Old Man Maddington

  * * *

  Evening descended on the dwellers of the Leisure Lodge Nursing Home, as they, variously, sat around watching the evening news, throwing things at Nurses Aides' or each other; spitting, wailing, moaning, cursing, pissing down their legs, or wishing they could go outside to enjoy a smoke in the warm evening breeze. One pale old woman in a huge wheelchair purposely rolled over the loafered foot of an ashy hued man, and cackled with mad laughter.

  "You old bitch," he said with a bass snarl as he swung his ornately-carved walkin stick at the wrinkled bag of malice that barely rolled herself out of reach. "Roll over my foot again and they gonna put me in prison for crackin yo head open like a ripe melon. Don't make me get up!"

  "Shut up, you stupid nigger," the old woman spat with wrathful malice. "You'll have ta catch me first!" She rolled around in angry circles between others elderly, or maimed, or mad, her brow twisted in thought, until her eyes suddenly lit again with a delightfully demented fire. "Yeah, it sure is typical for you to mention watermelon, ain't it. Watermelon, fried chicken. . .when's the last time they let you eat any fried chicken, Henry? Fried chicken, umm umm umm! Watermelon, chitlins. . .am I makin you hungry, Henry? Oh, poor baby, they won't let you eat anything except the anti-nigger menu, will they -- "

  Henry swung his cane again, then laughed, a warm, mirthful sound without any trace of anger or resentment. "For a wild haired, wol-eyed, nasty mouthed bitch, you sure do get this old Stanley of mine ah pumpin, woman. Yo mouth never seems to fail!" Old Henry stood up almost easily for a man of his apparently ancient age, leaning on his walkin stick, rubbing his crotch. His smile showed a mouth full of gleaming false teeth from ear to ear. "Here I come, woman! You better run. You better run!"

  "Oh help me, lordy, help me help me!" the old woman screeched as her hands became a blur on her rubber wheels. She acted for all the world like she was about to be raped, but none of the Nursing Home staff seemed to notice, or even care. She screamed and hollered and made a hell's den of noise as she slowly rolled from the common room to the hall, old Henry hobbling right behind her. For all her racket, though, right before she disappeared down the hall, she turned to Henry and smiled a smile that made the bulge in his pants grow longer.

  Henry's words echoed from the hall as he disappeared after her. "I'm a goin ta getcha, you evil white harlot. . ."

  "All that talk about fried chicken has distracted me from my meditations," boomed a huge man with tangled white hair that reached to the yellow-white loin cloth that barely covered his wrinkly white ass. He sat cross-legged on the cool linoleum floor, tugging at his wispy grey beard.

  "Me, too," said a skinny brown man wearing a glittery, multi-hued shirt with brown slacks. His tone was distracted, his eyes glued to the T.V.

  "I am hungry for fried chicken and mashed potatoes! I must eat of food that is real or I shall surely die!" the man in the loin cloth said in a deep, melodramatic voice. "I must eat Spaghetti O's with franks, not this plastic crap the overlordly ones here call food! I demand sustenance! I demand -- "

  "Quiet man, quiet! Old Jim's on the news again! He's raided another happy-weed convoy and left another message! Listen!"

  Loincloth turned his attention to the television, and grimaced at the computer-generated news reporter.

  ". . .another devastating attack on the space lanes by the fugitive from Justice, James Robert Maddington. Another of his enigmatic messages has been delivered by yet another truck-driver for the Transgalactic Shipping Corporation." The reporter's face was replaced by a skinny woman with a hooked nose. "Well, he just asked me to tell everybody that his finale is comin soon, and that Cosmo should be ready for the great revival. That's all he really said, 'cept for the usual rigamarole 'bout -- "

  Loincloth nudged Slacks on his bony leg with his bony elbow. "I know what that means, man! I told you I know that fellow! We used to be in the navy together, sailin to the outer reaches of the Cosmos, havin strange dealin's with exotic alien women! The seven-breasted whores of Halimon's world, the ripple women of -- "

  "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Your first consistent fantasy, as far as I'm concerned. I thought you didn't care for worldly events, oh high-and-mighty traveler through the planes of the Infinaverse."

  "I will speak with you no longer. Regardless of your lack of faith, you will be allowed to go with me when I escape from this hell, someday. . ." Loincloth's eyes became glazed with the dream of freedom, of escape from the prison confining them for the crime of old age. . .

