Oliver Benjamin
“Who are you talking to?” inquired the little cherub.
“The spirit in my cup. The abhorred guest,” Roy replied.
“Really? How did he get there?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s been there a long time.”
“Where are you from?”
“What do you mean?” he replied, mesmerized by the glow
cascading off of her little head.
“Are you black?” she asked, “Or are you white? You have a
strange face.”
Roy did not know how to answer that question. There was no
answer. He thought that this was because it was not a question. It
was a clue.
“I’m not from around here,” he told her, “Nobody is.”
The police arrived then and began arresting the rioters. Sprout
grabbed Roy and pulled him back to Undergrounds, but he was hard
to move. Not only was he carrying the world on his shoulders, but he
was trying not to spill his soul.
The others arrived shortly afterwards, brimming over with
excitement.
“Chalk up one for humanity, zero for the automatons!” yelled
Partment.
“Out of the pandemonium and into the fire,” Colin howled,
“What’s next?”
Roy was standing amongst them, swaying and humming. He was
singing about the promised land.
“What’s wrong with Roy?” Bennie asked.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Sprout.
“Exactly,” Colin said, “Hell! That’s what’s going on.”
“Oh, shit,” Partment gulped, “Did Roy drink the coffee?”
“Yes. He did. What was in it?” she demanded.
“Coffee, sugar, milk,” said Bennie, “A pinch of ayahuasca.”
“It’s a tryptamine,” said Partment.
“A trip to where?” Sprout asked.
“Depends where you’re starting from!” Partment said, laughing
like a schoolboy who was not sorry.
Bennie explained, “It’s what witch doctors in the Amazon use to
open the door to the spirit world of angels and demons.” But he
didn’t tell her that, like any door, it could open both ways. Sometimes
it let the demons escape into this world. He didn’t need to, though.
Roy was evidently possessed by something.
183
 |
 |
 |
 |