The Amiss Behavior of 1952

The Amiss Behavior of 1952
A tale of dark romanticism by Conrad Faraj


"There are two bodies — the rudimental and the complete ; corresponding with the two conditions of the worm and the butterfly. What we call "death," is but the painful metamorphosis. Our present incarnation is progressive, preparatory, temporary. Our future is perfected, ultimate, immortal. The ultimate life is the full design.”

- Edgar Allan Poe


The young man with the flat-top haircut, muddy boots, and an old Army uniform approached the lonesome town slowly. He was heading to his pad. After serving in the Second World War for an extended period of time, he was sickened of seeing blood-soaked cadavers everywhere he went. The atrocities of the war left him permanently scarred, both mentally and physically. A Nazi soldier had severely injured him during the attack on Berlin lead by the allies. The Nazi had taken out his long-edged blade out of his pocket and stabbed the soldier where it most hurt him; after multiple stabbings, he then savagely cut off his ear, ever so slowly, that it was as if time had stopped and life was terminating. Blood was everywhere. Ed Mirg thought he died that day, but the United States proved victorious in the end.
The year was now 1952. The month was October, and the atmosphere of Vatican Village was grim. No one visited, nor went near the town since the massacre of 1945. A bloody massacre, in which no one knows what really occurred. It left, a staggering number of people dead. As a result of it, everyone fled the old village. Everyone except Ed’s family, which had strangely enough managed to survive.
Ed looked at the cold hard ground and at all the fallen leaves that were spread throughout Vatican Village. He had missed his town dearly, especially his wife and his mother which lived on the far side of town. Rain was pouring down the streets, but he didn’t care. After all, what mattered is that he was home at last.
Moments passed and he made his way home. He was standing there at the entrance; he passively looked around and noticed that his old horses were still alive. He had two of them, which he had recently bought just before the war. They were moving around to avoid the rain, which was discommoding them. As he stood there, he waited to ring the doorbell. Anxious and scared of what was to happen. He hadn’t seen his family in nearly twelve years, that’s a long time a man can bare without any affection. It made him feel like a ghost.
A buzzing sound filled the village as Ed looked to his left and saw that on the roadside a new type of automobile was cruising by. It was black, hard-edged, and fancy. It was a new generation of cars. “Welcome to the fifties, Ed,” he told himself. And with a beating heart, he took a step forward and rang the doorbell.
“Ed! Ed! My dear boy,” his mother cried as she rushed to open the door and sprung a hug. “Hello mother. It’s been a long time,” said Ed smoothly, trying to contain his excitement as he hugged his mother. “My God, it’s such a blessing. You…you’re alive after all,” she commented as her eyes began to water. “Aren’t we all, mother?” remarked Ed. And from the corner of his eye, he spotted his beautiful wife, sitting at the kitchen table with a scotch in hand.
“Hello Martha,” whispered Ed.
The blonde-haired woman didn’t seem to care, nor acknowledge Ed’s presence.
“Eddy dear, sit please,” bid his mother. And just as told, Ed sat on the cool chair while scrutinizing the strange paintings and decorations his house possessed.
“Why that’s a mighty fine collection of painting you gals bought, I ought to think that all the bread spent went into the bonds, for the war an’ all, but you gals must have some sort of business running, ain’t you?” questioned Ed. The wife seemed to have a lurid face, as if she were disturbed by Ed, yet nothing came out of her mouth except an un-ethical burp.
“It’s all very lucrative, Ed,” his mother commented. “Martha and I decided to sell your stamp collection, because…since your father passed, we haven’t managed to make a dime. The town folk going away left us with nothing, no way of doing business. The darn horses need caring too. The stamp business is made in the shade,” she finished.
“Well, that’s good,” replied Ed. He got up and looked out the window for a while. “I missed this place. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep during the war. Other times I thought ‘bout splitting, and finding a gig here in the States. Then there’s the time Captain Jones requested for me to stay and serve another term, a few years more. Only seven years more, that’s longer than the war itself. I suppose I didn’t wanna make myself a goof or a shuck, the honest truth is, I just wanted to come back to New England like all the other cubes, and visit my home once again,” concluded Ed while sitting down, as he began to spawn tears in his eyes. “You did the right thing Ed, and you are very brave,” commented his mother.
