writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

The Butcher


Aaron Vanek




We’re in a Lincoln Park one bedroom. The place is furnished by a Jennifer sofa, complimentary coffeetable, and a computer with designer desk. Large cardboard boxes with big black marker letters on the sides, i.e., “KITCHEN”, “BEDROOM”, “ART BOOKS”, “GLASS --FRAGILE” are stacked about. Some of them are opened, and their contents are scattered happily haphazardly. An upbeat, pop music song bounces from a new boombox in the background. The CLATTER of someone getting ready for work in the bathroom.

EXT CHICAGO STREETS MORNING
An old car, primer gray, Detroit-American, a Dodge or Chevy with a rusted out muffler, is stalking the roads. The bottom and sides of the chassis are rusted out, and two hubcaps are missing.

INT APARTMENT MORNING
TRACK slow across the floor, following a cat walking down the hall towards the bathroom. It stops suddenly and looks into another room as something scurries by.

INT CAR MORNING
Big, gnarled tree trunk fingers choke the wheel of the car, tightly turning the vehicle down another pristine street of well-groomed apartments. The front windshield is caked with a gray film that has streaks of clarity caused by eroding wipers.

INT APARTMENT MORNING
THROUGH THE WINDOW of MARLA’s apartment, we see a newer car drive down the street. Then we HEAR the old Detroit rumbler approaching...We see it enter the FRAME of the window. It slouches along, going the wrong way down a one-way street, i.e., it came from where the newer car went . This mistake may or may not be noticed by the viewer. If a one-way sign can be seen through the window, though, so much the better.

The CAT turns toward another, unseen room, and crouches down, ready to pounce.

We come into

INT BATHROOM MORNING
MARLA, 26, is getting ready for work. She teases her short blond hair with a bottle of hair spray in one hand. She is well dressed in an aggressive yet slightly feminine suit. She wears gold jewelry and sings softly to the SONG on the boom box.

HONK!

The car horn bleats, short, a lot like a little scream.

Marla doesn’t hear it.

INT APARTMENT MORNING
The cat ATTACKS its unseen target at the same time as (MATCH CUT)...

INT CAR MORNING
The meaty hand pushes on the horn, and another, longer, HONKING, LONG AND LOUD, demanding, insistent, cries out. Something is not quite right about the horn, as if there’s an animal scream of pain underneath it.


INT BATHROOM MORNING
Marla turns and looks toward the window. She’s cute, spunky, intelligent, but not world-wise. Not yet.

MARLA
Shit.

She hurriedly throws tubes and bottles into her purse, and runs into the


INT APARTMENT MAIN ROOM
and grabs her coat on the way out. The cat starts following her, licking its lips. She rubs its face, and gets something sticky on her hands.

MARLA
Eew.

She grabs a tissue and wipes it off.

HOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNK!

MARLA
(to the cat)
Be good.

She smiles at the cat, who sits, watching her go as she shuts the door.

INT CAR MORNING

The sound of some mean ol’ BLUES plays in the background; John Lee Hooker’s gravely croak, or Robert Johnson crackling about the Crossroads. A cigarette lighter pops out, and fingers like evil oak branches pull it out and bring the lighter to the big face of MEL, who drags on a rolled tobacco cigarette. Mel looks like an old football player left to dry in the sun. He moves with the slow deliberateness of a Titanic-crushing iceberg. His beady black eyes squint as he breathes the cigarette fumes and looks over to Marla, coming out the door and hurriedly bouncing down the stairs. He watches her.

Marla runs over, and jumps in the car.

MARLA
Hi Mel.


MEL
Marla.

Marla adjusts her coat, puts her purse away, and fiddles with her jewelry.

Mel watches her as the car IDLES like a hungry tiger.

MEL
You all set?


MARLA
Yeah thanks.

Marla finally fixes everything, and reaches back for the seat belt.

MEL
There’s no seatbelt.

MARLA
Oh.

MEL
Don’t worry, I’m a safe driver.

Mel signals, looks around, and urges the car to lurch forward.

