The Magus

The silence is wonderful. Every creature in the room is asleep. The hotel room is somewhat disheveled, but not messy. Small blades of light cut through the cracks in curtains and two men lay sharing a bed.

Bradbury’s eyelids twitch erratically with delicate orbs stirring beneath. Bradbury’s brain sends  signal after signal throughout his body, he is in some deep ecstasy. He has an erection.

Joshua lays on the bed next to him. Joshua’s eyes are not moving as fast beneath their lids. Joshua looks to be in some deep, nocturnal place. He is not dreaming, but he is peacefully aware of something. His expression looks like one a chocolatier would make when mouthing a fresh truffle. He also has an erection.

Bradbury and Joshua roll into one another. Their erections miss one another by mere inches. They breath nostril breathe onto one another, the dark wind from each of their lungs mixes within the small ravine created by their bodies.

Cherry and Francis sleep in another sector of the room in another bed. Cherry’s face looks like baked cream. Her hair is still a little damp from the late night bath. Her mouth is open, just barely, and the sound of her breath can not be heard.

Lying next to her, Francis lays curled up in a semi-ball. He is wearing only a pair of underwear. Francis is not fat but he is not skinny. Little folds of flesh collect at his center. He rolls onto his back and his body stretches out. The little man sleeps deeper than anyone else in the hotel room. It is clear he is dreaming. Francis seems to always be dreaming. What strange creatures now reside within the electrical mush of his skull? What world is he in?

He squints hard. Something is trying to pull him from his sleep. Something wants him to wake and to act upon the world. Francis rolls onto his stomach. He does not want to get up. He wants to stay asleep, he wants to continue to wade in his nocturnal depths.

The presence continues to pull at him, urging him to wake up. It is time to wake up, Francis. It is time for Francis to open his eyes and move things forward. Francis reacts by pulling the bed sheets over his head. In this moment he accidentally jabs his knee into Cherry’s hip. Francis freezes. He is awake. He does not say anything. Cherry seems to remain asleep.

The silence remains wonderful.

And then it is punctured by a small whisper.

“How do you feel?”

“The same.”

“I feel like I’m in love.”

“Me too.”

“It’s the tea. It makes love real.”

“Oh.”

“I think I really love you though.”

“I don’t know about that. What about your girl?”

“I love her too. But she isn’t in this moment.”

“I could lay here forever.”

“We should.”

“You have to go to a concert tonight.”

“Oh.”

“You have to drive to Saratoga.”

“I know. I’m too fucked up though.”

“You’ll be fucked up for a long time. It’s only going to get worse. By tonight you won’t know who you are.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Frank.”

“Do you want to come? I have an extra ticket.”

Just outside of the town of Pelham, there is a small coffee shop called the Tall and Small. A green Volkswagon Beetle pulls into the cafe’s parking lot. The parking job is less than sloppy. The engine cuts. The driver’s door opens. Joshua rolls onto the gravel parking lot. He has an ice-bucket on his head. Someone has inscribed the word “HELMET” on it with red lipstick. Bradbury pulls himself through the passenger-side window. Joshua and Bradbury are laughing hysterically. They push into the cafe. Francis and Cherry have their heads pressed together in the back seat of the car. Eventually they exit the vehicle.

The innards of the cafe contain thousands of little antique and recycled nicknacks. Bottles and tin objects line each shelf and nook. Old license plates are fastened to the wall from dozens of states and decades. There is a table made of Coke bottles and a booth that once belonged to a MacDonald’s. A round little Asian works with the controls of an espresso machine. Little tails of steam creep over her face. There is no one else in the cafe.

Everyone orders their breakfast. They sit at a booth. There are salt and pepper shakers at their booth. There is a Magic-8 ball. Joshua picks up the Magic-8 ball and shakes it.

“Will this be the sickest Phish show of all time?” he asks.

They all wait for the response.

“Fuck,” he says.

“What?” asks Cherry.

“There’s no answer. There’s no die inside. It must have dissolved.”

“Beautiful,” Francis says. Joshua places the Magic-8 ball in the center of the table.

The round Asian lady brings a pumpkin chai latte to Bradbury. Joshua gets an espresso. Cherry receives an iced-coffee and the woman hands Francis a cup of black fair-trade. They all look into their drinks and everyone relaxes a bit.

“I’m so fucked up,” Bradbury says. “I am surprised we drove here.”

“We still have three hours to get to Saratoga,” Cherry says.

“Fuck,” Francis says.

“I can drive. I’ve always been a good driver when I’m messed up,” Joshua says.

“How long will we be like this for?” Francis asks.

“Days,” Cherry says.

“Fuck.”

The round Asian woman brings three omelets and three bagels over. Joshua, Francis and Bradbury split them. Cherry gets an oat cake. Everyone nibbles on their food. Nobody has much of an appetite.

Francis takes the salt and begins to pour it on the table. He makes a hill of salt. He puts his face close to the salt as if trying to smell it. He watches the individual crystals fall from the silver holes of the shaker. An adult conversation starts up around him.

“Look across the street,” Joshua says. “Look at the Taco Bell.”

Across the street sits a Taco Bell restaurant. A tall sign advertises cheap, cheesy Mexican food.