“No, I’m not. I let those psychopathic bastards take everything from me. My ear, my friends, my manhood, everything,” said Ed.
“Your manhood?” questioned his mother.
Tears began to flow intensely from Ed’s eyes as Martha got up from the kitchen table and went into her room without a single word.
“I had to beg, ma. I begged them…I begged them not to kill me. I wanted to live! I supplicated, ma! They let me have my life, but took away everything else from it.”
With a short screech, his mother sprung her arms around her son once again, hugging him as tight as ever. They both sat there, bodies crossed, comforting one another’s presence and reminiscing on the horrible past. They weeped in complete silence.
The next morning, the fall leaves began to descend from the sky, as Halloween Day initiated. Ed had slept comfortably in his old room below the attic, while his mother and wife slept on the first floor of the house. The rain of the night soon began to turn into fog and coldness. The street was practically imperceptible from the rear window view.
Ed awoke passively, and soon went about his day conversing with his mother about everything he’d missed out on. Hours passed as the conversations became endless. Martha seemed to be cooking lunch by the time Ed got a moment to speak with her.
“Martha, Martha, my doll, can I get a minute?” asked Ed. “I know we haven’t really talked much, and we did end on a flat note when I went off to fight in the war an’ all. I don’t mean to bug you, but I must tell you, that I missed you very much. I love you Martha, and I wanna recoup our good times. I guess…I guess I just wanna make out with you,” he shyly admitted.
And with a tender, calmed, voice, Martha began to speak. “Why Ed? Why?” she asked.
“I don’t understand,” the man questioned.
“Why did you leave me? We were in love,” she said. “We were real gone, and you had to split,” she continued, without giving Ed a single look. “I’m a stronger woman now, I can get over you. I can change,” she finished, with a sad face, showing emotionality, then immediately the horn rang.
“Martha, I’m puzzled. I’m still the same guy. Maybe not as handsome, but I ain’t no bad man. I might’ve acted like a spaz a couple of times, but I’m still me. You ought to believe me!” he yelled.
Martha ignored him and went on to answer the horn.
Angered, Ed went into his living room, as he found his mother sitting on a rocking chair, which his father had handcrafted during the First World War.
“What’s wrong with her mother?” asked Ed. “She doesn’t seem right. She doesn’t love me anymore,” admitted Ed.
“She’s trying to keep her impressions, I tell you,” the mother said. “She’s fast, Ed. I honestly never liked her,” his mother confessed.
“She’s fast?” asked Ed.
“Before the massacre, she used to go to Doctor Poe’s house every night, that little scoundrel. She told me I ought to live more. She had lots of them men scurrying around after her,” the mother concluded.
“I don’t believe it. I’m either dead or I’m crazy, but I never figured Martha would two-time me, mother,” said Ed. “That’s nuts!” he exclaimed.
“It’s just word from the bird, Ed,” the mother said. “And I myself, am getting too old for dealing with her foolishness, that girl of yours is bad news. I would know, I’ve been living with her for more than you have,” said the mother.
Ed’s face went red with embarrassment. He felt uncontrollable anger towards his wife, yet also sadness. And before he could mouth his next words a thunderous roar came about outside. A cryptic lightning bolt had produced the loudest noise Ed and his mother had ever heard, even greater than the horrid sounds of war. The rain was gone, yet the mysterious lightning went on.
Ed, his mother, and Martha ran outside, to the barn to see the catastrophe that was presented before their eyes.
There laid the cadaver of a horse. As pathetic and defenseless as any other vulnerable farm animal. The lightning had burnt it to a crisp. The dark, flowing red-blood spread out through the ground, causing an irritable smell of corpse. Parts of the horse’s flesh dispersed through a puddle of mud, and its guts lied in front of its half-burnt eyes. The cadaver was everywhere. The other horse, which seemed untouched, began to eat parts of the flesh. Eating them, as if he had never eaten before. The grotesque view of the scene left everyone speechless and flabbergasted. With great shock, Martha, let out a horrifying scream and rushed back into the house. Ed and his mother stayed there. Bewildered at the remote possibility of lightning striking a being.
And with another unexpected bang, the power of the house went out. Darkness uncovered itself as it began to drizzle and the clouds moved passively thus the night approached once again.
No one said a word inside the old house. They all rested in a room, with candles lighting the place. They were startled by what they had seen. And out of a sudden grim presentiment, Ed stood up and looked out the window.
A man slowly approached their home. There wasn’t another home in the village for at least another mile. Ed informed his relatives and he stepped outside, lurking his own curiosity and fear. His mother went after him, and it wasn’t until a few moments later, that his wife followed along.
The arcane man from the shadows got closer. His face was hidden beneath the fog; all that could be seen was his hat, and his boots. The man carried nothing, and seemed to be pacing himself. He seemed calmed, and slow. And from one moment to the next, the man stood still, facing the family, with a cool, placid face. His eyes were radiant and his smile was elegant. His facial characteristics seemed nothing less than an angel. He was a perfect man.
“Hello, my name is Jack Lived, I’m sorry to come in, in such a manner, but my Deuce seemed to stop working a few miles back as I was driving to a town called New Heaven. With all this fog, I couldn’t help but follow the smoke that seemed to be partying from your house. I thought there was no one around for miles,” confessed the man as he looked sharply into Ed’s eyes.
“Why that’s an awfully horrible thing that happened to you. The rain is ought to start soon,” commented Martha, speaking once again.
“Yes it is, ma’am,” replied the man.
“Why don’t you come in, Mr. Lived? I just prepared some tea,” Martha questioned. “That’s a tender offer ma’am, and mighty kind of you. But y’see, I have an appointment in New Heaven tomorrow. I wouldn’t wanna miss it,” admitted Jack, as he scrutinized Ed’s wife, lustfully.
“You mean, New Haven, Jack? Why that’s thirty miles away, you need some rest,” remarked the wife.
“The night is still young Mr. Lived,” said the mother, adding on to the conversation as if she disproved of the gentleman.
Ed just stood there as his wife worked this mysterious man who had come out of nowhere. His wife was a fake out. Her behavior was raunchy and disturbing, yet Ed did nothing. He kept his mouth shut, as if he were to win his wife’s approval.
“Well okay. I guess I could use some tea, I’m damned tired,” said Jack, as he fixed his eyes upon Ed Mirg’s house. And with a final thunderous bolt, the folk stepped into the house unknowing of the dangers that would present themselves.
The night was quiet now. Not a sound was to be heard. The hot cups of tea were placed in an orderly fashion around the kitchen table. The people gathered there, silently, waiting for another person to begin a conversation. Jack’s facial expressions made him seem cool and imperturbable. Ed felt a great deal of discomfort, and his mother felt it too. They remained quiet, and let Martha, for once, do the talking.
“How do you like your tea, Jack?” asked Martha. “Quite mesmerizing after a long trip. Did you make this yourself?” replied Jack. “Yes, yes I did,” finished Martha.
They conversed a bit further, shunning out Ed and his mother, until Ed burst into intolerable anger. He spoke.
“Think you got the jets, huh? You think you can come here, hammer my wife, and think of me as a fool?” exclaimed Ed, furiously. “How the hell did you find our house anyway? There’s not a chance in hell, you woulda seen the smoke of the horse, since the whole damn village is covered in fog!” yelled Ed, with a menacing voice.
Jack stayed silent, looking at him without making a single move. He didn’t show emotion. Ed’s wife seemed to be looking at Ed’s mother. The scene had become awkward all of a sudden. And with the shattering noise of a cup of tea, breaking into the floor, Ed’s mother stood up, crying, and slowly made her way into her bedroom. Ed followed her.
The fog, which had over-taken the village, was now penetrating into the house through the small corners of the wooden doors. Ed moved about his mother’s room very slowly. A teardrop fell from his eye, as if a tragedy had just occurred. He then saw his mother reach under her bed, and take out a vivid red rose, which seemed to have the most beautiful petals a rose ever possessed.
“It’s the rose I gave you before the war, mother, it’s still alive,” said Jack. “Aren’t we all?” replied his mother.
“Mother, how is it that it survived all this time? How is it that the horses survived all this time? They all woulda had to die sometime, right?” asked Ed.
“I don’t know Ed. I don’t know nothing ‘bout nothing,” the mother whispered as she began to lament.
“It’s quite all right, mother. I love you. I’m here. Nothing bad is ever gonna happen while I’m around. It’s all gonna be fine, ma,” assured Ed with a soothing voice, as he began to hug his mother once again. “I sure hope so, Eddy. I sure damn well hope so,” the mother replied.
The mother and the son elongated their hug. Their compassions for one another’s melancholy made their bodies connect in such a loving fashion that suggested an amiss behavior. The son smoothly and gently placed his hands onto his mother’s breasts as the mother and the son began to share a kiss. In the same loving manner, they began to caress each other. Delicately and softly. Unsure of their feelings, they looked into each other’s eyes. Wondering and lusting for one another. And then, with a blink of an eye, Ed saw his wife standing out the door, with the fog surrounding her background. The woman had a pale face, as if she had died, she was sickened, and demented. She went about, as if she had ignored the passion of the mother and the son, and walked into her room, walking deathly slow.
Ed looked at his mother, shocked. He starred out the window and saw the living horse was dying as it made a sobbing sound, as he starred back, he saw the petals of the rose had been taped together, as if a memory were to be preserved. He gave one last look at his mother, and walked away.
The man followed his wife into her room, hoping to catch her before madness consumed her. In hopes, that he’d be forgiven.
Martha stood in her room, in front of a painting of her and Ed’s wedding day. She showed no emotion like Jack. And with a final lamenting sob of the horse, she grabbed a pistol from her cabinet, and shot herself in the head.
Blood was splattered all over the walls, and the wedding day painting was tainted. Ed remained standing by the door, paralyzed, unable to breathe. He was traumatized.
Moments of unexplained eeriness went by, as time passed on. Ed kept on standing there, frozen stiff, immobilized. A creak in the wooden floor, revealed Jack slowly entering the blood-filled room. He starred at the corpse, and at the atmosphere within the room. He didn’t utter a word. He was featureless. His eyes moved slowly from the corpse onto Ed, who seemed white as a ghost. Slowly, yet surely, Ed began to speak.
“Why did I do this, Jack? Why? What have I done? Why me?” demanded Jack, tears flowing from his face once again. “Because it was always meant to be you, Ed,” responded Jack.
“All my life was filled with misery and despair. It is as if I was un-earthbound and detested. My life is a damn tragedy, Jack, a silly damn tragedy,” informed Ed, with the saddest face a man would bare to have.
“Life finds its way into a progressive incarnation of another life, and within it, salvation or adequate horrors. Heaven or hell, life or death. It’s all up to the withholder, Ed,” said Jack with a newly found smile.
“What are you saying?” the veteran asked.
“You’ve been living a death dream, it’s a transitional nightmare most of us, who’ve done a bad deed, go through,” informed Jack.
“Jack, I really don’t…I don’t quite follow you,” said Ed, honestly. “Your mother is dead Ed, your horses are dead, and your beautiful wife has now passed on. It’s all part of the cycle of life,” said Jack Lived.
“What? Who the hell are you?” Who are you Jack Lived?” asked Ed with a menacing tone in his voice, showing fear and bewilderment.
“Your name is Ed Mirg, isn’t it? What a grim last name,” commented Jack, out of the blue.
And suddenly, Ed caught it. He knew it all.
Placing their last names backwards he understood the simplicity of what Jack was trying to convey. It was un-ethical.
Timidly, Ed began to speak again.
“You say my mother is dead, why?” he asked fearfully.
“She passed on, in the massacre. You’d been consolidating a mere ghost, Ed,” informed Jack smoothly, his smile as atrocious as ever.
“A ghost? A GHOST! You’re loony, you’re nuts! That’s demented! You’re demented! You’re truly demented Jack,” exclaimed Ed, and as he spoke his final words he tilted his head overlooking the hallway between his wife’s room and his mother’s bedroom, where the mother lied, dead on the ground.
A snake slithered down her neck, caressing her hair as it began to move around. Ed could feel his own breath, and fear went down his spine. His arm hairs stood up and his eyes grew dry.
“I’m either dead, or I’m crazy,” said Ed.
And with a tender smile, Jack replied.
“Well, you’re not crazy Ed.”
And as the clock ticked and the blood dried into an arid texture, the ghosted figures stood there, looking at one another, frigid by the premonitions of the afterlife, they began to speculate the thought of heaven, hell, and the amiss behavior of 1952.