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Michael KarpinskiEmail: Mikarr785@aol.com
ALL THE UNDERGROUND MADMEN They have put me in the ground.
I awake to find they have put me in a room in the ground, six feet by six feet, in which I exist with a table and chair and walls charcoal gray.
When I awake in the ground it is to an egg under glass on a chair charcoal gray. I am hungry and eat the egg, though I distrust it.
Attached to the table are black leather straps. The chair looks comfortable, though I do not sit in it. The egg, before I ate it, was gray like the gray charcoal walls.
They have not yet found it necessary to strap me to the table.
* * * * * They have put me in the ground with a madman adjoining.
The madman scratches at the walls and whispers when I sleep.
"Vagina," he whispers. "Vagina."
I hear this in my sleep.
* * * * * When I awake in the ground it is to a man in a chair, not to eggs under glass or to black leather straps. This man, I know, is one of the ones who put me here. He holds a clipboard and a pen. He does not sit too close.
He says: "Your name is Francisco."
"No," I say. "Francisco is not my name."
He looks at his clipboard. He says: "Your name is Francisco."
I say, "My name is not Francisco. My name is –"
"Francisco," he says.
He says we are to play a game, just the two of us, me and him. He says he will say a word. He says I am to say the first word that comes into my mind. He asks me if I understand the rules of this game we will play. I ask him about the madman adjoining. I ask him why the madman scratches at the walls and whispers when I sleep.
He looks at his clipboard. He says: "The first word is ‘Penis’."
"Fine," I say. "My answer is ‘Man’."
"Your answer is ‘Man’?"
"Yes," I say. "My answer is ‘Man’."
He makes a notation on his clipboard. He says: "The next word is ‘Penis’."
I say, "The first word was ‘Penis’."
He says: "The next word, also, is ‘Penis’."
So I say again, "‘Man’." My feeling is, this is no game. My feeling is, I am being tested.
He says: "Your answer is still ‘Man’?"
"Yes," I say. "My answer remains ‘Man’."
He looks at his clipboard. He makes a notation.
It occurs to me: this man would like to put electricity into me. I say, "What is the name of the madman adjoining?"
"Francisco," he says, "is the name of that madman."
"Then what is my name?"
"Your name, also, is Francisco."
"What is wrong with the adjoining Francisco?"
"Francisco is having a bad reaction to his medication."
I ask if my medication is the same medication as the adjoining Francisco’s medication. I am told that it is. I am told not to worry about the medication. I am told that everybody reacts differently to the medication.
I say, "How many of us do you have down here?"
He looks at his clipboard. "The next word," he says, "is ‘Penis’."
* * * * * I am finding it increasingly difficult to remember what life was like before they put me here. I remember the newspapers, their blazing headlines proclaiming us perverts, anarchists, child molesters, madmen. I remember the advertisements, their quickest cures and painless promises: ‘JUST 3 WEEKS TO A BRAND NEW YOU!’, ‘SIMPLE SOLUTIONS FOR RIDDING THE GUILT!’, ‘3 WEEKS, COMPLETELY NON-ELECTRIC!’.
Rewards were offered. Phone numbers provided.
‘HAS SOMEONE YOU KNOW BEEN ACTING STRANGELY?’; ‘DO YOU SUSPECT SOMEONE YOU KNOW?’.
Neighbors turned in neighbors. Wives turned in husbands. Husbands turned in sons.
‘DO YOU SUSPECT?.
I remember I was reading a newspaper when they came offering help and the hope of a ‘BRAND NEW!’ me.
I awoke to find they had put me in the ground.
* * * * * "What have you done to the adjoining Francisco?"
I ask this of the man I play the game with (‘Penis’, ‘Man’, ‘Penis’, ‘Man’, on and on, on and on).
He says: "Francisco is having a bad reaction to his medication. We have found it necessary to strap Francisco to his table. We have found it necessary to gag Francisco. We have found these things necessary because Francisco is having a bad reaction to his medication."
"And me?" I say. "My reaction to the medication?"
He looks at his clipboard. He says: "We have not yet found it necessary to strap you to your table."
This man is one of the ones who put me here. He does not know that I have had dreams in my sleep of the adjoining Francisco, the two of us standing free on a long happy beach, laughing and holding hands like tall happy children under a blazing yellow sun.
"Today," he says, "the first word is ‘Penis’."
* * * * * When I awake in the room in the ground it is to a single sheet of folded paper.
From Francisco, I am told.
The single sheet of folded paper has very sharp edges.
It occurs to me: with the very sharp edges of this single sheet of folded paper I can slit my slender wrists.
I unfold the single sheet of folded paper. There is an illustration.
Illustrated by Francisco, I am told.
The illustration is of a man and a woman, laughing and holding hands on a long happy beach. The man has a penis; the woman, a vagina. There are children standing next to the man and the woman, laughing and holding hands on a long happy beach. All of the boy children have penises; all of the girl children have vaginas. Over all of their heads there is a blazing yellow sun.
Francisco is a ‘BRAND NEW!’ man, I am told.
I refold the single sheet of folded paper.
It occurs to me: my life has been ground down to six feet by six feet, a table and chair and walls charcoal gray. I live only to sleep and to wake to eggs under glass and this game that we play, day after day after day.
But I will not slit my wrists.
I will not clear this space.
* * * * * "‘Penis’."
I do not like this game we play.
"The word is ‘Penis’."
I have never liked playing games with words.
"The word, again, is ‘Penis’."
Or reading them in newspapers.
"We have not yet found it necessary to strap you to your table."
I look at the man who is sitting not too close with his clipboard and his pen. Someday, I know, he will put electricity into me and tell some other Francisco that I am a ‘BRAND NEW!’ man.
He says: "We have not yet found it necessary to gag you."
I know now the word he wants is ‘Vagina’. I have known this for quite some time.
"‘Penis’," he says.
But I will not give it to him.
* * * * * I have been put in the ground, in a room, six feet by six feet, in which I exist with a table and chair and walls charcoal gray.
Sometimes now I scratch the walls.
Sometimes I whisper.
And, sometimes, I wonder whom they will find to be my new man adjoining. I wonder what he will think when he hears me scratch and hears me whisper.
My feeling is, he will think me a madman.