Fantastic Metropolis

Strolling among the ivory ferns in the hothouse one peaceful evening the professor caught sight of a little shadow dancing on the gravel below the drooping fronds. Only mildly curious he knelt not without some difficulty. The pale ferns brushed affectionately against his ears his neck his nose pushing them aside sent the mysterious shadow scampering away into the gloom and the moonlight. On all fours he followed now annoyed as the knees of his trousers were soaked through. Pieces of gravel stuck to the palms of his hands. Thinking that the long hours spent in study had probably weakened his eyes he was about to give up the chase when suddenly the shadow stopped next to a cluster of murmuring bamboo. The professor crawled quietly behind a nearby cabochon bush. He drew a deep breath and the cloying fragrance of the night blooming flowers brought back a bright memory from his youth. Her name was Ianthina and she was sixteen when he saw her for the first time. They were at the museum. A cold autumn rain fumbled at the narrow skylights and the few visitors spoke in dignified whispers as they wended their way through the mummies and suits of armor. He was sketching an unusual pel quintain into his journal when he was momentarily bewildered by the fleeting scent of her florid perfume. Upholstered settees had been provided for the weary. He found her settled demurely on a settee directly opposite a fourth century quadriga giggling over a sixpenny novel. Her pretty appearance was irresistibly attractive to him reconnoitring from behind a fire engine he could watch her face as she read. Unfortunately the shadow disturbed his reverie by disappearing into the ground. Digging there he found a heap of bones.

The gun was rusty and the muzzle was stopped up with dirt. The bones were picked clean. He unearthed the skull and washed it off with a hose. Carrying it into the house he placed it on the mantel lit a candle and got ready for bed. He took up a book about the history of tip cats and made himself comfortable settled between the covers. Though the book was gripping he must have fallen asleep because the candle flame was guttering when he next looked up. Something moved on the mantel.

My heart is a dotted line whispered the skull now covered with blood. My heart is made of wood. My heart is full of hedgehogs. My heart is in the attic. My heart is a blue crayon. My heart is above the clouds.

During this speech the old man watched in horror as the blood flowed down outlining the nude figure of a young woman lithe and graceful topped by the muttering skull. She moved towards him and reached the side of the bed just as the candle went out.

I see the sunflower of another day. I see the dazzling lights. I see the one thing they cannot name.

Blood trickled on to his face as she swayed above him in the darkness. Suddenly Ianthina kissed him. Her rotting teeth bruised his lips and blood slipped down his throat silently she pressed her invisible body against him. Desperately they struggled bubbling choking he died.

Without looking up from her book she patted the settee and coaxed him over with a perfumed laugh. He tried to saunter but dropped his journal strewing papers all about.

A paper chase! She remained where she was closing an envelope into the novel to keep her place. You must find me desirable. What makes you think that? Wrinkling his nose overwhelmed by the scent he sat beside her like an effigy.

Ianthina did not answer instead she pointed to the sketch of the pel quintain now lying at her feet. When viewed from a certain angle it looked remarkably like a likeness of her smiling face. He reached out and plucked the drawing from the floor. She flung lassoes at him with her dark eyes while he smothered her with improvised lies. Encouraged by her transparent resistance Wilfrid caught hold of her hands heedless of the alarmed tourists waddling around them.

Ah! he exclaimed. Women know nothing about men. We live in these condemned bodies like butterflies trapped in killing jars. A woman’s life is simply a search for comfort safety and extravagance. A man must betray the world to keep death at bay.

Wilfrid despised the fear in her eyes as Ianthina freed her hands and hurriedly got to her feet.

Still bleeding she staggered away from the bed as the dead man immediately underwent a transformation. Leaving his body behind a shadow made of falling raindrops floated into the air. Ianthina’s remains underwent a similar change only her outline was full of blood instead of rain. These forms wandered out of the house and into the open countryside gliding above a footpath by the faint light of the moon. Behind the barren parched lands of the living was an endless realm of death overflowing with beauty and drenched in madness. The professor was astonished by the strange beasts who appeared to be enjoying themselves in some kind of mysterious game. His reason foundered. He thought of the long years spent avariciously adding to his hoard of worthless knowledge now it all slipped away as he was drawn into the game. The large beasts bounded about in pursuit of the shadow people who in turn chased the smaller beasts but as they all kept changing sizes things got very mixed up. One minute he was running from a trumpeting elephant like creature while trying to catch a leopard rat the next he was bolting after a little green hippopotamus while being followed by a great big porcupine looking thing. This went on and on like a bad dream until Wilfrid and Ianthina were driven violently mad. One by one they caught the beasts and tore them to pieces. The dawn found them glaring at each other. Then in the dangling sunlight they saw that the farmhouse had vanished and in its place stood a shipwrecked ship with burning sails flapping heavily against the mast. Too frightened for words they approached the ship. A winged man invited them on board.