  "Escape. Pah!" grunted Slacks with distaste. But he, too, couldn't help but think of what it would be like to travel to a world, a galaxy, anywhere, free to do as he wished, regardless of some young fucker's fear of the danger to his old brittle bones. . .

  "Hey Arnold," said Slacks, "remember that time me and you and Jim was. . .was. . .fried chicken. . ."

  "Me and who and what?" Loincloth Arnold began to jerk spasmodically at his beard. "Jim who?. . .oh. . .what?. . That's right, you were with us that time, weren't you? You, me and Jim Maddington, like I said, on Halimon's world, and all those titties those bitches had. . ."

  "What the hell are you talking about? I'm talking about fried chicken! Fried Chicken! One of those whores gave me somethin anyway. I don't want to talk about what you and me and Jim Maddington done did all those. . .eons ago! Fried Chicken. . . I'm hungry. . ."

  The evening faded into night, and all the residents of Leisure Lodge were in bed, some sleeping, some dreaming, some doing other things, some dreaming of doing those other things. Arnold sat with his legs crossed in the Lotus Position on his unslept bed, murmuring under his breath, as his toothless roommate snored with content.

  A light knocking on the door brought Arnold out of his trance.

  "Come in?"

  A figure in black slowly opened the creaking door, and stepped through, Slacks slipping in behind him. "Why if it isn't Jim Maddington! Jim!" Arnold leaped from the bed, and stretched his huge arms open, engulfing the smaller man in them.

  "I can tell you still don't bathe very often, Arnold. Its good to see you again, too. Well, I'm here like I promised. I'm breakin you out of this hell hole! Grab your things. . .lets go, man! I'm not going anywhere without you!" He returned the hug as if it made him uncomfortable. "Let go!"

  "It's been so long, Jim. How many years. . ."

  "We don't have much time before security finds out I'm here. Hector's goin with us, and we have room for a few more. Let's go!"

  "All I have is what you see before you. I told you I'd bust you out of here, Hector," Arnold said with a wry smile.

  "Yeah, yeah, I can tell you put out a lot of effort." His eyes rolled back into his head.

  Not too many minutes later Jim Maddington had a sizable crowd of elderly folk, mostly men, formed behind him. Nurses, aides, and orderlies sat dim-witted in the halls of the Nursing Home, trapped in stasis fields that would paralyze them for hours. More folks wanted to go, but Jim didn't have room in the freighter he'd parked on the roof. After cutting everyone loose of the leg bracelets that kept them confined in their antiseptic hell, they all walked, rolled or lurched with walkers to the hoverladder outside, and carefully, one by one, they were floated to the roof.

  "Who smokes?" Maddington asked, pointing to a crate of cigarettes. Most of the old people declined, either nonsmokers or eager to be aboard the huge box of a ship they were going to be rescued in. In moments, the air was full of the smell of burning tobacco. It was, they knew, the last smoke on Earth they'd ever have again, if they were lucky.

  The elderly loaded themselves onboard the huge, bright blue freighter. One of the old women sang, "Tha blue bus, is call-in us," from the Doors song, over and over again, as if those were the only lyrics.

  They sat patiently aboard the modified freighter for many minutes before a restless person finally asked, "Why are we just sittin here?" mumbled Arnold's toothless roommate. "I wuz havin a purty dream."

  "Take it easy ba
ck there folks," Jim's voice buzzed from hidden speakers. "Arnold, Hector, try to keep everybody calm, we don't want anybody havin any premature heart attacks. Alright everybody, hold on to yer asses and make sure you're buckled in real tight, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"

  "He acts like none of us has ever been into space before, Nick," buzzed an old woman with a vocoder, a cigarette hanging in her drooling mouth, smoke trickling out of the hole in her throat. "I've been into space many times in my life, probably before that sixty-year-old lookin youngin was ever born!"

  "Well, I'll bet you haven't been in space since you became Robowoman, though," said Nick.

  "I have heard of antigravity, Nick, you dick! It ain't like in the old days, not that I'm that old, anyway -- "

  "Sure, and neither is the Grand Canyon -- ouch!" Her slap across his chops left a red handprint.

  "Ok folks, here we go," was all the warning they had before the freighter lifted off into the wild black yonder.