The car interior is old and frayed. An AM radio belts out scratchy blues between waves of static (blues music will continue to play unless noted). The dashboard is cracked and faded from years under a cold sun. An old Indian rug with cigarette burn holes drapes over the front seat. Cigarette smoke curls around Mel’s head, suggesting ghostly images, before he opens the window and the smoke gets sucked outside, as if it left the car in a hurry.

Marla tugs at her window, but she can’t open it.

MEL
Yeah, that window’s busted, too.
I’ll fixit this weekend.


MARLA
Mmm. Thanks for doing this. I was able
to hit the snooze button this morning and think
(nyah nyah nyah voice) I don’t have to get
up now, I’ve got a ride.

She smiles, then quickly coughs at the smoke.

MEL
Sure. All the temps we get in the shop come
and go so fast, I never really get a chance to meet
any of them. They just come in, do their stuff,
and leave. I always feel kinda bad about them.

MARLA
Yeah, it’s hard sometimes. I feel like I leave
the job before I can get really started. Isn’t the
woman I’m replacing supposed to be back
on Monday?

Marla pulls the sunshade down (it sticks slightly) and starts primping herself in the mirror.



MEL
Hm? I guess. She’s, uh....well, she has some
things going on. It might be a while. You say you
just started?

MARLA
Well, this is my second assignment. I’m just
temping to make some money to keep me going
until I get a real job, you know. I’m paying for
my computer and art history classes at the Art
Institute, and I have an interview with a gallery
downtown next week, but I need some money
for food and stuff.

Mel doesn’t look at Marla as he talks to her. His eyes are on the road.

MEL
You just move here?

Marla touches up her lip gloss.

MARLA
Mm-hmm. From Springfield.

MEL
How do you like it so far?

MARLA
I haven’t really decided yet. The people here
are really nice...

As she says this, Mel clears his throat, a sound like curdling tar. She doesn’t notice.

MARLA (cont)
but I haven’t met that many, and there’s a lot
to see here, but I haven’t had a chance to do
much sight-seeing either.

She finishes primping and forces the shade back into place.

MEL
What’d you want to see?


MARLA
Well , I’ve always been interested in the Prairie
school of Frank Lloyd Wright, so I want to
see the Robie House down in Hyde Park, and...
well actually, there’s a lot of Hyde Park
architecture I’d like to see. See my father’s an expert
on the 1893 Colombian Exposition, so I’ve seen a
lot of old pictures from the era, but nothing for real.

Mel is only half listening to her. He’s thinking about something else. She stops talking.
There’s an awkward pause for a moment.. Marla looks at him, then back out through the dirty windows. She ventures forward with the conversation, although now uncertain if he understands any of it. She talks a little slower and simpler.


MARLA
I did my senior thesis paper on Wright’s
influence on painting, and how he still affects
artists working today. It’s interesting how one
thing, like architectural design, affects something
else, like oil painting, you know?

Marla looks to Mel to see if he’s lost. Mel glances back and smiles, a rather unsettling experience, since his teeth are slightly yellow.


MEL
Huh...I learned a little bit of Chicago history.


Marla politely gives him her attention. Mel focuses back on the road.


MEL
Yeah. Been here all my life. I learned a lot
from uh, from staying in one place. Like living
with someone all your life, you know, you get to
know them. Even cities have secrets and scars
and wounds, just like people. Chicago’s got a lot
of Œem.


MARLA
A lot of secrets?


MEL
Yeah... Like here, you know...where
you live...Lincoln Park was named for
the assassinated president the year after
he was killed. And I think it was this street,
or...somewhere, somewhere near here, I think
it was...back in the 50’s you know, this was all
slum. Lots of immigrants crammed
ten-twelve deep into these little one or two room flats.
And they didn’t have any air conditioning, so in
the summer, it was like living in a broiler. Back
in 54, or 55, it was about a hundred ten every day
for a week. This Italian man who worked as a
janitor or groundskeeper at DePaul came home one
day and lost it. He used a wrench on his
wife and two daughters, and beat his sons to death
with a hammer.

