Moosehair Underwear

 

Now the tears have dried up. We’re in our comfortable room in a lodge, somewhere between Talkeetna and Chickaloon. The open fire gives off way too much heat, but that’s okay. It helps my facial muscles relax.

I’d been crying for the last fifteen miles. No, not really crying, but the freezing cold wind was eating into my face and drilling into my eyes, which made my lacrimal glands go crazy.

I’m not an overly sensitive person, but the head in the truck bed of my pick-up makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, even though it’s covered with a huge tarp. It’s also because of the climatic circumstances of the cold season and, of course, the windshield that’s missing.

I didn’t like this. But Jesse insisted on taking the head with us. At least the head, he said. He wanted the whole body, but I said, only over my dead body. And that was something he wasn’t willing to challenge at this hour of the day. And after all, it was my pick-up we’d taken up to Alaska. Fucking Alaska!

 

A moose, a Giant Alaskan moose, for fuck’s sake! How did this even happen? That gigantic beast jumped out through the undergrowth, staggered across the frozen road and stopped, hypnotised by our headlights. We couldn’t help but skidding into the paralysed roadblock, wrecking the whole front of the truck. And then these gargantuan antlers. They’re called antlers, aren’t they? To me they looked more like huge excavator shovels, even more so when they came poking through the windshield.

Once the windshield was smashed, and the moose’s shovels got stuck in the windshield’s frame, Jesse wasn’t the same anymore. Not my sister’s little boy any longer. I haven’t seen him like this before. He whipped around, retrieved his dad’s hunting rifle, which he’d been hiding under the backseat, and – without batting an eye – put at least nine bullets into the mooster’s forehead. The moose took some time to realise what had hit him, then collapsed onto the hood, lifting the pick-up’s rear end up high.

Of course, Jesse was the first one out there. Jumping around in excitement. Can we take it home, he wanted to know. I said what I had to say, but he insisted on keeping the head.

I should’ve known better, but I was stupid enough to challenge him by saying, but you do it. This, he didn’t need to be told twice. In no time he was up on the truck again, digging the chainsaw out of the aluminium box on the loading space. The moose’s head then, was severed from its body in the most brutish manner.

I was still in a mixed state of disgust and amazement, when I found myself helping him put the bloody thing into the truck bed and cover it with the tarp.

 

The lodge was barely visible from the road. It was hidden within an enormous drift of snow, a thick layer weighing down on the roof. Only a meagrely flashing neon arrow behind a thick wall of icicles hinted at civilization. The slow and sleepy guy at the reception wasn’t really functioning yet in these small hours of the day.

“There’s a … wooden board with … registration forms … over there … Just put down your … details and leave it … on the counter … I’ll take … care of it first thing … in the morning.” the receptionist said, already on the way back to his cosy cot. We were standing with our backs towards him, but he wasn’t even paying attention to us.

“Just take the … big key to the … right.” he gestured with his hand, “The one with … the plastic moose for a key tag … That’s room … one-o-one … On the … upper landing to the … left.” The door snapped shut and we were alone in the foyer.

“Phew, that was close.” I said, “We look like two clumsy butchers on the run.” Jesse just shrugged it off impassively and went up the stairs.

We took turns taking long hot showers to wash the treacherous blood off our bodies. Then we burned the clothes in the open fire. Jesse said that this is something they would’ve done in the movies, so I let him have it that way.

Early in the morning, I woke up because something was about to break, overhead. Jesse was already up and about. Before the main beam came down on my bed, Jesse managed to yank me out of it. But we were still being showered with tons of snow sliding in from the caved in roof. From somewhere the open fire was still supplied with enough oxygen to keep going. The furnace melted all the incoming snow within minutes, leaving behind a pool of ice cold water.

 

Now, we are in the gift shop, the only place in the lodge that is still intact. Around the shop there are shelves and glass cabinets filled with souvenirs. Dreamcatchers, wooden bears, you name it. There is also a space for sweets. The Chocolate moose, with a passion for intricate details, catch my eye. However, we are completely soaked, and in dire need of something dry to wear, or we’ll catch pneumonia, soon.

