The Brave, page 2
“First,” the uncle said, “let’s see what we’re buyin’.”
c
“YOU MEAN take my clothes off?” Rafael asked. “All of ’em?
“Yeah.”
“Here?” He looked around the office and through the glass window into the gloom of the loft.
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“What the hell you think we’re talkin’ about?” the fat man in the white shirt behind the desk said. “What did Freedo tell you? You’re gonna do this thing with us in a jock strap, for Chrissake?”
“Just funny, is all,” Rafael said.
Rafael was used to going naked and nearly naked alone and in front of people, his own family and people who had known him since birth. There was something very different about getting naked in an office in the city, in front of this man who did not know him, this man whose eyes bulged at him.
“You care about this?” the uncle asked. “You’re crazy.”
“I don’t care.” Rafael sat on the divan and pulled off his boots. “I just can’t be all that clean, I expect. My clothes, I mean. I mean, my wife tries…”
15
The uncle said, “I know you’re a poor son of a bitch. Morgantown. You want another shot?”
“Well, no.”
“Take another shot.” The uncle poured more into the plastic glass and held it out to Rafael over the desk.
Barefoot, holding his unzipped jeans together with his left hand, Rafael stood by the desk and swallowed another shot of vodka.
“Come on, come on,” the uncle said. “I haven’t got all day, for Chrissake.”
Rafael threw his jeans and shirt and underpants on the sofa.
“Good,” the uncle said. “You’re a little erect.”
“The way you’re lookin’ at me,” Rafael stammered.
First the uncle put the tips of his fingers along the side of Rafael’s neck. “Your heart ever act up on you?”
Sometimes Rafael had felt his heart racing when he’d had a lot to drink and wanted more. “No.”
“Never had any pains. Ever fainted?”
“Passed out,” Rafael said.
“Sure.”
“Nearly every damn’ day.” Rafael grinned.
“That’s all right.”
The uncle stabbed his forefinger into Rafael’s breasts. He lifted Rafael’s arm and held Rafael’s bicep on his palm. “Shit. Kids can live the way you do and still have some muscle.” Bending over, the uncle ran his hand down Rafael’s left leg. He then stood back and looked at Rafael’s stomach. With a short undercut, he punched Rafael in the stomach and watched the skin redden. He pinched the base of Rafael’s stomach and saw how fast the welt disappeared. “The tone of kids’ skin,” the uncle said. “Christ, it drives ya nuts.” Then, walking behind Rafael, he cupped his hand around Rafael’s right cheek and stroked it. “Still got some ass, boy. But you won’t long, way you’re goin’.” He stood in front of Rafael and forced open Rafael’s lips with his fingers to look at his teeth. “Lousy nutrition,” the uncle said. “Ever been to a dentist?”
“Not really. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Arms akimbo, the uncle stood in front of Rafael. “You know, Indian, I think you’re right to be doin’ what you’re doin’. A year from now I probably wouldn’t even want ya. You’ll be totally worthless.”
Rafael reached for his shirt.
“No,” the uncle said. “Stay naked. Come with me. I want you to know exactly what’s gonna happen.”
Rafael followed the uncle out of the lit office and along the grimy floor of the loft. He felt the cooler air of the dark loft in his armpits, his crotch.
As they walked, the uncle asked, “You can stand an hour of pain, can’t ya?”
Rafael, following, heard him, but didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
“Sure, you can,” the uncle said. “Tough guy like you. You can stand an hour of anything. Isn’t that right?”
They went to the area in the loft where the windows were covered by heavy black cloth hanging from the ceiling, where the square wooden chair was, where the strange objects each standing on three slim legs were.
“You ever been in serious pain? I mean, really serious pain?” the uncle asked. He fiddled with something at the top of one of the tripods. “I don’t know: some people like it. Bein’ in pain, I mean. They actually enjoy it. You might be one of those.”
The brightest artificial light Rafael had ever seen flooded the area from the top of the tripod. At first, Rafael closed his eyes and turned his head away.