Nine or ten years elapsed pushing them further and further from the hour in the museum. The grassy slope of their initial attraction was left far behind as they were slowly engulfed in the quicksand of their vanity. Wilfrid used flattery and saccharine kisses to undo the wrappings of her resistance pressed against her panting breathlessly in the torpid steam of the hothouse he took her without passion. Ianthina imprisoned within the vault of her ungratified greed impatiently returned his kisses with interest clutching and fumbling in her haste to close the deal. Afterwards she felt her advantage slip away when he said that it was time to stop lying to one another. He broke her nose to make sure she got the point indignant she poked out his eye to show that she understood. Very soon they were knotted together by a hatred so horrible so full of shame they couldn’t bear to be alone.

Things will run after us in the night whispered Ianthina dreadful things with glowing red eyes and buttery fangs. We’ll drop boiling water on the unsuspecting snowmen living in the deepest craters of the moon we’ll shoot robots in the jungles of the sun. Writing this as a long confused tale hundreds of years from now will result in a loss of a great many readers but it is pointless for the departed to reason with the living.

Dishevelled in the hothouse they watched their shadows advance across a gravel path.

The burning ship took off as soon as they were on board and Ianthina excitedly reminded Wilfrid of her prophecy when it became clear that the moon was their destination. Right or wrong the man with the wings demanded that they boil massive vats of water arranged in rows on both sides and running the entire length of the ship. On reaching the moon they were ordered to be ready to dump the vats. The ship skimmed rapidly along the surface then suddenly it dropped to the bottom of a deep crater leaving behind a trail of sparks smoke and ashes. Thousands of snowwomen men and little children ran in all directions. Some of them threw icicles at the ship but most fell short.

Now! shrieked the winged man shrugging off his human skin to reveal a black reptile’s body wizened with age and covered with scarlet spots. Pour!

The boiling water showered down on the snowfolk and all but a few were blithely massacred. Huge hissing clouds shot up drowning out the last of their shrill cries. The reptile brought the burning ship in for a crash landing and the shadowtravellers tumbled out of the wreckage. Two snowmen succeeded in spearing the reptile with icicles and they pitched him into a deep crevasse. An interval of crushing gloom ended when snow began slowly falling. It increased gradually like hollow applause until it turned into the uproar of a blizzard. The demented shadows were frozen stiff.

And so they lied their lives together. Foolishly unconcerned about anything but money inside their pampered bodies their spirits atrophied like dolls forgotten in an attic. He abandoned his philosophical studies and turned his attention to robbing the wild boars of their humanity she ran a brothel and sold addictive poison to the extremely poor. Faced with the nuisance of living against the grain the unhappy pair sneered at the fatigued teepees of the homeless at the despondent outcasts and the flabby runaways at all outward signs of unrest. Millionaires unhampered by ordinary moments they reached the place where wicked minds are made fast. They threw stingy parties to impress their detestable friends they reared a spoiled brat who was later called Baron Taugenicht they committed several grisly murders to discourage their enemies. Like dancers gathering primroses they waltzed through life deceiving the bewildered and overpowering the uncertain. No one dared oppose them for the greedy have always owned the world. Then one night Ianthina blackmailed the wrong slumlord. She had learned that Lefort was defrauding the government of thousands of years every day. Leon Lefort was a slippery old bloodsucker engrossed in the lowest conduct existence has to offer the open ditch of his selfish narrow mind was marred only by a sentimental weakness for one of Ianthina’s humans. Eavesdropping on the sly slumlord had given her enough evidence to confront him in the hothouse.

Look here! he exclaimed harshly striking her and producing a revolver from his coat pocket.

Just about the time that the drifting snow reached over their heads it unexpectedly began to fall away. The shadowtravellers were frozen stiff facing the consequences of their madness. Nothing daunted the remaining snowmen trundled round the battlefield chanting cheerfully as they restored their friends to life. As they rolled up the snow it sank slowly from around the cold shadows leaving them planted on the ground. Darkness oozed across the bottom of the crater as the earth set. The snowfolk managed to reassemble most of their comrades though many were tinged grey and freckled with cinders. Two broke the inert forms of Ianthina and Wilfrid free and bore them away into the mines. The rest soon followed. Time stopped counting so much. Unnoticed the black and red reptile escaped from the crevasse and called down a burning canoe from the sky. Then laughing unpleasantly he paddled off towards the sun. Gathering in a cavern the snowmen waited respectfully for the travellers to collect their thoughts before they read the charges. Every mean scheme every criminal venture every careless act and every cowardly lie of their sorry lives was laid bare for all to see. The moon circled the earth swaying from side to side the sun went on tumbling pell mell through a vast area of space saturated with the evil residue of an ancient war. Disconcerted the accused had to be propped up against the luncheon gong while their fate was decided by a simple show of hands. The evil residue had been silenced in the mine at a very great cost and at frequent intervals a snowman would rush out into the lunar night shrieking and cursing.

