I took a drag and exhaled.
“No,” I said. “I think I should just leave you both alone before I ruin everyone’s life.”
“You wouldn’t ruin my life,” Robby said.
“I don’t want to hurt you or Shann, Rob,” I said.
I was ruining Robby’s and Shann’s lives, even if Robby told me I wasn’t.
I was disgusted with myself.
We threw our cigarette butts down and stamped them out on the grit of the roof.
A police siren wailed. We could see the pulse of red lights coming closer through the night toward Kimber Drive.
“Do you think someone saw us come up the ladder?” Robby said.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “We should get out of here before we get arrested, or shit like that.”
DENNY DRAYTON HAS A GUN, MOTHERFUCKER
JOHNNY MCKEON TURNED off all the lights.
He was inside From Attic to Seller Consignment Store, waiting for the coyote cry of the Iowa State Patrol car that had been dispatched from Waterloo.
The State Patrol was responding to an emergency alarm Johnny McKeon rang when he saw Hungry Jack and the other Unstoppable Soldiers in the alley at Grasshopper Jungle.
There was only one bored trooper in the patrol car. He sat behind the wheel. He was bored because he was coming to Ealing. Nothing ever happened in Ealing, and he figured it was going to be another pile of Ealing nothing crap from a false alarm at an abandoned business in a loser town.
Ealing, Iowa, was the elephants’ graveyard for American entrepreneurism.
The trooper was named Denny Drayton.
It was a good Iowa name.
Denny Drayton’s skin was nearly translucent white, the sickly color of the coconut center in a Mounds bar. He had absolutely no hair.
Denny Drayton needed to take a shit. He hoped wherever he was heading to had a shitter that worked, and toilet paper, too. Denny Drayton carried a pack of baby wipes in his patrol car for emergencies, like when he’d pull off to the side of the road and shit in someone’s yard.
The baby wipes in Denny Drayton’s patrol car were made in a place called Eden Prairie, Minnesota.
That is the truth.
Denny Drayton chewed tobacco while he was on patrol. He held a plastic liter Diet Coke bottle between his thighs as he drove. The Diet Coke bottle was three-fourths full of hot tobacco spit. Iowa State Troopers were not supposed to chew tobacco on the job, but Denny Drayton had a motto for just about every situation he encountered.
His motto was this: Fuck that shit. I have a gun, motherfucker.
Denny Drayton’s motto was tattooed in an arc of Old English lettering that made a semicircle like a rising sun over his white and hairless belly button.
Fuck that shit. I have a gun, motherfucker.
Denny Drayton shaved his entire body every morning. He shaved all his hair off, even his eyebrows and pubic hair.
Trooper Drayton also had a tattoo of the flag for the Confederate States of America. The stars and bars flag was tattooed directly on the front of Denny Drayton’s hairless scrotum.
Denny Drayton was most likely insane.
Denny liked to show off his hairless body and the tattoos of his motto and the Confederate flag in the shower room at the police station in Waterloo. Denny Drayton told his police officer friends that he got the tattoo of his motto for reading material, just in case he ever hooked up with a bitch who was smart enough to read and give blow jobs at the same time.
Denny Drayton had one joke, and that was it.
It wasn’t a particularly good joke, and everyone knew it. But Denny Drayton had a gun, motherfucker.
The six-foot-tall praying mantis beast that used to be named Travis Pope lumbered out of The Pancake House on his four clicking lower legs. He was a little groggy. Will Wallace had been exceedingly drunk, and Unstoppable Soldiers are sensitive to eating drunk people and people who smoke meth and shit like that.
Travis Pope only wanted to find the swarm and go dormant with them overnight.
Denny Drayton was just pulling into the parking lot.
Johnny McKeon noticed the flashing red lights through the glass front of his secondhand store. Johnny McKeon had a gun—a Smith & Wesson .500 magnum.
The gun weighed six pounds.
A Smith & Wesson .500 magnum could blow a man’s head off.
Pastor Roland Duff saw the lights on Trooper Denny Drayton’s patrol car, too. Roland Duff had come back from Waterloo, where he had met a nice Christian man at the Tally-Ho!