“Look at that drive-thru line,” Joshua says.

“It’s out onto the street!” Bradbury says. There is an antique brass telescope hanging next to him. He pulls the telescope from the wall and looks through it. Francis begins spreading the salt along the table with his finger. He blows on stray salt so that it returns to to the fold.

“So what? Taco Bell is popular. You don’t have Taco Bell in Canada?” Cherry asks.

“No, it’s not that,” Joshua says. “There’s nobody in the restaurant. No cars. No people inside. The drive-thru line up is pouring onto the street. It’s congesting traffic.”

“Everyone in those cars are overweight,” Bradbury says as he adjusts the telescope.

“Frank are you seeing this?” Joshua asks.

“I’m in a good place right now,” he says. He makes a smiley face in the salt. He makes his face mime the shape of the smiley face.

“I don’t see the problem. It’s a big country, people need to eat,” Cherry says.

“Burritos at 10:30 am?” Joshua says. He takes a bite of his omelet. It looks as if he would rather be eating a burrito.

“Tonight I’m going to meet the man with all the answers,” Francis says.

“This is a fatty country,” Bradbury says.

“I’m going to meet a man too,” Joshua says.

Francis looks up from his sodium art.

“What?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Joshua says, “he’s called the Magus.”

Bradbury puts the telescope back and turns to Joshua.

“Who is the Magus?” Cherry asks.

“You’ve never heard of him? He goes to all the Phish concerts. He travels around with a lot of spiritualists. He is like, the original hippy. He used to hang around Alan Watts in the seventies.”

“Magus,” Francis says. He swirls his finger in the salt pile.

“My head feels like it’s going to roll down my chest,” Bradbury says. He sticks his tongue into his coffee. “Luhhhhh.”

“Cute,” Cherry says.

“What does he do?” Francis asks Joshua.

“Well he just talks to people. He talks about religion and he goes down and listens to music. He sells drugs and gives lectures and stuff. He’s amazing. We need to find his van when we get there. It will be surrounded.”

“The Magus has a van?” Cherry asks.

“He does. It’s a black van with all kinds of galaxies and stuff on it. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of this guy! The New York Times wrote an article on him once.”

“The New York Times has an article on Carrot Top,” Bradbury says.

“I think we should give him the box,” Joshua says.

Francis looks up into Joshua’s eyes.

“My box?”

The Asian waitress drops a mug on the floor but it doesn’t break. A man in a red van drives away from Taco Bell chewing on a fresh cheese roll-up. The omelets at the table are getting cold. Francis pushes his salt into a napkin and crumples it up.

“What is your box, Frank?” Cherry asks.

“Not something to give away,” Francis says.

“Last week you said I could have it!” Joshua says.

“I was stoned.”

“Now you’re fucked on tea!”

“So? I was kidding then. That box has been in my family for a long time!”

“He doesn’t even know what’s inside,” Bradbury says.

“Why not?” Cherry asks. She takes a long slurp of iced-coffee.

“My dad told me that we don’t open it, we just keep it.”

“Oooo,” Cherry says. “Mysterious.”

“It’s just a box,” Francis says.

“Then we should give it to the Magus,” Joshua says. He sits up straight. He would appear to be a serious, convincing man were it not for the lipstick marked ice-bucket on his head.

“This isn’t a game, Josh. You took my Ipod when yours broke, you took all of Lili’s paint brushes, you’re wearing my sneakers right now.”

“You threw them out,” Joshua says. “Fine. Sorry I asked. Keep your box.”

“You didn’t ask. Why should I give it away?”

“Because…I emailed him.”

“Who?”

“The Magus. I sent him an email.”

“The Magus has an email?” Bradbury asks.

“Yeah, last summer he talked about sacrifice at a Dave Matthews concert. He was saying that when you sacrifice something sacred to you, you become free. Then he started a fire and people were throwing in books and rings and necklaces and stuff. I threw in my favorite hoodie.”

“So what? Who gives a fuck? I don’t believe in sacrifice,” Francis says.

“Well just look,” Joshua says. “After I got rid of my hoodie, I got a job with the bank. I hooked up with a bunch of girls. My hair started growing back!”

Joshua takes the bucket off of his head and points to his hair line. It looks hopeful.

“So?”

“So, I’m saying if you want to start making some money with your writing you need to do something dramatic with your life. Sacrifice the box.”

“Well,” Bradbury says, “to be fair, Frank is fucked up on drugs and he cheated on his girlfriend last night. I think he is doing some dramatic things.”

“I thought we agreed not to verbalize this, B-bear?” Cherry says.

“Sorry, I’m making a point.”

“Now I feel like shit,” Francis says. He puts his head onto the table. The remaining scatter of salt goes into his hair.

“Though, Frank,” Cherry says. “There is a point here. Sacrifice can be powerful. In ancient Palestine they believed sacrificing could open a channel for energies to flow between the sacrificer and divinity. Who knows what could happen to you as you watch something of lineage burn away.”

“That’s exactly what the Magus talks about,” Joshua says.

“What do you think?” Francis asks, his attention on Bradbury.

“Ask the Magic-8 ball,” Bradbury says.

© 2009, Metazen. All rights reserved.

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Tags: American Serial

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 25th, 2009 at 12:34 pm