Ianthina picked a bunch of violets while considering her response. Leon Lefort watched her fear turn to desperation as her brain feverishly produced a hundred unlikely explanations. The payment of a sufficiently large sum was finally offered and Lefort had just lowered the gun when the professor awkwardly attempted to intervene. He skidded on the wet gravel flailing his arms and yelping in surprise. Eventually he recovered his footing and planted a good wallop on the puzzled slumlord’s shoulder unintentionally causing the revolver to fire. Ianthina doubled over and clutched at her heart reluctantly she used her last breath to whisper —

the casarine tree —

Wilfrid clasped her body tightly and caressed her face with his bloody hands pleading with her not to leave him alone. Lefort dropped the pistol and fled. Sometime later while collecting the overdue rent at an orphanage he was trampled to death during a hunger riot and his prodigious wealth was seized by the state. It was gradually used to quarantine the elderly and to oppress the depressed. Life beats against the window pane inconsolable. Infuriated by the pathos of the wilting violets Wilfrid summoned fifty insubstantial beings from the extreme reaches of the spirit world and loosed them upon mankind. Calmer then he went to work burying her corpse unconcernedly undertaking the task as if planting a rose bush.

The vote was unanimous condemned the shadowtravellers were cast outside to twist and buckle in the open unsheltered from the unnatural mystery. Ten minutes went by without stopping to consider what would happen to the unhappy travellers by being bombarded and so thoroughly steeped in the evil residue. The shadow that had once belonged to Wilfrid began to laugh.

You’re covered with mosquitoes!

Well you have flies all over you said Ianthina swatting disgustedly at the sucking mosquitoes with her silhouette hands.

Clothed in the swarming insects they were too absorbed in thought to notice when they took off for the sun. As they flew past hundreds of enlightened planets they ignored the roar of all of the considerate lives evidently convinced that they were heading for heaven and their journey’s end. There are all kinds of justice in the afterdeath.

The insects began to fall away as the travellers neared the sun declining to face what awaited them there. Through the monotonous void they fluttered reduced now to little more than empty outlines.

Bother! whispered Wilfrid getting dispirited. I’m beginning to catch fire around the edges.

Before connecting Ianthina’s last words with an investigation he clumsily beat his faithless mistress into unconsciousness. A pale consumptive called Dottle she did not put up much of a fight and he left her far from satisfied. Thirsty from all the shouting the fastidious professor drove into town and on the way he improved his mood slightly by running down a tiny misshapen infant that was sitting meekly in the gutter. Years afterwards she would have led a splendid revolution to free the common people of the world from their wicked oppressors but now impatient gulls quarrel over her cold little body. A bitter end for Baby Iodine.

Anyway Wilfrid was whistling cheerfully when he pulled up to the Lorelei a faded bar home to the vulgar the defeated and the transparent a precipitous spot to lean over an intoxicating refreshment before continuing the march downward. Hostile stares met the widower. Having obtained a strong drink at a small cost he took a seat by a low stage in the back and sipping slowly glanced round the tavern with a feeling of exuberance. After all he thought his life would be easier. No more savage bickering over the least fault or the most trifling remark. No more sneaking off to Dottle’s bed. Now that you mention it the expense of spoiling a mistress was ridiculous so he did some quick calculations and she too was left behind to die coughing wetly in the darkness of her chilly little room. Good riddance! said he holding up his glass in a lonesome toast to the cheated women.

Robots with stumpy wings rocketed out of the sun boisterously they seemed to be in a great hurry to frighten what little was left of Ianthina and Wilfrid. However thinking that the robots had come to receive them the travellers were not in the least disconcerted.

My metal friends as you know ever since this perilous journey began we have been battered about constantly mocked compelled to work ankle deep in slush subjected to the most dreadful humiliations and treated quite poorly all for no apparent reason. It matters not that we led upright moral lives and gave numerous parties to assist the grovelling unfortunates. We ought to have been welcomed like fashionable heroes instead the lunatics met us with sullen looks and annoying insults. Our disappointments are however all in the past now that you are here to sing our praises.

Bravely the professor carried on until suddenly it became brutally apparent that they actually were captives of the machines. The prisoners were delivered to ovolo and ogee two enormous robots of extreme antiquity who were sunk to their waists in the surface of the sun and were actively quarrelling with the black and red spotted lizard. Most of the argument was lost in the roar of the winged robots’ departure but the helpless shadows managed to catch the words hatred and doom.

