9

 

So we went, leaving the naked black man standing in the foyer to greet the policed as we felt our way up the narrow wooden stairs, the banister smooth with the passing of so many hands before us, generations of hands that had come and gone from this place – our feet stumbling along that trail of tears until we saw the light above.

This was not  a pale light by which me might navigate, but deep crimson light so intense it seemed as impenetrable as the darkness it replaced.

        A teasing, barely existent scene also seem to emerge, stirring up as if out of the light, though I recognized the small from the headshop downtown which burned sandal wood sticks o incense perpetually.

        The intensity of the light  and the small increased as we rose as did the temperature of the air, a clinging wet warmth that made my shirt moist.

        As we neared the source of it all, a new more tart scent emerged, sharp with the taste of chemicals and the scene of incense seemed to be trying to cover it, but could not.

        As we mounted the last flight before the floor with the source of the light, a naked woman stepped out at the top, her blonde hair and white skin painted red by the light, though her lights and finger nailed needed no light for their tine, glistening as if she had dipped both in fresh blood.

        “Here,” she said, holding out a smoldering glass pipe out of which the chemical scent came. “Take a quick hit before it goes out.”

        Behind the woman other women emerged, a harem of naked shapes, some white, some black, some of other races and shades, but all made into the same order by the intense crimson light, each looking at us and smiling as if they had plans for us that we did not yet suspect.

        Puck grabbed at the pipe and sucked on it vigorously until his shoulders sagged and the contents of the small bowl turned to ash and he could collect nothing more from it.

        “More,” Puck demanded, and one of the women refilled it with a small chunk of white, which Puck again sucked on until it glowed, then handed the pipe to me to suck on next.

        I shook my head.

        Puck choked out the smoke.

        “You take some,” he insisted. “I’m not getting high alone.”

        So with my fingers trembling, I took the pipe. The glass was so hot it burned the palm of my hand. But I sucked. The sharp smoke cut into my lungs, more irritating than any cigarette smoke I had tasted, spoke that spread a heat up into my chest and a fog over my eyes so that the crimson lighted room and the crimson colored women loss all sharpness, as if I was seeing through though a lens thick with petroleum jelly.

        My arms and legs seemed to melt a little and I felt a little like I imagined a jelly fish might feel. All I wanted to so was sit down or lay down and not move.