Over the Broad Earth: A Novel from the Saga of Fallen Leaves

Introduction

The Meet at the MET

Franz Sauber dropped a token in the turnstile, walked through, and immediately put a handkerchief to his nose. The rank smell of body odor and decay threatened to overwhelm him even as the Demon within him reveled at the stink.

Sauber stood on the spit and blood-riddled platform. He heard a voice.

“Got any change, buddy?”

He looked to find a disheveled man holding out a cup in his leathery hands. Sauber reached for a coin. When the quarter clanked against the metal, the beggar snarled.

“A thousand-dollar, tweed overcoat and all I get is a lousy quarter. Get screwed.”

From within Sauber, his undetected but very much controlling Demon smiled. Schizophrenia "Schitz"[1] Incenderos Nervosa had little patience for anyone who was not, or who had not been, a warrior. He could see through the beggar’s façade.

There’s nothing wrong with this man, Schitz thought. Let’s give him a reason to beg.

Schitz touched the man’s hand. Suddenly, the man began to twitch and scream obscenities. Losing control of all bodily functions, the man soiled himself and fouled the platform.

Next time, say thank you, Schitz thought.

Franz Sauber backed away in horror. To his relief, he heard the train approaching. Just before it stopped, he looked back at the beggar. A police officer had his nightstick across the man’s neck. Sauber hustled into the car; within him, Schitz smiled.

Wish I could help you, officer.

Sauber waved to the conductor and searched for a seat. The car overflowed with travelers. A happy couple, married according to the rings on their fingers, snuggled closer to one another near the rear of the car.

This might be fun, Schitz thought.

He waved his hand in their direction. The woman’s eyes narrowed into a provocative leer, and she launched herself at her husband, her mouth open, her hand guiding his towards her breast. The lights blinked off, throwing the car into darkness. Schitz wiggled his fingers again.

When the light came on, the woman had her hands around her husband’s throat. His eyes bulged in bewildered terror. Just when the man’s face turned purple, Schitz flashed his hand in a dismissive fashion, and the couple returned to their original positions, though both wore expressions of complete bewilderment.

You’re lucky I’m just fooling around, Schitz thought. Otherwise, one of you would be dead.

Still in search of a seat, Schitz maneuvered Franz into the next car. Sparks from the rail popped past the windows, a pleasant light show for regular travelers, a terrifying sight for the uninitiated.

Cigarette butts littered the floor. A man selling yo-yos and artificial flowers squeezed by on the left. Franz filched a red, plastic rose – because Schitz wanted one.

A half-dozen young people wearing ill-fitting evening wear and brandishing bottles of alcohol they were too young to possess huddled together in the middle seats. They talked in the loud voices of adolescent insecurity, certain everyone who could hear them would be impressed by their overdressed, drunken bravado.

Schitz raised his hand to unleash havoc, then hesitated. One girl sat by herself. She was the only young lady without a corsage. Heavy chested and plain, she bore the telltale signs of Schitz’s ailment. Franz leaned over the seat and presented the stolen rose. The girl’s eyes lit up with joy, and the moment his hand touched hers, an aura of wellness spread across her face.

Schitz scowled. “Don’t get in the habit of healing people, old boy,” he said to himself. “You’ll put yourself out of business.”

The loudspeaker crackled. A heavily accented voice said, “Lexington and 51st… Lexington and 51st.”

They look like they are fleeing Pharaoh’s army, Schitz thought. He sneered at the mob. I’ve seen Pharaoh’s army. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

Franz sauntered towards the door, the last departing passenger.

“Hurry up, mister,” the conductor said. “We ain’t got all damn day, you know.”

Franz apologized. Schitz reached. By the time he passed the uniformed functionary, the conductor’s eyes reflected the maniacal gleam of insanity. Schitz hurried his host to the end of the platform where they could watch the departure. The train lurched forward and rolled out of the station but not before Schitz saw the conductor enter the driver’s cabin and begin to club the unsuspecting operator with a fire extinguisher.

Schitz turned away from what could only be described as a hellacious circus. He dismissed thoughts of the carnival of delight and looked on to the monolithic aperture of a stairwell ascending to the brighter world above the subway platform. The old beaten brass handrails looked golden.

Franz hesitated. Schitz remembered a time where he ascended a set of stairs much like this one, only at the end of it lay in wait seemingly inevitable demise.

Stairway to heaven,” he thought.

At the top of the steps, he avoided a puddle of vomit and made his way to 51st and Lexington. The tingling on his face let him know he was free of the catacombs of New York City's underground. He crossed the avenues and saw a truck driver throwing newspapers at a newsstand whose attendant was absent.

Looking down at the driver, Franz thought, I'm running late. I don't have to time to think of these trivial things when there are greater matters at hand.

He walked with brisk steps through the deserted urban environment until he stood in front of his destination. Schitz gazed at signs and posters adorning the Metropolitan Museum of Art and made his way past the loose chains slouched across the entrance. After a few feet, the slight brush of a hand took him by his right shoulder. Franz turned. He saw a silver-haired, blue-eyed man with reddish cheeks and an unnatural, vibrant flush in his face.

The old man’s false teeth slipped and caused his words to hiss and slur – an expulsion of mumbled hostility and alcohol-soaked breath. The night watchman stumbled forward and into Franz, who at this point had already realized the man was of no threat to him. Franz took hold of the man’s light blue sleeve and held him at arm’s length. Bold lettering in a brass nameplate announced “O’Keefe.”

