I wish you luck. Is it John?”

John was her beloved, with whom she had lived four yours and then left to come here, get a job with me, and unselfishly become my mistress. I had nothing against this, as my affairs with my employees did not affect our working relationship.

“Yes, it’s John,” she answered.

“Give him my regards.” I turned to face the skeleton. “You’ll have to excuse me now, I must get back to my bed.”

“All right.” She got up to leave.

“How long will you be working?” I asked as she was almost out the door.

“I can stay two weeks, but I’d rather leave sooner.”

“You can leave in a week.”

She thanked me and left. I listened to her footsteps, and the final soft closing of the front door. I stared for quite a while into Mary’s skull. She didn’t stir, and her teeth without lips to cover them seemed bared in a constant smile. She was so close to my eyes that her contours blurred and undulated. I put my hand on her ribcage, and the weight of it made them creak.

I withdrew my hand, afraid of breaking her, and smiled to myself at the thought of the damage a simple embrace might do.

I pressed my forehead against her cold, dry collarbone. ‘You won’t go away to any John,’ I thought sleepily. ‘The men who slept with you have no power now… you’ve no memory of them, no flesh. everything you have left belongs to me.’ I drifted into the living oblivion of sleep, where I remained until late in the evening. The room was dark when I awoke, and my hand had found its way onto her empty stomach, where it lay pressed into her clumsy backbone. I tucked my hand under the blanket and went back to sleep.

I was awakened in the morning by the birds singing outside my window. The fever was gone. I shook my head to test, and felt no pain. My body surged with joy at being cured. The skeleton still lay at my side, and to my refreshed mind this seemed a little strange. Overcoming the lingering weakness in my body, I got up and went to the bathroom where I sat in the tub for my shower, still unable to stay on my feet. In spite of my weak condition, I knew I had to go to the office. My responsibilities there rapidly turned into an unbearable weight around my neck if I let them to go, even for a day.

I remembered Mary’s announcement that she was quitting my company – and my life. Both departures saddened me, though sadness had become a familiar feeling to me because of all the separations I had endured in my life. Mary was an exceptional secretary and mistress, and she had brought definite convenience to my self-contained life.

At the office I sorted through the stacks of mail and phone messages, wrote replies, and generally did everything I could to make up for lost time. I felt weak, but in response to polite of obsequious questions about my health, I responded with the same standard “I’m fine.”

I went home in the afternoon, locking my eyes briefly with Mary on my way out. She was much cooler toward me now that she had made her decision to leave, but she didn’t try to avoid me.

The house seemed unusually big when I got home. It was big, of course, but in the past it had always secretly pleased me to think of all space I wasn’t using. Space that was always there, waiting for me. Today that space reminded me only of another space – the empty space defined by the thin bones of a skeleton. That space awaited me as well.

I entered the bedroom. She lay on the bed, with her legs of bone spread wide apart, with her eternally grinning skull. I envisioned her with muscle and flesh and blood around the white framework, building a woman upon it in my mind, and then mentally tearing her down, undressing her to this final, fragile diagram.

“You know, I’m as lonely as your bones are for their meat,” I said, and the sound of my voice echoed hollowly from the walls. I studied the bedspread through her breasts would have been, slowly letting my fingers fall through the empty slots between her ribs. I then took my hand and placed it inside her ribcage, my fingers reaching and closing around the spot where I knew her heart should have been. But there was no heart, and my fist closed only on empty air.

Still, her heartlessness was no disappointment. It was her silence and openness I felt drawn towards. With her I was calm – as I was with everyone I didn’t love. I sat down next to her on the bed and stroked her skull, its fine smooth coldness contrasted nicely with the other more porous bones of her body. A coldness and hardness that had known life and death. ‘You’ll listen to me,’ I thought, ‘you’ll be with me, experienced, knowing… maybe I’ll even come to love you for your natural devotion.’

The sound of the doorbell intruded on the silence. I don’t like uninvited guests, and I couldn’t think of anyone I would be happy to see. I flung the door open irritably. Before me stood a man in jeans and a jacket.

“Good evening, excuse me for the intrusion,” he said in a gentle voice which seemed incongruous coming from this rough face that seemed oddly familiar. “The boss sent me for the skeleton.”

It was then that I noticed his jeans were made with two differently colored legs, and I recognized the workman from Rail’s estate.

I was stunned. I stared at him stupidly for a moment, then asked, “What did you say?”

“The Boss sent me for the skeleton,” he repeated, more slowly this time.

“I thought it was a gift,” I said wanly.

He shrugged his shoulders inside the loose fitting jacket and fixed me with a steady gaze.

At a loss, I invited him into the living room, where he followed me after removing his shoes. I offered him a drink, but he refused. I grabbed a bottle and poured something into a glass, gulping it down quickly.

“Where is it? Let me get it,” he said.

“Wait a minute. I want to buy it. Her. How much does Rail want?”

A strangely familiar look flickered in the workman’s eyes. “The Boss say’s it’s not for sale. But he’ll trade.”

“For what?”

“The ring.”

Relief flooded my body as if a wave had washed me from head to toe. With weak fingers I slipped the ring from my hand and dropped it into the workman’s outstretched palm. His fingers closed around the ring, making a tight fist.

“Wait,” I said, stopping him at the door. I almost smiled at the look of surprise on his face.

“Give me a receipt.”

1984

Hero[3]

They decided to call the baby Hero. Such an unusual name showed the despairing ambition of the parents, who used the birth of a son as a generally accepted pretext for giving up on their own lives and transferring all of their unfulfilled hope to the child. When Hero was old enough to understand the meaning of his name, he began to feel that people constantly expected him to provide some justification of this meaning. And since he provided no justification, the name elicited laughter at first and then derision.

At school, for instance, he tried to distinguish himself in gymnastics classes, but neither strength nor agility was in his movements, and after the last in a sequence of failed exercises the instructor’s voice often thundered: “You there, Hero!” In an attempt to elude ridicule, Hero called himself Harold among his peers. But they soon found out somehow or other that he was not Harold but Hero.

The older he grew the more hopelessly convinced he became that he could not fulfill the obligations imposed on him by his name; and by the time he entered technical college to become an engineer he was a stoop-shouldered young man with a stomach ulcer. Although he considered himself a writer and wrote poetry instead of taking notes at lectures, here again he was deficient in that heroism which in art is called “talent.” In his love life also something essential was lacking, and since women guessing this, paid him no particular attention, he developed in himself what is known as a lofty attitude, which allowed him to avoid taking any sort of initiative.

One day the customary exchange of amorous experience was taking place in Hero’s peer group, and each boy discussed in detail the sensations felt and exhibited by his partners in love. Following the end of one lurid story, everyone turned to Hero, since it was his turn to talk. With a disdainful expression on his face Hero recited the following: