Grasshopper Jungle

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Authors: Andrew Smith
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Jungfrau was waking up, trying to decide if he should masturbate or not.
    It was just after three in the afternoon in Afghanistan.
    Louis, the Chinese cook at The Pancake House , whose real name was Ah Wong Sing, was taking a shit in the public restroom at the Ealing Coin Wash Launderette .
    History never tells about people taking shits. I can’t for a moment believe that guys like Theodore Roosevelt or Winston Churchill never took a shit. History always abbreviates out the shit-taking and excess consonants.
    In about a week, the pieces started coming together.
    In a week, we figured out history.
    Eventually, we would learn this:
    The thing inside the globe, the Contained MI Plague Strain 412E , wasn’t anything remarkable unless it came into contact with human blood.
    Contained MI Plague Strain 412E really was contained and harmless inside Johnny McKeon’s glass universe.
    Tyler dropped that universe directly onto the spot where earlier that day Robby Brees began spelling out GRANT WALLACE MURDERED ME in his own blood.
    The Contained MI Plague Strain 412E was happy to meet Robby Brees’s blood.
    Robby Brees was my best friend. He taught me how to dance. We smoked cigarettes. He kissed me. To be honest, I kissed him back. Robby was homosexual. I didn’t know if I was anything.
    I wondered what I was. None of that mattered. Nobody knew anything about it except for me and Robby.
    The man whose scientific company invented the Contained MI Plague Strain 412E died when his plane crashed into the ocean. The plane’s engines were destroyed by billowing plumes of caustic ash. The ash came from a volcano in Guatemala. It was called Huacamochtli. Robby Brees’s dad was filming the Huacamochtli eruption at precisely the same moment that Dr. Grady McKeon’s jet disintegrated on impact with the surface of the Gulf of Mexico.
    Water is unyielding when you’re moving at 500 mph.
    We were in seventh grade then. My brother, Eric Christopher Szerba, joined the United States Marines that year. At the same moment Huacamochtli was being filmed by Robby’s father and Dr. Grady McKeon’s body was being torn apart by the force of impact, my brother, Eric, was on his way to boot camp. Robby Brees’s dad never came back to Ealing, Iowa. He didn’t want to see Robby’s mom ever again.
    We found this out later:
    The Contained MI Plague Strain 412E said hello to Robby Brees’s blood on the asphalt in Grasshopper Jungle.
    And the end of the world began at about 2:00 a.m., around three and a half feet away from a discarded floral-print sleeper sofa infested with pubic lice in Ealing, Iowa. One time, Travis Pope unfolded the sofa and fucked his wife, Eileen, on it.
    Both of them had pubic lice.
    It didn’t matter.
    History is my compulsion.
    I see the connections.

PART 2:
WATERLOO CORNFIELD

PALINDROMES
    KRZYS SZCZERBA WAS Catholic.
    He smoked cigarettes.
    Christopher Szerba was Catholic.
    He did not give up smoking cigarettes when he gave up the excess consonants.
    All the Szerba boys were cigarette-smoking Catholics until my father fell in love with my mother and married her. He quit smoking, converted, and as a result, his semen created two strong Lutheran sons inside her body.
    Their names were Eric Christopher and Austin Andrzej Szerba.
    My dad picked up some discarded consonants from the wastepile of history.
    It is pronounced Uhnn-zhay .
    Don’t ask me why. It’s Polish and shit.
    I smoke cigarettes. I hate church. But one day, after I talk to my father about my confusing sexual impulses, I will change my name back to Szczerba .
    My father’s name was Eric Andrew Szerba. My mother was Connie Kenney before she married him.
    People from Iowa like vowels and rhymes.
    Lutherans in Iowa like John Deere tractors and big breakfasts on Saturdays.
    Usually, my dad would only have to stand outside my door and speak my name to get me out of bed for our Saturday breakfast. That morning,

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