THURIBLE

Hi. it’s me, Magnolia again. You might remember me because I am a figment of your perception in these situations. It’s ten a.m. and you’ll never guess where I am.  I am at a Catholic Funeral Mass right now. I don’t know who the deceased is because I crashed it. I had this sudden desire to listen to the organ.  It’s those enormous pipes. Man, it goes straight through your head. It would be great if I were high, but I usually don’t smoke before noon. (I cheated today. I’m not perfect).  This church, St. Agatha of the Five Wounds, has amazing acoustics.  I know because I came here as a child. (I’m still recovering. Let’s save that for another thyme, though). As I was saying I crashed this funeral to hear Ms.Oakley play requiems.  She’s an amazing organist. She’s playing this lamentational elegy that I once heard when I was in third grade. Father Weedo had an apoplexy at the pulpit  and died in mid sermon. I am sitting in the back pew reaching into my bag for some North Carolina Barbecue potato chips. You can’t get them in New Jersey. You can only get them from the South. I have connections up and down the eastern seaboard. I can have pickled emu feet Fed-Exed to me tomorrow if I want.  Did you know that Laila means ecstasy in Arabic? Habibi told me that once. He’s from Jordan. He drinks red wine and has a poster of Che Guevara on his wall.

There are a lot of people here. Must be a VIP. Good thing the show hasn’t started yet. I better drink my Capri Sun before they get here. Ms. Oakley is starting to play the Ave Maria, and there’s even a singer up there performing it. Here they come. The deacon schlepping the cross staff...a pair of altar boys.....coffin...pallbearers dressed in uniform...family.  There is an American flag draped over the coffin. Hooray! It’s a cop! How did I get so lucky? I can’t wait to see the part with the incense. That’s the best part of the show. Does anyone know what I”m talking about? If you’ve never been to a Catholic funeral, you don’t know what you’re missing. The priest has this brass lantern thingie that hangs from some chains, and he swings it three times over the casket like a pendulum. It is a  totally surreal ritual. I found out that thingie is called a thurible. That’s where the incense whorls from.

The sound of the thurible hitting the chains brings chills down my spine. I love funeral incense. There’s nothing to compare it to.  It ain’t patchouli neither. It’s frankincense. That’s high class. It’s the purple in the haze.  You can’t get that stuff from the Rasta on St. Mark’s place. Everyone sits down and it’s starting. I reach in and surreptitiously take my opera binoculars out. I borrowed them from my friend, Martin who has extreme paranoia and Roseacea. As I was saying he brought them to the Be’la and the Flecktones concert at Carnegie Hall. We sat in my favorite seats: front mezzanine, second row on the aisle because I have to pee all the time.

I want to get a good look at the priest and the thurible. Oh, man. I have the munchies. Let’s see, what else did I bring? , scissors, easy glide,  dark magic k-cup, laser pointer in case I have to signal someone,...Here it is. My Subway chocolate chip cookie. Yeay cookie! I brought a bottled water to  wash it down. Usually, I cry at these funerals not so much that the family suffers a loss, such is life. But the music out of those pipes is just breathtaking. Did you know Masonic lodges have pipe organs, too? Not only do I crash sacred places, but I can infiltrate secret organizations. I can’t tell you the password for Master Mason but I can tell you it rhymes with my hard bone. I must confess that I am pathologically cognizant. I have a need to be savvy. The quintessential chameleon, I am wearing my staple Evan Picone  funeral dress and can mourn just as passionately as the best of them. I should start my own business renting out grief-stricken wailers. Banshee for hire. For the uncultivated pedestrian, this is a common practice used in countries like Tanzania to the Gaza Strip. You will find professional weepers. As a matter of fact, I have a friend from Chile who told me about these women. The name for it in Brazilian is carpideiras. The reason they’re so good at it is that hysteria is a prevalent characteristic in South American women. I have this on good authority. The EMTs call it HH.  You can figure that one out yourself.    

I finish my cookie and polish off my Poland Spring. I look through my binoculars. It’s incense time. Hold on, Song of Saint Francis of Assisi is on. It’s my favorite. It has a great message. It’s also catchy. I sing it in the shower occasionally.

Wait. What? Am I seeing what I think I am seeing? The lid of the casket just flew open and the dead cop is climbing out.  Only he’s not dead. The stench is nauseating. He rushes the priest and pins him down on the floor. Then he buries his face in his abdomen. The whole time the priest is screaming and flailing in agony. The dead guy lifts his head and the priest’s entrails are dangling out of his mouth. There is total pandemonium now. The people are screaming and running but trample each other instead.. The corpse then grabs an altar boy and rips his leg off. The kid starts screaming as the corpse is eating him alive from the bottom up. He only stopped screaming when the cop got to his heart.