He noticed that the din had settled down to inarticulate whispers and the idlers in the Lorelei were peering expectantly towards the stage. At first he thought that they were all looking at him and he found this very irritating but when the house lights dimmed he realized his mistake. Chagrined he turned his chair as a bright spotlight interrupted the darkness and a leathery barmaid mounted the stage to introduce the entertainer.

The same to you darlin’ all right here she is that malady of the soliloquy Miss Caretta Sweetbrier.

Jeers and a falling rain of beer spit greeted the nonchalant dwarf on stilts as she painstakingly climbed into the light with a sheaf of papers in her inkstained mouth. She was dressed in a tawdry grey pinafore that had once been white and the remnants of a sun bonnet glistening with pomatum. Mended stockings stuck out of her old boots. Wilfrid was about to leave when suddenly she turned her amethyst eyes on him and he grew confused. Tucked into her delicate little grimace they were the agonized eyes of a squirrel caught in a trap and they evoked such a tremendous feeling of apprehension in him that he could not move. Under her forlorn gaze the cruel laughter in the public house dwindled away as the surly and indifferent faces recognized themselves in her martyrdom. She began to read aloud.

Ogee and ovolo had evidently reached an agreement for they harangued Ianthina and Wilfrid with their booming mechanical voices.

Mired in the blood of savage traditions your make believe world conceals a profound degeneracy. When invidious cads like you oppress humanity the earth runs aground on the vast desert of the night leaving any misspelt youth crushed under the weight of their ancestors’ blindness and pacified by the same old twaddle. The snowfolk soon recovered from their injuries because Isinglass the reptile here was obliged to let them cool off. Conquest of the blue moon has come to a standstill. You’ve ruined our chances of moving this galaxy out of the evil débris that keeps us imperfect. Now you must pay for all of your thoughtlessness.

Isinglass approached them brandishing a large corkscrew and whistling softly to himself. Shrieking with terror the two outlines stopped fidgetting and darted away across the fiery surface of the sun frantically looking for a place to hide. Isinglass followed. For three days the husband and wife attempted to escape from the spotted lizard. They climbed up burning mountains. They descended into the deepest valleys of fire. Up overhead golden vultures watched as Isinglass followed doggedly until suddenly he cornered them amid the desolation of an immense field of rippling black sunspots. Covered with blisters Ianthina was crying quietly and Wilfrid was too weak to go on.

Years later in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep fragments of the dwarf’s long winded speech would return to him.

Nonconformists become inseparably connected with the obstacles to an honest living. Drifting lonely before the tide we are exposed to great suffering and persecution yet we endure this sad inhospitable farce laughing at the strange antics of our murderers. We leave their dreary tales unread. Like the yelps of a well beaten dog we write to share the pain.

The dwarf had had to be carried from the stage perspiring and groaning she’d torn up the last of her supernatural nonsense. Uneasy and anxious he had taken her stilts home and placed them in the hothouse. A thorn on the casarine tree plucked at his sleeve and he was reminded of his wife’s dying words. He pawed at the branches. Nothing. He seized the trunk and shook it — something dropped at his feet. A small jar. Prying it open Wilfrid recognized his eye lovingly preserved.

We speak to the strange and wild people that live many centuries from here life preservers brought up after the bloodshot clouds disappear when men are as gods and gone is all fear.

Time went on until one night the demoralized professor was drawn to the hothouse now fallen into decay. Fleecy clouds ambled by the moon plashing shadows into the verdant vegetation.

Isinglass in his methodical way impaled them on the corkscrew. All around them soft lives were ripening and slipping away on warm shafts of sunlight bound for the paradise worlds returning with humility to the struggle against the evil residuum. Another fate awaits the deceitful and the malicious. Turning the handle into the soot the lizard cheerfully brought their journey to an end. Languishing in disgrace Ianthina and Wilfrid are immured forever as sunspots.

Allan Kausch is an editor, surreal collagist and author from the San Francisco Bay Area. He has had a handful of shows of his original collages, and is the author of five books: Voyage of Exile, Blackberry Castle, The Wax Baby, Fetch the Stick Dog and Remorse Code and Other Tantrums. A devoted Dickhead, he organized the massive preproduction of the six volumes of the Selected Letters of Philip K. Dick. Until recently he worked as the Continuity Editor for Lucasfilm Ltd., serving as the Star Wars expert under George Lucas, and he received the Harvey and Eisner awards for his editing of Star Wars comic-books. He is now pursuing a freelance existence.

“Ianthina” is from his latest book, Remorse Code and Other Tantrums, of which noted montagist Winston Smith has said: “These artist books are really cool… Max Ernst would be amazed at his legacy… great!”

Copyright © 2002 by Allan Kausch.