Roland Duff sat alone inside Satan’s Pizza. He was eating a small Stanpreme. Roland Duff was exchanging text messages with his new friend. Roland Duff was very excited. He had an erection. Pastor Roland Duff and his new friend were flirting suggestively, and arranging a date for Saturday evening.
Roland Duff’s new friend was named Shaun Doherty.
Shaun Doherty owned a septic pumping business. He lived in a town called West Bazine, which was in Iowa. East Bazine did not exist at all.
Shaun Doherty and Pastor Roland Duff planned on meeting at the Waterloo Cinezaar on Saturday evening.
They were going to see Eden Five Needs You 4.
That was the plan, at least.
Denny Drayton turned his spotlight onto the dark front of The Pancake House. His keen sense of Iowan normalcy alerted Denny Drayton that something was not right. Windows were shattered, the front door had been torn from its hinges, and it looked like there were some bloody shoes and a belt lying on the sidewalk in front of the mall.
“Something’s not right here,” Denny Drayton said.
Denny Drayton spit into his Coke bottle and pinched another wad of black, moist tobacco from a can of Copenhagen he kept pinned behind the patrol car’s sun visor.
He farted. Denny Drayton admired the smell of his own farts.
“I really need to take a shit,” Denny Drayton said.
Then the Iowa trooper saw Travis Pope, an Unstoppable Soldier, moving with mechanical jerkiness through the debris field of blood, glass, clothing, and imitation-maple-flavored pancake syrup.
Denny Drayton opened the door on his patrol car. He spit onto the asphalt of the Ealing Mall’s parking lot and then stood up, angling his spotlight so it would fully illuminate the strange creature in front of The Pancake House.
It was not a good idea.
Denny Drayton thought it must have been some kind of prank. Maybe somebody was making a movie or something. Denny Drayton wished he could be in a movie.
“What the heck is that shit?” Denny Drayton said.
Denny Drayton drew his pistol. His gun was a 9mm Sig Sauer model P250.
Denny Drayton’s pistol was made in New Hampshire.
Compared to Johnny McKeon’s Smith & Wesson .500 magnum, Denny Drayton’s weapon was a rubber band gun.
Travis Pope’s attention was riveted to all the lights blazing from the patrol car. He was not hungry, but he decided to kill the man making all the noise and light, anyway. Unstoppable Soldiers do that kind of shit.
Johnny McKeon came outside just then. Johnny pointed his powerful pistol in the direction of Travis Pope. Johnny McKeon was not a good shot. He knew he would miss hitting the creature unless he got very, very close.
Pastor Roland Duff had never had sex with another person in his entire life. He believed he was ready to have sex with his new friend, Shaun Doherty. Roland Duff imagined the thrill of experimenting with another man after all his lonely years. He was very excited about it. Roland Duff adjusted his uncomfortable erection and sat watching the police lights from across the street. He was curious. Pastor Roland Duff could not tell what was going on.
Sometimes, Pastor Roland Duff counseled himself over his own doubts and weaknesses. He could not decide whether he was a virgin or not. Pastor Roland Duff did belie
ve that masturbation was immoral and compromising. Roland Duff was frequently wracked by guilt. He was uncertain if he could still be a virgin and masturbate as often as he did. Pastor Roland Duff thought he would masturbate when he got back home that night.
Pastor Roland Duff did not really get the chance.
At exactly that moment, ash flakes fell like snow in Guatemala on the home of Robert Brees Sr. For some strange reason, Robert Brees Sr. thought about the son he’d left behind in Iowa. Robby would be sixteen now, he thought. Robert Brees Sr. watched the ashes falling and falling. He had not thought about his son in years.
Eric Christopher Szerba was lying awake in a hospital bed. Eric was looking at the tubes and medications near the head of his bed, and wondering if anything there could be useful to him in committing suicide.
Robby Brees and I were driving out from Ealing toward the McKeon House. We were going back to Eden to watch the last reels from Eden Orientation Series. Robby played Let It Bleed in the tape deck.
And Robby sang along with Love In Vain.
