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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781490753850 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 02/18/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 560 |
| File size: | 664 KB |
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Joe the Neanderthal
A Novel
By Dino Blyer
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2015 Dino BlyerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-5384-3
CHAPTER 1
WHEN WILL THE BACKGROUND BECOME THE FOREGROUND?
The bare hint of a night breeze made its way from the dark flatness of the ocean and straggled westward, wafting across the boardwalk. In the early summer heat, a Neanderthal finds this welcoming. I breathed it in, savoring it with wild greedy gulps. I was starved, and the salty air was sustenance --- sort of like airline food --- pretty ordinary fare just on its own, but when mingled with the prospect of travel and something else, such as the blare of the "Free Bird" cover song coming from an amusement boutique loudspeaker, it nearly had the promise of adventure. Earlier, the carnival barkers had conned me into throwing a few baseballs into a bin, and I'd won myself a "fabuloso prize." Those kinds of things are usually of little or no use to Neanderthals, so I gave it to a passing Cro-Magnon couple with a noisy two-year-old. The bawling baby suddenly clammed up and looked at the prize with a curious unblinking eye. The parents thanked me profusely. I long ago learned that there are good and bad Cro-Magnons. Pondering this for a moment, I continued my stroll before pausing to listen to another barker go through his speech about the wonders of saltwater taffy. Apparently, it's real healthy stuff.
Three piers jutted out into the placid water more sluggish lake than churning sea. I scanned in vain for the occasional breaker crashing into the pilings, but the beach was too long for that. Only languid ripples lapped the coarse gray sand. That was the best the Atlantic Ocean could conjure up on this particular evening. I yawned a big Neanderthal yawn and walked on to where I happened upon two twenty-something girls who were having a drunken argument. They bobbed and weaved in that curious arms-and-legs akimbo grace that blotto Cro-Magnons acquire just before they violate each other's personal space and then fall down in a big babbling heap. A guy in a wheelchair, who looked exactly like an A-list celebrity named Brad, but with Popeye forearms, was acting as a referee. I had to give him credit. The way he maneuvered that chair was real darned impressive. Damned if he wasn't an artist, getting to do intricate turnarounds, tricky backwards-and-forwards wheelies, funky pirouettes, and all. What a graceful fellow! A regular gymnast in his own fashion. Probably good at basketball too. But I could see that Brad had his hands full. Those girls were hell bent on God only knows what. Perhaps it was better to give them a wide berth. I kept walking.
I was a Neanderthal on the run and doing a decent job of it. The Cro-Magnons that my evil sister had hired hadn't bumped me off yet! That scuffle with them back in Seaside Heights had been unintentionally ecstatic. I'd smashed them gently and dumped them in the rose bushes. Don't get me wrong. I'm not gloating. I've got no martial arts fantasies. I didn't want to make them mad, but I had to survive.
It's hard being a Neanderthal --- someone in danger of becoming an obsolete mammalian creature. The Cro-Magnons were after me with their sharpened spears. And they know how to handle weapons so much better than me. And as if my virulent sibling were not enough, I also had to contend with running away from that doctor --- the one who was so profoundly challenged when it came to the subject of empathy. Jeez, that guy liked to experiment till he was blue in the face. No doubt he was still salivating about exploring what happens when you incubate HEKn cells with polystyrene latex beads. How do the the phagocytic dynamics react in that combination? His preliminary results were that it can lead to death, especially if there is a heavy concentration of latex beads and melanin that enters into the mix. Well, damn. I could've told him that! And I could've saved him a lot of test tubes. What the guy really needed was someone else to practice on. He was a mastiff who wouldn't let go. But I needed to banish him ... and the psychotic sister from my mind.
Resuming my walk, I came upon a funhouse. I hadn't been to one of those since my dad brought me to one up north when I was six years old. That had been such a great time. Afterwards, he'd taken me on the rollercoaster, and then later on, an airplane ride. What a thrill! I figured I was overdue for a visit. The mirrors of the funhouse had been my favorite then. Why would there be any reason to expect that they would not be my favorite section now? Their overblown distortions offered the union of entertainment, together with the bonus points of allusion to another reality. Can't beat that!
