One thing adults never seem to tell you is that what you went to school for is seldom what you’ll end up doing for a living. For every doctor, there are hundreds of biology majors who couldn’t hack med school and are sentenced to a world of research. For every lawyer, there are swarms of legal aids who could never pass the bar. For me, it was simpler. I just wanted to be an English teacher.
I can already picture the collective eye roll over another liberal arts major complaining about not using their degree, but hear me out. While I did fine in math and science growing up, my real passions were in English and history. My dad was a teacher in the old country, and my mom was just proud to have a son who assimilated so easily into the American language and culture.
They had set aside enough money for me to go to a four-year public school. I thought I was being smart. I majored in English with a minor in education. I graduated with honors and thought that was enough to ensure me a job right out of college. Retrospect and naivety are a bitch though.
There were two things I hadn’t considered. One, I had no teaching experience, and two, in my state, you need a master’s degree to be a teacher. The first problem wasn’t that much of a surprise. I knew I had to start somewhere, I just incorrectly assumed I would start my career working in a school. I had to settle for tutoring rich kids with their AP classes and group tutoring at those learning centers with the smiling blue and white faces you see in strip malls. Both were part-time jobs, but with no car and no loans, it was still enough to keep me from moving back in with my parents.
The second problem was more challenging.
Conservatively, going to graduate school would have cost upwards of twenty thousand dollars at the public university and it would be double that, if not more, at a private institution. There were also the problems of entrance exams, letters of recommendation, and application fees. I simply didn’t have enough money, and being the first in my family to get an American degree, I didn’t have the contacts.
I could’ve just taken out a loan, but my parents thought debt was shameful. That wasn’t my reason against it though. If it was this hard to get a job with a bachelor’s, how long would it take to get a job with a master’s?
If I saved and paid for it, then even if I didn’t get a job, I would still have my degree. If I took out a loan, I wouldn’t have the job and my degree would be owned by the bank until I paid it off. Worst-case scenario, I could move out of state where a master’s degree would have more bang for its buck, but as corny as it sounds, I wasn’t fully ready to move away from my parents and kid brother and sister.
I looked into it further and thankfully my college had something called “Alumni Assistance.” It was part alumni networking, part graduate school placement. The woman I met with was nice enough. She was only a little older than me, so she at least understood where I was coming from.
“Unfortunately, it’s harder for us to help you with some of these things once you’ve graduated,” she said. She sounded tired, like she was trying to find a way to help but wasn’t seeing it.
“I understand,” I said. I mean, I didn’t. Why would their office be called Alumni Assistance if they couldn’t help alumni? Still, I knew better than to blame the person I needed something from.
“Look, you did almost everything right, and you’re still on the right track, but . . .” The word hung in the air.
“But what?”
“But it's just bad timing. The school year has already started so there's no need for new teachers. I would have recommended substitute teaching, but those slots have already been filled by other recent graduates. You can take your GRE.”
“The graduate exam?” I said. “Doesn’t that cost money?”
“Well, yes, but all the local schools require that as part of their graduate school application.”
“It’s two hundred dollars to take the test, and seventy-five dollars per school to apply, right?” I tried to phrase the fact as a question.
“Yes. Most recent graduates take out a loan or put those costs on a credit card. I think I have some pamphlets here on student rates,” she said while searching her desk. Her hands stopped and she sighed. “But you're not a student anymore. I mean, the rates would be higher, but the output would be the same.”
I closed my eyes, fiddled with the chain around my check, counted to three, and opened them again slowly. “Okay. Is there anything the college can do for me now? As an alumni?”
“Well, if you take a class you would technically be a student again. We could try to get you an internship and with your grades and degree, you should be able to get some experience as we work on getting you into the graduate school of your choice.”
“If I become a student again?” I said. Disbelief pushed through the placid facade my frustration was actively trying to shatter. “Is there anything else you can help me with?”
