“Every week, King Midas stood on the wall of the valley and talked to the children. He told them that they were his children and that he was their father. They loved him. He told them that there was nothing else in the world except the garden and that they would be safe as long as they stayed there. They loved their home. King Midas looked down upon his new kingdom and he was happy. He was happy because his people were happy.
“After awhile, the children grew into young boys and girls. They played in the valley and loved their father. They often saw him walking on the wall of the castle. King Midas loved to watch his children playing in his garden. The children rode horses, played games, fished in the river, plucked ripe fruit from the trees, and slept under the stars. They had long ago forgotten their names and their families.
“When the children grew into adults, they had children of their own in the garden. They told the babies about their father, whom they called Böhme, and how he had made the garden for them. They told their children that there was nothing outside of the valley and that they were the only people. King Midas had taught them this when they were very young. The children learned to love their grandfather, who they called Papa Böhme.
“After many years, the children grew up too, and they had babies. By this time, King Midas was very old. He was tired and could only sit in a tower and watch his people. One night, angels carried King Midas away. See the angels carrying away the king? Isn’t this a nice story?
“Well, after King Midas went away, the people in the valley no longer saw him anymore. They asked for him to come, but he never did. They told their children about their father and grandfather and great grandfather, so that every child knew who had provided them with their home. After many years, the first children of the garden, who were now grandparents and some even great grandparents, were taken away by a flock of angels. Where they went, no one knew. But they believed they’d climbed the tower and were staying with Papa Böhme. They all wished to one-day stay with him, too.”
* * *
“All right, everyone, hold it right there. This is a robbery,” a man yelled as he paid the bus driver his fare and boarded the bus with three other people in a very Shawian posture. “Nobody moves and nobody gets hurt.”
The group was wearing Halloween masks and dark clothes, there was a hobgoblin, a wolf from a fairy tale, a friendly ghost, and Frankenstein. They rushed onto the bus and started ordering people around. The speaker, the wolf, had a machine of some sort strapped to his chest.
“You see this machine of some sort strapped to my chest? It’s a cold fusion bomb, anybody does something funny and I’ll push this button and we’ll all die. Are you ready to die for your socks and shoes?”
The passengers of the bus that morning, which was a Tuesday of all things, had never been in a robbery, they were not quite sure whether they were ready to die for their socks and shoes.
“Now, unless you want me to turn you into stardust, you’ll start removing your footwear. They’re coming with us.”
“We are the Dystopian Liberation Front (aside) and Worldwide Floral Syndicate,” the friendly ghost yelled. “Don’t mess with us. We’ve come for your shoes and socks. I just hope they’re clean,” he threatened.
The passenger’s of bus 5643 quickly removed their shoes and socks, and held them out as Frankenstein and the hobgoblin walked down the aisle. They gathered the items and signaled to the wolf that they were ready.
“All right, good job. A few more moments and you’ll have a story to tell at the next dinner party. Everybody’ll live and we’ll have gotten what we want.”
“What do you want?” a woman weeping blurted out Kafkaly as she sat rocking in her seat. “Why are you taking our shoes and socks?”
“Because you’ll not have them afterwards and you’ll have to walk the streets in your bare feet. Understand? Get those women’s stockings too, Frank,” the wolf ordered, pacing back and forth at the front of the bus. And Frankenstein and the hobgoblin stood menacingly over the women who had not forfeited their stockings.
“Give ‘em up, bitch,” the hobgoblin demanded. The women stripped them off of their legs and handed them to the robbers. “Got ‘em.”
“Now, we’ll be watching you, anybody who goes out and buys more shoes or socks or stockings or what have you and we’ll be a knocking on your door. Understand? Today you’re barefoot — understood? All right, let’s go,” the wolf ordered and the band of robbers ran off the bus, just as they had boarded it.
The passengers commuting that Tuesday morning, after the masked marauders had left, did not know what to say. They stared at each other, as if they wanted someone else to tell them how to feel. The driver, shoeless and sockless, stepped on the gas pedal and drove on. The people itched their ankles, looked down on their naked feet, and tried to understand why four men had just robbed them of their footwear. At the next stop, two women and a college student got on and noticed the new trend. You could see the college student contemplating whether or not he should take off his shoes and socks. But he didn’t. He simply folded his feet under his knees for the entire ride. As the bus continued, more people boarded and noticed all the naked feet, but they did not ask why. They simply watched as the naked feet slapped on the floor when a passenger got up to leave the bus. The robbery had been a success.
* * *
Elisa was standing on the sidewalk outside her new home, in the city. The house had been sold and the surveillance wired into the penthouse she was about to occupy. Captain Vincent was in a large white van down the street, watching her through the rear-view mirror. She was standing with her hand on her hip, wearing a short red dress and a thin chain around her neck. Captain Vincent knew that she was wearing black underwear that had doily fringes and a crimson bra underneath. He’d watched her shower and dress earlier that morning. Her last morning in her beloved house near the Steamboat Saloon.
Elisa was holding a brown handbag in her arms. All we need is a hood. The cameras are not on yet. The satellite link up is not ready. Elisa’s waiting for the moving truck, it’s late, very late. There’s a wolf upstairs, waiting for her, in her new bedroom. His teeth are dirty, long fingernail colored teeth with razors attached to the ends, all of them canines. His paws are corroded; his claws are black knife blades. She has seen the wolf before, she knows him. She prefers him, enjoys how he stalks her (the impulse almost Lawrencian). This is the granite forest; this apartment in the fashionable district was Elisa’s grandmother’s. She often visited when she was a child. But there was never a wolf waiting for her.
Elisa grows impatient and goes up to her new home to wait. She does not check the lock or check the closets. The wolf sits in the wardrobe closet in her room. He growls in anticipation. He can smell her coming close, sniff, sniff, sniff. He knows her smell, that smell that makes his fur stand on end. Elisa looks absently about the apartment, it will have to do. Where shall she put the bed? Then, she hears the growl.
This is the sound of crimson moons and the crackling of leather. She is bound and gagged, on her knees in leather underwear with studs pointing in. He has a bouquet of roses, hoists her up by her arms, hanging behind her back and whips her with them, the thorns tearing tiny lines in her buttocks and lower back. She’s crying, the tears welling in her clenched eyelids, dripping onto her toes. He has ravaged the roses, the petals are littering the ground below her, the thorns blunted or stuck in her skin.