Robby Brees reached across the center console and put his hand on top of mine.
The wife of the vice president of the United States of America was performing oral sex on the vice president. It was the vice president’s birthday, and the vice president of the United States of America was getting a blow job. Franklin and Theodore were very happy.
I had not named my balls.
Robby Brees had not named his balls, either. I asked him about it.
And Robby said to me, “Who would ever name his balls?”
I said, “I would like to, but once you give your balls names, there is no going back.”
“Well, if you do think up names for your balls, let me know what they are. I would hate for us to have balls with the same names in such a small town as Ealing,” Robby decided.
Robby was always so smart about small town social blunders and shit like that.
“Having balls with the same name as your best friend’s is a serious social blunder,” I said.
That is the truth.
“Get down on the ground!” Trooper Denny Drayton said to Travis Pope.
Johnny McKeon was very scared. He crept across the parking lot. The Smith & Wesson .500 magnum was so heavy, it hurt Johnny McKeon’s wrist just to hold it.
Travis Pope got closer and closer to Denny Drayton.
The last thing Denny Drayton said was his motto. He said, “Fuck this shit. I have a gun, motherfucker.”
Then Denny Drayton began shooting at Travis Pope.
Johnny McKeon ducked.
Across the street, Pastor Roland Duff ducked.
Denny Drayton fired and fired and fired.
Unstoppable Soldiers do not like being shot at. They also have exoskeletons that are as bulletproof as the hull of an aircraft carrier.
They are unstoppable.
Denny Drayton emptied his gun. He was in the process of reloading when Travis Pope unhinged his barbed arms and picked Denny Drayton up by his head. Travis Pope bit most of the trooper’s head off and let Denny Drayton’s hairless and tattooed body fall down onto the blacktop.
Johnny McKeon whispered, “Well, I’ll be danged.”
Johnny was smart. He did not fire his pistol at the monster. Johnny McKeon quietly went around to the driver’s side of his truck, got behind the wheel, and drove off.
Stan, the owner of Satan’s Pizza, and Pastor Roland Duff, the headmaster from Curtis Crane Lutheran Academy, were not so smart.
But they were curious. Pastor Roland Duff was curious about a lot of things. He was still fantasizing about Shaun Doherty.
Nothing exciting ever happened in Ealing. Pastor Roland Duff and Stan, the owner of Satan’s Pizza, who had come from behind the counter when he heard what sounded like gunfire, stepped out onto the street to see what was causing all the commotion across Kimber Drive at Grasshopper Jungle.
It was not a good idea.
EXILE IN EDEN
ROBBY DROVE THE Ford Explorer through the fields of weeds and brambles behind Shann’s house.
He parked beside the dilapidated chicken coops where the hatch into Eden sat nearly unnoticeable in the center of an old concrete pad.
Ingrid was excited. She had found a new place to shit.
Robby opened the hatch. The welcome recording began again and the room below us lit up.
I took my phone out of the pocket of my Eden 5 jumpsuit. I did not need to explain to Robby that I was calling Shann Collins. Robby knew what I was doing. I wanted to try to get Shann to listen to me.
We all needed to be safe now, and the Unstoppable Soldiers had come out in Ealing.
Shann would not answer my call. I knew she was not asleep. It was 11:00. No teenager in the world goes to sleep before 11:00. I left a voice message as Robby stood near and listened. There was no need to hide anything from Robby Brees.
I had no secrets with him.
I had no secrets with Shann Collins, either.
This is what I said:
“Shann, I am sorry. I told you I do stupid shit without thinking about who I might hurt. But the truth is, I think you need to come to Eden. Me and Robby are going back inside now, so my phone won’t work, just in case you want to tell me I am disgusting again. We have the rest of the film. I think something terrible is happening in Ealing, and maybe we are the only ones who can stop it. Well. Uh. I love you, Shann. I really do love you. You have to know that, Shann. Please come to Eden with me and Robby. Hurry.”
I put the phone back inside my jumpsuit. I rubbed the silver medallion of Saint Kazimierz between my thumb and finger.
