Brownian Emotion

The Highway Medium

by Avi Bar-Ze’ev

        "Joey, it’s not my fault," Mallory whined in pure Long Islander. "The guy was like an accident wanting to happen. I skidded across four whole lanes and back and he still managed to hit me."
        
        There we were, limping along in our half cylinder rent-a-can, rented on account of Mallory turning my beautiful 1982 Camaro into a pile of scrap metal. She sat in the passenger seat, her feet on the dashboard. She lit a cigarette and took a drag.
        
        Except for a bandage on her head, Mallory was alright. I think I was probably more upset than her. My poor car.
        
        I carefully changed lanes to pass some old Cadillac going forty. "Yo," I called to the old bag, "it’s the pedal on the right."
        
        "Joey!" Mallory continued. "Are you listening to me? The guy almost ran me into the highway medium!"
        
        "Median," I said, rolling my eyes. "It’s highway median."
        
        Mallory was always getting words wrong. Now I don’t want to stereotype dumb blondes or nothing. And I love my wife. I think the world of her and all. But lets face facts. Mallory is no Einstein. She’s not even a Rosenstein—our next-door neighbors who leave their Christmas lights up till June——as if no one knows he’s a Jew. But for five years now, Mallory and I, we’ve sort of taken care of each other. And I wouldn’t change a thing. 

        Well, maybe one thing. Mallory reached over to the radio, her gold bracelets clanging on the gearshift, and raised the volume a notch. My favorite Queen song was playing and Mallory was about to sing:
        
            "Mama… you just killed a man,
             Put an onion to his head,
             Pulled my finger, now he’s dead…
             Mama…"   

       "So what else did the doctor say?" I asked, annoyed.

       "Oh, well, she X-rayed my head and found nothing."        

        "Well, I’m just glad you’re okay."
        
        She smiled at me. "Yeah, well, I’m like that Lewis guy from Casablanca. My head is my least venerable spot."
        
        I smiled back at her.
        
        "So this is interesting," she said. "I’m waiting and waiting. And by the time the insurance guy finally comes to total up your car, I’m so hungry, I’m feeling ravished."
        
        "Famished."
        
        "Yeah. So he drops me off at Luigi’s. There are only three people in the restaurant and half of them are waiters. I ask what gives? They tell me the place is closed for altercations."
        
        "Alterations," I said. "Closed for alterations."
        
        "But no," she said with a finger pointed in the air. "There was a fight in the kitchen. Would you believe it? Some chief cut the mustard and the matador told me it was very odious in there."
        
        She pinched her nose. I drove faster.
        
        "Hey, don’t go so fast," she said. "This is near where the accident accrued."
        
        "It’s okay," I said. "I’m driving."
        
        She didn’t seem to like that. But the song got her attention:
        
          "I am a little silly ghetto of a man,          
           Got a moose, got a moose,
           and he’ll do the slam banjo.
           Little bolts of lightning,
           Very, very frightening to me, to me…"

        "It’s not ‘got a moose,’" I said, turning off the music.
        
        "It sounds like moose."
        
        "Well, it’s not."
        
        She sat quietly for a moment until she yelled "Moose!"
        
        "Geez louise Mallory…"
        
        "On the highway!"
        
        I saw it at the last second. A large moose stood in the fast lane. I practically stood on my brakes. My tires screeched. I swerved onto the shoulder and back. Cars around us honked and flipped me off. "Fuckin’ Ay!" I yelled, returning the favor.
        
        "God, Joey, I told you to slow down. You should’ve listened to me for once in your life. You almost ran into the highway medium!"
        
        "Median! Median!" I said. "Oh, never mind."
        
        "No, there!" she said, pointing excitedly to the center strip. "See? In that corpse of trees."
        
        The median strip had widened in this area. A small ring of trees——all dead——filled the area between the east- and west-bound lanes. And in the middle of the trees sat a small golden tent, like something out of an old circus show.
        
        "That’s it," she said as we passed it, "That’s the Highway Medium." She slapped me on the shoulder. "See? You never listen."
        
        "Me?"
        
        "Yes, you! You treat me like I’m an idiot or something."
        
        I stared at her. "Mallory, you once told me you didn’t want to read because you were perfunctorily illegitimate."
        