“I’m sorry this isn’t going the way you hoped,” she said, and by the tone of her voice, she sounded like she really was. “We have an alumni only career database. Maybe you can find something there?” She handed me a pamphlet with instructions on how to log in and to contact the career center if I needed any assistance.
I sighed. “Thank you for making the time. I appreciate it.”
“Oh!” She perked up. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more, but good luck and have a good day.”
I forced a smiled and nodded as I walked out the door. I had already wasted a bus ride and a weekday morning. I didn’t really want to come back again, so I paced around the halls until I found the career center. It was close to lunch and most of the service windows were closed. Being September, I didn’t see too many students, but I did see what looked like a professor shouting at the only student working.
“This is a job.” His thick German accent punctuated each word as he slapped a piece of paper in front of him. “I have a student come to my house and do some work. This is good money. Why won’t you help me?”
I could barely make out the hushed answer from the berated student. “I’m sorry. School policy doesn’t allow that type of work anymore. It’s too much of a liability to the college.” She was tapping a button furiously under the counter.
“I don’t care. I will take this liability. Take this job and put it on your computers. Send it to the phones or whatever it is you do.”
The man was old, maybe in his mid-seventies. He was balding at his crown with thin wisps of hair gathering in a long mane of bushy snow white hair. His beard was paradoxically trimmed to a professional length. His glasses hung on an old man’s nose, bulbous with spidery veins. His face was red with exertion and his thin frame jangled around his loosely fitted tweed suit.
He stopped moving when a campus security guard walked up behind him and grabbed him by the arm.
The old man bucked and pulled out of his grip. “Bah! Get your hands off me. I’ve had tenure longer than you’ve been out of diapers. You”—he paused, looking for the word—“dummkopf!” The guard backed off and the old man stormed away from the counter.
I looked at the guard and the confused student in the career center, and then at the old man. He was searching around a corkboard trying to find a push pin. The campus guard was still watching him, but before he could move, I did.
I walked briskly across the hall and up to the old man. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time. I rarely acted on impulse, but maybe that was why I did in that moment. How had following the right life plan worked for me so far? The career center might’ve been able to find me a job some day, but why keep trying the same failed methods? That old man was handing out a job and money that day.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The man did not turn.
“Sir,” I said more loudly and he twisted in surprise.
“Bah!” he exclaimed. The shock washed away as quickly as it came as he inspected me up and down. He stood up straight and grabbed my arms, the paper still in one hand. He groped me up and down. “Yes, this will do. You are a strong young man, aren’t you?”
I tried to back away but his grip was surprisingly tight for someone his age. His eyes were wide and full of life. A look of satisfaction crawled across his crinkled face.
“Would you like to make money, young man?”
“How much?” I asked. “And what for?” My voice betrayed my hesitation.
“Money is whatever you want. I just need your time and your strength.” He released his grip, pulled out a crumbling leather wallet, and handed me ten one hundred dollar bills.
The bills were clean and crisp, curving slightly where they had been folded over. I counted them again and looked them over to confirm that were real. They looked and felt as if they were real.
I had just made more in a minute than I had in a week of part-time tutoring work.
“You can start soon, yes?” he said as he put the wallet and paper away.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I am Professor Heim, and you, my young man, will be my assistant.”
The first week of working at Professor Heim’s house was mundane. I had thought he was a professor of history. He never told me what he was a professor of and after a few days I thought it was too late to ask. Every day, I would show up at his large Victorian house by the college, dust off his antique belongings, do some other light chores around the house, and leave with a thousand dollars in cash.
I didn’t see him much, and I didn’t think too much of it. He greeted me when I came, and prepped me on the next day’s tasks before I left. This went on until Thursday, when I was told not to work Friday and to take the rest of the weekend off. He said to dress for the outdoors on Monday.
I had made four thousand dollars under the table and, from all indication, I would be making several thousand more in the following week. I didn’t need my other work anymore. When I went to put in my two weeks at the tutoring center, they let me go. It should have bothered me more, but it really didn’t. I had money to cover my bills for the next few months with enough left over to cover my graduate school applications and testing fees. After giving it more thought, I cancelled my one-on-one tutoring appointments, referred the parents to someone cheaper, and took the rest of the weekend off.
