The Theatre - Kellerman, Jonathan

Doctor ignored her, and she kept screaming that he was a murderer, had murdered Snowball for some kike blood ritual, using the blood for his fucking matzo.

Finally Doctor got mad and said, "Maybe it ran away because it was sick of you, Christina. Couldn't stand watching you drink and puke yourself to death."

After that it became just another fight, and he climbed down the stairs and took his regular seat on number six. Lis-ng and stroking himself and filing sex-pictures for future jack-off sessions.

The next morning she called the Humane Society, told them her husband was an animal murderer, had killed her prize Persian and taken it to the hospital for experiments.

Then she phoned the hospital and the Medical Board and reported Doctor for cruelty to animals.

The minute she opened her mouth everyone could tell she was crazy. No one paid any attention to her.

During surgery, the roaring had stopped. He'd felt about eight feel tall; everything had gone great.

A success, real science. Cutting carefully and peeling back all the layers, seeing all the colors: yellow fat, meat-red muscle, purple liver, tannish-pinkish intestines, all those blu-ish membranes covered with a network of blood vessels that looked like roads on a map.

The little heart pumping, kind of leaking around the edges.

It made him like the cat, feel that it was his pet.

The insides of animals were beautiful, just like the charts he'd seen in one of Doctor's books. The Atlas of Human

Anatomy-plastic sheets, layers of them, with different stuff printed on each one. They lay in a pile, one on top of the other. You peeled them off one by one, starting with a whole person-naked-and then peeling and getting the muscles, kind of a striped, red muscle man. Then off came the muscles and you got the organs, then a fringey-looking man made only of nerves and a brain, then a skeleton.

Two of them, actually. A plastic man and a plastic woman.

He liked the woman better, liked learning that inside, tits were mostly fat.

Funny.

Insides were beautiful, all the colors, really complicated.

School was fruit flies and words, not reality, nothing like this.

Not science.

When he was finished with the cat, he cut its diaphragm and it stopped breathing.

Then he cleaned up, took his time doing it, being super-careful.

That was the key, to clean up really good. You'd never get caught.

Without the cat she got worse, crazier. Spent a lot of time in her room talking to herself and barfing her meals-she was definitely losing it. The maids called her Senora Loca, didn't even bother to hide the fact that they thought she was nuts.

He wondered why she and Doctor stayed together, why Doctor didn't just kick her ass out. Then he heard them fighting once, she accusing doctor of fucking candy-stripers at the hospital, saying that he better not pull the shit he'd pulled on Lillian-she'd take him to the cleaners if he ever tried that shit on her. He'd be taking the bus to work, eating beans for dinner before she was finished with him.

Doctor didn't answer, so he figured there was something to the threat.

Not that the fights happened too often anymore, 'cause they didn't. Because Doctor was almost never home. But when he was, the shit really hit the fan.

He missed going down and listening. Even though his mind was working good, he had plenty of mental pictures and kill-sex memories to work with, there was nothing like actually hearing it, actually peeking through the door and seeing it.

They had a real good one when he was fifteen. A week after his fifteenth birthday, which no one had celebrated. He hadn't expected anything-she was too drunk and Doctor had ignored his birthdays since he'd refused to have a Bar Mitzvah.

Fuckbrain never did anything religious-why the fuck should he learn all that Jewish shit?

He'd waited for it to feel like a birthday. When it didn't, said fuckit, fuck them, and went out for a night walk. He found the dog a couple of blocks away-a ragged-looking ter-with no collar-choked it out, then brought it home hidden under his coat. Up in his room he anesthetized it and set up a terrific anatomy session, using the big Liston amputating knife and really enjoying the weight of it. The power.

Later that night he had terrific dreams, bunches of animals and girls all dancing and screaming and begging him to do it to them; he was sitting on this throne-type chair looking down on this pit that was half fire, half blood. An outrageous scene that he cleaned up perfectly and felt good about.

They woke him with their fight. All right! Happy birthday!

He was down there again on step six, feeling rich with memories, really comfortable.

He'd missed part of it but could tell it had to do with Sarah-the best ones always did.

She'd graduated college with honors, had been accepted to the first medical school of her choice, and Doctor was flying up to see her, rewarding her with money, a new wardrobe, and a trip abroad, all expenses paid-first-class airfare, the best hotels, a couple of charge cards.

When the hell did you ever give me anything like that? When the hell did you ever deserve it?

Screw you, you cheap bastard. I gave you my life, that's all. Ruined myself for you! Here we go again.

Don't sigh at me, you bastard. You're damned right here we go again. Don't think for a minute I don't know what you're doing.

And what's that?

Giving her all your money so there won't be any left in the community property.

Thinking about inheritance, are you?

Damned right. What else is there to live for?

Way you're going with the booze and the purging, Christina, I wouldn't count on being around to inherit anything.

Just you wait, you bastard. I'll be standing there when they put you under, laughing, dancing on your grave.

Don't count on it.

I'm counting.

Ten to one your electrolytes are out of whack, God knows how much liver you've got left-you even smell like a drunk. Jesus.

Don't Jesus me. Jesus loves me and he hates you, 'cause you're a Jesus killer. Don't you dare roll your eyes at me, you fucking kike Christ-killer.

All of a sudden you're religious.

I've always been religious. Jesus loves me and I love him.

You and Jesus have a regular thing going, do you?

Laugh all you want, you bastard. I'll be saved and you'll burn-along with that little hook-nosed bitch and her hooknosed mother. I'd take you to the cleaners right now, show the world what a thief you are if it didn't mean they'd stick their grubby hands in the pot, get their kike shyster lawyers to take it all away from me.

I thought I was giving it to them, anyway.

Don't try to shit me, Charles. I know what you're up to.

Fine, fine, whatever you say.

I say your hook-nosed bitches are going to burn along with you. I say I'll be damned if they clean me out before they do it.

Sarah's a terrific kid. She's earned it. I'll give her what I want.

I'll bet.

What's that supposed to mean?

No smile anymore? You know exactly what I mean.

You're disgusting. Get the hell out of my sight.

And your little hook-nose bitch, she's pure class, with her hairy legs and nose like a-

Lillian's a thousand times the woman you'll ever be.

-parrot beak. Real classy, that nose, huh?

Shut up, Christina-Shut up, Christina-trying to throw me out with the trash, are you? Well, I wasn't so disgusting when you wanted shiksa pussy, was I? Ignoring me, hotshot? You didn't ignore me when you wanted shiksa pussy, when shiksa pussy was all you wanted. You kicked your hook-nose bitch out so you could have some of this, c'mere, look-all blonde and sweet and ready to-

You're repulsive. Cover yourself.

Hook-nosed bitches don't have this, do they? Hook-nosed bitches are all hairy and smelly and dirty, just like the animals they are. Hook-nose Lillian, hook-nose Sarah- Shut your mouth!