Novel Treatments / TAAFB Chapter 1: Knots
I sidestepped the homeless man. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to get arrested. I didn’t want to piss him off either; didn’t want to give him an excuse to shoot me. Everyone had their piece.
The bus stops were too far apart once you got out of Downtown. Getting home from work was consistently a problem; traffic was bad and I had to walk on the edges of Orange zones just to make my transfer.
Up ahead I could see trouble approaching. A woman, it looked like, wearing a big black robe. Like she was a priest who just got off work.
I looked to my right, hoping to cross to the other side of the street. I still had a block between us almost.
A bus burned past me, speeding through the dangerous area. And then I heard her calling out to me. I turned to face her; the confrontation was unavoidable.
“This is a Happening,” she said, bouncing up to me – looking like she was going to Happen all over me whether I liked it or not.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. Instead she handed me a pamphlet:
Official word of the Catholic Church. Rejoice! Tuesday 8:00PM @ Our Lady of the Cedars, 1800 N. Cross.
The Catholics were big in Banlo Bay.
“I didn’t know you guys advertised,” I said.
“Just me.” Then she looked up at me. She was pretty, young. Sweaty. “Do I know you?”
“I doubt it,” I said. I didn’t know many women.
“I think I do know you. Two weeks ago, at that crazy Orphan Camp Memorial shootout?”
It was her, lilacs and lavender.
“Shit, yeah. I guess I do remember you. I’m glad to see you got out of there in one piece.”
No thanks to me.
“More or less.” She lifted up here sleeve to reveal a pale, slender arm with a large yellow bruise that looked at home beneath her skin.
“Sorry to see that. Sorry I –“
“Don’t think about it,” she said. “It’s not like that. So what’s your name?”
“I’m Clark Horton,” I say, extending my hand. She takes it in a skittish sweaty mess.
“I’m Erika Bronton. I’ve only got fifteen minutes, but do you want to maybe get a drink?”
“Can you drink? And what are you anyway, a female priest?”
“No not really, I’m an actor. Lets get a drink, I want to ask you something,” she said and turned, expecting me to follow her.
I started to get worried. I’d heard before that sometimes crooks and gangs used women to lure in bystanders; did I really know who she was? I should be heading home already.
“Coming?” she asked. When she twisted around, the thin black sheet of her robe outlined her form. I followed.
She led me a half block away to a greasy bar where everything was dark even though it was still light out and the fluorescent bulbs cast in yellow-brown stains. She ordered two beers like her outfit was perfectly normal.
“So you were in the Orphanage too?” she asked as we sat down at a booth.
“Yeah, I was. Only for a few months before it burned down. I was like thirteen I think.” I scratched my head. Talking about it made me uncomfortable.
“I was there for two years,” she said. “I was fifteen when it all went down.”
So she was thirty now. There was hope for me; I’d been worried she might end up being twenty-four and too cool.
“So what’s the deal now? You’re a priest, or are you an actor, or…?”
“All of the above,” she grinned. “I’m an artist. You should come with me in about five minutes, I’ve got a show to do. Then I’m off for the night. It’s so weird that I’d see you twice like this. I think it’s gotta be fate.”
I wonder if she was flirting with me, and if she was, what she was after. I was still waiting for the other boot to fall; waiting for the pitch.
“What kind of art do you do?”
“I told you, I do Happenings. I’m a Situationalist,” she said.
Great - crazy.
“What does that even mean anyway?” I asked.
“You’ll see. What do you do?”
“I work in Tasumec Tower,” I said. “I just watch the cameras, tell the security guards where to go, that sort of thing.”
She took another long gulp of her beer. Her throat undulated in rhythm with the wavelengths on the surface of her drink.
“It’s not that special. They all know what to do already,” I said.
She still didn’t respond.
“I don’t even get a gun. I just make radio calls. Half of the time I’m asleep. I’m terrible at it really.” I couldn’t shut up.
“Are you Catholic?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “I’m nothing. I mean, look around. I’d like to believe, maybe. I just… can’t. It’s too depressing.”
“No, I don’t believe in God either, not yet. I’m glad you don’t, it’s gonna make this next part a lot easier. Lets go, the church is just right around the corner.”
She pulled me away from my half-full beer and nearly dragged me out of the bar. She was very forward, moving at a speed I wasn’t comfortable with. I still felt like I was being taken in by some sort of scam.
I walked briskly behind her as she charged ahead to another in a long string of back-to-back buildings. Mostly repurposed clothing stores, shoe stores, golf club stores, all that other stuff that mattered fifteen years ago. An area becoming Orange instinctively knew all that could save it were, in order: liquor, gun, God.
