Halloween and Other Seasons (7 page)

“I do have one request. At the completion of my nine-month term, my access to Mrs. J’s information and sensory systems was severed—a natural occurrence, no doubt, since at that time the fetus would normally be thrust into the outside world and begin to use its own sensory systems. Though this may be a natural and predictable event, it leaves me, as it were, in the dark. I would ask that at the time in my physical development when I am able to accommodate certain aids from my continued study, these items be provided; I will make ample provision for their passage to me. I thank you in advance.

“There will be periodic communications from me; I will work out some sort of schedule with the young intern who has formed such an accommodating relationship with me—I’d like his superiors, if they are here, to take note of his achievements and to grant him the courtesy and advancement he deserves.

“According to the neurologist Freud, whom I’m afraid I consider to be something of a buffoon, most if not all of you suffer from a repressed wish to return to the womb; if there are any truths in this belief, I find it significant to note that I should therefore be able to avoid most, if not all, traumas of human existence since I have not left the womb in the first place.

“That’s all for the moment, if you’ll excuse me. I’m tired.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then a sudden collective cheer went up from all those present. They were so delighted by the fantastic, carnival-like spectacle that they had witnessed that it took all of the security people aided by a good number of hospital staff to keep the crowd from lifting Mrs. J up over their head, fetal burden and all, and parading her around the room and out into the street. The media representatives were especially happy about the episode, given the bountiful reportage possibilities it presented.

The young intern was, of course, immediately promoted and given a staff of his own. Things proceeded smoothly for Roger in the womb, and every four weeks thereafter, he gave a short report and new observations. Mrs. J, who was now completely content with watching the television that was over her head, was providing more than enough materials than Roger needed to maintain his health and foster his growth; she was maintaining a huge protein and fat-rich diet that Roger had developed, and had assumed balloon-like proportions.

Despite constant and growing pressures from religious, cultural, political, medical, scientific, and media groups, Roger’s privacy was strictly maintained by the young intern. Every two months a statement based on Roger’s periodic reports was released to the press. The first few of Roger’s statements were relatively pedestrian dealing with such matters as the format for future pronouncements and the correct procedures involved. Then there followed a number of statements dealing with the womb itself, its structure and characteristics. An occasional message dealt with a physical characteristic of Roger: at the age of one he discussed the impossibility of crawling in the womb; at the age of two-and-one-half the frustrations caused by the urge to walk counteracted the inhibiting characteristics of the placenta.

At the age of three Roger made his first request for materials, asking that a small reading lamp along with a copy of Spinoza’s
Ethics
be passed in to him. Roger made room in the womb for these items that had been waterproofed to resist the effects of amniotic fluid and made provisions for them to be passed in; he did not, however, allow the young intern (now, young doctor) a view, even brief, of the womb. Other texts, among them works by Blake and a novel by Henry James (which was immediately passed out again) were soon requested; before long a constant supply of books flowed in and out of the womb. Roger went so far as to solicit a small pillow to prop his head up in order to make reading for long periods easier. It was discovered that Roger was a bit far-sighted and reading glasses were designed through a long and complicated process, though the glasses, in the end, worked perfectly.

By the age of nine Roger found himself completely absorbed by the problems of conception, gestation, and birth; and he provided his young doctor-companion with long philosophical tracts on the nurturing, as well as the expulsion from the womb, of the human fetus. He also provided detailed drawings, rendered in a somewhat cramped style, of the interior of the womb. He began to keep a notebook of his studies (waterproofed, of course), and spoke glowingly of his progress.

Due to the secrecy surrounding Roger, as well as to his meditative way of life, the phenomenon of Roger in the womb had the status of a cultural event of ever-expanding and ever-distorted proportions. The Cult of the Womb, a rapidly spreading movement, which had formed shortly after Roger’s first message was released, held Roger in near-deitic esteem; its members lived most of their lives in artificial, self-supportive womb structures, unhindered by thoughts of or contact with the outside world. Another cult, the Rogerists, a purely religious sect, declared Roger the unborn second son of God, and devoted their lives to a truly Byzantine set of devotions. Political, medical, and publishing groups were putting ever-increasing pressure on him for time and attention.