So, I purchased a ticket from the attendant and made a beeline for the mirrors. I stared into the most ridiculous one I could find and observed my inquisitive face staring back. For a Neanderthal, it was an ostensibly handsome face, but on the near horizon of going to seed. It had been a good life, yet also an unfulfilled one. Some ill-defined aspect was missing. To be brutally frank, it had always been missing. This was the face of an outsider --- someone who had always been in the background and never the foreground. When would the background become the foreground?
I immediately noticed that my brow ridge was the most susceptible to the distortions of the mirror. The natural furrows on my forehead had been amplified, not really beyond recognition but rather, to their true recognition. This was not a function of the shiny glass itself. No way! I was a true Neanderthal. No doubt about it. With a growing sense of pride, I felt my brow ridge. The bone protruded outward more than normal. You see, it's some sort of "adaptation to the natural environment." That was why, in an earlier time, I had never been able to find a suitable football helmet. But all things evolve towards extinction. I started to sing a tune to myself. It was something I been thinking about for a quite a while.
"I am a Neanderthal; my head is not so small
Been around a long long time and now I'm getting
tossed
Got a bony brow and an even bigger heart
But that don't mean nothing from the ones who
think they're smart
I am a Neanderthal; I don't know how to throw
Stabbing beasts from up real close is the only way I
know
It's very very dangerous, I put myself in harm
Many times the mastodons have gone and broke my
arm"
Yes, it had really been quite a long run. However, up until now it had been a life of entirely too much feeling and not enough thinking. That was the consequence of "following your heart." Now the party was over. From here on in, it would be a rough ride.
"I'd been a good boy with walls undefended
Should've been a bastard like Nature intended"
My life had been fraught with all manner of failure. Breathing had led to nowhere. My most recent grand ambition was to become a stranger to my own life. That would make all the difference. Yes, how wonderful it would be to surprise myself.
My mind raced and changed gears, making my Neanderthal imagination go haywire. Oh my sister, my sister Meghan! How could she have done such an awful thing? She'd sicced her Cro-Magnons on me. Thinking about that, my pulse quickened. The danger of the situation had made me exuberant. I knew it! The survival instinct was kicking in. I found myself in a giddy mood, cozy and safe, as if I'd captured a small hopping animal ... an insect or a frog that I had right there in my cupped hands where I could peek at it any time and whisper to it too if the muses moved me. So, having the urge to run, I impulsively broke into a full ecstatic sprint, stopping abruptly right behind an old man who turned suddenly.
"What the hell ya doing, pal?" he snarled.
"Nothin'. I'm just feeling happy all of a sudden."
"What you gotta go and be so happy about?"
"I don't know. I just felt like it."
"Don't you know better than to be happy? What are you, crazy? Never sneak up on someone like that. People'll think you're some kind of mugger. You undertan', son?"
He patted me on the shoulder. I slouched my head and shoulders and looked down at a long gray crack in the weathered boardwalk. In another year or so, that board would need to be replaced.
"Sorry. I apologize. I - I - I wasn't thinking. Don't know what came over me."
Jeez, that was close! For a second there, I thought that might've been one of my sister's goons and my good fortune had run out.
I was the six year old who'd taken his wet bathing suit off too soon. Shame on me. Why is it that Cro-Magnons are always on such a long leash? They can make one money-losing movie after another, and they still get another chance to make more money-losing movies. Curiously, we Neanderthals can have just one less-than-stellar afternoon, and we get chased off the property.
