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Entry for November 16, 2007 Aloha's End Chapter 35: The Stench Of Talky Talky
Aloha’s End
by Michael F. Zangari

© 2007 With All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 35: The Stench of Talky Talky

True West hangs out in the hood.
It comes down over his forehead like a veil to mid nose, throwing the rest of his sun dark face into shadows. His hands twitch looking for pockets that aren’t there. So do his lips. They look Looking a lot like Elvis Presley’s lips, pulled by some ghostly TMJ into a tug of war between a smirk and sadness. He is alert, watching the world through a wool filter.
Benny Aloha returns from the rest room.
“What a trip, man” he says.
“How’s that?” asks True West.
“Peeing” says Benny Aloha.
True West comprehends the difficulty of the operation. He considers the logistics.
Benny Aloha nods at the unasked question.
“I stood on the seat and hiked the burnoose around my knees” he says. “Like a wahine.”
True West looks at him.
“Women stand on the seats?” asks True West.
“Depends on the bathroom” says Benny Aloha.
Father Oblivious and Brother Stenky also return. They barely can contain the excitement. It keeps bubbling up on their faces in a bright flush. They head into the auditorium.
The double doors to the Volcano Room open wide as a Monk pushes through to the lobby. The auditorium is pitch black and smoky with incense. It is striated by red and green laser tracers that strobe the open space of the room above the crowd. The mob of monks bob in time to the intense Polynesian rhythms. The drums are a fast clatter that drive deeply and break. Slow it down, thinks True West and you’ve got a West Texas waltz. Bob Wills on jalapeño overdrive. A real fast waltz.
It sounds like someone dropped a case of coconuts down a stairwell.
The breaks fall on the triplet with a bang, as the hula dancers hip the air like they are driving nails into a hard wood frame. Then the fire dancers hit the stage, spinning fire across their oiled chests and passing it between the legs. The “ohs” and groans of the monk break the air. The applause scatter in.
True West is excited as he passes into the make shift chapel.
He knocks his hood back to take it all in.
The space is vast, like it is under the open night sky.
Little twinkling Christmas lights are scattered across the ceiling creating a stunning panorama of electronic galaxy.
Benny Aloha follows True West in, his hands tucked into his sleeves.
He also knocks back his hood with his head.
They are transfixed.
Just as suddenly, everything goes black.
With one final unified coconut knock everything is silent.
There is no time to applaud.
The whole room holds its breath.
A deep voice booms from the darkness over the P.A. system.
“Gentlemen, sisters and guests” it goes “Put your hands together for the Devine Point”
True West finds himself clapping wildly and alone in the rooms.
Everyone else is praying.
He quickly joins his hands together in prayer.
The room is a murmur with a Latin supplication, also a waltz time akimbo.
On the stage, a tall, thin man in a purple burnoose emerges from the smoke and blesses the gathered monks. He throws Holy Water into the crowd, blessing them from a silver champagne bucket. The water sparkles in the light as it is thrown like pearls over the crowd.
The Devine Point listens to the ensuing silence and surveys the crowd.
There is tension in the room.
Some are unwilling to let go of the momentum of the party atmosphere.
A few hooters hoot and unravel enthusiastically as the gavel comes down on the wood block at the back of the stage where the senior monks sit.
The Devine Point paces the stage with his wireless microphone.
He intones deeply “The Armageddon Club. From the shadows thrown by the moon across the turgid oceans of time, in the echoes of the first words of the Lord in ecstasy and pain as the world came into being and ended, we were born in his breath and live in it’s exhale.”
There’s no breathing going on in the room.
It’s as still as the breath before the snore in the monastery.
“I’ve noticed over the centuries” he begins, “That discipline in the order has deteriorated” he says wearily. “It bothers me.”
The brothers and sisters sink into the shadows of their hoods.
“Granted" he says, "There have been a few false calls. But I remind you in a solemn promise that it is just as the official Armageddon Club T-Shirt says”
He pulls one out of his sleeve and holds in up. “The End Is Always Near.”
A few party hooters hoot and unroll.
“As you know all too well, our role is to prevent the Anti-Christ from rising to prominence. Of course, we will fail. Or so it is prophesized. But we exist to try. Our order represents the progressive wing of the church in that we believe that there were human editors in the service of the darkest angel and they were involved in the editorial process of the good book. Our elders believe that the final contest is a crap shoot, that not all is revealed and that we might play a role in the final victory that none of us are aware of. We believe that every effort counts for something.”
“For some that is hard to believe. Our Job is hard to comprehend.”
He looks as if he is trying to comprehend it.
“My own mother urged me to become a dental hygienist instead of following this path.” He says candidly.
“I can not tell you how or why I or anyone else got into this dark battle business.
It makes no sense. It is simply kismet.”
“Kismet.”
The brothers and sisters posture improves slightly as they whisper the word like a prayer.
A lone hooter unravels with a sick, goat like blat.
“As you know, possible Anti-Christs rise and fall. They have been few and far between in the last few years. I have news. I have seen the quarterlies and evil incidents are on the rise.”
There is subdued applause.
“There are some who believe the Anti-Christ is in the world.”
