Diabolic Fiction

Hudson Waits

"Why don't you just kill me, boy? Slit my throat. Beat my old head in. Smother me in the middle of the night with one of m'own pillows."
Jasper looked down at his mom. He saw how sick she was... not only her body, but in her head as well.
"Come on, boy. I can see it in your eyes. You'd liked to have gone with your teacher, eh? To the edge of the sea. See all them fishes. Swimmin' around your spindly little legs. Breathin' that salt water. Feel your eyes, stingin' from the stuff."
Jasper thought of the beach... the sun beating down on him one summer when his mom had been well and his dad had still walked the earth.
"Come on, damn you. Do it... do it! Your papa was always cleanin' up after you. He died in that hell hole because of you!"
Jasper walked away. He left his mom as she started to cry... weeping into the pillow she had just ordered him to kill her with.
"Play your goddamn saxophone, Jasper. So you don't have to hear me."
Jasper hated playing the saxophone. It's meaty growl... a slight rasp to its voice, the kind a 6-pack-a-day smoker has. He thought of Mr. Coleman, his fifth-grade science teacher. He thought of how all his classmates would be stretching their toes in the warm, Carolina sand... taking turns pressing their faces into the only diving mask they had... watching all the fish dart in and out of their grasp.
Instead, Dr. Coleman had asked him to stay with his mother.
"As a personal favor to me, Jasper. She needs someone to talk to. And if she gets any worse, you need to be ready with the phone," he had said, not realizing the anguish the boy would go through. But probably not caring.


When Jasper dreamed, it always started somewhere in the South Pacific, usually over a coral reef, his legs scissoring him down toward a cave opening, its darkness welcoming him. Jasper could almost feel the cold ocean draft pulsating from within. But, as always, he awoke just as he entered it.


An oceanographer... now that's what Jasper wanted to be. Exploring the uncharted depths of the sea, where light had not shown since creation.
His mother refused to buy him a snorkel and mask, instead giving Jasper his dad's old saxophone. At first he let it sit in his closet, but soon the wails of pain from his mother's room drove him to it.
Nothing but a few, tortured squeaks jumped from the horn, but in time, as his mother became sicker and sicker, his playing evolved.
The belongings his father had left behind – which Jasper had avoided like the plague – now became a treasure throve. The forty or so jazz albums (he was forbade to play John Coltrane and discovered his genius years later) were constantly playing. A combination of loud music and a screaming saxophone were enough to drown out the sounds that haunted him day and night.
But the waving moans of the tenor only reminded him of the ocean calling him. They also reminded him of Karen...


..."Dig s'more, Jasper. Your gonna need a deeper hole if you wanna bury someone."
Jasper rammed his shovel into the hard packed earth again and again until he was standing in a 4-foot deep grave. "Is this enough, daddy?"
"Yeah, I guess that'll about do it. Now, get her over here and we'll finish this thing."
Billy walked over to the limp body of Nancy Carter, his fourth grade sweetheart who he'd accidentally shot with his father's Army pistol.
"She's so heavy, daddy. Help me."
His father shook his head. "No can do, son. You've got to learn to clean up your own mess. It's the way we do things in the Truffaut family."
Jasper dragged Nancy into the grave and began to fill it in.
"Keep working, son. I'll go get us a beer."
Later, as the sun set on the gruesome day, father and son sat next to each other on the porch.
"Dad?"
"Yeah, boy?"
"Will I ever get caught?"
"No way. You buried her real nice."
"Well, I don't know if I feel so good about it."
"Boy, you know what you got now?"
"No. What?"
"You got a skunk."
"A skunk?"
"Yeah. Ya' see, a skunk has the ability to keep bigger animals from eatin' it by spraying them, keepin' them at bay."
"I know."
"Well, now you have a skunk... you have the ability to keep bigger people from hurting you."
"Because of what I did?"
"Yep, but it's something you have to work on... cultivate. Let me tell you how I got my skunk, Jasper my boy..."


It wasn't until his next school year that Jasper understood the power of what he had done. His father was rotting in the state pen and Jasper was mercilessly teased by his schoolmates. One boy in particular would not leave him alone...