I know what’s happening. It’s the f*****g Zombie Apocalypse. What are the chances? I can’t believe I get to see it. What an awesome show. I jumped into the confessional and peeked through the velvet curtain at what was happening. I sat on the priest’s chair where he gives absolution and take out my cell phone.

“Hello, Ed? It’s Maggie. Where are you right now?”

“I’m at the 7-eleven. What’s up? Did you crash another funeral again?”

“I’m at the Five Wounds. The corpse came out of the coffin and ate the priest.”

“I knew it. Didn’t I  tell you the Zombie Apocalypse was coming? Did you see it happen?”

“I’m looking at it right now. I’m in the confessional. Can you come here?”

“Yeah. Let me get some weapons.”

“What weapons?”

“Shotgun and baseball bat. I’ll be right there.Stay where you are, Maggie, and don’t make a sound. They’re attracted to sound. Good thing there’s so many people screaming so they’ll be distracted. I”ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t come out of the confessional . There will be some people who will turn into zombies, too. Trust me. I’ve seen it on The Walking Dead.”

I look back out and I see some people, in tact,  writhing on the floor. They look like they’re putrefying. Oh, no. They probably just got bitten and are starting change. I am sitting here waiting for Ed and eating my other cookie. I start taking pictures and instagramming my friends. I’m going to YouTube it,  too.  What should I do while I wait for Ed to get here?  What to do in the midst of a Zombie Apocalypse in Church? I’ll let you know after I munch on some mushrooms here.

You know, when I get high,  it’s always the first morpheme or two that disappear into the ether of my minds. Yes, minds. The rest of the sentence is just another vapor trail of what-have-yous floating down to the Lethean reservoir that is my memory. That, and anything you say mean nothing to me. I prefer solipsism to engaging with other selves... What am I doing in here? Is this a confessional? Let me take a peek outside. Oh my god. It’s Ed out there killing zombies. Zombies! I forgot the Apocalypse is happening as we speak. I was expecting to see four horsemen rearing in the aisle.

 Ed is shooting up the church. He stuck his head into the confessional and handed me the shotgun. He then uprooted the life sized crucifix with Jesus actually nailed to it, thorns and all, and runs up to the zombie cop and pummels him on the head until his brains are bashed in. I guess he would be Zombie Zero. Isn’t that a great name for a band? Wow, those stained glass windows are so vibrant. There’s a scene where St. Michael the Archangel is wielding a sword and slaying the serpent with it. Too late for that, Mikey. The serpent  already had his way with Eve. The colors are spectacular! I can’t get over it. Look how the sun illuminates all of the windows and disperses colored lights throughout the church. Everything is saturated with every hue in the spectrum. It tastes like raspberry cobbler. That one with the Virgin and the Infant is stunning. Their halos are on fire like supernovas. The church must be facing the East.That’s so Masonic.

That one with Jesus in the fishing boat with his apostles looks kind of stormy.  Oh, no I’m starting to get vertiginous. This confessional feels like I am on Roaring Rapids again.  Those damn waves. It’s a f*****g tsunami.  Let me the get the  Dramamine out of my purse.  Out of the way stupid hairbrush. Where did I put those stupid drammamines! No, that’s not it.  That’s the Gas-X. Oh, here they are. I take it with the iced tea in the sippy cup I bring when I go out. That way when you’re in the car it doesn’t spill all over you when the driver goes. I look at it again and see that the waves are starting to calm down. I wonder if this is the part where Jesus walks on water? The only way he could do something like that is if he hangs 10 on a Rusty.  Why am I subjecting myself to theological brain-teasers when clearly, there is a Zombie Apocalypse going on. See what happens when you have two minds? One of them starts contemplating serious issues at the most inauspicious moments. Is this what they were talking about in Revelations? Is this what are on those fliers that the youths pass out on the boardwalk in Atlantic City? Good thing I am in a confessional because I can confess my sins right now. Who knows, I might get saved.

Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been millennia since my last confession. I have committed every sin under the sun chronically and remorselessly. My life consists of the Seven Deadly Sins. To begin with, I am guilty of Gluttony. I have an insatiable appetite. Hey, I’m just buying what they’re selling. Just last night I ate a tub of rum raisin ice cream while I was watching Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Because 1- I was bored and 2-I had my fat friend over. I love pigging out in front of her because she gets so pissed off.

I have a hard time with humility because I have such a hot body. I ain’t no butter face, neither.

