Moosehair Underwear

von Marcus Krug

 

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.