...The bully's hand came down on Jasper's shoulder like a steel clamp.
"Ouch, Tony. That hurts."
Tony the Bully smiled. "I know it does."
"Oh. Well, could you stop, please?"
Tony just smiled. "Aw, the little baby wants me to stop."
His grip tightened.
Jasper felt he had no other choice. "If you don't let go, I'll get rid of you like I did Nancy."
Tony's grip loosened... a bit. "What do ya' mean?"
"I'll kill you, and then bury you so no one can find you."
The color in Tony's face suddenly went on vacation, and a dark stain rapidly spread across the front of his jeans.
He let go of Billy.
"And if you tell anyone, I'll get you!"
Tony ran home and never ever looked at Jasper again.


As Jasper got older, he was asked to take on more and more responsibility. Going to school and living his dream was no longer an option. Working to support his mom was the only thing he could do. He decided to use what talent he had and joined a small jazz combo that played regularly at a local club. He soon became popular and was asked to front his own band.
Before he knew it, a year had passed and his career soared. His mother passed quietly in the night. Her funeral was attended by three people... the priest, a cemetery caretaker and Jasper.
But, it hadn't surprised him.


"Jasper? Before I die, I want you to know a few things."
The week before her death, her mouth had trembled letting drool hang in a quivering string. Her hair was nest of gray twigs with white cables falling from underneath.
"That man... the one who you called father... the one you sentenced to death. He wasn't your father. I don't know who the hell your father is. You're a bastard. What do ya' think of that?"
Jasper tried not to. He just stared at her, hoping this would be over soon.
"Nothing to say? Well, would it surprise you to know you had two brothers? One was killed coming out of me, and the other I had put down before it could show its face to the world."
Jasper was unmoving... no change in his expression.
"You cold, little bastard. Nothing gets to you. I bet you sit in your room and smile while you listen to me. You don't care. It's that horn you blow. Is that your new friend? Your only friend? Do you fuck it 'cause you can't get no girl? You killed the only thing that ever loved you. She loved you, didn't she? Is that what you think? Why did he have to stick up for you? You killed her, YOU! And they sent my Jean-Phillipe to prison. What did that little girl ever do to you? When they came for him, you didn't say a word. You just let them take him from me... forever! Did he tell you how he got his damned 'skunk'? Huh? He killed his parents. That's right. Shot 'em dead. He was sent away about your age and doctors sure straightened him out. Did he ever tell you about that?"
Years later, Jasper understood his mother's rage. It was his fault daddy had to go to prison, a place that Jean-Phillipe would not walk out of.
Jasper remembered back to that day on the porch. He and his father were tired from burying Nancy. Jasper listened to the story...


...Jean-Phillipe Truffaut stepped into his parent's bedroom and watched as his mother and father rolled around on the bed, sweaty and naked as Charlie Byrd blasted from the stereo.
When they rolled to a new position, Jean's father saw him, and quickly wrapped himself in the sheet.
"BOY! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"
Jean didn't move.
"I SAID, MOVE IT!"
He didn't budge.
The elder Truffaut got up and stumbled his way toward Jean. "I'm gonna tan your hide, boy!"
Before his father could reach him, Jean-Phillipe pulled out a pistol and shot his father between the eyes.
His mother gasped and tried to slither out the bathroom door, but he shot her in the back, piercing a lung and rupturing her heart.
A dying gasp came from his father's mouth, and Jean bent down to listen.
"N..n..now you got....yourself a....s...sk..skunk...boy."
Little Jean-Phillipe Truffaut shot him again and walked out of the bedroom to make a bowl of cereal.


Jasper was jolted back to reality when his mother suddenly gasped for air and then coughed till her face turned red.
"I guess if I was dying just now, you would have just stood there, watching me. You hope I die soon, don't you? So you can live your life. Do you still dream of the ocean? Hmmm? Well, forget it... you're too stupid... I must've fucked some retarded sailor to get such a pitiful thing like you. I would have done you like I did the last baby I had, but the doctor said it was too late. I had to have you."
Jasper smiled.
"That's funny to you? I swear, if I had the strength I'd raise up and strike you down, right where you stand."
Jasper turned on his heel and walked away.
"I'll come back for you someday, Jasper. You count on it. Someday, you'll see me. You might not recognize me, but I'll be there. I swear it."
The next day, Jasper found her, motionless... not breathing.
He let out a heavy sigh, closed his eyes and listened to the ocean in his head. After a moment, he picked up the phone and called Dr. Coleman.


