A Karmic Questioning
by Mitchell Waldman
Q: You’ve mentioned that when you were a boy you liked to set animals on fire.
A: Yes, animals and other things. Not that I was a pyro or anything. I just liked to watch them burn.
Q: What kind of animals were they?
A: Small things, mainly. A turtle, a couple of frogs. Once there was this mangy old alley cat roaming the neighborhood and—
Q: What was your method?
A: Oh, you know. Lighter fluid, gasoline, whatever was available. There was always some gasoline in the red gas can in the shed. The old man always made sure of that. He loved that little strip of lawn of his more than anything. Usually, it would take two guys. One would hold the animal, the other would douse the thing in fluid. Then we’d wait a minute or so to let the fluid soak in, just like it says on the charcoal bag, while the thing would try to clean itself off, then strike the match and VAR-OOM!! It was beautiful.
Q: Did the animals cry out as they burned?
A: Yeah. Sometimes the thing would shriek louder than hell, like EEEEEEEE!! Other times it would just make a soft little squeal, like somebody screaming down a tunnel.
Q: And this didn’t bother you?
A: No, I didn’t think about it much back then. I was pretty wild as a boy.
Q: Can you tell me a little about it?
A: I used to do all kinds of unbelievable things. One time a bunch of us went exploring at a construction site. This was on a Saturday afternoon. I drank a quart of beer and climbed up on the top beam of the structure. It was just the steel skeleton back then, but it was about four stories up.
Q: How old were you then?
A: Oh, I dunno. Let me see. About fifteen, sixteen. No, fifteen. I remember, I was working at the Landow Theatre because I couldn’t get any other job, and they were paying peanuts, I mean, it was under the minimum wage, even back then. It was a dollar twenty-five an hour.
Q: Did you ever kill anyone?
A: You mean, a person?
Q: Yes.
A: No, at least, not that I know of.
Q: Why are you grinning?
A: Am I? I didn’t even notice.
Q: And you never had any trouble with the law?
A: No, nothing major. The usual: getting in fistfights and getting too drunk in my late teens, early twenties. That sort of thing. Yeah, I spent a couple times in the drunk tank. It wasn’t as bad as everyone makes out.
Q: Let me ask you this: Have you ever loved anyone?
A: Uhh, that’s getting a little personal, don’t you think?
Q: Yes, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.
A: Like I said, it’s personal.
Q: Okay then. We’ll move on to the next one.
A: My mother.
Q: What’s that?
A: My mother, I loved my mother. Doesn’t everyone?
Q: I don’t really know.
A: Well, you can put that down if you like. I loved my mother.
Q: When did she die?
A: Who said she died? She’s living in Florida with my Uncle Joe. In Tampa.
Q: I see.
A: My old man, though, forget it.
Q: Yes?
A: He was one ripe asshole. Taught me about Jesus with the back of his belt. When he was really mad, sauced up, more times than not, he’d slip down on the leather, hit me with the buckle. It was a big old silver thing with steer horns on it. I still got the marks from it on my ass to prove it. You want to see?
Q: No, that won’t be necessary.
A: It’s kind of funny now. You can see the horns. I always get a laugh out of it with the ladies.
Q: And he died.
A: The old man? Yes, thank God that he did. Drank himself to death, or would’ve, if the guy who knocked him over the head with the tire iron hadn’t got to him first.
Q: Hmm. But, beside your dad, beside the beatings, would you say that you had a happy childhood overall?
A: Sure. Why not? It wasn’t much different than other kids had. I didn’t let none of it bother me.
Q: Let me get back to my original question. Was there anyone else, besides your mother, a girl, a woman, who you loved?
A: Sure. Lots of them. Some of them I don’t even remember their names.
Q: You loved these women.
A: Sure. I’ve always had leanings that way. What do you take me for? A queer?
Q: And you’ve known love in other than physical terms?
A: Well, yeah. Once or twice.
Q: Do you want to elaborate on that?
A: Well, like I said, it is pretty personal. But, I guess that’s what this is all about, right?
Q: Yes, you might say that.
A: Okay. I get ya. There was this one girl, Marina. I met her in high school. She was quite a girl. Took a lot of abuse from me, looking back. Too much, I guess. She finally got wise.
Q: So, it didn’t work out in the end.
A: No.
Q: And you abused her physically.