Marla gasps and winces at this news.
Mel takes another drag on his cigarette and talks as he exhales the smoke.


MEL
Cops finally came by a few hours later and
found the guy sweating in a pool of blood. I heard
the window was open, so a lot of flies got in.

Marla folds her arms across her chest. Maybe she’s cold, maybe not. Mel turns the heat on and keeps going.

MEL
The heat makes people do weird things
you know? Like a few years ago, we had
this really bad heat wave, and a lot of old
folks died all alone. They could have gone
somewhere, Œcause we got these cool houses
now, but they didn’t want to leave their homes,
so they just died in their beds.


MARLA
I heard about that on the news. That’s
horrible. That’s so sad.


MEL
Yeah. Some people they just don’t know,
though. They just don’t know any better.
They’re like sheep, you know.


Marla changes the subject. Her voice isn’t as chipper as it was before. And she is frowning.

MARLA
So, you’ve lived here all your life?


MEL
Yep, all my life. I wouldn’t want to leave, either.
Something about the city, the way it moves,
that you just get used to. The way people act, or
look at you on the street, or the El, or whatever,
you just get used to, and that’s, that’s what you
expect. (beat) I kinda think that the city expects me
to stay, too. You know (laughs). Like I owe it
something for bringing me up, so I gotta stay until
the city’s satisfied. But I’ll probably die here.
Chicago keeps dealing me good cards, so I
figure (pronounced “figger”) might as well stay
and finish out my hand.

Marla slightly picks up a bit.


MARLA
That’s interesting, you know, when I was in
London, I felt the same way. There was so much
history there, so many stories, and it was all there
in the buildings, and the statues, and the art and...


MEL (interrupting)
Oh, yeah, look over here.

He points to a parking lot at 2122 N. Clark Street.

MEL
See, there used to be a warehouse right there...
That’s where the St. Valentine’s Day massacre
happened...


Marla deflates again before the talk of violence.

MARLA
I heard about that.


MEL
You know what happened?


MARLA
I’d rather not know, if you don't mind.

Mel hits the brakes suddenly; a Geo or VW darts in front of him. Marla grabs the dashboard quicker than she should have.


MEL
Sorry. No, listen, it’s kinda interesting. Four of
Capone’s men dressed up like cops, and had
these guys line up against the wall in this old
warehouse. Then they shot them all in the back with
Thompson submachine guns. One guy took nineteen
bullets, but he still didn’t die. He tried to crawl away,
and made it as far as the door before someone plugged
him in the back of the head with a shotgun.


MARLA
And now we glorify and romanticize violence
by making movies and TV shows out of it.



MEL
No, people just don’t want to forget it. That’s
what all these (gestures with hand) statues and
war memorials are for.

(If there’s any kind of memorial near 2122 N. Clark, they pass it in the car...I’m not sure if there is, though)

MEL (cont)
There’s good and bad in life, and sometimes
you gotta look at Œem both. (beat) A lot of
good came out of that, actually.

Marla’s shirks away from Mel, rolling her eyes in barely disguised disgust.

MEL
I mean, the Valentine’s Day... It was the first
time police started using forensics like
trajectory and rifling to tell what kind of gun a
bullet was fired from. They knew how to do
it, you know, but this was the first time it was
used as admissible evidence, and on a big
trial, too. People finally started to wake up to
what was going on, and got rid of the prohibition
laws. Now it’s a parking lot.


Marla gets an edge to her voice.

MARLA
So now they know what kind of gun kills people,
but they don’t know why we keep doing it.

Mel takes a long drag on his cigarette, finishing it off, then crushes it in the ashtray with a dozen others. The smoke cloud hovers, catches the light strangely, casting devilish shadows over Mel’s face.

MEL
Some people don’t.

Mel turns the corner.

MARLA
Oh, you’re not getting on Lake Shore?

MEL
Nah, I hate dealing with the people. Quicker
this way.

Marla looks over at nearby Lake Shore Drive.



EXT CITY STREETS MORNING
Lake Shore Drive traffic is fast-flowing as the old gray car slowly slinks away from it.