I lead men into temptation by being so desirable. That’s their own salvation. though. So that can’t be a sin. Although, one time me and my boyfriend  broke into someone’s house and fornicated on their bed on a dare. But’s that’s enough about me.

Let me take out my headphones and listen to Spotify. I need to pump up that bass. I feel like I’m on a ride in that SUV with the spinners that goes past my house and vibrates my windows. You don’t know how many times I wanted to flag them down and ask if I could get in and experience the bass with them. I almost did it the other night because I  was smoking blueberry haze and I heard  them coming from down the block. But how strange would that look for a young hot blonde to be running toward a pimped up SUV, bass pumping, rather than running away from it... Mmmm...these Twinkies are so good. Did you know they deep fry them now? I had one at the State Fair in Podunk, Virginia, visiting my connections. I have a picture of myself with the cow that won the blue ribbon for her muscle mass and luxuriant coat. I love farm animals. Did I ever tell you that a Rhode Island Red crossed the road right in front of me while I was driving through Appomattox? Chickens really cross the roads down there. Forget about it!

Someone is calling my name. Who can it be? It sounds like Adam. Oh, no. It’s Ed. It doesn’t matter because they’re interchangeable. It’s whoever I called that said they were at 7-Eleven.  S**t. I forgot to tell them to get me a Slurpie.

“Magnolia. WTF. What are you doing in there? A little help please.”

“What is it? I’m confessing my sins.”

“Get out here with the f*****g shotgun.”

“Okay. I”m coming.”

So that’s what this shotgun is doing in here. I’m supposed to be slaying serpents. No, that’s not it. Let me take a peek again. Oh, s**t. It’s the zombies. Damn those zombies. I’m going to be late for my hair appointment. I was going to get low lights, too. I put the Twinkie away and save it for after. I put my special red lipstick on, Ruby Woo, then my Jimmy Choos. The best part is, they don’t hurt my feet. Good thing because I am heading out to war. Ok, I think I’m ready now. Let me just suck the rest of the cream out of this Twinkie. I need the sugar. Okay, I”m ready for real this time.

I am holding the shotgun  and stepping out of the velvet curtain. I have to remember I left my purse in there. I can imagine someone trying to steal my Yankee tickets. The Red Sox are coming to town. It’s critical times! Ed is stabbing a zombie nun in the middle of her forehead repeatedly. The altar boy was standing on the altar and sees me emerging from the confessional. He starts staggering  towards me and when he gets close enough I shoot him in the face. I love these AR-17 semi-automatics. Another one came out of nowhere and grabbed my arm. I cold cocked him in the head with it then shot him between the eyes. I shot him in the head twice. They tell you to do that on Zombie Land. I have such phenomenal precision. Did I mention my catlike reflexes? That’s two down. I think I’m going back to the confessional to take a break. I’m just going to eat the rest of these mushrooms. It would be drug abuse if I threw them out. I pull out a ziploc bag. This ain’t it. These are the milk bones I carry around  just in case I run into a hot guy walking his dog. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was just discussing Chinese Economics with myself  before I was disturbed from my calculations. I was commenting on their leader, Xi Jing Ping. God created the earth, the rest, China.  You go,  Ping Man. “Shake what your mama gave ya.”

There’s so much shooting going on out there. Ed brought in some reinforcements. Dumb and Dumber are here with their shotguns. Look at all that carnage. Awesome. The church bells are starting to toll. Hooray!  It’s  twelve. That means when the last bell tolls, I can have a bump. I enforce myself with a stringent honor code. Hey, guess what I just found in my purse. When I decided to go to the Five Wounds I brought sheet music because I was going  to ask Ms. Oakley if I could play the organ when the funeral was over. As a matter of fact,  I’m going up to the balcony right now and play the theme song from Phantom of the Opera.  She has to be dead by now, anyway. Let me check my purse and make sure I didn’t drop anything in here. Let’s see, here’s the zip drive with my neighbor’s extracurricular activities recorded on it . I go to the gym with his wife. She visits her mom upstate in Oneonta every month and Mr. B. keeps himself occupied while she’s away. I’m saving that for a rainy day. You never know.

I take my purse and sneak out to the vestibule where the stairs to the choir are. I look both ways. No one is around. The guys are still battling it out with the zombies. They won’t miss me. Here we are. Let me take out my bowl for some inspiration. Smells almost like  frankincense  but not as sweet.  Ah, yesss. That feels much better.  How do I turn this thing on. Here’s the switch. I  start playing the introduction and go right into the lyrics. I do a pretty mean Christine. I can even pull off the Phantom because I can sing tenor as well. I got those pipes pumping now. I am becoming one with this celestial organ. I am transported to a different reality. Zombies or no zombies. I am singing O Fortuna now from the opera, Carmina Burana. Let me turn up the volume.