        "Pull-ease. You make me your escape goat for everything bad that happens. Sometimes I wonder if you still love me anymore."
        
        "Mallory, of course I…"
        
        I noticed a white blob shooting up and across the sky. It looked like… like a large white Billy goat. I watched it pass out of view. "Did you see…?"
        
        "See? You can’t even say it. Oh, Joey, I should have listened to my father and dropped you like a wet potato."
        
        "You said he was dead before we met."
        
        "He might as well be for the company he keeps. Look, the guy might be a civil serpent, but he’s a real creep."
        
        "Servant," I said. "You mean civil servant, right?" I wasn’t so sure anymore. A Long Island moose, a flying goat. It was all getting a little too strange, even for New York.
        
        Mallory stared out the window all the way home. Rain clouds swept in and lightning struck nearby. Little bolts of lightning cast an eerie glow across her face that I found very, very frightening.

        When we got home, we had a visitor. A beautiful woman in a blue suede dress stood on our front porch. She wore high-heeled shoes and an alligator hat, none of which were even a drop wet.
        
        Mallory bit her lip. "Damn it. Damn it to hell."
        
        "What? Who’s that?" I asked. "Do you know her?"
        
        "That’s my father," she said.
        
        I looked at Mallory and then back at the gorgeous woman on the porch. Narrow waist, angular face… there was no way in hell she’d ever been a man. "You must mean your mother," I said.
        
        "Don’t you think I know my own father when I see her?"
        
        I blinked twice. We reached the front steps and the woman introduced herself. "I’m Sasha," she said, smiling broadly.
        
        "Joe," I said, shaking her hand. Her touch felt electric. I caught myself falling in lust.
        
        "Hi Dad," Mallory mumbled.
        
        "Hi kiddo," the woman said.
        
        Without a word, we all went inside.
        

        A few moments and one big surprise later, I sank deeper into my easy chair. I felt the living room spin around me, even worse than when the Giants moved to the Meadowlands.
        
        "The devil," I said, shocked.
        
        "A real humdinger," Sasha said. "I know how you feel."
        
        "But you’re a woman?"
        
        She flexed her waist alluringly. "I like to explore my feminine side now and then… Sometimes I’m a serpent."
        
        She melted into a large snake, slithered over to me, and wrapped herself around my torso. She kneaded and squeezed my body fat into the kind of muscle I had when I was twenty. What a masseuse! She could charge good money for shit like this.
        
        "The civil serpent," I whispered.
        
        "Not ssso civil," Sasha hissed, teasing my fly with her tongue.
        
        Mallory frowned. "Dad, cut it out! You’re embarrassing me."
        
        "Oh, can’t I have some fun?" Sasha melted back into her woman form and stood beside me, almost leaning into me.
        
        "No tempting the husband," Mallory complained. "Joey and I have a strictly monotonous relationship."
        
        "Monogamous," Sasha and I both corrected.
        
        "Monogamous. Fine!" Mallory stormed out of the room and started cleaning dishes in the kitchen, loud enough to wake a bear.
        
        "Well," Sasha said, hands on hips, "since it’s just you and me, Let’s get down to business, shall we?"
        
        I stood up. "I… need to go see if Mallory is okay…"
        
        But my feet wouldn’t move.
        
        "We have a common problem," Sasha said.
        
        "Hey, what gives?"
        
        "Sit," she said. My legs put me back in my chair. "Here’s the simple version: Mallory has the power to reshape reality. The power was supposed to be hidden deep inside her… But the car accident jarred it loose a bit early. There’s no accounting for bad drivers."
        
        "I don’t understand."
        
        She frowned. "Should I break it down into little sentences?"
        
        Then it finally sank in. It all made sense. The moose, the escape goat, everything. "Holy shit…"
        
        "Not exactly," she said. "See, I secretly slipped her the power at birth as part of my master plan for corrupting humanity and whatnot. But God, cunning little tart she is, made Mallory too stupid to use my gift, at least intentionally. The result being, it only shows up when she’s upset, or when you least expect it."
        
        "So Mallory doesn’t know?" I asked.
        
        "She’s literally incapable of knowing!" Sasha complained. "I can’t corrupt her. I can’t even tempt her. So you see my dilemma. It’s gridlock——a cosmic system of checks and balances. But in this case, you’re the tie breaker."
        