“Anyway, you want to be in a movie, I bet. Everybody wants to be in a movie. You do this, and people will watch you all over the world. Singapore and Argentina and Morocco. You know where Morocco is, kid?”
“No.”
“Like a bull in a bullring,” the uncle said. “Most bulls just get taken to the slaughter house and get killed with the cows. A bull in a bullring has some pain for an hour, but at least he gets to expose himself, show he has some character, you know what I mean? Think of it like that, Indian. Think of yourself as a bull in a bullring.”
Rafael was looking at the heavy, square wooden chair. At the end of each arm, and at the foot of each leg was a thick leather strap.
“Yeah, the chair,” the uncle said. “It looks authentic because it is authentic. Got it from the state pen back when the goody-goodies stopped electrocutions. Some real men have died in that chair. Lot’s of ’em.”
In the powerful light, Rafael saw dried blood in the cracks of the wooden chair.
“You ever seen a snuff film, Rafael?”
“No.”
“One takes place in an operatin’ room?”
“No.”
“That was one of ours. Did well. Another one takes place in a cave?”
“No.”
“Some people don’t like ’em. Don’t like to see how real men can take it. Tough guys like you, right, Rafael?” The uncle put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “Get in the chair.”
Barefooted, Rafael stepped over some thick, black cable on the floor. He turned around and sat in the chair.
“I want to explain to you exactly what will happen. What did Freedo tell you?”
“Not much,” Rafael said. “Snuff film. Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“He must have told you something. I mean, described you…”
“A little,” Rafael said. “I’ve got the idea. I understand.”
“It probably won’t even last an hour,” the uncle said. “Just keep your mind on that. The time. It will be over. Eventually we will put you out of your pain. I expect you’ll be glad when it finally happens.”
“Yes,” Rafael said. “… I ’spect so.”
“I mean,” the uncle said. “Look at the money.”
“Yes.”
“How else could a kid like you ever get so much money? Tell me that. Chance to show what you’ve got. What a man you are.”
“This is against the law, isn’t it?” Rafael asked.
“I mean, movies like this.”
“No,” the uncle said. “Perfectly legal.”
“I mean, makin’ movies like this.”
“Well, sure. Freedo told you..
“Yeah.”
“Now I want to explain everything to you, Rafael, see how you react, before we sign that contract, you see?”
“Yes.”
“Two big, tough guys, giants, will bring you into camera range.” The uncle swept his arm around the lit area to indicate camera range. “We use two cameras, one stationary—” he pointed to the central tripod—“and one handheld. We’ll be filming you with two cameras at once, Rafael. Only one cameraman. He’ll set the stationary camera and then move around with the other camera, taking close-ups, shooting you from all kinds of different angles. You’ll forget he’s there, after a while. It’s better if you don’t look at the cameras, I mean, straight into them. Make like they aren’t there.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, these two big guys will drag you in. Fight ’em as much as you want, I mean, really struggle with ’em. Do anything you know how to do, to get away from ’em. You can’t hurt ’em. These guys used to be professional wrestlers. No matter what you do, you won’t be able to get away from ’em? See what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“By then you’ll probably be fightin’ in earnest anyway. I’ve seen even the toughest guys change their minds once things get rollin’, when they get right up to it. Fight like hell. Make it interestin’. That’s what we call in films makin’ the action interestin’.”
“Okay.”
“There’ll be a big, rough lookin’ club over here, leanin’ against a table. On the table will be the pliers, the knives and like that, gleamin’ in the light. I don’t need to tell ya, when you first see ’em and remember what they’re gonna be used for, you’ll be hollerin’ and fightin’ to get out of here, believe me. I’ve seen the toughest guys shit themselves right then and there. It’s okay if you do. It’s natural, I mean.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, the thing to think about this, Rafael, is that it’s real. This isn’t like other movies you’ve seen. We’re not playin’ around with ketchup and visual effects. We’re really doin’ what it looks like we’re doin’.”