I decided it was time to go back to the hotel. Retracing my path, I came upon the arguing girls and dear celebrity Brad. Cro-Magnon kids have a long and sorry-ass history of not being able to handle their liquor. How would they ever master the fine art of driving drunk if they couldn't stagger down the wharf in some semblance of a straight line? More practice at the calisthenics of leaning back and touching the tips of noses would be required. Talking slower works like a charm. That's the key to faking them out and pulling the wool over their eyes. They could've bet on it if they wanted, but I knew they wouldn't. This is why the world is going to hell in a hand basket. I pointed my finger and offered some sage advice to one of the girls.
"Girl, always pay attention to the signs your body is giving you."
The Cro-Magnon female didn't pay me any attention. She was too busy taking care of the rigorous business of beating the tar out of her opponent. What a waste of perfectly good glutamate molecules! From her pretty top to her pretty painted toes, they were all in danger of being repossessed.
The tow-headed one had landed a serious right cross and had gotten the upper hand. Wide-mouthed and surging upward, she was the shark out in the ocean, thrashing away, struggling to devour a stark and scary music.
"Girl," I said, "You fight like a guy."
Dear Brad was beside himself. He looked at me imploringly just as Blondie nailed Big Red spot on with a curve-fisted upper cut that stunned her enough for Blondie to get a hold of Red's ponytail. Blondie yanked it viciously back and forth. After that, what with her head going round and round like some sort of freakin' lasso, things went way downhill for Red. In a second, she was lying listlessly on her right shoulder while Blondie smacked her head up and down on the rough splintery surface of the boardwalk. She was starting to bleed, which was mildly amusing for a dark inkling spiraling deep within me. It made me dizzy. Sometimes I hate that. Sometimes I love it, the ice cream sundae place that's cold and hot. Where in the world did that byzantine shadiness come from? Probably from where adenine plus guanine plus a shuddering neural event equals euphoria, but this Neanderthal never asked for that. Never. Honest. Scout's honor ...
... Somewhere a voluptuous goddess was emerging from her bath. The water cascaded off her curving form in warm rivulets. She smiled at the boy, toweled herself off, and brought him lovingly towards her. She reassured him that everything would be alright. The boy thought to himself that this was perplexing, the most fun he'd had in six and a half years of life so far. He was supposed to do something, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. The Goddess was the best next-door neighbor anyone could ever hope to have. The milk and cookies had been very good. She said there would be lots lots more where that came from and not to think about it too much. It was a very poignant moment, one that he would never forget. She dried herself again and went over to the radio. She turned it on, and it played the most beautiful music he had ever heard. He was transfixed at the stunning sounds that were enveloping his body. He looked up at Her body and asked Her to dance. The Goddess was a magical vision of blinding beauty, and the boy looked forward to worshipping at her feet for many years to come, so it was no small wonder that he was the most surprised person on the face of the earth when she capriciously grabbed his face by the cheeks and slammed him backwards into the tiles of the shower stall. The Goddess looked him deep in the eye and said, "Don't say anything to anyone about this!" The boy struggled some, but managed to reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. H., I'll never tell. This is too pretty for any of them to know." She pinned him against the wall, laughed a chorus of echoing guffaws, and in a charmingly husky voice, she whispered, "Joe, I gave this to you because I knew you could handle it."...
... But like most Neanderthals, I'm a terrible archaeologist --- all those stratigraphic units to sift through are so time-consuming. I know their motto is "Dig faster and deeper," but there's no guarantee of finding anything. So, why should I bother? Better to let the Goddess go on her merry way.
Besides, I couldn't think about ancient history for very long because a crowd was forming. Some were cheering for their hometown girl. I figured at this point I'd better do something fast, so I stepped in. I waded through the flurry of fists and dragged Blondie off from her. I was amazed at how light she felt! Yanking her, I expected a Great Dane and instead, got a Chihuahua! Pound for pound though, the Chihuahuena put up quite a full blown tussle, swinging around like an effin' lunatic. I was in the process of making a discovery: this was kind of fun and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. The milling crowd surged forward for a better view. They seemed to know Blondie and her compadre. Maybe they did this act all the time, and it was staged happy horseshit, and I was interfering in their fun and games. She was huffing and puffing, a dervish of negative energy, and every word that flew out of her mouth was total trash. She kicked and screamed. I was more excited --- worried that people would notice.