        "Me?"
        
        "Well, you weren’t my first choice. I thought Rocco Salvatore would have made a much better husband…"
        
        "He’s doing twenty years for racketeering!"
        
        "I would have been so proud." Sasha smiled wistfully. But her expression quickly melted back mild disdain. "Well, at least you’re no saint. You’ll come around eventually."
        
        "Really."
        
        "Yeah. Go knock yourself out. Get rich, get famous, get laid, or all of the above. Go take over the world or something."
        
        Yeah. Like I’m going to trust the devil.
        
        "Hey, I can offer you some instant gratification if you like."
        
        Sasha smiled. She walked behind me and put her hands on my chest, massaging the hairs. "I can’t interfere in mortal affairs so directly. But a little expert guidance goes a long way…"
        
        I sunk deeper into my chair. "I… need to think…"
        
        "Well," she said, standing tall and walking out onto the front porch. "Take your time. There’s always tomorrow. Go have some fun with Mal and we’ll talk soon."
        
        She smiled and walked off into the rain.
        

                       
        "Oh, I’m so excited," Mallory said. The two of us sat in our best clothes in a chic corner of the finest French restaurant in Montauk. Couples all around us dined by candlelight, champagne popping as regularly as Old Faithful.
        
        "Joey, this is so romantic. Are you sure we can afford it?"
        
        "Sure," I said, looking around. "I’ll think of something."
        
        "Okay. Hey, I read on the Internets that if the recent storm doesn’t let up, they’re going to have to evaporate the coast."
        
        "Evacuate," I said. "Please say evacuate."
        
        "Okay. Evacuate," she said, puzzled. "Jeez, Joey, you say it like I was about to kill somebody or something."
        
        "Sorry. I’m just a little nervous."
        
        A busboy came to the table to fill our water glasses.
        
        "Mallory," I whispered. "I got an idea. Tell him I’m rich."
        
        She leaned over to whisper in my mouth. "Him? Why?"
        
        "Just do it. We’ll pretend, okay?"
        
        She shrugged. "He’s Rich," she said loudly, pointing at me.
        
        The busboy nodded with a faint smile and walked away.
        
        I checked my wallet. Damn. Nothing changed. I was just as close to broke as always. Something about my drivers license seemed a bit odd, but I couldn’t place it. Oh well.
        
        "That’s if the scientists don’t kill us first," she said.
        
        "What scientists?"
        
        "You know, at Brookhaven. The Internets guy said they’re doing a new experiment and there’s a chance it’ll destroy the world or something. He’s all up in arms about it. That and Linux. Says we have to nip it in the butt or impose a statue of limitations or something. They’re making a black hole on Long Island for crying out loud! What do we need that for? We’re not racists, Richie. We don’t even have diversity!"
        
        I shrugged. "Well, don’t worry about it. Maybe they’ll just dump our trash in it."
        
        This kind of chit chat was a little dangerous. But I still couldn’t think of how to use her power without asking the Devil for help. "We’d better order," I said.
        
        We examined the menus. Mallory didn’t read much literature, but she knew prices. "Richie, these things are really expensive. Cattle Briande… $97. Pattie de False Grass… $46. How are we going to pay for it all?! Oh, wait. This one is really cheap. What’s pain de table?"
        
        "Table brea…" I stopped myself. I had a better idea. "It’s French for ‘All You Can Eat.’"
        
        "Really? Yummy. Let’s get that."
        
        I smiled broadly. Mallory had just turned a haughty French restaurant into an all-you-can-eat culinary tour de force. They brought us plates of tender young veal, succulent pates, and mouth-watering pastries for dessert. I was in heaven.
        
        I took her hand and kissed it. "Mallory, I love you. I know I don’t always show it right. But if I could give you the world, I would. Maybe there’s a way I can…"
        
        She blushed. We hadn’t touched like that in a long time. "Richie, you’re such a dreamer. You’re a regular Don Coyote."
        
        "Don Quixote," I corrected.
        
        She frowned at me. "That’s what I said. Don Coyote."
        
        I blinked. My hands were suddenly much furrier. So were my arms. And my chest, like a shag carpet. I tried to curse, but I could only yelp. I raised my eyebrows to ask for help.
        