“I am terribly sorry … for what happened … this morning … We should’ve … gotten the roof fixed … long before winter.” the receptionist comes shuffling in with his head lowered, “And I was just talking … to the management … on the phone.” He puts a heavy leather briefcase on the counter. “To avoid an unpleasant …ahem … lawsuit, we offer you … a lifetime membership card for our lodge, which means you can stay and use our facilities for free, … with breakfast included. The cards” he goes on, “will be issued … in your names only. This basically means … that they are not … transferable.”

We stare at him, completely lost.

“Yes, I know, … this is not much but, … please hear me out, … I am also authorised … to offer you each … an annual pass for the … Denali national park … How does that sound?”

“Excuse me, but we don’t want any of these.” I say, “If you’d just something dry for us to jump in. That would be absolutely fabulous. We’re completely soaked.”

“Oh, sorry, of course! … If the gentlemen … would like to come … over here.” The slow receptionist walks even slower over to the section with the merchandise stuff. On the way we pass by a counter that seems to interest Jesse.

“What the hell is this, dude?” Jesse asks. Under the glass of the counter lies something that looks like a mangy rabbit turned into knickers. The receptionist looks over and swallows hard.

“Oh that, I am so sorry! … But someone … took down …” the receptionist struggles, “Mighty Zeus last night …”

“Mighty Zeus, seriously?!” I interrupt the painstakingly slow receptionist. “Who the hell is he?”

“He has fathered … most of the young … calves in this area.”

“Oh, I see, just some breeding bull from Greece, huh?!” I joke.

“No, no, no, … you don’t understand! … He is … ahem … was our mascot around here.” the receptionist tries to clarify.

“A mascot! What mascot?”

“Don’t you know? … Mighty Zeus … the moose!”

“Oh really?!” Jesse chimes in excitement, “THE Mighty Zeus?! I once watched a documentary about him when I was a kid! I can’t believe it was him!”

“Yes, … that’s the one … And they even … These barbaric bastards! … They took his head!” he forces reluctantly out of his vocal cords, suppressing tears.

“No shit?!” I blurt out, “Are trying to tell us that you knitted these rags out of Mighty Zeus’ hair?!”

“Ohhh nooo, of course not!” he succumbs into rampant waves of heavy sobbing.

My eyes go from Slo-mo, the receptionist, quickly to Jesse and over to the tarp on the pick-up outside in the parking lot on the other side of the road. Luckily, I’ve parked the truck with the front away from the road. With my eyes back on Jesse, I mouth “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Jesse nods.

 

Now the tears have dried up, and Slo-mo looks at us again.

“I’m sorry, … but the news has … thrown me off … the track here.” he struggles, “And of course, this here … gentlemen … is our moose hair underwear collection.” he continues, regaining composure.

Even though I’m beginning to feel even more uncomfortable, my face is all question marks.

“These are quite popular with the Chinese and Korean tourists.”

“Why is that?” I say, biting my tongue quickly after the words have left my mouth.

“Someone claims to have found out that pulverised hair from the Giant Alaskan moose is a natural potency-enhancing drug. We just make an additional dime with upselling our underwear, as well.”

“And what are these good for?” Jesse frowns.

“You know, we just tell them that if men wear them close to their private parts, it’ll have an enlarging effect, too.”

“Do they have …” Jesse hesitates, “… the desired effect?” Definitely not my sister’s little boy any longer.

“You can try … if you want.” Slo-mo is honing his upselling skills.

“What do they sell by?” Jesse asks with gleeful interest.

“Fifty bucks a piece … do you want one?”

With the inconvenience of having a national mascot’s severed head hidden under a tarp on the back of my pick-up truck, I feel quite keen on leaving this place. I look at Jesse and he reads my expression well.

Jesse smiles at Slo-mo and says, “Well, we take two then! And two of the knitted sweaters and some pants, as well.” He smirks at me, and I hand him the cash, teeth-gnarshingly.

In the absence of a fitting room, we change into our dry clothes silently behind a stand-up display, showing our bull moose and his offspring in an awkward genealogical tree.

“Have a nice day and safe travels!” says Slo-mo, “And, of course, thank you for shopping with us today.”

