The Death of Baseball by Orlando Ortega-Medina

Author:Orlando Ortega-Medina [Ortega-Medina, Orlando]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: hollywood, transmigration, transgressive fiction, Marilyn Monroe, Psychological fiction, James Dean, gay fiction, Judaism, Tijuana, Jewish, lgbt, Israel, Los Angeles, black comedy
ISBN: 9781999587352
Publisher: Cloud Lodge Books
Published: 2019-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Raphael feels himself being dragged by one leg over the rock-strewn desert floor, across dry creek beds, through nests of chaparral scrub and thorn-choked acacia bushes, and past scrambling lizards, scuttling scorpions, and hungry open-mouthed vipers with darting, pointed tongues. The hot desert wind screams through the sandstone canyon and flings grit against his face and into his nose and mouth. He opens his eyes for an instant and catches sight of the Milky Way throbbing across the sky, and he cries out to Hashem, even as the rocks shred his clothes and flay the skin off his back.

Moments later he finds himself tumbling down the sides of a clay pit and landing in a pile of mush. He staggers to his feet and sees he is standing in the midst of a collection of dead bodies in various states of decay. Next to him lies the bloated corpse of Uncle Shimshon, his eyes a pair of opaque marbles shoved deep into a purple face, his mouth open and caked full of clay. Raphael screams and backs into the shadows, squishing through the mush of decaying humanity as loose dirt rains down on him. He raises his arms to shield his head, peers heavenward, and sees Assaf shovelling rubble into the pit, with Aunt Penina and Tomer standing on either side of him, expressionless as a pair of Byzantine icons. High above, a squadron of Israeli fighter jets screeches across the night sky heading toward Egypt and strafing the desert below. “I warned you,” Assaf’s voice echoes through the pit. “I warned you.”

The ground beneath Raphael quivers. He glances down and suppresses a scream at the sight of the tattered flesh of the surrounding bodies rippling toward him in concentric circles. The quivering increases and becomes a shaking so intense he loses his balance and falls face down into the putrefaction. A thick sucking sound echoes through his head as he struggles out of the rancid porridge of macerated cadavers. Then, clawing his way to the side of the pit, he howls at Heaven asserting his innocence and demanding salvation, foam pouring forth from his mouth like that of a rabid bitch.

A pair of hands grasps his shoulders, and he struggles to get away. They yank him back and shake him. Flipping around, Raphael opens his eyes and finds himself staring into Yossi’s face, his heart hammering and perspiration streaming down the sides of his face. He sits up and scans the room, desperate to establish his bearings. He sees Tomer peering at him from behind Yossi, who is dressed in his full combat uniform, in his stocking feet, his hair full of red dust. Closing his eyes, Raphael runs a hand over his damp scalp.

“Is he OK?” Tomer asks.

Yossi glances over his shoulder. “Seems he was having a nightmare.” He sits on the edge of the bunk. “Is that right, achi?”

Raphael falls back against his pillow and draws a few deep breaths.

Yossi points at the door. “Fetch a glass of water, quick.

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