"Listen, girl" I said, "You're not allowed to kill her."
I was congratulating myself on a point well made, when someone from the crowd managed to corral Big Red at least temporarily.
"Dammit! Where the hell are the cops?"
This spot of sumo wrestling went on for a while. The guy holding Red kept staring at me with a desperate look in his eye. Dear celebrity Brad, the focus of all the consternation, was wheeling himself back and forth frantically shouting for the girls to calm down.
"C'mon Brad," I said. "You're the movie star. You're supposed to be able to handle these difficult social situations."
Maybe someday if I studied real hard, I could be as cool as him. But Brad wasn't buyin' it, and there wasn't an approaching endgame to this because the cops were nowhere in sight. Finally, I said what the hell. The police were taking their sweet time. So, I let Blondie go like a fish back into the stream. No sooner did I do that, than she lashed out and gave me a mean slash across the forehead. ACHH!! And I'll be damned if they didn't do it all over again, going right back into the mash up. Well, that was it. Fun and games were over. I was outta there. I'd done my gig. You go girl, like a lamb to the slaughter. Be beat up from the feet up. Follow the lead and dance like a dead woman and find your foundations of a boyfriend. You shoulda been a jungle plant 'cause the flora change, but the fauna can't.
Hearing sirens, I ran down the boardwalk in the general direction of the hotel thinking, wow, dear celebrity Brad must have some stupendous tongue. He'd done his gig --- perhaps too well --- and I'd done mine. The cops would be there soon. Glutamate molecules are only for those who can handle them.
I peered back into the murky blackness of the early summer sky --- somewhere out there in the placid waves. There She was, hovering ghost-like over the surf. The Siren was calling me again. She looked as stunning as ever --- a body sculpted for a million fantasies.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Joe the Neanderthal by Dino Blyer. Copyright © 2015 Dino Blyer. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Three Flash Drives in a Bottle,Acknowledgments, xi,
Flash Drive Number One Joe Begins his Narrative Summer 2016,
When Will the Background Become the Foreground?, 3,
She Smiled Like a Piano, 12,
Babies in Bars, 27,
Man and his Cymbals, 42,
An Emotional Situation, 56,
Get This Show on the Road, 75,
Gobs of Makeup from the Gorgeous Gopi Gal, 97,
A Happy Confusion, 113,
Kali Danced in the No Mo Zone, 132,
The Cat and the Wife Too, 146,
Does It Taste as It Sounds?, 161,
The Full Business Carry, 180,
The King of Oomph, 202,
Cuando Sale El Proximo Ferro Caril?, 222,
Flash Drive Number Two The Continuing Narrative of Joe the Neanderthal,
A Ton of Botox, 233,
Ted the Gorilla, 255,
A Cure for Asthma, 269,
Girl with a Vision on Course of Collision, 286,
Lourdes Tests Her Mother Out, 297,
When the Cheap Go Pits, 305,
The Problem with Noise, 322,
A Girl Goes Shopping, 329,
Slash and Burn, 345,
Field Trip to the Human Female Community, 367,
Thyoneus the Thirst Bopper, 376,
Rott Weiller and the Rhythm Retreivers, 389,
The Donnah Parfrey Show, 403,
Sunita's Housewarming, 414,
A Look into the Factory, 422,
Flash Drive Number Three Ziga's Report of Interstellar Command,
Assisted Editing, 435,
A Pair of Gray Metal Eyes, 455,
Via the Blabbermouth, 479,
Club Crème de la Crème, 484,
Visiting Mom, 495,
Battle of the Men Machines, 506,
The Maharajah's Funhouse, 514,
Get Out and Get Out Now, 529,
Eve Once, 538,
Letter to Edwin Jenkins from Alfred Riaz, 542,