INT CAR MORNING

MARLA
You probably know all the shortcuts, I guess.


MEL
Yeah, well, I like to know the city I’m sleeping
in, you know? Sometimes when I’m walking along
the streets at night I look down at my feet, and
I kinda expect to see blood, or ash, or something,
I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see something we forgot,
but that the city wants us to remember.

A distant church bell softly knells as they wait at a stop light. Marla is deathly quiet.


MEL
Anyway. So, have you tried Bigby’s yet?

Marla, looks down at her feet, wriggles them slightly, then glances around at the area they are in. She doesn’t recognize any of it.

MARLA
No, I haven’t...What’s that?


MEL
It’s a restaurant right around the corner from
the shop, to the west. I don’t know if you like
burgers or not, but they charbroil...

Marla interrupts him

MARLA
I’m a vegetarian.

Mel stops for a second.

MEL
Oh. So you don’t eat meat?


MARLA
No, I haven’t eaten meat since I was a kid.
I don’t even like the smell of it.

Mel shakes his head.


MEL
I heard once that if everyone was a vegetarian,
we wouldn’t have enough food. There just isn’t
enough crop space to grow enough plants to feed
everyone. Some places are only good for cattle
grazing.

The car passes a burger joint with “soylent green” on the menu.


MARLA
It takes more land just to grow the food to
feed the cattle. Why not just use that land to
grow edible plants for humans?


MEL
I guess. Some people are just meateaters at heart.

Mel honks at someone who cut him off.

MEL (cont)
I’m sticking with my Bigby burgers. They’re
really...really good.

Marla twitches slightly with sarcasm Mel doesn’t seem to catch...

MARLA
I’m sure they are.

or does he?

MEL
Meat is what made this city, you know?
Chicago’s meat-packing industry kept the
Union fed during the Civil War. They
named the biggest company the Union
stock yards on Christmas of 1865. All the big
cattle drives, you know, that you hear about,
they all came to Chicago. This was the end of
the line. That’s what the city was built on.
(softer) The end of the line.

They pass a billboard ad for “Moo&Oink”.

Marla coughs some more and tries to open the window again. Then she remembers it doesn’t work, and fiddles with the air vent before crossing her arms again.

MEL
The Fort Dearborn massacre, you know?
Indians came out of the hills and killed a
wagon train of women and children. A
soldier’s wife had her unborn baby
(cont)
MEL (cont)
ripped out of her body and beheaded. Last
year some couple in the western suburbs
killed a woman and cut her baby out. (beat)
They closed the Union Stock yards in 1971.
Some parts of the floor in those buildings are
still stained red. The blood seeps into the soil.
Chicago is a city of butchers. It always has
been. And where did all the butchers go
when they closed up shop? Back into the city.

Mel pulls back behind a building, off a back street, in the Back of the Yards. He parks the car, but leaves he engine running.

Marla starts darting looks left and right.

MARLA
Hey what are you doing ...


MEL
Shut up and let me finish. They went back
between the brick buildings and narrow alleys
and cracked and potted streets. They never left,
they just went back into the woodwork. And
what’s worse, is not that there are butchers, but
that there will always be meat. We will never run
out of things to kill.

MARLA
I’m taking a cab...

She tries to get out, but the door doesn’t open.
Mel talks far too calmly.


MEL
Yeah, it doesn’t open from the inside. A farmer
friend of mine was watching all the animals as
they went into the slaughterhouse. He said that
there are three kinds of people in the world: sheep,
who go in happy. Cows, who know where they’re
going, but just make some noise, and the pigs,
who scream and fight and kick all the way in...

He turns the engine off. It suddenly gets way too quiet...even the outside presence noises are silent. The inside of this car is the entire world right now.

MEL
You can tell how smart the animal is by how
they look at death. (beat) And...and that’s
maybe also how they look at life. (beat)

Mel turns and looks at the camera, and his face is the face of death.

MEL
So...what kind are you?


BIRD’S EYE VIEW
Long high zoom out of the car, nestled in the folds of the city.


FADE OUT







Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...