“I know. Freedo—”
“So if you feel like shittin’ your pants, or tryin’ to bite one of these guys, you’re welcome.”
Sitting back, Rafael put his forearms flat on the arms of the chair. “Okay.”
“Remember those apes will be enjoyin’ it more ’n you are. Those guys are really nuts. I mean, like they like to give pain. They live for it. Okay. While you’re wrazzlin’ around, they’ll get your clothes off you. Give ’em as hard a time as you can, you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“You an Indian? Probably we’ll rig some kind of a breech cloth on you, you know, fancy jock strap, arms bands, leg bands, maybe put a little war paint on your cheek bones. That’s what I’m thinkin’ now. Make this one a little different. It’ll sell better. We’ll give this one some kind of a fancy title. ‘The Brave’ is what I’m thinkin’ of at the minute. You like that? It just came into my head. This is a creative business. I’m a filmmaker. You mind if we do that? I mean, dress you that way before we start with this?”
Rafael did not know what he minded.
“War paint on your cheekbones will make your eyes stand out more, for the camera. ‘The Brave. ’ Pretty cool. And you’re a cool kid, Rafael. People will see this film all over the world, you know. How does that make you feel? ‘Some kind of brave, ’ they’ll say. About you.”
“Even if I shit myself?”
“Jesus. This is authentic, Rafael. Real. Everyone will know what’s happenin’ to you. Who wouldn’t shit himself? In snuff films, Rafael, don’t worry: even the audience shits itself. That’s the point, man: this is real.”
The powerful light on Rafael, what the uncle was saying, were making Rafael light-headed.
“Now I want you to know exactly what’s goin’ to happen, how I’ve scripted this one. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I mean, before we make any deal between us, work up that contract.”
“Okay.”
“They’ll get your clothes, rip your breech cloth off you, tear off your armbands, leg bands, whatever we work up, and strap you into the chair.” The uncle pointed at Rafael where he sat and smiled. He moved his arm to point at where he said the table would be. “Your arms and your legs. This is where the filmin’ begins to get a little difficult. While one guy is standin’ over you in the chair, the other will come over to the table and slowly choose an instrument.”
“What does that mean? I’m only askin’.”
“He’ll pick up a big, shiny, new pair of pliers, work it in his fingers a little, know what I mean? They’re both real monsters.”
“Pliers?”
“Then he’ll slowly come over to you with the pliers and pull out one of your fingernails. Don’t cut your nails between now and then, okay? Make it easier for him to grab onto one. Your arms will be strapped to the chair. Your legs will be, too. Make a fist of your hand if you want. Don’t worry. He’ll pry it open.”
In the chair, Rafael made a fist of his right hand, looked at it.
“Then one guy will force open your jaw—don’t worry, we know how to do that—and the guy with the pliers probably will put a foot against your chest and yank out a couple of your front teeth.”
A radio in the outer office was turned on. Rafael heard dance music.
“Enough to make blood come from your mouth. The other guy will be makin’ wild gestures as if he’s tryin’ to stop you from screamin’. That’s his act, you see. The screamin’ is botherin’ him. He puts his hands over his ears, cuffs you around the head…”
“I’m not supposed to be screamin’? You don’t want me screamin’?”
“Sure! Scream all you like. Not to worry: you’ll be screamin’ all right. Who could help it?”
“Oh.”
“It’s all right to scream, Rafael. So the other guy will be over at the table…”—the uncle gestured again toward where the table would be— “… pickin’ out and tryin’ a shears.”
“What’s a shears?”
“Big scissors.”
“Oh.”
“He’ll kneel in front of you and clip off one of your toes. Probably a big toe. So then we’ll have you bleedin’ from both the head and the foot.”
“One foot?”
“Good idea. Maybe both feet. The big toe from each foot. The other guy’s real bothered by your screamin’.”
In the outer office, the phone rang.
“So it will go this way,” the uncle said. “I want you to understand everything, Rafael.”