        The waiter approached with another full plate of food. We already had enough in front of us to fill a dozen doggy bags.
        
        "I think we’re done," Mallory said. "Check, por favor."
        
        The waiter backed away uncomfortably and returned a moment later with the manager.
        
        "Excuse-moi," the manager said. "You can not leave yet."
        
        I growled at him.
        
        He held a plate of sweetbreads in front of my face. "Well sir, you ordered the all-you-can-eat menu. And looking at you, it is clear to me that you can eat more. I must insist."
        
        "But we don’t want any more," Mallory said. "We’re finito."
        
        "That," said the snooty manager, "is inconsequential."
        
        "Okay," she said, pointing at me. "What do you see here?"
        
        I looked up at him and smiled, showing all my pointy teeth.
        
        "A coyote, Madame. Do you think I’m an idiot?"
        
        "And do you allow coyotes in your restaurant?" she asked.
        
        "Of course not."
        
        "Well?"
        
        That seemed to do the trick. He snapped his fingers and several busboys escorted us out to the parking lot. "Stay away or we’ll call the pound," one said, slamming the door.
        
        "Sheesh," she said, opening the car door. "Some people."
        
        I climbed in through the open door. My hind feet reached as far as the edge of the driver’s seat. There was no way I could drive like this. I licked her hand to get her attention.
        
        "What is it?" she said. She scratched me under the chin. "Do you need to go for a walk?"
        
        "Oh, how cute," Sasha said from the back seat. She hadn’t been there before. I would have smelled the brimstone.
        
        I growled at her.
        
        "Had a little accident?" she said.
        
        Mallory checked my seat for wetness and petted me. "No Dad. Donnie’s been a good boy. Good boy."
        
        "He knows what I mean," Sasha said dryly. She started to pet me. "I’ve been watching you, waiting to see when you’d need my help. Do you? Or do you want to lick your balls all day?"
        
        I stopped licking, looked up, and bit her hand. I bit hard.
        
        "Well," she said, sighing. "I’ll take that for a yes."
        
        In an instant, I was a man again. "Oh thank god," I tried to say. But Sasha’s fingers were still in my mouth. She and Mallory both frowned at me. Utterly embarrassed, I let go.
        
        Sasha leaned forward and blinked up at me affectionately. I had to admit, she was cute–but still not to be trusted.
        
        I started the car and headed for the expressway home.
        
        "So…" Sasha whispered, breathing down my neck. "Tit for tat?"
        
        Mallory folded her arms. "Dad, I told you, no tempting."
        
        "Fine, fine," Sasha told her. Then to me: "Sometimes I wonder how she and I could be related. So, anyway, what about my offer?"
        
        "To help me take over the world?"
        
        "Or something like that, but featuring me," Sasha said.
        
        "I don’t know," I said hesitantly. "That whole Faustian bargain thing."
        
        "Is that a new store?" Mallory asked. "I could use some shoes."
        
        "No, Mal. The devil here is trying to buy my soul."
        
        "No sale," Mallory said, shaking her head.
        
        "Look kids," Sasha said. "I don’t want your soul. I just want your help. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, Don."
        
        "But you have claws," I said. "Last time I tried to abuse that damn power of yours, I grew them too."
        
        "You know, there are a lot of corruptible men out there," Sasha said coldly. "You could easily be replaced…"
        
        Mallory turned around. "Dad, you’re such a spoiled brat! Give it a rest. You know God won’t let you mess around with the world like that. And besides, Don is the only man for me."
        
        Mallory held my hand.
        
        My jaw fell slack, I was so stunned. Here she was, taking on the devil. That’s my wife. What a woman!
        
        Sasha sat back. "Where are we going now?"
        
        "Home," Mallory said. "Unless you start behaving yourself."
        
        "But I don’t want to!" Sasha whined. "I want to corrupt him!"
        
        I looked back at her in the mirror. She sat back with her arms folded, softly kicking the back of my chair like a little kid.
        
        "Mallory," I whispered. "You turned her into a spoiled brat."
        
        "Me?" she laughed. "I wish."
        
        "Exactly. I think you just saved my bacon."
        
        "Oh. Okay. No problem. But I don’t see how…"
        
        "Are we almost there yet?" Sasha complained.
        