For Jasper, it was finally time to live his life. He went back to school and got his diploma. A scholarship and an audition that amazed professors got him into the University of California, Berkeley. His time there was productive, and he made many friends, but the shadow of Nancy always appeared whenever he got too close to a girl. He figured he'd spend more time playing the sax and less time digging up old memories.
It wasn't long before he graduated and toured with his roommate's band in Europe, playing to sellout crowds on jazz hall stages in Germany and in the bistros of Paris. He still heard his mother every time he blew his sax, but the money, women and heroin were useful tools in keeping those thoughts buried deep in his subconscious.
All this time, he never forgot his original dream... to explore the depths of the ocean... to swim among creatures he had only read about. The years flew by and before he knew it, that dream had receded, almost disappearing from memory... as had Nancy. Her shadow was no longer there, only the occasional whisper. Jasper knew it was only the wind and his imagination, but this fantasy helped him to reconcile his guilt. Sometimes it made him sick to forget; to not remember her would be monstrous, but age can wear away the strongest memory.


Now, at the age of 70, Jasper was finally relaxing. After all these years, he had come to appreciate the saxophone and actually enjoyed playing it. Once, the sound had only reminded him of his mother, and now it only reminded him of the sea. He had left Nancy, his mother and a heroin addiction behind him, looking only toward retirement and someday a peaceful slumber.
He had worked hard all his life and now reaped his reward in the form of a jazz club in Kansas City. It was paid for and packed every night. He even entertained the patrons with surprise appearances they enjoyed.
On this night, Jasper ended an improvisation and looked out at the watchers. That's what he called people who came to watch him play. Still, his only true friend was his sax.
One man stood out from the rest. While most of the patrons had adorned themselves in suits and dinner dresses, the man was wearing a long sleeved, white shirt with horizontal, black stripes. His pants were black and a stocking cap was flat on top of his head. He looked old...almost too old to be alive, Jasper thought. He motioned to Jasper and mouthed, "Have a seat."
The jazzman stepped down from the stage and shuffled to the table. He sat down heavily, realizing it was 4 a.m.
"That was a nice set, you played."
"Thank you. I haven't seen you in here before."
"No. I have not been here. I came to see you."
Jasper thought the man may be French or Belgian, from his heavy accent. "You like jazz?"
"Oh yes, Jasper. Very much."
"Maybe you saw me in Paris, way back. I played there once."
"Yes! I saw that show. You were magnifique!"
"Thank you."
"Yes, you were wonderful. Too bad you were only pretending, eh?"
Jasper looked down. For some reason, he was ashamed.
How could he tell?
"No need to be that way, Jasper. I understand your reasons."
"I doubt that."
"No, on the contrary, I know your true dream. I could tell it, in your eyes."
"Impossible."
"Not at all."
"Then tell me, what is my true dream?"
The old man smiled. "To explore the sea...just like me."
He leaned into the candlelight and Jasper got a good look at him. He knew the man's face. "Jacques Cousteau?"
"Yes, it is me!"
"But...how? I mean, I never really followed your career, I'm sorry to say. I just kind of forgot about the sea and everything. Things kind of consumed my life."
"Yes, I know. But I am here to change all that."
"Is it really you? This is incredible. How did you find me?"
"That is not important. I have come to give you what you have given me tonight."
"What is that?"
"Why, happiness, of course. I saw you finally playing with love, after all these years. I have been following your career and have waited for you to accept your abilities."
"This wasn't my dream."
"I know, Jasper. But you can still live your dream, yes?"
"At my age?"
"Age? Look at me? All you have to do is float, ha! And see, yes?"
Jasper was bursting inside. He wanted to grab the man, tell him all the hopes he had when he was boy.
"Come with me, Jasper!"
"Where?"
"On the Calypso. We will sail the seas, together. I will teach you about the oceans and you will teach me how to play the saxophone."
"Is this a joke? You're serious?"
"Very serious."
"Prove it."
"Very well." Cousteau handed Jasper a plane ticket.
"You will fly to New York. There, the Calypso is docked. All the instructions are in that envelope."
Jasper decided he would do it. "Ok. When do I leave?"
"In two days. You will fly there tomorrow. Then, we leave immediately for the Caribbean."