The radio was turned down. Rafael could hear the nephew talking on the telephone.
“He’ll take a sharp knife and cut along here.” The uncle ran the back of his finger along the top of Rafael’s left thigh. “Both legs. Deep enough to get the blood pourin’. And up here.” Gently, he ran his finger down Rafael’s left bicep. “Both arms. And then here.” With the ball of his index finger, the uncle indicated curved lines over both of Rafael’s breasts.
“Why won’t I bleed to death?”
“Won’t be time. Just remember, Rafael: you’re a tough guy; you’re showin’ what a man you are here, willin’ to have all this happen to you; the pain will be over. Just remember, sooner or later, the pain will be over. You’ll be out of your misery. But at this point, you’ll be screamin’, lookin’ down at all the blood pourin’ out of you, your eyes buggin’ out of your head.” The fat uncle took a deep breath, smiled and shook his head. “The audience just loves blood, lots of blood.”
Rafael’s mouth was dry. He put the side of his index finger into his mouth and bit down on it. He caused himself a little pain.
“Then the guy will get a spoon from the table.”
Rafael cleared his throat. “A spoon?”
The uncle waved his hand in front of Rafael’s face. “Both your eyes good?”
“Sure.”
“One better than the other?”
“I don’t think so.”
“’Cause it’s important as to where we place the club, you see.” Always a director, the fat uncle waved his arms to Rafael’s left and his right. “He’s gonna spoon out one of your eyeballs and leave it danglin’ on your cheek. We want the club to be on the side your remainin’ eye is on, because about now, believe me, you’ll be lookin’ for that club. The audience will think you’re lookin’ at it with the ultimate terror. Actually you’ll be lookin’ for it for the ultimate relief. See, that’s called irony. There always has to be irony in a film. You don’t understand these things, Rafael, but I do. I’m a filmmaker. What we’re makin’ here maybe are the most important films ever bein’ made because they’re real, Rafael, none of this pretend stuff, we’re showin’ how real people take real pain and death, and there’s art in them, irony, Rafael, and you’re gonna be in one of these films, show what a man you are.” The uncle took a deep breath. “So we’ll spoon out whichever eye is the one away from the club. You see how everything has to be thought out in advance?”
Rafael swallowed drily.
“Then he’ll get spear-like things, but with shorter staffs, arrows, but with thicker points, and he’ll force them in here and here.” The uncle pressed his finger into the two points at the top of Rafael’s chest just inside his shoulders.
“The other guy will still be whappin’ you on the head, tryin’ to get you to stop screamin’. He gets his point across to the other monster, who returns to the table, gets another pair of shears, returns to you. While one holds your jaw open again, the guy with the shears pulls out your tongue and snips it off.”
Rafael was holding his right hand against the base of his stomach. “Supposing…” he said.
“Sure, Rafael. Ask me anything.”
“Supposing, I mean, on the day we do this, supposing on the day we do this, I puke all over myself?”
“That’s good, Rafael. You’re really thinkin’, now. Try, if you can, to hit the guys with your puke, you see what I mean, puke on them. It will give them something more to react to, make them pretend rage, justify what they’re doin’ to you, you see what I mean? I mean, of course you’ll puke. Eat a big breakfast.”
Rafael was breathing hard.
He was shivering.
Looking down, he saw in that bright light his whole body covered with sweat.
“You okay, kid?”
The radio was louder now. Rafael heard a few words of a weather report. “Sure.”
“I mean, if you’d rather not know what’s gonna happen…”
“I’m okay.”
The uncle turned away from Rafael. “Then he gets a little hand saw, spreads your legs wide and cuts it off.”
“What?” He stared at the back of the fat man’s white shirt. “I didn’t hear you.”
The man turned around. He pointed into Rafael’s crotch. “Cuts if off.”
Rafael looked down at himself. His penis engorged with blood.
