The Cuckoo Colloquium

41 - Pinky Bell

In the morning a heavy cloud cover hung overhead as if fastened to the jungle by straps, and birds with flaming, feathery necks squawked down at Pinky Bell as if critiquing a performance.

"Erect the knob prior to insertion." Those were the only instructions they relied on-the voice of the elusive GPS from the haze above; it was their only counselor.

When she had kissed him and removed his clothing-slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to wrinkle anything-she was more curious than anything else. There was no foreplay, and it concluded quickly. Afterwards, they were quiet.

"That was, like, the worst sex in the world." But Windy looked at her with a new kind of force, a power she knew he would soon need to draw from, a strength that needed to mature quickly-if they were to survive.

She lifted her eyes to the dreary crown of foliage above, and it seemed as infinite in its pressing greyness as the Pacific Ocean. 'The jungle isn't mean-spirited at all-just the creatures within it,' went her thoughts on that morning of January first.

She rested her head on Windy's stomach. The fog was so thick that she couldn't tell if it was still night or dawning. They were naked and gaunt, and maybe they would both die, but it wouldn't be as virgins.

"He will come in the fog," she said.

He would come for some skewered resolution; for 'settling the account'. Outback was coming, all right, and he was coming with the machete.

Then the rain came, this time in solid sheets, but they were in no hurry to leave. Once, a falling tree sounded so very near, and the ground beneath them shook with the impact-the tree had tumbled with such force. Pinky Bell took it as a sign.

"I am the Leech Queen, and you are Tarcodile."

"Leech Queen .... Tarcodile." Solemnly, eagerly, he repeated the decree.

Then she opened the little jar, and he drew back. Even in his condition, he hesitated.

"You will be aided by the vigor of Tarzan..."

"Tar!"

"... the stealth of crocodile."

"Codile"

He nodded, accepting this necessary step in the new world order, and he swallowed the yellow potion, sucking down the yellowish oil and the slimy shreds. Afterwards, Tarcodile smacked its lips in relish.

"Soon we will have the head feast," she said.

"The head feast."

"It is the most joyous of all celebrations. It will tie us together as one."

"As one ... with more sex." Tarcodile liked that part.

"There will be no failure, there will be success."

Tarcodile leapt up to attention. "Success!"

"Now go and bring it to me."

Tarcodile, the dutiful henchman it had become, creased its forehead, lost in some sliver of thought that didn't figure.

"This is the mark of our bond." Pinky Bell tied a ragged strip of her pink underpants around the forehead of Tarcodile, and then tightened the knot with solemn vigor.

"Bring me a love offering."

She stood before Tarcodile in her nakedness, her black hair smeared to her forehead. There was a leech succoring in her navel, but she didn't acknowledge the parasite.

The thing that Windy had become, in his transmutational fervor, gazed at his Leech Queen as if never seeing anything so beguiling, so primordially lovely.

"Tarcodile will prove its love," she pressed, "then, after you have taken the head, after you bring it to me, after we make love, we will shrink this head together."

As if to confirm the instructions, a small, greenish cuckoo shouted its approval from above: Creeark!

"Make love with Leech Queen." It's eyes slitted in all-out craving, and the stout, adolescent American, in his rumpled Cousin It sniper suit, now looked reptilian and savage. It was a creature you didn't want to come across.

"Get the machete first, then prove your love."

"The machete."

The Leech Queen pointed into the forest, and the creature knew its prey was out there: the old man had become sloppy in his shadowing.

Tarcodile slipped into the opaque forest, as assured of its grisly task as anything that loved, and pursued proof of that love.