Jasper landed at JFK airport and followed the instructions to a car waiting for him at the arrival level.
He suddenly remembered his mother's words, how she said he would never realize his dream.
The driver was dressed in a sailor suit that appeared to be several sizes too small. "Are you Jasper Truffaut?"
"Yes. Is this the car to the Calypso?"
"Yes, sir. Hop in."
Jasper noticed a small monkey, sitting in the passenger seat. The creature was staring right at Jasper, shaking its head from side to side. Jasper looked away and thought about the Calypso.
The car ride was almost an hour. Heavy traffic lay between the city and the docks, but they soon arrived. When he stepped from the car, Jasper was sent into a trance by the lapping waves and the overwhelming perfume of salt water.
"We're here. The Calypso is harbored on the other side. You'll have to present some I.D. to get in."
"Thank you."
"Good luck, Jasper."
The jazz-man-turned-oceanographer grabbed his bags and followed the fenced area to a security hut. The guard inside was sipping tea and eating a popsicle. Jasper thought it might be cherry-flavored, for the man's lips were stained a deep red.
The man saw Jasper and set his popsicle in the teacup. "Can I help you, pal?"
"Yes, I am here to see Jacques Cousteau. I am expected. My name is Jasper Truffaut."
The security guard glanced at a clipboard. "Hmmm...nope, don't see your name. And just for the record, I'm usually a nice guy. I have sympathy for your type. But you might want to leave before my partner gets here. He hates you people, and he'll be likely to smash your face in."
"He doesn't like black people?"
"What? He don't mind black people, he just hates you insane fuckers. Now get the hell outta here!"
"I am a guest of Cousteau. He sent a car for me."
"Listen you fruit cake, there ain't no Calypso here. Jacques Cousteau is dead. Don't you know anything? Now get on back to whatever loony bin you escaped from." The guard's eyes went wide. "Aww shit. Here comes Vinnie. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Vinnie was a very tall, very broad and very mean looking man. A dark brown stain was splashed across his shirt. He was muttering to himself and looked extremely pissed-off.
"Those fucking guys didn't put the top on securely. The coffee is like molten lava and these fucks set a goddamn trap for me." Vinnie looked at Jasper. "What the fuck we got here?"
"Nuthin’, Vinnie. He was just lost. He's leaving now."
Jasper thought he should go and call the Calypso from a pay-phone, but he didn't have the number. "Listen, if you could just call the ship, I know he will vouch for me. I'm expected."
Vinnie crossed his arms. "Ship? What ship?"
Jasper’s answer was timid, "The Calypso."
"What? Did you hear this, Donnie? The fucking Calypso."
Jasper pressed on. "Yes, Cousteau is waiting for me."
"Oh he is? Did you tell this shit that 'Jock' is dead?"
Donnie smiled. "Yep. But he doesn't believe me."
"I saw him last night. He was in a club, in Kansas City. He invited me here. He said I could be an oceanographer if I taught him to play the saxophone."
Vinnie cracked his knuckles and then started poking Jasper’s chest with a gnarled and scarred finger. "You goddamn wacko. You're just like all the rest. You run around spewing bullshit and then you snap and lose it completely and kill someone. My sister would be alive today if it weren't for you lunatic motherfuckers."
Vinnie hit Jasper hard enough to knock the jazzman to the ground. "It's crazy fucks like you that hurt this world!"
The livid security guard kicked Jasper in the ribs...his steel-toed boots made swift work of Jasper's brittle bones. The sound of each one cracking caused Donnie to flinch.
Jasper hugged his saxophone case to his chest. "Please...just call Jacques."
"Fuck you!"
The boot collided with Jasper's head releasing a blood clot that killed the jazzman instantly.
"Get up, you fuck!"
"Shit, Vinnie. He ain't moving."
Vinnie put the boot to him again and waited. "The fucker's dead."
"Aww shit, Vin'. What are we gonna do?"
"Help me pick him up. He's goin' for a little swim."
Donnie grabbed Jasper's legs while Vinnie picked up the dead jazzman by the shoulders. They dragged him to the edge of a dock and let the still form slide silently into the murky waters of Hudson Bay.