It has become a theme in my reading lately and it's got me thinking. Are people really as awful and without virtue as so many authors portray them? I just can't believe that. Everyone I know, everyone I meet, has virtue. There is a core of goodness and kindness and friendliness. I'm sure there are exceptions, but they are just that, exceptions. They are not the rule. Maybe it's just that some writers, even great writers, have spent more of their time thinking about people or observing people or avoiding people and not enough time actually getting to know people. Or, maybe I'm just a silly, silly man. Maybe I'm naive and ridiculous. It wouldn't surprise me.
Here's a little more of that story I'm never going to write:
"It looks like una medusa," Reydel Marino whispered to his partner, his breath fogging the glass of the tank to which he was pressed closely. He stared in at the... the thing that was attached to the front of the big floating man. The thing was translucent and vaguely pink. It covered the man's mouth and nose and ran down from there to his navel. It also connected to an opening near the bottom of the tank. It hung limply between these three points, the face, the navel and the wall, and undulated gently, a misshapen triangle of tissue. It was, without a doubt, the most disgusting thing Reydel had ever seen in his six months as an EMT.
"Like what?" asked his partner, Sharon Yeung.
"Una medusa," he replied. "How do you say it? The big things in the ocean? They sting you? You know?" He made a pulsing motion with his hands.
"A jellyfish?"
"Yeah, that's it. It looks like a jellyfish, no?" he asked. "It's gross."
"It's some sort of tube," Sharon said. "It must be feeding him and letting him breathe."
"What's it made of?"
"I don't know, Ray," she said. "Skin?"
"This is messed up," Reydel said, stepping back from the tank.
"Can we move him, guys?" asked Detective Kay Olds, rushing through the door and down the stairs.
"Shiiiiit," Reydel said, shaking his head and grinning. "Hell no."
"Excuse me?" Kay asked, stepping up beside the young medic. He was dark-skinned with short, clipped hair and a long, pointed nose. He had a wisp of a mustache on his upper lip which curled into a smirk. His directness irked her.
"I don't see how we can move him, detective," Sharon said, stabbing an angry glance at her junior partner. "We've never seen anything like whatever support systems he's hooked to. We should really get some doctors in here." She glanced over at the tank, "Maybe even CDC," she added.
"Good mother! What the hell is going on here?" came a voice from the top of the stairs. "What the hell is that?" Detective-Inspector Ireneo Moretti stood in the door, wondering if he should come in or turn around and leave.
Relief swept over Kay at the sight of him. She needed him here right now. He always took the edge off. "We don't know, Reni," Kay said, smiling. "That's what we need to find out."
"That's a big dude," Reni said, walking down the stairs. "Is he alive?"
"Yes," Sharon and Kay answered in unison.
"Poor bastard."
"No shit," Reydel agreed.
Reni stepped up to the glass and stared in for a second, shaking his head. "Good mother," he muttered under his breath. "He didn't put himself in here. Who did this?"
"Well," Kay said, glad to get down to business, "the building super said a man named Damien rents this room."
"Is that him?" Reni asked, nodding at the tank.
"No," she answered. "No one knows who he is. The super found him."
"Where's Damien?"
"According to the super he went out this morning. He usually comes home about six."
Ireneo glanced down at his watch. It was 2:43 in the afternoon. "Good," he said. "Time to grab a sandwich." He headed for the stairs. "You comin'?"
"I ate," Kay said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Plus, you know, there's this guy in the tank and all that. I figured maybe we should hang around and... I don't know... investigate or something. We are the detectives, after all."
"He ain't goin' nowhere," Reni said, disappearing through the door.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
