RFI - Part Four
“What do you spy when you raise your eyes to the sky?”
For a moment I thought he was still talking on the phone, more loudly than before. I turned and his gaze was firmly fixed on me.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked.
“Your flesh’s byways are someone else’s highways,” the man hissed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understa…”
“They’re someone else’s highways!”
This last phrase was practically bellowed and the hairs on my arms stood up. I wanted to leave, but I stayed rooted to my spot and the man continued without inflection.
“Have you ever seen the trails in the sky?”
“You mean like the ones from jets?”
“Yes, like the jets. The trail holds the vapor, the vapor holds the chem, the chem holds the slow death.”
“Um, ok.”
“NO, IT’S NOT OK! IT’S DEATH! IT’S THE SLOW DEATH!”
This last sentence was screeched at me in a high falsetto and the man’s face contorted into an ugly mask filled with hate.
I stumbled back a couple of feet and replied nervously:
“I can see you’re agitated. I’m going to go now.”
I turned around to leave and he said, in a perfectly calm and rational voice, “The blood. It’s yours. For now.”
As I turned to leave, a short latino man came out of a room behind the counter. As I made my way to the front of the store he began speaking to the pale man in spanish. And I heard very clearly the words “sangre azul.”
My stomach fell and I paused. Looking back, I realized my hesitation had caught the eye of the pale man. His eyes were wide, staring at me. I bolted from the shop and hurried quickly down the street and out of sight.
September 15th, 2008 by rob