I said, “Saint Kazimierz, I am Polish. I am a kid. I’m not sure if I’m technically a virgin or not. But a solid two out of three gives me hope you might look out for me and Robby and Ingrid.”
Robby stood, watching me.
And I said, “I really do love you, Robby. How can I be in love with two people at the same time?”
Robby said, “I don’t know how you can do that, Austin.”
It was very difficult carrying Ingrid down the ladder.
Not only did I fail to think about bringing clean underwear and shit like that, I never even thought about how I would get a sixty-pound golden retriever down a very tall ladder.
Robby had to help. We sandwiched Ingrid between us and climbed down. We must have looked like a reject hybridization of two boys and a barkless dog. That was probably some kind of shit they pulled at McKeon Industries back in the sixties, too.
By the time we finally got down into the mudroom, we were both damp with sweat, we smelled like dog fur, and the repeated welcoming tape was driving us crazy.
“I have B.O.,” I said.
“I know,” Robby agreed.
Robby and I went back up one final time to get my history books and the things Robby had brought from the Del Vista Arms. Then we sealed the three of us—me, Ingrid, and Robby—inside the Eden Project.
Robby and I put on clean pairs of white Eden scientist socks in the locker room. I thought about changing into a clean jumpsuit, but I did not want to give up the number 5. I wanted to take a shower, but we had too much shit to do.
Robby Brees left his bundle of things on the bench we’d been sitting on. I carried the two final reels of film, and Robby followed me into the theater room.
A CHANCE MEETING UNDER A PORTRAIT OF A PRESBYTERIAN, OR, CALVIN COOLIDGE’S CANOE
MY FATHER’S NAME is Eric Andrew Szerba.
His Polish name was Arek Andrzej Szczerba.
His father, Felek, was a scientist at McKeon Industries.
Felek Andrzej Szczerba was the world’s first Unstoppable Soldier.
All roads cross here on my desk. As a historian, I realize, too, that we are all on the same road, all the time.
Sometimes we
drive in circles or the wrong way, because we are stupid like that.
And that was my day. You know what I mean.
Eric Szerba, my father, was only a little boy when Felek was killed.
Raising five fatherless Polish boys in Ealing, Iowa, was a tremendous challenge for my grandmother, Ksenia Szczerba. Dr. Grady McKeon saw to it that the family was provided for, so Ksenia never had to go to work, and McKeon Industries subsidized the five brothers’ education.
All the Szczerbas moved far away from Iowa after my grandmother died. Ksenia Szczerba died of exhaustion in 1992, several years before I was born. Only my father, Eric, stayed in Ealing, where he became a teacher after graduating college.
Eric Szerba’s first teaching assignment was at Herbert Hoover High School, Ealing’s public school. He began teaching when he was twenty-two years old.
In his first year of teaching World History, Eric Szerba met a fifteen-year-old boy named Kelly Kenney.
Kelly Kenney is a true Iowa kind of name for a boy. It is a name that almost tastes like buttermilk biscuits and honey.
Kelly Kenney was not such a good student. But Kelly Kenney was persistent. At least once per week, Kelly Kenney would say this to Eric Szerba:
“Hey, Mister Szerba. You should meet my sister, Connie. She is twenty years old and a real dynamo. You are single, right, Mister Szerba? You should go out with Connie. Here is our phone number. Connie likes going to the movies, and you would make a nice couple. Connie is not a slut, either. Ha-ha. You should call on her, Mister Szerba. That would be neat!”
Eric Szerba was not the kind of young man who would ever call a girl based on urgent pleading from a fifteen-year-old boy. Eric and Connie would never have met solely as a result of Kelly Kenney’s persistent prodding.
It was Connie Kenney who came in to Eric Szerba’s classroom on behalf of her parents, at Herbert Hoover High School’s Open House in the fall semester of 1982.
In 1982, every classroom at Herbert Hoover High School had a portrait of Ronald Reagan hanging above the blackboard. Ronald Reagan was president of the United States of America in 1982. I can find no historical records anywhere that detail whether Ronald Reagan ever took a shit, or if he named his balls.