“Anytime.” I say, closing the door behind us.

 

With fringed cowboy pants, sweaters with Zeus, the moose knitted in on the front and, of course, our latest acquisition in itchy underwear, we are trying to make our way over to the truck as inconspicuously as possible.

An Utterly Odd Perfectionist

“I hate it when this happens! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” I hiss through my gritted teeth. My whole body is convulsing, with my hands clinging to the table top, rattling the big piece of canteen furniture.

“Calm down, please, will you?!” the nurse says, “You should’ve checked today’s dietary menu on the board over there, then you would’ve been prepared.”

“I did!” I bark back, “But it was changed after breakfast this morning!”

I am really pissed off right now. I push the tines of the fork under the plate. I also put the knife under the fork to get a better leverage. Then I lift my fist. I am ready to lower the fist quickly onto the fork’s handle, when the nurse sweeps in and whisks the plate off my fork-knife contraption, just a blink of an eye before my fist makes heavy contact with the handle and sends the fork flying off the table, somersaulting, describing an almost perfect arch, before piercing into my favourite cactus on the nearby windowsill. I also hate it when this happens, although it does not happen that often. But still …

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no …” I start mumbling the nerve soothing mantra, when I slowly slide into rocking back and forth, while chewing my lower lip. I am sitting on both of my hand, to avert further damage, when the right one wiggles free – involuntarily – and starts excessively scratching the rash on my right temple. Fortunately, my fingernails had been clipped yesterday, so it does not bleed right away.

Less than a minute later, the nurse comes back and puts a new plate in front of me.

“Look what I’ve prepared for you.” she says with a big fake smile on her otherwise stern face.

The new plate looks nice. Every piece of food has its own place now. The three scoops of yellow mashed potatoes are on the left hand side of the plate. A small brownish sausage was put horizontally between the orange baby carrots and the green peas, which share the plates right hand side. Everything is perfectly separated from each other, nothing touches. I allow myself to relax a little.

I really like the arrangement of colours on the plate, but still, something strikes me as utterly odd. And then I see it.

There is one sausage, three scoops of mash and … I quickly pull two napkins out of the despenser and count the green peas and the baby carrots out onto them. Separately, of course.

When I count seventeen baby carrots, I tense up a bit. But the thirty-three green peas really push me over the edge.

“Odd numbers, I hate odd numbers!” I roar, “The food items on my plate are all odd numbered!”

Suddenly, my two fists come down onto the plate and the napkins, many times. A somewhat desired displacement activity. Although I want this, I do not concur with the dimension. I am in charge of not being in charge. It just happens and I let it happen without interfering, until I am satisfied with with the result, as well as repulsed. It is more the disgust for myself than the satisfactory quality of the outcome that makes me stop.

A little later, after I have calmed down a bit, the nurse stares daggers at me while she is cleaning up my mess. My dirty hands lie flat on the table in front of me, when I start humming and rocking back and forth again. The nurse is still staring at me. Her piercing eyes look at my manky hands and then her head and her cold icy eyes point into the direction of the bathroom. I lower my gaze and a huge wave of guilt and shame spreads throughout my whole body.

Still trembling like a leaf, I get up and go to the restroom. I turn on the steaming hot water, take the hard brush from the little shelf and scrub my hands and arms until they are perfectly clean – while the little mirror in front of me fogs up and the water turns crimson in the process.

The End

 

I could not tell if it was a man or a woman. The face was that of a woman, a pretty one, as I clearly recall. The lips were deep red, like blood, yet the colour seemed somewhat clumsily applied, for my taste anyway. The body, rather slender, was that of a delicately featured young man. The word androgynous came to mind.

Advanced in years, I felt that I had just landed on the shores of inevitable times. The weather, even though still sunny with only a light breeze, was yet urging me to move on. It didn’t seem to me that the town, an even uglier appendix to the filthy port itself, had anything special to offer. So, I decided to head off.

The way the person moved had something otherworldly about it. Every step, every motion with its legs and arms and hands seemed perfectly in harmony with its surroundings. No move was unnecessary or conducted in haste.

