The Other Sex: Transfiguration in the Kingdom of the Concrete Lions

By Don LoCicero LoCicero

When Helen and Harold awake one morning transfigured into each other, their world is thrown into chaos. Will the hostile mother-in-law who refuses to believe that the pregnant woman is not her daughter, but her daughter's husband, help solve their dilemma? Will their burned out pastor offer them spiritual comfort? Can the idealistic social worker who is also a fierce karate expert be a source of pragmatic advice? Is a famous transvestite lawyer able to provide them with legal aid? Will Harold opt for an abortion to avoid subjecting his offspring to the stigma of having a mother who is really its father? The reader will alternately roar with laughter and shake her/his head in disbelief as one bizarre episode follows another, blurring the lines between the sexes, as well as those between reality and appearance. With THE CONCRETE LIONS, Don LoCicero joins the exalted literary ranks of Franz Kafka, Nikolai Gogol, Joseph Heller and Woody Allen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 16, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469773421

Don LoCicero LoCicero

Recently retired after a distinguished career as professor of languages, comparative literature, and creative writing, Dr. LoCicero is an acclaimed author whose novels have been published here and abroad. He continues to write and lecture before national and international audiences. He and his wife, Cecelia, live in Allentown, Pennsylvania.

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All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Donald LoCicero

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Harold woke up trembling. So he wasn’t dead after all. Or was he? Perspiration streamed down his forehead and flooded his eyes. His vision blurred. As he wiped the sweat from his eyes with the backs of his fingers he noticed something strange. The touch of his hands was familiar, yet foreign to him. He sighed, rolled over onto his side and sank into a restless, short-lived sleep.

Goddamn, he muttered under his breath as eyeglasses and wristwatch hit the floor noisily. He had swiped at the buzzing alarm clock button and missed. His aim was better the second time, but just barely. His arm felt awkward. Shorter. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, glancing down as he did so. What he saw made him shiver with terror. They were not his feet down there. They were much smaller than his—they were a woman’s feet. Oh no, he cried out as his eyes drifted upward and he saw the two shapely, smooth female legs. Everything began to dance before his eyes. He put a hand to his chest and felt soft, large breasts beneath the silk nightgown. His heart began to pound so hard that it felt like it was going to rip through the silk and flesh. He had recognized the feet, legs, breast, yes even the nightgown. They were his wife’s! They were Helen’s! He rubbed his eyes harder and turned to look across the bed. Sweet Jesus no! There, sitting bolt upright and staring at him as if he were a ghost, was his wife. But it wasn’t her face he saw there, twisted grotesquely in shock and horror. It was his own. That was the last straw. Harold slumped over and slid to the floor in a dead faint. Two inches to the left and he would have smashed his head against the edge of the oak end table.

As soon as she opened her eyes Helen knew that something was wrong. Nothing felt comfortable, not even her breathing. How peculiar. She turned her head to see if she had awakened Harold with all of her twisting and turning, but he had drawn the covers up so high that she could only see his outline under them. Oh well, she decided, it was almost time for the alarm to go off, so why not get up and make breakfast. Harold would appreciate waking up to a cup of steaming coffee. He deserved it too. After all, he was the sole breadwinner now, and soon there would be another mouth to feed. This thought made her smile. They had planned carefully for the coming baby, and by denying themselves a few luxuries, they would be able to manage quite comfortably on Harold’s salary from Warnet’s Department Store. Good old Warnet’s. Although she no longer worked there herself, she still felt a tie to it through Harold. Besides, she had saved her entire salary the previous year, so she didn’t feel at all guilty about choosing to become a full-time housewife and mother. It was what they both wanted, and she looked forward to the coming miracle with more joy than anxiety. As she let her thoughts wander, she automatically reached down to stroke her abdomen. When she felt the flat, hard surface she was shocked into an upright position; it was as if she had accidentally touched a live wire. Her mind began to spin as she looked down at the broad chest and hairy stomach. What the hell was going on? The alarm began to buzz just then. When she turned toward it she would have shrieked, but her voice failed her. There, on the other side of the bed, she saw herself fumbling to shut off the alarm. It was so bizarre and mind-numbing that she couldn’t move for several moments. Was this some kind of mystical, out of body experience? She had heard about such things. No, it was more than that. Much more. Finally, she found her voice again.