Franz grabbed the security officer's hand and squeezed until O’Keefe’s eyes registered pain. The grip rendered the aging inebriate incapable of speech.

Walking past O'Keefe and up another set of steps, the sound of the distant wailings of the guard followed by delirious laughter. Beyond the glass doors that made for the entrance of the MET's central atrium, Franz proceeded past an ancient obelisk. The Egyptian exhibit invariably stirred a barrage of memories. He paused for a moment and thought of days long past. A name slipped past his lips.

“Anna.”

“It’s good to see you’re looking well,” Zinc said, an absentminded tone within his voice.

“Sorry about that,” Schitz replied. “I got caught up in the obelisk. Something about that obelisk haunts me.”

“Ah, memories,” Zinc said. “Too many.”

“Are we anything else other than our memories now?” Schitz asked. “I mean, look at you and me after all these years. That we can stand together in the same place, it’s as if now we're more of an idea.”

“I can't live on memories,” Zinc answered moodily, “I can only live in the now. If I only could sustain myself on memories, I’d kill you where you stand.”

“That hasn't worked too well in the past,” Schitz said. “But maybe that's just how I remember it.” He chuckled. “Enough pleasantries. I have eight new diseases graduating shortly from the Academy. I should be able to send them on missions that will give them over to you. The Ivory Coast is picking up as of late. But I will need a substantial number of Angels to balance the equation. The eight fledglings are being guarded right now by Anorexia herself. Let me reiterate that she is not to be touched.”

Zinc sighed and waved his hand, dismissively. “That provides slight complications. But still, manageable.”

“Good,” Schitz replied. “There is talk amongst our intelligence service that your leadership is undergoing a challenge. Is that something I should worry about destabilizing our agreement?”

“That’s not something I would worry about if I was you,” Zinc said.

“Fair enough,” Schitz said. “Regardless of whether what you say is true, things are getting dangerous for us to keep continuing like this. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling some pressure from these late-night rendezvous.”

Zinc nodded. “It seems like both our populations are dropping drastically; hopefully, we can decrease our activity.”

“Maybe,” Schitz said. “That's not necessarily a bad thing. My bigger concern is if your boss or my boss finds out about what we've been doing.”

“I don’t want to think about the justice that would be doled out if that were to happen,” Zinc said with a shudder. “There’s a lot in play right now. Besides, we’re two sides of a triangle now.”

Schitz thought of AIDS and The Ancient, wondering about which triangle Zinc was referencing. “Well, we need a way to communicate. And face to face is getting too dangerous,” Schitz said.

O’Keefe’s cackling laughter echoed over their conversation.

“We will have to limit our communication through shattered minds,” Zinc said.

“There’s nothing shattered about them,” Schitz said with a smile as he recollected the orgy of psychosis he had unleashed upon the subway car. “They're a perfect, complexity of systems.”

“No matter how you frame it, my side has long since stopped trying to decipher what it was that they were saying or attempting to trace it back to you.”

Schitz nodded and thought of his colleague, AIDS. “There are other challenges to using those channels, but I suppose we must use it for now.”

“Well, that’s one issue down,” Zinc said. “What about the third factor, The Ancient.”

“The Fossil?” Schitz asked. “I see no danger of him cracking into the mind of anyone, let alone the mind of a lunatic. So, I doubt he’d figure out we’re working together.”

“I’m more concerned about what his play is,” Zinc said. “He hasn’t approached either side, but he has been active, accumulating worldly wealth and power. Hardly the vagabond lifestyle he had been leading for millennia.”

“It is a concerning mystery,” Schitz said. “Hopefully, pertaining to his search for his girl.”

“If we have to defend ourselves against him, things might get sloppy,” Zinc said. “That’s why we need to tighten up now. Have you gotten AIDS under control? It seems like he’s everywhere.”

“It’s a delicate situation,” Schitz said defensively.

“That’s not a positive development,” Zinc said. “You question my control. Are you sure you can hold up your part of the bargain?”

Schitz waved his hand in dismissal of the quip.

“Well, don’t let him wipe out humanity,” Zinc said. “Remember our balance is not just Celestial beings; the mortals must be in balance as well.”

Schitz inhaled fiercely but remained calm, and replied, “There are new Demons from the current academy class crafting their disorders; they’re working at the CIA cooking up something much worse than AIDS. I’ll keep them in control and AIDS and all the others.” He added, “Don’t forget about your Co-Commander Uranium II cocking everything up with the damned nukes. Now the defunct Soviet government is so caught up in capitalism it can't keep its own organization straight. Tell me that’s not a greater threat than AIDS to the stability of the mortals.”

Zinc shrugged. “Just another part of the equation, I suppose. But it is an equation that keeps becoming more and more complex. What’s worse, AIDS or Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project? We’ve both put things in play that could bring the house down.”

“It seems like we’re both in need of better housekeeping moving forward,” Schitz said with irritation in his voice.

Zinc smirked, cycling back to a statement Schitz had made earlier. “Your boys really do like the CIA.”

“And you like the UN,” Schitz replied with disgust in his voice.

“Can’t hide your distaste for our global empire?” Zinc asked.

“Even working together with you, I could never like the United Nations; I didn’t like you when you were the League of Nations,” Schitz said. He laughed without humor.

“I don’t think we liked us when we were the League of Nations,” Zinc said.

Both laughed, but neither took their eyes off the other. It was as it had always been, an alliance of untrusting equals.

[1] Pronounced “Skits”