A: Oh, yeah. Physically and mentally. All sorts of ways. Like I said, she put up with a lot of shit. But I thought she could take it. She was tough, like me. At least, that’s what I thought.
That’s what drew me to her. We were living together, about a year or so. Tough, yeah, that’s what I thought she was. Then one day I come home and she’s crying on the living room floor. Just sitting there cross-legged, bawling her lungs out. I told her to get the hell out right then.
Q: You kicked her out?
A: Yeah. I didn’t need that shit. I mean, I thought she was different.
Q: And that was it?
A: Yeah. She went back to her mother. We talked occasionally. But that was that, pretty much. I’d had it.
Q: And there was someone else?
A: Yeah. It was the same sort of thing. It turned out she misled me into thinking she was one thing, then she turned out to be another, nagging me all the time, asking, “When we gonna get married?” I told her “Never” and “Pack up” in the same breath. I thought we’d both wanted the same thing.
Q: Which was?
A: Oh, you know, companionship, sharing, but no heavy duty commitments. We talked about it before she moved in. Then the marriage crap. It was more than I could take.
Q: Let me ask you this: Where were you when JFK was shot?
A: I was at home, sick from school that day. I think it was the mumps. No, measles.
Q: You weren’t in Dallas that day?
A: No, I was sick in bed. I remember watching it all on TV. Why?
Q: Just one of those questions we throw in to make sure you’re paying attention.
A: Oh. Okay.
Q: Here’s another one. How did you feel when you threw Jake Fischbein down your basement stairs?
A: What?
Q: I believe it was during a Christmas party. You’d said he’d knocked down your Christmas tree.
A: Oh, yeah, the bastard. What was the question? How did I feel?
Q: Correct.
A: I don’t really remember. Good, I guess.
Q: And he wasn’t hurt, is that correct? Even though he rolled down twenty-two stairs?
A: I don’t remember how many stairs there were.
Q: But he wasn’t hurt.
A: No, at least nothing long-term. I’m sure it didn’t feel good at the time.
Q: But he could have been hurt, isn’t that true?
A: Yeah, I suppose.
Q: And you would do it again, today?
A: Of course. Well, not today. Like I said, I was kinda crazy back then. But if someone knocked over your Christmas tree, what would you do?
Q: I’m Jewish.
A: Well, whatever. Your menorah, I don’t know.
Q: I’m the one asking the questions, if you don’t mind.
A: Okay, sorry. You don’t have to blow your top.
Q: Did it occur to you that he was drunk that night, that he didn’t know what he was doing?
A: Who?
Q: Jake Fischbein.
A: Listen, it was nothing. He was nothing. It was a big mistake.
Q: Pushing him down the stairs?
A: No, inviting him to the party. It was just — well, you had to know the guy to know what I mean. He was a — how do you say it in your language? A putz. Did I get it right?
Q: Yes, you said it just right.
A: Anyways, that’s what he was. A squirrel, a loser, a creep. A pansy-faced, mother-lickin’ fag, more or less.
Q: Are you through?
A: A slime-belching, hook-nosed—
Q: Uhh—
A: Oh, yeah. Sorry. It’s not that I have anything against them, against you people. It was just that Fischbein. He got on my ass. He smelled like his name.
Q: Then why did you invite him to your party?
A: Like I said, it was a mistake. His brother and me palled around. His brother was okay, cool, crazy like me. But that Jake, he was a cold fish.
Q: Fischbein.
A: Exactly.
Q: The night you threw him down the stairs, he was drinking straight out of that whiskey bottle you were passing around?
A: Oh, yeah. We all were. It was no biggie. He was a real wimp, couldn’t handle his booze, not like a man, anyway.
Q: And you could.
A: Huh?
Q: Would you say you were inebriated when you threw Jake Fischbein down the stairs?
A: Yeah, I guess, but—
Q: Now, if you will, for a moment, can you close your eyes?
A: What? What’s this all about?
Q: Close your eyes, please. I do this with all my subjects. It’s called creative imaging. Now, close your eyes, please.
A: Okay, okay. I’m doing it. Not that I like it much, but—
Q: Now, see if you can tell me what I’m touching you with. Here, on the arm.
A: It feels tickly, like a feather.
Q: And here.
A: Hard. Like a rock.
Q: And here, on your forehead.
A: It’s cold, smooth. I dunno. Wait, I think I got it. A thirty-eight.
Copyright © 2023 by Mitchell Waldman