The chores became more labor intensive the second week. I left my jewelry at home and put on some jeans. I chopped wood, mowed and weeded his lawn, piled up loose stones, and cleaned out his garage. The outdoor work was tedious, but I didn’t mind it. Being the oldest son growing up, I was used to doing the work.
I saw the professor a little more. He was happy to have the help and the added free time. There was a spring in his step and he was for all intents and purposes a good boss. If I needed new equipment, he would give me the money. If I needed a break, he’d let me take one. If I didn’t know what to do with a box in the garage, he said he would take care of it.
He asked me to come in on Friday. It was going to be a cold weekend and he wanted me to take the air conditioners out of his windows for the season. If I finished early, I could go home early for the same pay. I wasn’t one to complain and since this was now my primary source of income, I agreed.
The old units were wide and back heavy. Getting them out of the old windows and down the narrow stairs to the garage by myself was hard work, but I told myself that was what he was paying me for. Dismantling the makeshift riggings keeping the units in place was time consuming, but once I made sense of how it was held together, it was easy to pull apart. Between that and physically moving everything downstairs, it took me almost all day to finish. When I was done, I went looking for the professor to say good-bye.
He stood by the front door. The professor’s suit fit better and this time his hair was combed back. In his hands he held a white styrofoam container sealed shut with red medical hazard tape. I walked towards him, and I saw that he was talking to someone else. The man at the door looked at me, and the professor turned.
“You didn’t tell us you had company,” the man said. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a black tie and his eyes were hidden behind heavy tinted sunglasses. His hand was frozen in his inner breast pocket. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“No. No, not at all. He is here to help an old man,” Professor Heim said, affecting a feeble, doddering voice. “I can afford to have help, no?”
The man in the suit’s head turned slightly back to the professor and turned back to look at me. I felt as if I was being sized up before the man’s attention focused back onto the professor. “I suppose you can.” He continued to pulled out a large zippered vinyl envelope and handed it to the professor.
The professor replied back with a smile as he handed the styrofoam container over in kind.
“Thank you again for your time, Dr. Heim,” the man continued. He paused as he walked down the porch. “Don’t leave town.”
“Of course,” the professor said and nodded. His smile flipped after he shut the door. “Arschloch,” he muttered under his breath.
I could see the man get into the passenger side of a town car and drive away. The professor was still frowning. He unzipped the envelope and it was stuffed with cash. He pulled out eleven bills, folded them over in his hand, and zipped the envelope shut.
“You finished a little early. This is good,” he said. “You are a smart and strong young man. Good young men like you get bonuses.” He started to hand over the money.
“Thank you,” I said. I pulled on the money, but he held it in his hand.
“Good young men don’t talk about other people’s business.”
The old man looking at me was no longer that baffled old man I had met at the career center. He also wasn’t the weak old man he had pretended to be for the man at the door. He was strong and his eyes were cold and focused. I stared right back at him. He let go of the money and my hand jerked back.
“Monday will be different.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it. He didn’t know where I lived and he didn’t have my number. I doubted he could even use a computer. Worst-case scenario, I say yes, leave, and never come back. I waited and listened.
“I am a scientist by trade. A professor by misfortune. Starting Monday, you will assist me with my trade. Such work of course would mean an increase in your pay. You will listen and you will follow direction, and maybe you will use that brain for something more than finding where to put the next box. Is this arrangement acceptable?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Good. I was hoping you would say that,” he said and nodded. He unzipped the envelope and pulled out several hundred dollars. “Consider this a signing bonus.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the money. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
The weekend flew by. On Friday night I had dinner with my parents, on Saturday I did some chores, and on Sunday I did some shopping. I thought about getting into graduate school, and making my family proud. I also thought about what Professor Heim wanted me to do, and how assisting with his research wasn’t what I wanted to do in life. I could’ve stopped, but it was so much money. I didn’t know if he was paying for my efforts or if he was slowly buying who I was.