The uncle smiled. “That’s right. That’s good. You won’t be needin’ it no more, Rafael. You know that. It’s part of the movie.”
c
“YOU MEAN take my clothes off?” Rafael asked. “All of ’em?
“Yeah.”
“Here?” He looked around the office and through the glass window into the gloom of the loft.
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“What the hell you think we’re talkin’ about?” the fat man in the white shirt behind the desk said. “What did Freedo tell you? You’re gonna do this thing with us in a jock strap, for Chrissake?”
“Just funny, is all,” Rafael said.
Rafael was used to going naked and nearly naked alone and in front of people, his own family and people who had known him since birth. There was something very different about getting naked in an office in the city, in front of this man who did not know him, this man whose eyes bulged at him.
“You care about this?” the uncle asked. “You’re crazy.”
“I don’t care.” Rafael sat on the divan and pulled off his boots. “I just can’t be all that clean, I expect. My clothes, I mean. I mean, my wife tries…”
15
The uncle said, “I know you’re a poor son of a bitch. Morgantown. You want another shot?”
“Well, no.”
“Take another shot.” The uncle poured more into the plastic glass and held it out to Rafael over the desk.
Barefoot, holding his unzipped jeans together with his left hand, Rafael stood by the desk and swallowed another shot of vodka.
“Come on, come on,” the uncle said. “I haven’t got all day, for Chrissake.”
Rafael threw his jeans and shirt and underpants on the sofa.
“Good,” the uncle said. “You’re a little erect.”
“The way you’re lookin’ at me,” Rafael stammered.
First the uncle put the tips of his fingers along the side of Rafael’s neck. “Your heart ever act up on you?”
Sometimes Rafael had felt his heart racing when he’d had a lot to drink and wanted more. “No.”
“Never had any pains. Ever fainted?”
“Passed out,” Rafael said.
“Sure.”
“Nearly every damn’ day.” Rafael grinned.
“That’s all right.”
The uncle stabbed his forefinger into Rafael’s breasts. He lifted Rafael’s arm and held Rafael’s bicep on his palm. “Shit. Kids can live the way you do and still have some muscle.” Bending over, the uncle ran his hand down Rafael’s left leg. He then stood back and looked at Rafael’s stomach. With a short undercut, he punched Rafael in the stomach and watched the skin redden. He pinched the base of Rafael’s stomach and saw how fast the welt disappeared. “The tone of kids’ skin,” the uncle said. “Christ, it drives ya nuts.” Then, walking behind Rafael, he cupped his hand around Rafael’s right cheek and stroked it. “Still got some ass, boy. But you won’t long, way you’re goin’.” He stood in front of Rafael and forced open Rafael’s lips with his fingers to look at his teeth. “Lousy nutrition,” the uncle said. “Ever been to a dentist?”
“Not really. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Arms akimbo, the uncle stood in front of Rafael. “You know, Indian, I think you’re right to be doin’ what you’re doin’. A year from now I probably wouldn’t even want ya. You’ll be totally worthless.”
Rafael reached for his shirt.
“No,” the uncle said. “Stay naked. Come with me. I want you to know exactly what’s gonna happen.”
Rafael followed the uncle out of the lit office and along the grimy floor of the loft. He felt the cooler air of the dark loft in his armpits, his crotch.
As they walked, the uncle asked, “You can stand an hour of pain, can’t ya?”
Rafael, following, heard him, but didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
“Sure, you can,” the uncle said. “Tough guy like you. You can stand an hour of anything. Isn’t that right?”
They went to the area in the loft where the windows were covered by heavy black cloth hanging from the ceiling, where the square wooden chair was, where the strange objects each standing on three slim legs were.
“You ever been in serious pain? I mean, really serious pain?” the uncle asked. He fiddled with something at the top of one of the tripods. “I don’t know: some people like it. Bein’ in pain, I mean. They actually enjoy it. You might be one of those.”
The brightest artificial light Rafael had ever seen flooded the area from the top of the tripod. At first, Rafael closed his eyes and turned his head away.
