Behold the Void by Philip Fracassi

Author:Philip Fracassi [Fracassi, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JournalStone
Published: 2017-03-09T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

The first thought to enter Adolf’s brain after stepping off the plane was that it was fucking hot.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when they disembarked onto the asphalt airstrip at the Acapulco International Airport, but the thick, humid ninety-degree air was not it. Wearing an all-black ensemble of jeans, biker boots and a t-shirt, Adolf immediately broke into a full-body sweat, his pores opening up and exhaling salty, sticky liquid that mixed with the rampant bacteria of his unwashed skin to leave him standing, within seconds, wrapped in a pungent pool of his own body’s waste.

He hoisted his backpack higher onto his shoulder and followed Steve and his mother through the non-air-conditioned terminal. He eyed the snack stands and fruit drink vendors, warily watched the native Mexicans, disheveled tourists, crying children and pushy drivers-for-hire, one of whom repeatedly tried to take Adolf’s backpack off his shoulder while Steve came to a quickly-spoken agreement for his services.

Somehow, the outside of the airport was even hotter and muggier than the inside. Adolf felt sweat running down the inside of his legs, his long hair matting to his forehead and the back of his neck, his shirt clinging, his thick eyeglasses fogging up, the frames sliding down his slick, porous nose.

The stubby Mexican driver showed them to a green Volkswagen Bug with one missing hubcap and a lilting rear chrome bumper. Adolf knew instantly there was no possible way the three of them, the driver, their three large suitcases and other smaller bags would ever fit inside.

He watched with curdling dismay and a small amount of wonderment as Agnes and Steve squeezed into the backseat, one suitcase on their lap and two tossed into the hood of the Bug. The driver opened the front door and indicated for Adolf to hop in.

“Vamos!” the driver snapped at Adolf, pointing at the cramped, frayed gray seat. Adolf shook his head but somehow, some way, squeezed himself into the vehicle. He felt the car lower, tilting to the right with his weight, and wondered if the entire drive to the hotel would be trailed by a shower of sparks as his side of the car’s undercarriage ground against the pavement.

“Gigante!” the driver said happily as he climbed into the car, turning with small, abrupt movements to Steve and Agnes in the back. “Where to?” he said in English.

Steve gave him the name of the resort.

“Si, si, very nice. Muchos touristos estancia alli. You like.”

The driver hit the gas and the small car jerked away from the airport, offering Adolf his first Mexican breeze as the smell of foreign land and surf streamed through the window. He closed his eyes and inhaled, felt himself relax for the first time since they had gotten on the plane. Settling deep into the seat as the car jerked and whined up a ramp and onto a narrow freeway, he found himself wondering what kind of food real Mexican people ate, and whether there was any good hunting to do in the area.

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