O Fortuna

Velut luna

Statu variabilis

Semper crescis

Aut decrescis

Vita detestabilis

Nunc obdurat

Et tunc curat

Ludo mentis achiem

Suddenly I feel someone shaking my shoulder as though trying to bring me back to reality. Hold on, this is the best part. Someone is yanking on my shoulder now.  I turn around and holler. “What!?”

It was a cop. His partner is standing right behind him. What is their problem?

“You guys are too late. My friends killed all the zombies already. What good are you?” I say to them.

“Ma’am. Calm down. What are you talking about?
“I was at the funeral just now and the dead guy comes out of the coffin and starts attacking everyone in sight. He ate Father Ben right in front of everybody. I called my friends to come right away with weapons to kill the zombies. There was total carnage. I think they got them all. Some of them may have escaped, though.”

“What’s your name?”

“Hummingbird.”

“Hummmingbird, there are no zombies here.”

“What are you talking about? It’s the Zombie Apocalypse. Where have you been?”

“So you say you were at a funeral here?”

“Yes. I go to funerals all the time. I come for the music and the incense.”

“A funeral is not a show.”

“It’s like an interactive musical. Haven’t you ever been to one? Ever hear of The Donkey Show? Of course not.”

“I hate to tell you this, Hummingbird, but there was no funeral here today.”

“Of course there was. Ask my friend, Ed. He’s down there now.  He was stabbing the zombies in the head with the big crucifix.”

“Hummingbird, do you know what the date is?”

“Yes. I don’t know. July fourth?”

“Do you know who the president is?”

“Of course I do. I didn’t vote for him. that’s for sure.”

177 turns to 212 and says, “It’s the Zombie Apocalypse.” He says it in a mordant tone. He turns to me and says,”Why don’t you have a look and tell me what you see.”

I go to the front of the balcony and see no evidence of the events that occurred today. The crucifix was still on its pedestal .The church  was pristine. The sun was a little dimmer than it was at the funeral. Where did everybody go? Who cleaned up all the gore? Where’s Ed? I know I called somebody. Oh, my god, I hope he wasn’t killed or infected. I should have had his back.

177 comes up to me and says, “I don’t see any zombies down there. Do you?”

“But they were here, I swear. The corpse happened to be a cop, too. Weren’t you here for the funeral?”

“Hummingbird. This is what happened. You broke into the church and the pastor thought they were being robbed so he called the cops. We come in here and we hear music and singing.”

I looked at him and down at the empty pews. He was right. It looked like nothing ever happened. “But I killed two zombies myself. One of them was an altar boy.”

“Are you under the influence of any substances, Hummingbird?”

“No. Absolutely not. I was at a funeral for chrissakes. How disrespectful would that have been. Come on. I came for the acoustics. My friend told me that the zombie virus got loose when the government started giving free shingles shots. They said if you had the chicken pox you will get the shingles no matter what. So it became mandatory to be inoculated. None of us took it. I refuse to be a government experiment. That’s what the army is for. But I bet that dead cop took it before he died. I’m telling you the Zombie Apocalypse is upon us. Have you taken a shingles shot?”

“They came to the precinct. We all took it. And we’re fine.”

“Oh, no. It’s just a matter of time.”

He gets on his walkie and says, “We have a 1313 in progress. Request a 666 for transport to Presbyterian. No need for restraints.” To me, he says, “Why don’t we go downstairs. I assure you there are no zombies. Let’s just sit and talk for a while.”

“Okay. Let me get my purse.”

We go down there and sit in the last pew.  Next thing you know, there are EMTs rolling in with a stretcher.

“They’re just going to take you to the hospital to get you checked out.”

“Good. Because I need to find out if I was infected.”

They lower the stretcher and make me get on it. They cover me from the neck down with some kind of tarp and strap me in across the chest and ankles and carry me out of the church and into the ambulance. 177 tells the EMTs that he will ride with me. I am humming O Fortuna and close my eyes. All of a sudden, I smell this stench that fills the whole ambulance. It’s that zombie smell. I open my eyes and the cop is starting to writhe.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

First off, what a wonderful feel for narrative you have, which is no mean feat in itself, and that's combined with the ability to create dialogue, which is a very, very difficult thing to do well. I would be tempted to complain that the lines between the actual and the fantastical are not well delineated enough here, but I've browsed through the stories you've posted, and what overrules that tempation for me is the notion that your Lailah is a strong and consistently presented character; the story reads like it does because she is who she is. This is awfully fine writing.