The more, the merrier
How do you find a way out when you are surrounded by madness? There’s no clear answer to this question unless you are prepared for tremendous actions. I wasn’t ready. My way ‘out’ was still the same – ‘in’ or ‘with’.
Sweet Ms. Amblycorypha Oblongifolia, the Sobekneferu of my dreams, the one I saved from the dirty paws of Mr. Domination, in the blink of an eye, turned into a formless agamic being called Hamilton. The body of her sisters reminded me of Picasso’s latest paintings; each time I looked at them, an immense melancholic wave gripped my whole being. Or maybe I missed the smile of Margaret Thatcher. She’d know the way out; she’d save me from this horrible reality. Still, the lost photo wasn’t my biggest problem. The reason why Hamilton brought me to her country was the war with the neighboring tribe. After the last battle, all her warriors somehow contracted a deadly disease (a syndrome called LKED) that spread at lightning speed. My job was to decipher the letters LKED and to find an antidote within 24 hours.
“I’m not a doctor,” I tried to convince the cold eyes of Hamilton.
“I have my own theory about it,” she replied.
“Enlighten me,” I said as I leaned back against the tree and made an open-handed gesture.
“Relax, Bullet. Enjoy our hospitality and the fresh air of Gunung Kinabalu. You are here because I wanted to get your opinion on the situation of my land.” Hamilton paused thoughtfully. “Our enemies, the old clan called Beluga, have been sponsored and armed by Mr. Domination in the past two months. Those weapons have killed my father, our precious King Hamilton. My little sisters found him a week ago in a pool of his own blood; his head cracked like an egg.”
“Are you quite certain? I mean, is he really dead or is he the Gunung-Kinabalu-kind-of-dead?”
Hamilton took two steps towards me. “What on Earth is wrong with you? He is as dead as he can be. And Gunung Kinabalu is real enough!”
If Sobekneferu could speak, she’d sound like her, I thought. My mind blurred, then went blank. Three bulky Hamilton-ladies silently escorted me to a small mossy raft.
“Welcome to the Prison, Mister Harmless. I’ve prepared some special treats for you and your lady,” said the Captain of the crumbling structure as he smiled.
The lady he mentioned was dragged to the raft, too, with the help of hand-knitted rope. I found an area on the floor where I could leave Martha in peace and sat near the edge of the floating pontoon, dangling my tired legs into the water. The Captain handed me a green pill and a coke.
“What is it?” I stretched my arm to the sun, checking the pill from all angles.
“Don’t worry, it’s LSD. You need it if you want to make it to the end of this trip.” He giggled. “My name is Captain Happy. I think I’ve seen you before, boy.”
“Haven’t you heard? Hamilton took one look at me and had to have me… as her Savior.” I joked.
Hamilton froze, then nodded to Captain Happy with an attitude, “let’s take out the garbage off this side of the country.” But before the departure, I received a questionnaire to indicate my nationality, draw a family tree, write down my blood type, party affiliation, and sexual inclinations. I was struggling with the list of questions, which consisted of 37 pages written in an unknown language, when Hamilton told me to stop.
“Why? What could be more important than this?” I rustled the sheets of paper in front of her nose. Anger poured over the edges – I was drained of all wit and patience.
“On the way to the Warrior Farm, we are going to pick up significant members of our clan. I hope you’ll make a good impression.” The beauty patted me on the head and retreated to her gross-looking sisters. We set sail off the shore. Captain Happy paddled for ten minutes, chanting the mantra in the language I’d never understand; it probably wasn’t a language but the song of a drug.
Finally, we made a short stop near the thatched dock. Our first guest was a priest, Father Dionysius. He was a round and awkward man who had bumped into every object on the boat, and in the end, had fallen over the body of my still unconscious ex-wife.
“Oh, Lord!” he shouted. “Is it infectious?”
“Why don’t you ask the four Hamiltons there?” I answered, inspecting him. “As a matter of fact, this is my ex-wife, Martha. I’m unsure about her role in this Kingdom, but it seems I am your new doctor. My name is Mister Harmless.”
“Our Kingdom needs a great strategist, a commander, and a cook. And what do we have? Four neurotic needy girls, one body, and a fake doctor.” Father Dionysius replied.
“Do you know what happened to the last doc?” I muttered.
“No, I haven’t seen Mr. Sinner in a while,” said the priest in a peace-making spirit. “It is not a pleasant task to stay on the Farm. Ah, Jesus would deal with this situation in two seconds!” He rolled up his eyes to the sky, praying and whipping himself with a belt.
I noticed the Bible on the wooden floor: a small book with a brown leather cover. I carefully stroked the surface with one finger to check if it had been made with human skin. On the spine, I could read the words ‘Motivation and Personality’.
Seeing that I was leafing through the book, Father Dionysius ran to Hamilton and pointed to me as the most hostile, threatening danger in Gunung Kinabalu. Hamilton brushed him off like a bored fly. The offended priest jumped in my direction: his despair reminded me of an unsafe child’s behavior.
The raft swayed – we landed on the shore. The man in the Row’s navy Nolan suit, crafted from wool herringbone cloth and crispy pressed tapered-leg trousers, stepped on the raft. He had a big suitcase in his hands, stuffed with phones and money.
“Are you a commander or God himself?” I asked, shocked by his arrival, anxious to beg for a phone call.
“Neither. I am a psychiatrist, Mr. Brahman-Carrado. I’m taking up a free post at the Warrior Farm. Would you like to make an appointment?”
I completely forgot about the priest, but he reminded me of his presence by running in circles around our fashionable young guest. Something flashed in his hand!
“Is that thing loaded?” I asked.
Father Dionysius leveled the gun, made a clumsy move, and pulled the trigger.
“It’s a .32 Smith & Wesson,” Father said, kissing the barrel of the gun after the shooting, “and there are 72 bullets in my backpack.”
It all happened in slow-motion: I watched how Hamilton disarmed Father Dionysius by using ‘the jaguar method’ with which I was quite familiar; I noticed how the three sisters agreed to a free session with Mr. Brahman-Carrado on the other end of the raft; I heard my ex-wife, Martha, who woke up and said her first word (of course, it was a swear word); I saw how Captain Happy gulped in one more LSD pill.
I lay down on the deck and closed my eyes.
“We have to pick up a cook… if he is still alive. Does anyone have any objection to the next stop?” Hamilton said, fully satisfied. She shook her hair and gracefully approached my jammed figure. The incredible aura of lust enveloped my personal space.
“Not at all. The more, the merrier,” I exhaled.
Next – Day 9. The Ark/