I didn’t sleep well Sunday night.
Monday came and I arrived early at the professor’s house. He usually greeted me at the door but the door was already unlocked. I walked around the house until I found him waiting for me in the dining room with a glass of blood red wine.
“Sit,” he said.
I sat in a chair across the table from him.
“I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” he said. He looked more youthful. His eyes were pensive and his nose was paler. His head rested higher on his neck and he sat with confidence. “These times are no longer for me. I am too old to remember what it was like to be a young man, and for that I apologize.”
“No need,” I said. Before I could say anything else, he raised his hand and to keep me from talking.
“I will explain something, and if it holds your interest, we will continue this arrangement at twice what I am paying you now. If not, I will pay you ten thousand dollars to never speak of this again. Is this fair?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He paused to take a long sip from his wine. The liquid poured slowly like syrup and I wondered if it really was wine. He closed his eyes and savored the flavor. He looked younger in this light. His face seemed fuller and I thought I saw flecks of black mixed in his gray and white mane. He put down the glass. “This is good.”
“Back in Germany, when I was a young man, I was a scientist. The war had ended and we were still rebuilding. I loved my country, but I hated death more. Humans are such fragile things, so easy to take apart, so hard to put back together. It was my passion, and my work took me all over the Vaterland. They told me I was good at my job, and I suppose in many ways I was. It meant nothing to me until one day I made a breakthrough in my research.” He looked off into the distance before continuing. “Do you know how evolution works?”
“Natural selection?” I asked.
“Yes. Survival of the fittest. Nature provides and nature decides. She decided to unleash a plague on one of our . . .” He paused, looking for the word. “Towns. Many people died, so they burned this town. We didn’t want any survivors. The disease had already proved too infectious. Almost everyone died. Everyone except for one creature nature decided to let live. The soldiers called it Nachzehrer.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“Nothing. A myth,” he said dismissively. “I called it the future.
“I ordered the men to chain it and bring it to my lab. This thing, whatever it was, could not be killed by conventional means. Fire, floods, bullets, and bayonets meant nothing to it. This was not science. This was not conventional biology. But I knew if it existed in this world, then it must obey its laws.
“Mass does not come from nothing. Cellular growth comes from the consumption of fuel, so it seemed obvious to starve the thing. I had other patients and other duties, so I had time. I could wait. It took years but in time, cuts that took seconds to heal started to take minutes and eventually hours. It was only then I realized the secret was hidden in its blood. Whatever regeneration happened started with the flow of blood. Its blood could be used to make medicines for the troops. It could make a man march for miles without stopping or a boy strong enough to carry a man. It was a success, but . . .”
“But what?” I said.
“Change is also natural, and due to changes in the government, my research was placed on hold. Keeping the program going almost bankrupted me, but your government reached out to me about my good work. That is how I ended up in America, and that is how I have the funds to pay you.”
I sat in silence trying to digest the information. The professor finished his drink. The last drop fell in a glob and he licked his lips. He eyed the empty glass above him. ”Do you want to assist me in this research?”
I was stunned. If he was crazy, if wasn’t worth it. If he was telling the truth, I definitely wanted no part in it. The job wasn’t worth it. If I took the ten thousand, I would have more than enough money to take care of myself until I figured out what to do next.
“No,” I said.
“Was?” he said. He slammed down the glass.
“No, I can’t do this. Give me the ten thousand, and I’ll never speak of this again.”
He breathed in heavily and his body shook when he exhaled. He calmly sat up from his chair. “I apologize. That was not the answer I was looking for, but I understand. I keep the money in my office. Come with me.”
“Are you really okay with this?”
“I am not pleased, but I am sure I can find someone else to replace you. It is as we agreed.”
He struggled to pull himself up from his chair and he stumbled to his feet. I followed him cautiously. He stopped to face a wall in the middle of the house. He pushed against a panel and it popped out of the wall. It was a room I hadn’t been in yet. It was a section of the house I didn’t even know existed.