He paces the stage, stopping to look full eyed on the gathered congregation.
“This invigorates me in a curious way.”
“Yes, yes” says the crowd.
They can feel his excitement.
“This is weird” he says. “To celebrate the rise of evil as an indication of the coming good.”
He looks over the gathered order.
“As I lay cooking on my beach rug in the sun the other day, I heard stories that sent chills up and down the blanched tomato of my body...”
The Devine Point is known for his poetic speeches.
There is a quiet thrill at his presence.
“Later, at the Hotel Luau, I heard the same stories again. The stories had the strength of repetition behind them, as if passed from mouth to mouth like a Life Saver in a parked car.”
The Devine Point has acknowledged a lustful youth in the Redwood Communities of Northern California and Italy.
He has lived, as they all know, life.
They thrill again.
“There is a strong oral tradition here. History survives in the words between people, in how things are spoken of. It is not unlike our own tradition of books and scrolls read in solitude. The intimacy is similar if not the same. The whispers have depths.”
He bends is head to the microphone.
“When this talk turns to evil, the local people have a name for it.” He pauses dramatically. “They call it the horrible stench of talky talky.”
True West scribbles this phrase down, through a momentary confusion rules his comprehension. “The stench of talky talky…”
“This is gossip and rumors” says the Devine Point.
“The talky talky centers on one person. The one known as...” There is another pregnant pause. “The Duck.”
“The duck…” the murmur goes around the room until it turns into an affirmation. “The duck.”
“The Duck. Yes.” The Devine point lets the name linger in the air of the room. “The talky talky is vague concrete. He is said to have done horrible things, not the least of which is wearing an abominable rubber duck bill around to civic functions. He is said to be the mother board of all evil. That his very presence causes things to happen, like disruptions in weather patterns and transubstantiation of molecular particles into objects.”
The crowd goes into a coma, it is so quiet.
They are like flies in amber.
“As you know as the great saint of the order, Saint Pewtercast has said. “When objects appear out of nowhere, the shit has hit the fan.”
The coarseness of his comment shocks attention back to him with a thud.
“He mocks at creation with his rubber nose. He has done evil.”
The crowd perks up.
“Evil?”
“Whether or not he is the devil is another subject” The Devine Point says.
He looks over the crowd with a sardonic, wizardly look. “Perhaps he just looks like the devil” he says. “As do many of you.”
There is shame in the room.
He motion to several monks in the back stage area.
They bring forth wooden chests that have been hidden in the back of the room.
As the Devine point opens the lid on one of the chests, True West notes that it is lined with burgundy velvet.
From it he brings out a dagger.
True West notes the obsidian blade of the knife. On the handle, Hawaii 2007 is inlaid on the handle in mother of pearl.
“It is indeed a strange duty that brings here. As I mentioned, it is prophesized that we will fail in trying to stop the advances of the Anti-Christ. Many of you feel that this is pointless, this opposition. In fact some have gone so far as to suggest that we aid and empower the Anti-Christ in an effort to bring the prophesies to fruition.”
“No! No!” The crowd shouts and shakes fists. “Never! Never!”
“Then don’t mess up” says the Devine Point. “Some are depressed. They feel like our mission is without sense. “What’s the point? They ask. It is predicted to be so.”
The Devine Point brings forth another t-shirt with his portrait on it and the words, “What’s the point?” over the pocket and on the back. He flashes front and back several times and mentions sizes.
“The point is irrelevant” he says. “Doing it is God’s middle breath and the will of creation. The end is at the beginning and the beginning is at the end.”
“Simply observe this duck. Use this as an opportunity to understand things that will be. Do not be quick to sink your commemorative blades into his body. He is also rumored to be a man of service. A good man. His is not unlike the prophets of old, some of which were real stinkers. He is said to be clairvoyant as well.”
He says it with a dark finality.
“I am sure he is not the Devil. It is not time for the Devil. That’s later in the convention.”
There is a lurid and knowing chuckle in the room.
The Devine point shakes his head.
“Watch it” he says. “He is simply a man who heralds the coming of the new century and new challenges to the order. Be mindful of your psychic disciplines. Pray when you get the chance. Have a good time. Practice your craft of stealth and accuracy. Scribble readable notes. As Shakespeare said so eloquently in Romeo and Juliet, “Sheath thy tool, Petrocio” Do no harm.”
The crowd listens intently.
“Find point where point is” he says.
The crowd goes crazy as the Devine Point spreads his arms and bows, then raises and points to and blesses people individually.
Some drop to their knees.
The sound of the applause is deafening.
He strains to be heard over the crowd.
“Oh yes” he says, hiking his robes to reveal new neon plastic flip-flops.
“The Last one in the pool is a Pagan” he yells, his clenched fist turning into a fluttering dove of peace as the crowd cheers and exits through the doors.
The clatter of the Hawaiian hula drums begin with a crack and the dancers are back to dance around the Devine Point as he leaves the stage.
As he leaves, he turns towards True West and looks directly into his eyes.
Benny Aloha starts to speak, but True West cuts him off. “I know” he says. “I know.”
True West gets chicken skin, big time.