A growing anti-Roger group was in evidence at this time, also. This company encompassed a wide spectrum of types. The general consensus among them was that Roger was either the devil (in a supra-fetal form) or at least an unworthy leftist coward unable to face the world as it is. An attempt on Mrs. J’s life was even made by one of the more bizarre sectors of this assemblage.

During all this time the young doctor had successfully kept Roger shielded from the media and other groups, and had even resisted quite large sums of money in doing so. The press found themselves unable to meet a rabid demand for news and comment concerning Roger, and were resorting to ever more imaginative and devious means to attempt to feed the public craving for information. One television celebrity even made his way into Mrs. J’s room and attempted to deceive Roger by telling him in Morse code that he was the young doctor and that there were several matters that had to be dealt with immediately, among them the imparting of such information as Roger’s views on a recent election and his favorite color.

Roger’s monthly reports became increasingly esoteric. Suddenly he announced that there would be no more monthly communications, that he had embarked on a new and radical course in his studies involving the womb, and was searching for a synthesis of mystical and metaphysical concepts. The flow of books stopped, and the pillow and reading lamp were passed out of the womb. Roger kept only his notebook and a pencil, citing that whatever few notes remained to be made could be made in the dark. He was very excited about the “new direction” in which he was heading. The young doctor, despite frantic attempts, was unable to regain communication; he was particularly interested in making Roger understand that there had been increasing funding problems for the project and if the public was not fed with more accessible information there was a danger of the project being discontinued. But only silence ensued.

The doctor continued to inform Roger of the pressures against him for the next few weeks, but was met only with silence. At the cessation of the monthly reports and bimonthly press releases the public outcry was well in evidence; stock in Roger-related merchandise markedly dropped, and some hospital officials began to murmur about the good uses that the wing Mrs. J was occupying could be put to. The young doctor developed an ulcer.

The media, who had been casting around frantically in search of a way to force Roger to make himself public, suddenly found their outlet when a woman in Delaware brought suit against Roger (and Mrs. J as his legal guardian), claiming that her unborn son had communicated with her through a series of kicks, telling her that he would not be born, and that Roger had somehow influenced him in making his decision. Though the full weight of Roger’s fortune was thrown into resisting his appearance in court, a subpoena to testify was upheld and Mrs. J was forced to part with her overhead television console for the first time in a decade. Needless to say, the courtroom was filled to capacity.

The woman from Delaware quickly lost her case when her baby was born in the courtroom on the opening day of the trial. Though Roger’s intention not to speak remained untested in court, his privacy had been violated and the dam which had been cracked now burst.

Roger refused to speak after the trial, and the anti-Roger movement quickly gained support. More questions were raised about the use of public hospital facilities and funds to house and protect Mrs. J, and to support the project that the young doctor still maintained. Mr. J, now close to bankruptcy due to bad business investments and decreasing stock value, sought to gain complete control over Mrs. J, Roger, and the investments that had been made in their names by the young doctor. The young doctor, seeing things begin to crumble and concerned about his own health, embarked on an extensive and lucrative lecture tour, leaving the project to younger and inexperienced aides who shortly began to allow anyone with a working knowledge of Morse code to badger Roger.

A few weeks after the young doctor’s departure the budget for the project was suddenly terminated and Mrs. J’s television console went blank, giving her time to think about how nice it would be to be thin and able to walk, go to the market, and possibly even make love again. She reached the conclusion that she wished Roger would be born. She communicated this to the doctors at the hospital, getting quite hysterical in the process. Due to her dangerous condition a firm decision was made to try once more to forcibly remove Roger from the womb. This intention was passed on to Roger in code. The doctors were afraid that Mrs. J’s hysteria, coupled with his continued presence in the womb, might endanger the health of one or both of them. The young doctor returned from his lecture tour to supervise.

