Peter Liu - Bald New World

“I’ll make an exception for one, but not both.”

The door shut. I hustled down.

III.

Hustle might have been an exaggeration. More like lumbering along. Walking was excruciatingly painful. The only place I could think of going was Gamble Town to visit Tolstoy and Beauvoir again. Maybe they could shed some light on what was going on as it was clear they were connected to Plath.

I got into the cab and asked the computerized driver to head to the airport. On the television, the incidents at all the different hair factories were being highlighted. I called a journalist friend, Lena, who served in Africa with me. She was giddy as she always was whenever there was lots of news to cover. Scenes of violence and death were interspersed with sexually explicit ads reminding people about the upcoming Global Entertainment Awards in Los Angeles. Both Jesus the General and Rhonda would be there, sharing a dance duet, although the prayer vigil was still ongoing and millions throughout the world were praying for his recovery from his flu.

“I’ve got something big,” I told Lena.

“Bigger than the attacks?”

“The real reason behind them,” I replied. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Seoul right now, but I’m heading over to Hong Kong,” she said.

“Send me your HK address. Or can you make a quick detour to Shanghai?”

“I can. But you need to give me a hint what this is all about.”

“Hair,” I replied, and would offer no more.

She didn’t seem convinced, but we had a lot of history together. “I can be there in 25, maybe 35 minutes if customs is tough.”

“I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

The communication ended and I called the hotel in Gamble Town where Beauvoir was staying. Surprisingly, the operator patched me through after saying, “She’s been expecting your call.”

“Hi, Nick. Nice wig,” she said.

“You look very nice yourself,” I answered, marveling at how beautiful she was. “I met your sister, Plath. I know what’s going on. At least part of it.”

“She told me.”

“Can we talk?”

“I think my brother wants to see you anyways.”

“Your br—”

Something crashed into my taxi and I heard Beauvoir scream, “Nick!”

Almost immediately, the whole compartment was filled with green gel, freezing me in place. It was designed to protect me from collisions as the car spun out of control. I could still see, though my visibility was filtered by the green gel that made me feel like a fishing bob in the ocean. Had I been in a car accident? That was impossible. There hadn’t been car accidents outside of America for decades, unless someone had taken manual control? Or had there been an automated failure? The gel was good for me and had medical palliatives to sooth my muscles. My shoulder and leg were grateful.

“Nick! Nick!” Beauvoir called.

I heard sirens and an ambulance arrived almost immediately. I tried talking through the gel, but my voice came back as a muted echo. Four EMTs pulled my cube out using medical shovels and carried me to the ambulance. Smoke was rising from my car and I saw a jeep had hit me from the front. Each of the EMTs had hats covering their faces. Crowds were watching me from the sidewalk, curious as they’d probably never seen a collision in real life. One of them opened the back door of the vehicle and I saw his face, or lack of. He was one of the Colonel’s men. Another faceless EMT grabbed a syringe and injected it into the gel. I became drowsy.

IV.

I was strapped to a bed. My clothes were still on. There were eight faceless guards I could see. We were in a basement, or was it an abandoned hospital room? There were stretchers in front of me, medical signs covered with dust that looked like they hadn’t been washed in years. The main faceless guard was dressed in a doctor’s blue surgical garb. He played with a scalpel, twirling it between his fingers like it was a pencil-sized baton.

“I thought I was going to see the Colonel,” I said.

“You will,” Dr. Faceless told me. “But we have a few hours to get acquainted.”

“Hooray.”

“Did you ever wonder how we became the way we are?”

“I actually did.”

“Good, because you’re going to find out directly.”

“What do you mean? I don’t wanna be part of this. Hey, man—”

“One more word without permission, and I will cut out your tongue. The only reason I haven’t done so already is the Colonel would prefer your tongue intact. But she’s open to having you type out your answers when she interrogates you later,” he said. “Anything more you want to say?” I kept my mouth shut. “Good. All of us were like you at first, uninitiated to the pleasures of pain. I promise you, by the end of your trials, pain will cause you bliss.”

I’d never thought I had a handsome face. But I still liked my mug the way it was and I had no interest in becoming “faceless.”

“None of us wanted it either,” the doctor continued. “I know what’s going through your mind. All of us experienced it the first time. You wonder what lovers, what family, what friends will think? The good news is, they won’t recognize you. Not unless you try to expose yourself. But if you do, you’ll find out how superficial all relationships are. Only when you lose your physical identity can you find your real self.”

Was he trying to convince me what he was doing was going to be good for me? I was eager to retort with some smart-ass remark, but I didn’t want to risk losing my tongue. It was cowardly to threaten my tongue which ranked second only to my manhood in terms of organ priority. Not that I looked with diminishment at any other part. I liked my body intact. Was there some way I could pull a Sampson, blow up my body and take all of these thugs with me? Just on principle, if I was going to die, I wanted to take as many of my enemies with me as I could. Unbelievable. He was still talking. Would he ever shut up? Many of these bad guys had to put on such a tough exterior for their followers, the only chance they had to relieve stress was with their opponents. In this case, I was more victim than opponent. Well, as long as he was talking, it meant he wasn’t going to cut my face up. Did I have any options? My hands were sealed too tightly for me to grab anything. Could there be a self-destruct button on my armor I didn’t know about? If I ever got out of here, I had to make a request to George to add it. I knew in Africa, they sometimes gave the infantry poison-capsule teeth so they could kill themselves rather than suffer torture. The only problem was a few of them set it off accidentally during visits with prostitutes that caused a huge scandal and resulted in the banning of poison teeth throughout the world. Why was it that idiots always got laws changed to accommodate their dumb proclivities?

“When this is done, you will be as obedient as a dog, more ferocious than a bear, and more deadly than a viper,” he said. Great examples, asshole . “But first, we have to change your face. I will tell you, we will not be using anesthetics. You will have to endure it directly.” He waved the knife in front of me. “You two will become intimate. You must learn to control and channel pain. Pain is pleasure. Repeat it for me. Pain is pleasure.”

“Pain is pleasure,” I repeated.

“You say it without conviction because you haven’t experienced it yet. But soon, it will be your mantra, your creed of faith.”

The sock-puppet motion of his mouth disturbed me. Usually, thugs like this had deep crevasses in their faces, a grave look about them that was all business. But this guy appeared as though he were talking out of a mask made from flesh. And he wanted to make me like him? Why couldn’t people suffer in misery by themselves? I’d complained about friends in the past that hoped friends could be a sponge for their interminable negativity. This faceless doctor took that to another level.