        "Look over there," Mallory whispered to me, pointing to the familiar "corpse" of trees. "The Highway Medium is still there."
        
        "Medi…" I started to correct. But I stopped myself. I had a gut idea. If this Medium of hers was conjured too, maybe it could cough up some answers.
        
        "Pit-stop," I announced.
        
        We pulled over and Mallory and I got out of the car.
        
        "I have to pee," Sasha said.
        
        "Fallen Angels don’t pee, honey. Just sit here and be quiet, okay? We’ll be right back."
        
        Just as Sasha started a chorus of "Kill, Kill, Kill," Mallory and I left and walked into the tent.
        

                       
        "Welcome to my tabernacle," the old woman said in a thick Yiddish accent. Frankly, she looked like something out of a Woody Allen family flashback—brown patterned dress, hair in curlers, sagging skin from eating too many fatty meals. The tabernacle, or whatever, was small and musty from the rain. I didn’t get the sense she often got up from her chair.               

        "We’re…" I began.
        
        "Shush," she said. "Sit. Have some mandle bread. You know they charge $1.50 a piece for this crap at the coffee shop?"
        
        "We wanted to ask…" I tried.
        
        "I know all about it," she said, smiling broadly.
        
        "You do?"
        
        "Of course I do," she said. "It is all part of my master plan. The devil is just an unwitting accomplice. I’ll give you the key to using Mallory’s power for the good of all my children."
        
        "You’re… you’re God?" I said, stunned.
        
        "You were expecting Charleton Heston? I’m the God of the Israelites for crying out loud!"
        
        "Jeez," Mallory chuckled, "she talks like me."
        
        "Don’t kid around like that," I warned.
        
        But God froze for a moment, like she’d just been hit over the head or something. "Before I start speaking," she said. "I’d like to say something."
        
        I blinked. I had a bad feeling about this.
        
        "Since time in memorial, people had it rough. For example, a great catechism destroyed Pompeii. Russia was overrun by a pheasant revolt. And the Jews, well they were almost wiped out when Pasteur found a cure for Rabbis."
        
        "Mallory," I cried, "You made her talk like you!"
        
        "In ancient times," God continued, "most people were still alliterate. But the twelve opossums changed all that when they wrote the new tenement, full of interesting caricatures and such. Nowadays I’ve become an old wise tale. Nowadays, they cut baby’s the biblical chord instead of letting it fall off naturally. People have even stopped circumscribing boys."
        
        "Stop!" I cried. "I can’t take it!"
        
        "Geez," Mallory complained. "It’s like she has old-timers disease or something."
        
        "Alzheimer’s," I corrected. "Shit! We broke God!"
        
        "Well, let’s take her with us," Mallory said. "Maybe she’ll snap out of it on the way home."
        

        
        
        The four of us crammed into the rental car and headed east on the Long Island Expressway. Mallory and I sat in front, God and the Devil packed in the back seat. The devil was not happy.
        
        "I don’t want to sit next to her," Sasha whined. "Miss everything-good-that-happens-is-her-idea-and-everything-bad-is-my-damn-fault. All I did was give someone an apple. Is that so wrong?"
        
        "There is evil in my sight," God complained.
        
        "What are we going to do, Mallory?" I whispered. "This is such a mess!" I accelerated up to fifty-five and switched to the slow folks lane—I didn’t want to get pulled over now. How could I explain?               

        "I don’t know," Mallory whispered. She handed an apple to Sasha. "Here. Play with this."
        
        Mallory switched on the radio, ready to sing along with the Elton John commercial-free music block.
        
        "Bad idea," I said, switching it off again.
        
        "How much further?" Sasha asked.
        
        "She’s touching me," God complained. "I’m being touched by evil with an apple."
        
        "You started it," Sasha said.
        
        "I started everything."
        
        "Well, both of you stop it!" I yelled. "I can’t drive with all this noise."
        
        "Shouting doesn’t work," Mallory said. She turned to the back. "Both of you, behave or we’ll stop this car right now!"
        
        That actually shut them up for a bit. Go figure.
        
        "Mallory, I’ve got to tell you," I tried.
        
        "Don’t do it," God said. "It’s chaos, I tell you. Mayhem."
        
        I sighed. "Mal, you’ve got to understand. You made all of this happen. God, the devil, the moose."
        
