Prostitution Divine. Short stories, movie script and essay. Михаил Армалинский
to imagine a human female somehow draped around those bones.
“I’m glad it’s a woman,” I said at last. “I like them thin.”
The attempt at humor came hard. What I really wanted to say was, All right, you’ve had your fun, now get this damned thing out of my car! I didn’t want Rail to know how badly he had startled me, though, and I became determined to play his little charade to the end.
I opened the door and got in. I paused a beat before putting the key in the ignition, certain that at any moment Rail would blessedly call to one of his workmen to remove the skeleton form my car. Rail, however, did nothing but bend down to my window and cheerfully wave me goodbye. There was nothing left for me to do but start the car, turn around, and drive off.
I was driving through the warehouse exit when I saw the workman Rail had spoken to earlier, the one who had, I was certain, taken care of the skeleton. He wore jeans, one leg dark blue, the other light blue. He waved to me without smiling, and I watched him for a moment in the rearview mirror before I turned onto the road.
At least the isn’t carrying a scythe, I thought darkly to myself, though that omission did nothing to relieve my uneasiness.
The road was in poor repair, and my otherwise silent partner signaled her presence by jangling constantly in response to every bump and jolt. She listed violently towards me on a particularly nasty pothole, and I instinctively put my hand out to catch her. I struck the cold hard bone of her empty hips. It was then that I noticed the connective tissues of the joints had all been replaced by thin wires, neatly joining one bone to another. The intricacy of the finger joints particularly caught my eye.
Cars that passed me slowed down while everyone inside, waved, and tried through gestures to ask, “Well, what’s it like driving around with a skeleton?” I smiled tolerantly and indicated ‘OK’ with the familiar thumb to forefinger circle. They invariably laughed in response, and sped away.
My companion had no need of food, but I was getting hungry. I pulled up to a roadside restaurant just as an elderly couple was leaving. When they recognized what was seated beside me they reeled. I saw the fear in their eyes as they hurried away, crossing themselves. I locked the car, just in case.
Seated in the restaurant, I heard the brief wail of a police siren outside, which I forgot about as the waitress returned with my order.
I felt almost refreshed as I left the restaurant, only to walk squarely into the flashing glare of police car lights. My car was surrounded by a small milling crowd, through which two darkly uniformed police officers showed like grease spots. I noticed the elderly couple, describing something to the officers in an agitated manner.
The police were interested in my driver’s license and in my companion. I told them it was a gift form Rail. Though they recognized the name, they still wanted confirmation, and I willingly supplied them with Rail’s phone number. Luck was with me; Rail was still in his office and confirmed that the skeleton was his property, on loan to me. The intervention of the police had at least supplied me with one bit of information on my boney ‘friend’ – she was no gift.
The police said goodbye pleasantly enough, though they left me with a stern warning not to frighten any more people. I promised to go straight home and lock her in the bedroom in case, heaven forbid, she should try to escape. The laughter of the crowd was more a sigh of relief, and they scattered quickly, leaving me alone once more with my companion.
“Well, Mary,” I remarked conversationally as we pulled away from the restaurant, “We reminded the temporary living of death, didn’t we?” The sudden jolt of a pothole jogged her lower jaw open, and for an instant I thought she would answer me. The instant passed, and I noticed the tow rows of small, white even teeth. I reflected on this, and mused that my traveling companion had ended her life young, and if young, why not beautiful as well?
I didn’t arrive home until late in the evening. I welcomed the cover of darkness and carried the skeleton, bride-like, into the house through the connecting garage. I brought her to the guest room, where I tried unsuccessfully to stand her on her feet. She collapsed with alarming speed, and I caught her at the last moment before she crashed to the floor. I looked around, and finally decided the only thing to do was lay her out on the bed.
That night I had many dreams; dreaming rarely happens with me. I awoke with a headache.
My throat was dry, and when I got up to go to the kitchen, the room swayed dizzily. I downed a glass of water and headed back for my bedroom, but felt suddenly so weak that I stumbled into the nearest room. It was the guest room. About to fall, I sank onto the bed next to the skeleton and shut my eyes. My heart was pounding as if I had been running. I dimly felt the touch of a cool shinbone of my side.
The telephone rang abominably loud. I reached it with difficulty on the third ring, and it took me a full minute to recognize the voice of my secretary, asking questions about my trip and wanting to know when I’d be back at the office. I told her I had a fever and wouldn’t be in that day.
“Would you like me to come over and take care of you?” she asked in a tone of voice which reminded me we were lovers.
“No,” I answered after a moment’s hesitation, “I’m fine. Just take care of your business.”
“I’ll come by after work then, all right?”
“If you want. But I already have one here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously.
“You’ll see when you get here,” I said.
“Are you trying to tell me you have a woman there?”
“Well…” I thought a moment. “Let’s say a former one.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she answered irritably.
“I told you, you’ll see when you get here. Excuse me now, I’m very tired,” I said, and hung up. I fell quickly into a deep sleep.
I was awakened by a scream. It was my secretary, Mary, standing over the bed, shocked and confused. I forced a smile as she gestured vaguely towards the skeleton on the bed and asked, “What’s this?” in a trembling voice. “What time is it?” I finally asked.
“One o’clock. Afternoon.” she answered, looking at her watch.
“I thought you were planning to come after work.”
“What is this?” she asked again.
“Not what,” I corrected her, “Who. This is also Mary.”
“Where did you get it,” she demanded.
“A gift.” I was tired of explaining. “Make me some strong tea, please.”
Her mood changed instantly to solicitous concern. She placed her hand on my brow.
“Keep it there,” I said, closing my eyes. Then I asked her again to make some tea. She gave one last backward glance as she left the bedroom.
My head swam sickeningly each time I tried to open my eyes, but I could keep them shut only for a moment, then the spinning sensation forced me to open them.
The live Mary returned with steaming tea on a tray.
The tea was excellent, strong and hot, with a perfect touch of lemon she had thought to add. I felt my strength returning, and as I drank, I reflected that one of the things I liked about Mary was the way she would ask a question, and, not getting an immediate answer, would stop asking and simply wait for me to tell her myself.
When I had finished my tea, I told her of my boney companion. Mary listened indifferently, then asked, “What are you going to do with her now?”
“Love,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, it’s a good choice,” she said slowly. “I may as well tell you now – I’m moving to Florida.”
I decided to keep discipline. “I wish you luck. Is it John?”
John was her beloved, with whom she had lived four yours and then left to come here, get a job with me, and