Read Online Strange Mammals by Jason Erik Lundberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Jason Erik Lundberg
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it?”
“Mini-Buddha-Jump-Over-the-Wall.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I thought that was the name of a Chinese soup with lots of ingredients. Shark fins, abalone, ginseng, sea cucumber, dried scallops, dried mushrooms, Chinese herbs, that kind of thing.”
“It is?” He sounded as if he might start weeping, heavy breaths hitching in his large chest. “I’m named after soup? Oh, when will the indignity end?” And at that, the sobs did come, heavy gut-wrenching sounds, like he just lost his entire family to the bumbling aggression of invading soldiers. I stood and exited the bathroom.
Parasch Zee had stuffed a blanket into the hole in the window; he had also replaced the living room furniture, but none of it was in the right location. The sofa was turned away from the television, toward me; on it sat both the wombat and the ocelot; Edie held a small tub of ice cream between her front paws and nuzzled at the mint chocolate chip inside. I sat down between them.
“What’s wrong with me?” I said.
P.S. snorted. “You want a list?” He jumped off the sofa and waddled back into the bathroom. Edie licked her jowls, placed the ice cream down on the floor, and followed the wombat in. I dipped my fingers into the cold cardboard tub, took a taste, ignoring the ocelot saliva. Not bad. When was the last time I’d eaten this?
I looked up, and the wombat and ocelot had helped the catoblepas out of the bathtub, supporting it under its front legs. It oozed tears onto the floor, leaving a slimy trail on the carpet. Had I a camera I would have taken a photo of the trio. Were they even really there? The air became heavy, syrup for my lungs.
“Sweetie-darling,” Edie said. “I’m afraid it’s time.”
I nodded my head. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, but I didn’t want to say anything anyway. From the corners of my vision on both sides, in crept: a duck-billed platypus, a blue antelope, a brown-and-white striped quagga, a pig-footed bandicoot, a golden lion tamarin, a Javan tiger, several long-tailed hopping mice, a sleek solenodon. A Madagascaran aye-aye crawled into view and pointed its long bony middle finger directly at me.
“Swift as a shadow,” I said. “Short as any dream.”
Edie and P.S. and all of the other strange animals in my living room, with some effort and lots of grunting, hefted D.’s heavy head in my direction. Mini Buddha jump over the wall. Its eyelids pink as its scales, sparkling, beautiful really. And the eyes themselves—
~
I lifted my mountainous head, neck muscles creaking and crackling from disuse. Turn it to the left and to the right, crack the vertebrae. The other animals let go, and my head stayed where it was, though the muscles in my neck and down along my spine quivered with the effort. I drew a deep cavernous breath. Exhale, and the room filled with the scent of plum blossoms and jasmine.
P.S. ambled into my vision and held my gaze. “Fuck me,” he said. An exclamation, not a command.
I closed my eyes quickly, afraid that the momentary look had killed the wombat, the foul-mouthed paranoid annoyance that had led me to salvation. Squeezed my eyelids so tight that it produced elegant spots and twirling amorphous shapes like pulsars dancing. I could hear the rustling of the animals around me, could smell their fear and their wonder, could hear racing heartbeats, could taste their insecurities and ambitions and need for companionship. The last of their kinds, excepting the ocelot and the wombat, and so lonely.
“Hey,” P.S. said. “It’s okay. Open ’em.”
I did and he stood there, still alive, scratching his flank with his filthy claws.
“Was it a lie?” I said.
“Not exactly,” he said, and motioned to the couch. The human, still naked, was slumped down, eyes and mouth wide open, not breathing. His almost skeletal body completely hairless, and I shivered in sympathy, the motion starting at my shoulders and shivering the scales all the way down to my hoofs, a
“Mini-Buddha-Jump-Over-the-Wall.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I thought that was the name of a Chinese soup with lots of ingredients. Shark fins, abalone, ginseng, sea cucumber, dried scallops, dried mushrooms, Chinese herbs, that kind of thing.”
“It is?” He sounded as if he might start weeping, heavy breaths hitching in his large chest. “I’m named after soup? Oh, when will the indignity end?” And at that, the sobs did come, heavy gut-wrenching sounds, like he just lost his entire family to the bumbling aggression of invading soldiers. I stood and exited the bathroom.
Parasch Zee had stuffed a blanket into the hole in the window; he had also replaced the living room furniture, but none of it was in the right location. The sofa was turned away from the television, toward me; on it sat both the wombat and the ocelot; Edie held a small tub of ice cream between her front paws and nuzzled at the mint chocolate chip inside. I sat down between them.
“What’s wrong with me?” I said.
P.S. snorted. “You want a list?” He jumped off the sofa and waddled back into the bathroom. Edie licked her jowls, placed the ice cream down on the floor, and followed the wombat in. I dipped my fingers into the cold cardboard tub, took a taste, ignoring the ocelot saliva. Not bad. When was the last time I’d eaten this?
I looked up, and the wombat and ocelot had helped the catoblepas out of the bathtub, supporting it under its front legs. It oozed tears onto the floor, leaving a slimy trail on the carpet. Had I a camera I would have taken a photo of the trio. Were they even really there? The air became heavy, syrup for my lungs.
“Sweetie-darling,” Edie said. “I’m afraid it’s time.”
I nodded my head. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, but I didn’t want to say anything anyway. From the corners of my vision on both sides, in crept: a duck-billed platypus, a blue antelope, a brown-and-white striped quagga, a pig-footed bandicoot, a golden lion tamarin, a Javan tiger, several long-tailed hopping mice, a sleek solenodon. A Madagascaran aye-aye crawled into view and pointed its long bony middle finger directly at me.
“Swift as a shadow,” I said. “Short as any dream.”
Edie and P.S. and all of the other strange animals in my living room, with some effort and lots of grunting, hefted D.’s heavy head in my direction. Mini Buddha jump over the wall. Its eyelids pink as its scales, sparkling, beautiful really. And the eyes themselves—
~
I lifted my mountainous head, neck muscles creaking and crackling from disuse. Turn it to the left and to the right, crack the vertebrae. The other animals let go, and my head stayed where it was, though the muscles in my neck and down along my spine quivered with the effort. I drew a deep cavernous breath. Exhale, and the room filled with the scent of plum blossoms and jasmine.
P.S. ambled into my vision and held my gaze. “Fuck me,” he said. An exclamation, not a command.
I closed my eyes quickly, afraid that the momentary look had killed the wombat, the foul-mouthed paranoid annoyance that had led me to salvation. Squeezed my eyelids so tight that it produced elegant spots and twirling amorphous shapes like pulsars dancing. I could hear the rustling of the animals around me, could smell their fear and their wonder, could hear racing heartbeats, could taste their insecurities and ambitions and need for companionship. The last of their kinds, excepting the ocelot and the wombat, and so lonely.
“Hey,” P.S. said. “It’s okay. Open ’em.”
I did and he stood there, still alive, scratching his flank with his filthy claws.
“Was it a lie?” I said.
“Not exactly,” he said, and motioned to the couch. The human, still naked, was slumped down, eyes and mouth wide open, not breathing. His almost skeletal body completely hairless, and I shivered in sympathy, the motion starting at my shoulders and shivering the scales all the way down to my hoofs, a
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