Chapter 12

十二

When I awoke to the next morning, a severed arm was floating in the air, running its long bony, frigid fingers through my hair. I sprung up and slapped wildly at its cold flesh, and it disappeared and vaporized into the damp chill of the room.

I slapped myself in the face, told myself it was the dreams eating at me again, and I dressed, cleaned myself up, tried to focus on other things, like my lecture I’d deliver that afternoon.

But it was tough to shake off those icy fingers in my hair and to not think of what I’d learned last night, those stories. Those teachers thrown off the roof of the building. Those people, their cases, the people they killed, and how scores here were knelt and shot in the back of the head. I wondered what thoughts must have gone through their minds as they were taking that final walk.

I was having trouble really focusing on anything, though, my mind scattered.

When I was brushing my teeth, I found that the severed arm was holding my toothbrush, brushing for me, and in the sink were globs of bloody teeth.

I retched and grabbed the arm, the limb cold as a chunk of ice, and began to curse at it and beat it into the bathroom wall and spit foamy white toothpaste froth at it.

Seconds later, it again disappeared, and I discovered I was slapping my toothbrush at the wall and that the sink was empty.

I took my razor, cut a short slice on my forearm, dipped my finger in the running warm blood and wrote, on the bathroom wall, a 口, the character for mouth, hoping the severed arm would stick itself in there instead...

When I got to the cafeteria, Marco was dressed in a long, flowing red robe with gold trim, wearing several sets of bright green bead necklaces and had a crown of thorns and chicken feathers on his head. He was drinking a cup of chicken blood mixed with herbs.

“Omiero,” he said, offering me a sip. I politely declined.

He continued, “Keeps the spirits away. I’m also making spirit dolls. I caught three evil spirits with the dolls, two murderers and a thief ... It’s like luring out a snake, with the doll. I set it near my altar, I dance, chant and drum, and the spirits are sucked right into the doll, trapped in ... Then I offer the dolls to Zhong Kui. You still don’t believe in Santeria, amigo?”

“Marco, I don’t know what I believe,” I told him, rubbing my weary eyes, which were dry, full of sand.

Marco stood up, lifted his tray. His eyes bulged. “I’ve changed my name to ‘Marcoba.’ You can still call me ‘Marco,’ but, just so you know, dog, I am a Marcoba.”

He nodded at me, turned and walked off.

Two other foreign teachers sat down to the foreigner table and joined me. One was Fat Elvis, a Canadian, 30ish dude, who earned the nickname because he looked like the fat version of Elvis, mutton chop sideburns and everything...

Most days Fat Elvis stunk like body odor or liquor. We appreciated it more when, like today, it was liquor...

The other guy, an older guy, I think was from Australia. His name I forgot. He had a bushy ponytail, but the front of his gray, brown and black hair was balding, giving him a look sort of like a dead raccoon was hanging from the back of his head.