He opened the panel and when I looked over his shoulder I saw stairs leading down. I stepped back, but he turned quickly and grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull away but his grip was strong. He yanked me forward and tossed me down the stairs into the basement. I fell awkwardly over my shoulder and landed on my side. The panel slammed shut.
The basement was dimly lit from barred windows at the top of the foundation and by the orange glow of several power strips. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see how sparse the room was. There was a refrigerator next what I could only guess was a lab table. There was a furnace and a hot water heater, and something in the corner. I stood up slowly.
The pale shape was clearly visible against the dark gray of the piled stone foundation.
“Ich habe Hunger,” a hushed voice said. It looked human. Its head turned, revealing eyes that were wet and black. Its skin was pale. “Ich habe Hunger,” it said again louder.
Without warning, the creature bolted for me. It jerked and skittered across the floor and jumped on me. I screamed as it pulled at my clothes. Its mouth opened wide and I saw two rows of triangular teeth. Its mouth watered and I felt warm drool land on my exposed neck. Its eyes darted and I saw the whites in the corner of its eyes. Its mouth started to close and a look of realization came over its face. It held my necklace in its hand and looked at me.
“Juden?” the creature asked. It blinked and its eyes watered. It pointed a finger to itself and repeated, “Juden.”
The creature sat back and looked at me, sadness filling its features. With its closed mouth, it looked almost human. “Es tut mir leid. Ich habe großen Hunger.”
It had a chain around its neck and it was naked. It looked like me, or at least someone like me. Its long, overgrown hair framed its face. If it wasn’t for its black eyes, I would have said it looked like a younger brother. It was human. He was human, or at least a kind of human.
I heard footsteps upstairs. We both winced and then we looked at each other.
“Do you speak English?” I whispered.
“Was?” he replied.
I pointed to myself and pointed to him. I mimed my fingers walking up the stairs. He tugged on his silvery chain and he showed me his hand. There was a burn mark where he had touched it. He pointed to the wall where a set of keys hung. I got to my feet and limped over. I pulled down the keys and looked at them.
Maybe I was in shock or maybe I wanted revenge, but there was only one monster in the house and he lived upstairs. I knew what might happen if I let him go, but at that moment I didn’t care. I walked over to the young man chained to the wall. I unlocked the collar. It fell to the ground with a clang. He stretched his neck back and forth while rubbing a slow healing burn mark. I pointed upstairs and he smiled his pointed grin.
He moved like a gust of wind. I heard the smashing of wood as the door exploded on impact. After a few moments, I heard the wailing cries of a dying man followed by a loud thump above me. I walked up the stairs slowly. The hall was empty, the dining room was empty, and the kitchen was empty.
I walked back to the front room and Professor Heim was dead. The young man was choking down whole slabs of his flesh. It stretched his throat as he swallowed and protruded from his previously concave stomach. The young man saw me, smiled a bloody grin, and ripped off a rib. It popped out of the chest and he lifted it up to me. I fought back the urge to vomit.
I tugged on the young man’s arm and he didn’t resist as I led him away from the body. I brought him to the kitchen and opened the fridge. His eyes grew wide and he smiled as he smelled and ate each fruit, cheese, vegetable, meat, and condiment. The more he ate, the faster the burn around his neck healed. His stomach shrank and color returned to his pale and gray skin.
“Es ist gut,” he said as he offered me what little scraps were left.
“It is good,” I said back.
His brow furrowed before slowly repeating, “It. Is. Good.”
He closed the fridge and I watched him walk away to explore the house.
I sat in stunned silence trying to think of what to do. I could have just found the rest of the money and left, but something stopped me. The young man walking naked around the house was like a child. If anyone else came near him, he might kill them, or worse. He needed someone to show him how to be human again. That he could be human again.
He needed a teacher.
He needed me.
Submitted July 25, 2017 at 02:34AM by MxHoehn http://ift.tt/2tUCxTG nosleep
No comments:
Post a Comment