The church had been a department store as well and the low ceilings felt especially cramped with three dozen people, mostly derelicts, crowded inside. Erika turned to me and touched my hand – I froze – and then rushed up to the lectern. She adjusted her robes so that they were situated squarely on her pleasantly curved frame.
I sidled up next to a man with a twisted leg. Polio; I had been immunized at the Orphanage. My parents wouldn’t have risked the vaccine on me but the government would.
“I have an important announcement from Vatican City,” Erika said in an authoritative voice. “This will only take a moment. If you could all settle down please, I’d like to begin.”
No one seemed to question the fact that she was a female priest. I wondered if they had seen her before.
Silence settled over the large room as the last few people trickled in out of the heat.
“The Vatican has issued an edict. All church grounds are being opened up as homeless shelters; the Pope welcomes you to sleep in any church courtyard, atrium, cathedral, foyer, sanctuary, mausoleum if you dare – every available inch of space is going to be used to support the homeless and anyone still suffering from the effects of the Collapse, as so many are. That is the entirety of the message,” Erika said. “And if you’d like to sleep here, that’s fine.”
Erika backed away from the lectern and walked back around to meet me.
“Seriously?” I mouthed.
The crowd around me murmured and shifted; many looked like they hadn’t slept indoors in a long time. They seemed agreeable about the arrangement, though they were hard to read and mostly silent.
I knew how they felt. After the economic Collapse and the Orphanage fire I’d spent three years on the streets just trying to survive. It was stupid to get your hopes up about anything.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing my wrist again and pulling me towards the back of the Church. We passed into a small kitchen.
“You know they’re gonna figure out there’s more space back here,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m not staying here tonight.”
“So why did you do that?” I asked.
“I film it,” she said, filling up a glass of water. “I sell the footage. Sometimes a film crew comes to film the priest actually kicking people out of the church. People love it. And I like to help the homeless folk out.”
“What happens to the church?”
“They put their money where their mouth is,” she said. “They want to help they should just help. These people didn’t have a place to sleep tonight. Now they do.”
“Sounds…” I struggled to come up with something other than ‘narrow.” “Interesting,” I said. I didn’t want to offend her.
“Yeah. So I wanted to propose something to you,” she said quietly.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I gulped.
“I’m going to start a new project and I need a subject. I want you to be in this performance art piece with me,” she said.
“No way. The spotlight is really not my thing, trust me.”
“No, look. Hear me out. I think, here’s what I want to do – I want to pick one person, you, and just worship them for like half a year. Believe everything they say or do must be absolutely correct because that person is God. Then after it’s over I write about how it worked out – I have to have rights to the story, not you – and bam, that’s a good article right?”
I fumbled through her feed.
“I’m trying to prove that the act of believing in something is more important than what you believe in,” she said.
“That’s a cool idea I guess, but I’m not the guy. Can’t we just get a drink maybe? We barely know each other.”
“It’s impossible to meet anyone in this city. We were at the same orphanage, that has to count for something right?” she said. I could see her getting desperate.
“Look,” Her eyes showed signs of desperation as they glistened. She looked down at her plain black robe. “I can give you part of the profit from the book.”
And then I realized what this was. She needed a place to sleep.
My heart fell.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I’m barely making it myself, seriously. I need to be at home like two hours ago, I’m usually asleep by now. I’ve gotta get to work tomorrow, you know how it is,” I stumbled. “Usually I’m more helpful, seriously.” I saw an Exit sign behind the freezer and started walking towards it.
I didn’t trust her. She was too pretty, too eager. Too weird. I’d heard a lot of these artist types were drug addicts.
I was out in the alley and walking towards the street before she caught up to me. She stood in front of me and looked directly at me.
“I’m a performance artist. You’re my next piece,” she said.
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The dialogue was strong in this piece. The descriptive parts, they gave a general idea, could maybe use another look in some areas. The grammer was very good as far as I could tell. This is an interesting story and I’m very interested in seeing how it turns out.
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Interesting idea. I think some of the dialogue is really good. The descriptive passages not so much. Too staccato. I would have liked a little more explanation of the main character, so I could see why he would be dragged along by her. I gather he is just drifting emotionally but it needs to be clarified a little more. Could she not show him how he would be worshipped? That would give it a little more spice, make him agreeable. I’m interested to see where this goes so that’s a good sign.
here sleeve – her sleeve
Now that I’ve read the first chapter, I have to say the same thing as I did for chapter 2. It’s captivating. You’ve captured my interest and held it. Obviously since I used the word captured. It’s well written. Just the one tiny typo and that’s it. Outstanding work. I like the fast pace too. I like the simplicity of your writing. Can’t wait for chapter 3. Well done.
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