This can’t be! This can’t be! she screamed, shaking her head from side to side in an attempt to clear her jumbled thoughts. Failing this, she put her large hands up before her eyes in an attempt to block out what she saw. But the sight remained inside her head. And the realization of what it meant. She knew, and yet she knew it was impossible. Impossible. She was in Harold’s body, while her own was across the bed from her. She reopened her eyes just in time to see herself sink to the floor. Almost in slow motion. No, please, no, she pleaded, This can’t be happening. Somehow, she managed to shake free from her paralysis long enough to scramble over to her husband’s side. He was sprawled out on the thick shag carpet, his large breasts jutting up like two monuments. Helen was on the verge of hysteria. She prayed for it all to be a dream, adding the request that the baby be uninjured. She bent over Harold and saw herself. Oh God, God what is going on? she moaned in a deep male voice. Then she cradled the delicate head in her arms and began to weep, uncertain why or for whom.

At last the head in her lap began to show signs of life. The movement snapped Helen out of her trance, but did nothing to mitigate her total confusion. The eyes looking up at her mirrored her feelings. It was obvious that Harold was as terrified as she. For some reason, this realization made her slightly calmer. Instinctively, she knew that they would have to control their emotions or they were doomed. When she spoke again, however, she almost lost the little sanity she had regained. The voice was Harold’s.

How do you feel? It was an absurd question, of course, but in her distraught condition she could think of nothing else to say. Harold looked away, apparently unable to deal with the fact that he saw himself looking down at him. He tried to blot out the voice addressing him by thinking of something else. His glance swept down to his midsection.

No! No! No! he screamed, unable to stop repeating the single word. His eyes widened to the size of half dollars as he stared at the swollen mass below. The despair etched on his face, her face, was palpable. He was screaming loudly now, his voice high pitched and quivering. Tears flowed down his cheeks onto the silk nightgown. The sight of himself locked in his wife’s body had been enough to make him pass out. Even more distressing, the body surrounding him was pregnant. He felt as if his brain was going to explode; as if his head was on fire.

Please don’t, stammered Helen, also on the brink of madness. Please don’t, she repeated, squeezing her temples roughly between large, clasped hands. And then she bent her head down to him again and mixed her tears with his.

After several minutes, Helen got up and wiped her face with a pajama sleeve. Then she grasped Harold under the arms and gently lifted him back onto the bed. She looked at him closely, her eyes narrowed, her forehead ridged in thought. Where to begin, where to begin, she wondered, still unable to accept what was taking place. She tried desperately to make head or tail out of the maze before them, but could find no clue that might point to an escape route. Harold was still sobbing, making it more difficult for her to concentrate. It was all she could do to keep herself from slapping him into silence. She needed to think. There had to be an explanation. It was so crazy. So damned crazy. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. What could they do? How could they possibly deal with this thing? As if reading her thoughts, Harold blurted out,

What are we going to do? Helen, tell me what we’re going to do. Another series of sobs shook his body from head to foot.

Please shut up Harold! she barked in response, tempted again to slap him. The first thing we have to do is calm down. If we can do that then maybe we’ll be able to talk this out and do something about it. Her voice trembled. Her brow was covered with beads of perspiration. First, she continued, now a bit more steadily, …we have to face our problem head on. It won’t be easy, but if we hide our heads in the sand we have no chance at all. This kind of situation calls for unusual action. She paused, scarcely aware of what she was saying. How could anything apply to this bizarre, unprecedented mess? She rubbed the back of her hand against a beard-roughened cheek and watched Harold’s reaction. His eyes were glued to her, his face a mixed mask of fear and anticipation. It was obvious that he was still in a state of semi-shock.

The long and the short of it, Harold, she went on, is that we have exchanged bodies. I don’t know how it happened, or why, but it did. We have to take it from there. I suppose the technical word for it is transfiguration. Yes, that’s it, a transfiguration. She had said it, though in Harold’s deep bass tones, not her own. Her lips quivered as she finished, but her voice didn’t crack. She was both pleased and terrified by the fact that she had been able to verbalize their dilemma. Transfiguration! The word was like a bomb. Her throat felt dry, her ears began to buzz. Harold was sobbing and moaning louder than ever. He looked pathetic as he shook his head and tugged at the unaccustomed long hair.