I was walking the dusty road, which was leading me out of town, when after no more than three miles, the person suddenly stepped out of the bushes onto the dirt road; some ten yards ahead of me. So, I stopped. The person came up to me and put its elegant left hand gently on my right, which itself was resting on my old and worn out walking stick.

 

“My name is Val. Would you like some refreshments?” the person asked in a dark yet female voice. If I hadn’t felt thirsty before, after Val asked me, I certainly did.

“Yes, please.” I said.

“Then follow me, my dear.” Val said. And with its delicate left hand, it parted a thick elderberry bush like it was nothing.

“The staff.” Val simply said, using such an archaic word, before stepping effortlessly through the row of hedges.

“What about it?” I said. But Val didn’t even turn around, it only pointed with its roundish right hand to a spot near the bushes to its right and said, “You will have to leave it there. You won’t need the staff where we are going.” Where are we going, then? I thought, bewildered. And to my own surprise, I left the walking stick that had helped me to carry my weight for so many years at that spot and followed Val through the bushes.

 

I could not tell – at first – if Val’s right hand was injured, or not. Because I didn’t remember the elderberry bushes having had any kind of thorns for protection. However, Val’s right fist was clenched, and blood seemed to be dripping in tiny little drops out from inside its fist.

After the bushes, we walked up a steep hill. Even though I was in decent shape, due to my journey for all my life all the way to here, I ran out of breath after only a few minutes of steady hill climbing. Val, however, seemed to manage effortlessly.

After a while, though, I decided to have a break. At the foot of the hill it had been just a breeze, but the higher we climbed the stronger and colder the winds got. When I turned around to have a look at what we already had accomplished, I was astonished not to see the waters I had crossed before landing on this shore. I had run into Val only a couple of miles outside of town, so I clearly should be able to see the ocean from up this hill, should I not?!

But what I saw could not be farther away from what I expected to see. The only bodies of water I could recognise as such were two rivers. They were coming from different directions, bent around the flanks of the hill, and eventually converged roughly at the spot where we must have come through the elderberry hedges. But to my own puzzlement, there were no elderberry bushes at the foot of the hill.

On top of it all, we were not even climbing a hill any longer, but a full-grown mountain, which seemed to be sitting in the middle of what appeared to be a vast valley surrounded entirely by even higher, snow-capped mountains. The valley and the mountain, we climbed, didn’t have any kind of notable vegetation, neither trees nor bushes, at all. Only grass and moss which mostly clung to the rocks, that were scattered all over the place. A dreary and inhospitable scene.

Further up in a distance, I saw Val joyously hiking up the mountain. And every so often, I happened to see how Val raised its right hand up in front of its face. To inspect the injury on its hand? That was at least what I was thinking.

I didn’t catch up with Val on our way up the mountain. Yet, I held its pace, at a distance, though.

And then I saw a bird. A little redbreast was lying on the ground. It looked like it had been crushed by something heavy. Feathers were missing here and there. Underneath, tooth-marks were visible, which looked like they had been caused by a predator’s bite. Vivid red bloodstains were spreading. Otherwise, the bird seemed strangely deflated and empty. However, this was only the first bird among quite a few others on the path up to the top of the mountain.

The sun was already setting when we reached the mountain top. We had been climbing for many hours and the refreshment that was offered to me earlier that day was now more needed than ever. But the crest of the mountain didn’t have much to offer; only mysterious piles of random rocks of different heights. And then there were the skulls and bones. On a second look, the area around the obscure rock pillars was littered with animal carcases. Mice, rabbits, rats, and – among others – birds.

It wasn’t before Val turned around to look at me that I saw its crimson lips, redder and seemingly bigger than before. And in the corners of its mouth stuck little feathers. When Val noticed me staring at its lips, its tongue flicked out, caught the feathers and sucked them in. Almost instantly thereafter, Val spat out a bloody knot of fur and feathers onto the ground close to the rock formations.

“Welcome to Val.” Val said smiling, “Time for some refreshments, right?!” I didn’t say anything, whereupon Val took a wineskin out of its leather knapsack and drank from it. It wasn’t wine, though. Although the colour was deep red, the liquid was rather thick.