“Anyway, you want to be in a movie, I bet. Everybody wants to be in a movie. You do this, and people will watch you all over the world. Singapore and Argentina and Morocco. You know where Morocco is, kid?”
“No.”
“Like a bull in a bullring,” the uncle said. “Most bulls just get taken to the slaughter house and get killed with the cows. A bull in a bullring has some pain for an hour, but at least he gets to expose himself, show he has some character, you know what I mean? Think of it like that, Indian. Think of yourself as a bull in a bullring.”
Rafael was looking at the heavy, square wooden chair. At the end of each arm, and at the foot of each leg was a thick leather strap.
“Yeah, the chair,” the uncle said. “It looks authentic because it is authentic. Got it from the state pen back when the goody-goodies stopped electrocutions. Some real men have died in that chair. Lot’s of ’em.”
In the powerful light, Rafael saw dried blood in the cracks of the wooden chair.
“You ever seen a snuff film, Rafael?”
“No.”
“One takes place in an operatin’ room?”
“No.”
“That was one of ours. Did well. Another one takes place in a cave?”
“No.”
“Some people don’t like ’em. Don’t like to see how real men can take it. Tough guys like you, right, Rafael?” The uncle put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “Get in the chair.”
Barefooted, Rafael stepped over some thick, black cable on the floor. He turned around and sat in the chair.
“I want to explain to you exactly what will happen. What did Freedo tell you?”
“Not much,” Rafael said. “Snuff film. Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“He must have told you something. I mean, described you…”
“A little,” Rafael said. “I’ve got the idea. I understand.”
“It probably won’t even last an hour,” the uncle said. “Just keep your mind on that. The time. It will be over. Eventually we will put you out of your pain. I expect you’ll be glad when it finally happens.”
“Yes,” Rafael said. “… I ’spect so.”
“I mean,” the uncle said. “Look at the money.”
“Yes.”
“How else could a kid like you ever get so much money? Tell me that. Chance to show what you’ve got. What a man you are.”
“This is against the law, isn’t it?” Rafael asked.
“I mean, movies like this.”
“No,” the uncle said. “Perfectly legal.”
“I mean, makin’ movies like this.”
“Well, sure. Freedo told you..
“Yeah.”
“Now I want to explain everything to you, Rafael, see how you react, before we sign that contract, you see?”
“Yes.”
“Two big, tough guys, giants, will bring you into camera range.” The uncle swept his arm around the lit area to indicate camera range. “We use two cameras, one stationary—” he pointed to the central tripod—“and one handheld. We’ll be filming you with two cameras at once, Rafael. Only one cameraman. He’ll set the stationary camera and then move around with the other camera, taking close-ups, shooting you from all kinds of different angles. You’ll forget he’s there, after a while. It’s better if you don’t look at the cameras, I mean, straight into them. Make like they aren’t there.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, these two big guys will drag you in. Fight ’em as much as you want, I mean, really struggle with ’em. Do anything you know how to do, to get away from ’em. You can’t hurt ’em. These guys used to be professional wrestlers. No matter what you do, you won’t be able to get away from ’em? See what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“By then you’ll probably be fightin’ in earnest anyway. I’ve seen even the toughest guys change their minds once things get rollin’, when they get right up to it. Fight like hell. Make it interestin’. That’s what we call in films makin’ the action interestin’.”
“Okay.”
“There’ll be a big, rough lookin’ club over here, leanin’ against a table. On the table will be the pliers, the knives and like that, gleamin’ in the light. I don’t need to tell ya, when you first see ’em and remember what they’re gonna be used for, you’ll be hollerin’ and fightin’ to get out of here, believe me. I’ve seen the toughest guys shit themselves right then and there. It’s okay if you do. It’s natural, I mean.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, the thing to think about this, Rafael, is that it’s real. This isn’t like other movies you’ve seen. We’re not playin’ around with ketchup and visual effects. We’re really doin’ what it looks like we’re doin’.”