        "Oh, don’t try and blame me now," she said.
        
        "No, it’s not about blame," I said. "You’ve got the power to make things you say come true. They hid it from you, both of them."
        
        We both glanced back at God and the Devil in the back seat, launching annoying little fireballs at each other.
        
        "I don’t understand," Mallory said.
        
        "I know. It’s not your fault. They made it impossible for you to know. Sasha has been trying to get me to manipulate you."
        
        "She has?"
        
        "But I won’t help her."
        
        "Good for you," said God. "You can play at my house now."
        
        "Ass kisser," Sasha mumbled.
        
        I ignored them. "But we’ve got to get it under control or you might do something that really hurts people."
        
        "Like what?"
        
        "I don’t know. That’s what I’m afraid of."
        
        "Well," Mallory said, "we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it."
        
        The next overpass burst into flames. I accelerated through it, reaching solid ground just as it collapsed behind us.
        
        "Cool," Sasha said, looking back. "Like Speed 2."
        
        "Mallory, don’t you see? It’s you! You’re making it happen."
        
        She looked back at the bridge. "Yeah, I guess so."
        
        "Say it. You’re smart enough."
        
        "I’m smart enough?"
        
        "It’s okay to be dumb," God said to Mallory. "We’re all children in my eyes."
        
        "Yes," I said, louder. "You’re smart enough. And wise enough."
        
        "Don’t listen to him," Sasha said.
        
        "I’m wise enough," Mallory said, more confidently. It was working! I could see the change take hold.
        
        "We can control this," I said.
        
        "We can control this," Mallory said. "We can?"
        
        "Yes."
        
        "Okay."
        
        I smiled at her. I loved her so much right then, more than ever. We held hands as we drove down the highway.
        
        "Oh, how precious," Sasha complained. She slapped God on the back of the head. "Look what you did!"
        
        "If she hits me again," God said, "I’m going to flood."
        
        "Stop it," Mallory said. "Both of you. If either of you destroys the world again, you’re grounded."
        
        "So what are we going do with those two?" I whispered. "Can we fix them? Should we?"
        
        "And let them do this again? No way."
        
        "Then what do we do?"
        
        "God if I know," she said. "No, wait! I got an idea."
        

                       
        The sign read "Brookhaven National Labs: Clearance Only."
        
        A large metal gate blocked our way.
        
        "There is no gate," Mallory said. And it melted away.
        
        "Wow," I said. "You’re good."
        
        She smiled. I swung the car inside and around the corner and pulled right up to the reactor building, as she directed.
        
        "The black hole is in there," she said, pointing.
        
        "Are you sure?"
        
        "I’m sure," she said. "I read it on the Internet."
        
        "Come on kids," I said. We lead them by the hand into the physics lab. Inside, we found the giant magnetic chamber where they grew the black hole. A large "in" chute marked the entrance to the infinite void where, according to a wall of team photos, researchers were systematically dumping all sorts of minor objects for study: plush toys, an ant farm, an overdue parking ticket.
        
        "I don’t want to go in there," Sasha complained.
        
        "Go on," Mallory said. "You’ll like it. Didn’t you ever see Event Horizon?"
        
        "It’s dark in there," God said. "I’m afraid of the dark."
        
        "Well, when you get in, you can start by creating light."
        
        God and the Devil marched up to the edge of the platform, looking sadly back at us. I felt a tinge of guilt, seeing them there like that. "Are we sure we want to do this?"
        
        "Nothing can escape a black hole," Mallory said, "not even your scream."
        
        "But what about us? The world. Don’t we need them?"
        
        God and the Devil started wrestling over the apple again.
        
        "As if," Mallory said. "You’ll be my conscience, right?"
        
        "Conscience?"
        
        "Yeah," she said. "Otherwise, I think I’d be willfully inadequate. Donnie, I don’t trust myself without you."
        
        "I’m right here," I said, "your regular Don Coyote, right by your side."
        
        "Don Quixote," she said, smiling. "Let’s see if we can do any better, Just you and I."
        
        "You and me," I corrected. "It’s: just you and me."
        
        Mallory smiled and took my hand.
        
        "Yeah," she said. "I like the sound of that."
       
                
        
        # THE END #