 

I could not tell what I had for a drink. The way Val handed me the wineskin felt like part of an ancient ritual. Val went down on its knees, lifted the wineskin above its head and handed it over to me. Already with the first sip, I noticed the unusualness of taste and texture as soon as the liquid reached my tongue. An odourless, thin puree with a taste that comes closest to a smooth combination of beetroot, spinach and pumpkin. The drink didn’t keep its promise, though. It was refreshing at first, but it made me feel surprisingly exhausted later, like a leaden blanket of fatigue descending upon my tired shoulders. The sun seemed to be setting quicker after that, darkness was creeping up on the mountain’s body.

“Val?” I said after a while. And Val knew immediately what I was going to ask. Val spread its arms ceremoniously and moved slowly in a circle as if presenting the outlandish scenery to me.

“Welcome to the valley of Val.” Val said.

“The valley of Val?” I said.

“This is where you have to be strong. Because this is exactly where you are supposed to pass over.” Val said without any stir of emotion. I, however, was shocked. And then it dawned on me. I hadn’t failed to notice that with every inch of the sun’s setting the surrounding two half circles of snow-capped mountains bent upwards and closed in on each other – like a pair of giant jaws.

Val looked at me and it knew that I was slowly beginning to understand. For some reason, this put a smile on its pretty face. It didn’t take long for the sun to set and the mountain jaws to close entirely. The last beam of sunlight felt warm on my skin. Then the darkness swallowed me. Once it was completely dark, I stopped feeling anything. I suppose that is what you are going to experience at the threshold to the yet unknown.

 

I could not tell why Val had brought me up here, why it had to be me, and the birds of course, and why it had to happen the way it just did. Maybe just because my time simply had come. However, I have always refused to accept the inevitable.

 

---

 

“Am I dead now? Is this what it feels like after one has died?” I say, but no answer comes.

“Val, are you there? Somewhere? Anyone?” I say. Again, there is no reply. Only darkness that seems to swallow every sound.

“What is going on here? Is there anybody out there? Where am I?” I try, getting the same result. Isn’t trying the same thing all over again, yet expecting different results, kind of insane?!

At some stage the darkness moves on and gives way to some light again. The mountainous jaws, as they were closed, have started gradually to open again. The sun is rising at a familiar pace. That bit at least is somehow reassuring.

With my eyes slowly adjusting to the light, I can make out Val’s slender figure, sitting comfortably on top of one of the pillars of piled up stones. But it isn’t until I can see Val just across from me when I realise that I am residing on top of one of those pillars myself, as well.

Its knapsack is stirring again and out of it Val produces a roundish fluffy creature. The little bugger is twisting and turning in its slender hands. Then Val just lifts the rodent up to its mouth and sinks its teeth into the guinea pig’s flank and sucks until the motivation for resistance has completely vanished from the animal’s now deflated body.

“What is this? … What is it all about?” I say.

“This what? What is what all about?” Val says, with a boyish smirk on his face.

“Killing these animals, I mean. First the birds and now this poor thing just here. Why do you keep doing this?” Val looks straight at me, holding my gaze, yet smiling. In the corner of my eye I see how it drops the lifeless animal body nonchalantly to the ground.

“You have to understand that I live off the lives of the dying.” Val simply says, “I am merely making sure nothing goes to waste.”

“Just like this?”

“Just like this!”

“So, you are Death? You kill animals for a living?! Is that it?”

“No, not exactly. Me as a concept is probably a bit too complex for you to comprehend, given your human limitations. Technically speaking, I am Life. You may even want to call me by my other name, Love. Only Life can give, but also take life. There is no such thing as death. That is one of your kind’s quite popular misconceptions, because you people fail to see the bigger picture.”

“You call yourself Life, and yet you kill these animals! But wait, … humans, as well? Am I here because you are going to slaughter me, too?”

“Your remarks seem to be getting rather offensive now, I find. I wouldn’t want our conversation to continue if you kept going on like this. Ungratefulness seems to be strong in you. I don’t kill beings. They are already on their way out, dying. That’s what living beings do, they die. Because at some stage, if you like to put it that way, their bodies are old and worn out. I only take what life is left in them. And redistribute it.”