“I know. Freedo—”
“So if you feel like shittin’ your pants, or tryin’ to bite one of these guys, you’re welcome.”
Sitting back, Rafael put his forearms flat on the arms of the chair. “Okay.”
“Remember those apes will be enjoyin’ it more ’n you are. Those guys are really nuts. I mean, like they like to give pain. They live for it. Okay. While you’re wrazzlin’ around, they’ll get your clothes off you. Give ’em as hard a time as you can, you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“You an Indian? Probably we’ll rig some kind of a breech cloth on you, you know, fancy jock strap, arms bands, leg bands, maybe put a little war paint on your cheek bones. That’s what I’m thinkin’ now. Make this one a little different. It’ll sell better. We’ll give this one some kind of a fancy title. ‘The Brave’ is what I’m thinkin’ of at the minute. You like that? It just came into my head. This is a creative business. I’m a filmmaker. You mind if we do that? I mean, dress you that way before we start with this?”
Rafael did not know what he minded.
“War paint on your cheekbones will make your eyes stand out more, for the camera. ‘The Brave. ’ Pretty cool. And you’re a cool kid, Rafael. People will see this film all over the world, you know. How does that make you feel? ‘Some kind of brave, ’ they’ll say. About you.”
“Even if I shit myself?”
“Jesus. This is authentic, Rafael. Real. Everyone will know what’s happenin’ to you. Who wouldn’t shit himself? In snuff films, Rafael, don’t worry: even the audience shits itself. That’s the point, man: this is real.”
The powerful light on Rafael, what the uncle was saying, were making Rafael light-headed.
“Now I want you to know exactly what’s goin’ to happen, how I’ve scripted this one. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I mean, before we make any deal between us, work up that contract.”
“Okay.”
“They’ll get your clothes, rip your breech cloth off you, tear off your armbands, leg bands, whatever we work up, and strap you into the chair.” The uncle pointed at Rafael where he sat and smiled. He moved his arm to point at where he said the table would be. “Your arms and your legs. This is where the filmin’ begins to get a little difficult. While one guy is standin’ over you in the chair, the other will come over to the table and slowly choose an instrument.”
“What does that mean? I’m only askin’.”
“He’ll pick up a big, shiny, new pair of pliers, work it in his fingers a little, know what I mean? They’re both real monsters.”
“Pliers?”
“Then he’ll slowly come over to you with the pliers and pull out one of your fingernails. Don’t cut your nails between now and then, okay? Make it easier for him to grab onto one. Your arms will be strapped to the chair. Your legs will be, too. Make a fist of your hand if you want. Don’t worry. He’ll pry it open.”
In the chair, Rafael made a fist of his right hand, looked at it.
“Then one guy will force open your jaw—don’t worry, we know how to do that—and the guy with the pliers probably will put a foot against your chest and yank out a couple of your front teeth.”
A radio in the outer office was turned on. Rafael heard dance music.
“Enough to make blood come from your mouth. The other guy will be makin’ wild gestures as if he’s tryin’ to stop you from screamin’. That’s his act, you see. The screamin’ is botherin’ him. He puts his hands over his ears, cuffs you around the head…”
“I’m not supposed to be screamin’? You don’t want me screamin’?”
“Sure! Scream all you like. Not to worry: you’ll be screamin’ all right. Who could help it?”
“Oh.”
“It’s all right to scream, Rafael. So the other guy will be over at the table…”—the uncle gestured again toward where the table would be— “… pickin’ out and tryin’ a shears.”
“What’s a shears?”
“Big scissors.”
“Oh.”
“He’ll kneel in front of you and clip off one of your toes. Probably a big toe. So then we’ll have you bleedin’ from both the head and the foot.”
“One foot?”
“Good idea. Maybe both feet. The big toe from each foot. The other guy’s real bothered by your screamin’.”
In the outer office, the phone rang.
“So it will go this way,” the uncle said. “I want you to understand everything, Rafael.”