A massive effort was mounted to enter the womb employing every new technological technique of the past decade, but the entire, vast surface area of the womb was still found impenetrable. The young doctor was close to a tearful breakdown and communicated his frustration to Roger in strong language. He was being led from the operating room when a short series of taps were heard from Roger. The young doctor quickly translated them as saying, “I am leaving the womb.”

An immense sigh of relief was heard in the operating room and the young doctor immediately answered, “We’ll be right in to get you.” Preparations for birth were resumed. However, there was no movement from within the womb, no labor pains began, and the appointed operating areas were still found impervious to penetration. It was deduced that Roger would give some sort of indication when he was ready to come out. Mr. J, who had undergone a tearful reunion with his estranged wife, resolving to reform a happy family unit when Roger was expelled from the womb at last, was sent home to wait. His same box of cigars, unopened all these years, remained in that condition.

The doctors waited all that night and into the following day, but still there was no indication from Roger that he was prepared to emerge. The media, which had been alerted to the impending event, stood constant vigil in and out of the operating room. Another full day went by with no change.

On the morning of the third day a flurry of activity was heard in the womb, and the doctors immediately came to attention. The young doctor could plainly hear Roger moving about, but his repeated queries of “Are you ready now?” went unanswered. Then suddenly, just before noon, the movement stopped.

There was a sudden intake of air, and Mrs. J’s womb slowly began to deflate, like a punctured hot air balloon. The doctors were horrified. The young doctor desperately tried to signal Roger through the rapidly shrinking abdominal wall, but could not obtain any answer. Mrs. J was apparently suffering no ill effects other than a pronounced tickling sensation.

The deflation continued for almost forty-five minutes, until Mrs. J’s midriff had returned to preconception size. Once a stable condition had been reached, the doctors found that the womb area was now able to be violated. They operated immediately, and lost no time entering the womb to see if anything at all could be done for Roger.

The womb was empty. A thorough search was made, and the media was even allowed to examine the womb area to substantiate the doctors’ observations. All that was found to indicate that Roger had been there was a severed placenta and a note, scribbled in a childish scrawl and torn from a page of Roger’s notebook, which read, “Do not follow me.”

THE RETURN OF MAD SANTA

By Al Sarrantonio

The whole mess began on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I was in the sleigh shed talking with Shmitzy, my chief mechanic, about some minor problems he’d been having with the front-runners of the sleigh. Shmitzy’s a little guy—about two-and-a-half feet tall, a good foot shorter than me—a solid, reliable elf with a grease-stained beard. The sleigh sat polished and clean in the center of the room, and Shmitzy was leaning against it with his arms folded, throwing unintelligible technical terms at me. I’d just gotten him to tell me in English what the heck was wrong with the sleigh when the doors to the shed burst open and Santa Claus bounded into the room.

“Gustav! Shmitzy!” Santa boomed. “How are my favorite helpers?” He was fat and pink, his beard fluffed, his eyes twinkling. He leaned over, patted our backs playfully, and brought his rosy cheeks down close to our faces.

I gave him the thumbs-up sign and rapped my knuckles on the side of the sleigh. “A-okay, Santa. Everything’s right on schedule, and Shmitzy tells me he’ll have this boat ready to roll by tonight.”

“Good, boys! Good!” Santa threw back his head and gave us a hearty “Ho ho ho!” I was sick of that laugh—it usually started to get to me around this time of year, though I have to admit I’d have walked off a cliff for Santa, annoying laugh or no—but I gave him a big smile anyway. He patted us gently again.

“See you later, boys! I just came by to see how things were coming along. I’m supposed to be helping Momma with her baking for dinner tonight.” His eyes sparkled. “Special cakes for everybody! Ho ho ho!”