A blank stare from my side gives Val all it needs to know about me and the current state of our conversation.

“Let’s just take you as an example, shall we?!” and Val goes on, “You were dying on that road, when I picked you up. On the way up to the top of your mountain, you died a little more, step by step.”

“But you didn’t suck the life out of my body, did you?”

“It looks different from the inside, right?! To be frank with you, I did, and I am still doing it, as we speak.”

“How do you mean – as we speak?”

“Some creatures don’t put up fights, like birds and guinea pigs, for instance. But for others, like your kind, it takes longer to understand the fundamentals.”

“What fundamentals? What are they? And what has this to do with you drawing off the remainder of my energy?”

“Well then, I am taking the energy from your dying body and directing it back into the circulation. Or better, I am re-channelling it to be creative again.”

“I am sorry, but you lost me there again.” I say.

“What I would like you to understand regarding your energy is that it is known in other circles as spirit or even soul, if this makes more sense to you?!”

 

After a while I look down to see where Val dumps all the empty corpses whose energy it is continuously re-channelling. When my eyes are on the way up again, I see that for some reason my feet and legs have become slightly transparent. A look at my hands tells me that even they are fading away.

Val notices my confusion, realises that the time has come, leans over and hands me the wineskin again. It is rather difficult to drink from the skin with gradually fading hands and fingers.

“Is this preventing me from disappearing altogether? I say.

“No, it is not. It turns off pain. And it smooths the transition.” Val says, which doesn’t help at all. “In the end, not only your body will have faded away but also your consciousness and memories of all this and the things passed, and you and your energy will eventually re-join the circulation and pass over to the yet unknown.”

“For some reason, I am failing to comprehend the painful part in this.” I say.

“Oh, it will be painful for you, believe me, I have seen it many times. The way you cling to the past makes parting so painful for the likes of you.” Val says, and adds, “But we don’t talk about physical pain here.”

My face is a blank stare again yet riddled with question marks. And so, Val goes on, “I usually tend to have less or close to none of this kind of conversations with animals. Because they seem to have a natural understanding of the circle of life. They don’t fail to see that the finale is actually not an end but a beginning and that the goal is simply to be open to whatever change lies ahead.”

 

A look around makes me realise that the sun has disappeared, and the valley is now covered by a misty yellow dome. A closer look reveals that the foggy dome only reflects the flickering yellow light coming from numerous fires. The valley itself is now a bottomless pitch-black pit. Out of the pit’s endless darkness, countless huge rock pillars stand out. On top of each of the broad pillars fires are burning. I am now on top of one of those big pillars, as well. Between Val and myself a fire is happily eating its way through the heap of bone dry wood.

Occasionally, you can see how some of the fires die out. Val looks at me and points in the direction of one of the fireless pillars.

“Do you see? This was one of your kind. The fire died because she was fading away until she understood. I don’t understand why you people always have trouble with letting go. The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next. One of your famous writers once wrote this in one of her early books. And she is absolutely right about that.”

“How do you know that it was a she over there?”

“The fact may challenge your mind, but I am sitting at every single fire you can see here, having almost the same conversation everywhere. This is you on your so-called deathbeds, regretting things you did, or things you’ve never risked to do, or asking questions you never dared to ask before. I am your life; I am everybody’s life and I am also everybody’s realisation of that very fact. That’s how I know.”

I nod, since I am beginning to understand. Another sip from the wineskin makes me even more drowsy than I already am.

Val, of course, notices that, and with a smile on its face it gets up and motions me to do the same. Then it comes over to me. We stand face to face. One last look at Val’s beautiful and yet cruel appearance.

“Time to let go!” Val says, comes even closer now and puts its elegant hand in the nape of my neck, then draws me gently towards it, and kisses me on my barely visible lips.

 

A pause. After which everything has vanished. There is nothing, only silence and darkness. There is neither valley nor pit, neither Val nor fire, and there is no human being, either. Then a long-stretched, booming sound – although inaudible, yet very palpable – is swelling up, causing ripples while expanding throughout the universe. Vital energy in space, re-joining the circulation.

 

A Beginning