Chuck Palahniuk - Lullaby

I'm counting 346, counting 347, counting 348 …

In the Greco-Roman literary tradition, Mona says, there are night witches and day witches. Day witches are good and nurturing. Night witches are secretive and bent on destroying all civilization.

Mona says, «You two are definitely night witches.»

These people who gave us democracy and architecture, Mona says magic was an everyday part of their lives. Businessmen put curses on each other. Neighbors cursed neighbors. Near the site of the original Olympic Games, archaeologists have found old wells full of curses placed by athletes on other athletes.

Mona says, «I'm not making this stuff up.»

Spells to attract a lover were called agogai in ancient Greek.

Curses to ruin a relationship were called diakopoi.

Helen talks louder into her cell phone, saying, «Blood running down your kitchen walls? Well, of course you shouldn't have to live with that.»

And into his phone, Oyster says, «I need the retail advertising number for the Miami Telegraph-Observer. »

And the radio interrupts everything with a chorus of French horns. A man's deep voice comes on with a Teletype clattering in the background.

«The suspected leader of South America's largest drug cartel has been found dead in his Miami penthouse,» the voice says. «Gustave Brennan, aged thirty-nine, is believed to be the point man for almost three billion dollars in annual cocaine sales. Police do not have a cause of death, but plan to autopsy the body …»

And Helen looks at the radio and says, «Are you hearing this? This is ridiculous.» She says, «Listen,» and turns up the radio.

«… Brennan,» the voice says, «who lived inside a fortress of armed bodyguards, has also been under constant FBI surveillance …»

And to me, Helen says, «Do they even use Teletypes anymore?»

The call she just got—the blue-white diamond—the name she wrote in her daily planner, it was Gustave Brennan.

Centuries ago, sailors on long voyages used to leave a pair of pigs on every deserted island. Or they'd leave a pair of goats. Either way, on any future visit, the island would be a source of meat. These islands, they were pristine. These were home to breeds of birds with no natural predators. Breeds of birds that lived nowhere else on earth. The plants there, without enemies they evolved without thorns or poisons. Without predators and enemies, these islands, they were paradise.

The sailors, the next time they visited these islands, the only things still there would be herds of goats or pigs.

Oyster is telling this story.

The sailors called this «seeding meat.»

Oyster says, «Does this remind you of anything? Maybe the ol' Adam and Eve story?»

Looking out the car window, he says, «You ever wonder when God's coming back with a lot of barbecue sauce?»

Outside is some Great Lake, water stretched to the horizon, nothing but zebra mussels and lamprey eels, Oyster says. The air stinks with rotting fish.

Mona has a pillow of barley and lavender pressed over her face with both hands. The red henna designs on the back of her hands spread down the length of each finger. Red snakes and vines twisted together.

His cell phone rings, and Oyster pulls out the antenna. He puts it to his head and says, «Deemer, Davis and Hope, Attorneys-at-Law.»

He twists a finger in his nose, then takes it out and looks at the finger. Into his phone, Oyster says, «How long after eating there did the diarrhea manifest itself?» He sees me looking and flicks the finger at me.

Helen, with her own cell phone, says, «The people who lived there before were very happy. It's a beautiful house.»

In the local newspaper, the Erie Register-Sentinel, an ad in the Entertainment section says:

Attention Patrons of the Country House Golf Club

The ad says: «Have you contracted a medication-resistant staph infection from the swimming pool or locker room facilities? If so, please call the following number to be part of a class-action lawsuit.»

You know the number is Oyster's cell phone.

In the 1870s, Oyster says, a man named Spencer Baird decided to play God. He decided the cheapest form of protein for Americans was the European carp. For twenty years, he shipped baby carp to every part of the country. He convinced a hundred different railroads to carry his baby carp and release them in every body of water their trains passed. He even outfitted special railroad tanker cars that carried nine-ton shipments of baby carp to every watershed in North America.

Helen's phone rings and she flips it open. Her daily planner open on the seat next to her, she says, «And where exactly is His Royal Highness at this time?» and she writes a name under today's date in the book. Into her phone, Helen says, «Ask Mr. Drescher to get me the pair of citron and emerald clips.»

In another newspaper, the Cleveland Herald-Monitor, in the Lifestyles section is an ad that says:

Attention Patrons of the Apparel-Design

Chain of Clothing Stores

The ad says: «If you've contracted genital herpes while trying on clothing, please call the following number to be part of a class-action lawsuit.»

And, again, the same number. Oyster's number.

In 1890, Oyster says, another man decided to play God. Eugene Schieffelin released sixty Sturnus vulgaris, the European starling, in New York's Central Park. Fifty years later, the birds had spread to San Francisco. Today, there are more than 200 million starlings in America. All this because Schieffelin wanted the New World to include every bird mentioned by Shakespeare.

And into his cell phone, Oyster says, «No, sir, your name will be held in strictest confidence.»

Helen flips her phone shut, and she cups a gloved hand over her nose and mouth, saying, «What is that awful smell?»

And Oyster puts his cell phone against his shirt and says, «Alewife die-off.»

Ever since they reengineered the Welland Canal in 1921 to allow more shipping around Niagara Falls, he says, the sea lamprey has infested all the Great Lakes. These parasites suck the blood of the larger fish, the trout and salmon, killing them. Then the smaller fish are left with no predators and their population explodes. Then they run out of plankton to eat, and starve by the millions.

«Stupid greedy alewives,» Oyster says. «Remind you of any other species?»

He says, «Either a species learns to control its own population, or something like disease, famine, war, will take care of the issue.»

Mona's muffled voice through her pillow, she says, «Don't tell them. They won't understand.»

And Helen opens her purse on the seat beside her. She opens it with one hand and takes out a polished cylinder. With the air-conditioning on high, she sprays breath freshener on a handkerchief and holds it over her nose. She sprays breath freshener into the air-conditioning vents, and says, «Is this about the culling poem?»

And without turning around, I say, «You'd use the poem for population control?»

And Oyster laughs and says, «Kind of.»

Mona lowers the pillow to her lap and says, «This is about the grimoire.»

And punching another number into his cell phone, Oyster says, «If we find it, we all have to share it.»

And I say, we're destroying it.

«After we read it,» Helen says.

And into his phone, Oyster says, «Yes, I'll hold.» And to us, he says, «This is so typical. We have the entire power structure of Western society in this one car.»

According to Oyster, the «dads» have all the power so they don't want anything to change.

He means me.

I'm counting 1, counting 2, counting 3 …

Oyster says all the «moms» have a little power, but they're hungry for more.