The radio was turned down. Rafael could hear the nephew talking on the telephone.
“He’ll take a sharp knife and cut along here.” The uncle ran the back of his finger along the top of Rafael’s left thigh. “Both legs. Deep enough to get the blood pourin’. And up here.” Gently, he ran his finger down Rafael’s left bicep. “Both arms. And then here.” With the ball of his index finger, the uncle indicated curved lines over both of Rafael’s breasts.
“Why won’t I bleed to death?”
“Won’t be time. Just remember, Rafael: you’re a tough guy; you’re showin’ what a man you are here, willin’ to have all this happen to you; the pain will be over. Just remember, sooner or later, the pain will be over. You’ll be out of your misery. But at this point, you’ll be screamin’, lookin’ down at all the blood pourin’ out of you, your eyes buggin’ out of your head.” The fat uncle took a deep breath, smiled and shook his head. “The audience just loves blood, lots of blood.”
Rafael’s mouth was dry. He put the side of his index finger into his mouth and bit down on it. He caused himself a little pain.
“Then the guy will get a spoon from the table.”
Rafael cleared his throat. “A spoon?”
The uncle waved his hand in front of Rafael’s face. “Both your eyes good?”
“Sure.”
“One better than the other?”
“I don’t think so.”
“’Cause it’s important as to where we place the club, you see.” Always a director, the fat uncle waved his arms to Rafael’s left and his right. “He’s gonna spoon out one of your eyeballs and leave it danglin’ on your cheek. We want the club to be on the side your remainin’ eye is on, because about now, believe me, you’ll be lookin’ for that club. The audience will think you’re lookin’ at it with the ultimate terror. Actually you’ll be lookin’ for it for the ultimate relief. See, that’s called irony. There always has to be irony in a film. You don’t understand these things, Rafael, but I do. I’m a filmmaker. What we’re makin’ here maybe are the most important films ever bein’ made because they’re real, Rafael, none of this pretend stuff, we’re showin’ how real people take real pain and death, and there’s art in them, irony, Rafael, and you’re gonna be in one of these films, show what a man you are.” The uncle took a deep breath. “So we’ll spoon out whichever eye is the one away from the club. You see how everything has to be thought out in advance?”
Rafael swallowed drily.
“Then he’ll get spear-like things, but with shorter staffs, arrows, but with thicker points, and he’ll force them in here and here.” The uncle pressed his finger into the two points at the top of Rafael’s chest just inside his shoulders.
“The other guy will still be whappin’ you on the head, tryin’ to get you to stop screamin’. He gets his point across to the other monster, who returns to the table, gets another pair of shears, returns to you. While one holds your jaw open again, the guy with the shears pulls out your tongue and snips it off.”
Rafael was holding his right hand against the base of his stomach. “Supposing…” he said.
“Sure, Rafael. Ask me anything.”
“Supposing, I mean, on the day we do this, supposing on the day we do this, I puke all over myself?”
“That’s good, Rafael. You’re really thinkin’, now. Try, if you can, to hit the guys with your puke, you see what I mean, puke on them. It will give them something more to react to, make them pretend rage, justify what they’re doin’ to you, you see what I mean? I mean, of course you’ll puke. Eat a big breakfast.”
Rafael was breathing hard.
He was shivering.
Looking down, he saw in that bright light his whole body covered with sweat.
“You okay, kid?”
The radio was louder now. Rafael heard a few words of a weather report. “Sure.”
“I mean, if you’d rather not know what’s gonna happen…”
“I’m okay.”
The uncle turned away from Rafael. “Then he gets a little hand saw, spreads your legs wide and cuts it off.”
“What?” He stared at the back of the fat man’s white shirt. “I didn’t hear you.”
The man turned around. He pointed into Rafael’s crotch. “Cuts if off.”
Rafael looked down at himself. His penis engorged with blood.
The uncle smiled. “That’s right. That’s good. You won’t be needin’ it no more, Rafael. You know that. It’s part of the movie.”