Oh, oh, it’s so terrible, he moaned, shaking like a leaf. Tell me it isn’t really true. It can’t be true can it Helen? Harold’s hysteria was contagious. Helen felt light headed. A dark film began to pass before her eyes. She knew that she couldn’t give in. She had to be the strong one. Control was the key to survival.

Dammit, get hold of yourself Harold! You’ve got to get hold of yourself! she shouted, waving her hairy fist in front of Harold’s face. The latter’s head jerked up abruptly. He focused his reddened eyes on his wife and spit out his reply.

What do you mean get hold of myself? Who is myself? Are you myself, or am I? How can I get hold of myself when I don’t even know who I am any more? Harold’s simple logic stunned her momentarily. With a superhuman effort she managed to stammer out an answer.

That’s an idiotic thing to say, Harold, and you know it. We are still the same people we were. What does a physical body have to do with the inner person? The soul is the important thing. Where is your mind when we are in church on Sundays? Don’t you listen to what the pastor says? Besides, this thing is only temporary, I’m sure that’s the case. It’s some kind of test and it’s up to us whether we pass or fail. Completely up to us. Harold nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t believe her any more than she believed herself. He had stopped crying, though, and seemed calmer. Thrusting out his large breasts and lifting his head to face Helen, he responded in a relatively steady voice.

You’re one hundred percent right, Helen. I’ve been acting like a fool. I’m sorry. You know that it isn’t like me to fall to pieces under pressure. Don’t I have to meet all kinds of crisis situations every day at Warnet’s? And in all the years I’ve worked there I haven’t lost control once. Helen nodded, somewhat relieved that Harold’s hysteria had passed. He continued to speak, as if trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true. I never broke down, not even the time Mr. Warnet came into the accounting department and sat next to me. The head of the company sat down right next to me and said that he wanted to watch me prepare the payroll. Can you imagine that? Can you even begin to imagine the strain I felt? Well I can hold my head high, Helen, I really can. I didn’t fold. Maybe I sweated a bit more than usual, but otherwise no one guessed that the big boss was looking over my shoulder. And although he didn’t say anything to me, I know he was impressed. It was one of the proudest days of my life. No, the proudest. The others in the office must have been jealous as hell. Harold attempted to smile as he finished, but just then he felt a fluttering sensation in his lower regions. The half smile immediately became a twisted frown. His voice cracked. But why do I have to be pregnant? I don’t know the first thing about being pregnant.

Helen had listened to Harold carefully, as if expecting him to come out with a solution to their predicament. She unconsciously watched his breasts as he spoke, her own really, noting how full and well formed they were. In fact, she thought, the woman sitting across from her was not at all unattractive. Not at all, the pregnancy notwithstanding. A strange pride filled her. Now she knew how she appeared through another’s eyes. Her mood changed instantaneously when she heard Harold’s final statement. She hissed out an angry response.

And what the hell makes you think I know any more about being pregnant than you do? You forget, Harold, that it’s my first time too. Anyway, if you had stayed on your own side of the bed and kept your big thing where it belonged neither one of us would be faced with this added complication. She pointed at his midsection and sneered. Now it was Harold’s turn to wince.

So it’s all my fault, is it? he shot back, breasts heaving. That was really a cheap shot, Helen, and it makes me ashamed of you to hear it. I don’t want to be as crude as you, but since you started this I think you ought to admit your share of the guilt. You know, all you had to do was to keep your knees together and your nightgown down. Or you could have used one of your famous headaches to move me back to my own side.

Helen hadn’t expected that kind of response. Harold had never said anything like that to her before; she couldn’t believe that he had it in him. Moreover, the fact that he had said them with her mouth, in her voice, further tangled her thoughts. She knew she couldn’t take much more of it. In spite of herself, she was caught up in the argument.

That’s too much. Keep my knees together, should I? And how many times did I try to do just that, only to have them pried apart by your groping hands? Her face became pale, her lower lip trembled.

She looked away quickly, color returning to her face. Yes, you always believed that might makes right, didn’t you, Harold? You say I should have kept my nightgown down. Why, you would have ripped it off my back like a piece of tissue paper if you decided that you needed a place to stick your thing. Your silly, hard thing, throbbing away like some crazy sausage with rigor mortis. She paused to catch her breath, then added, As for my headaches, living with you would make anyone’s head pound!

The tension in the room had reached the breaking point. Helen’s final words were filled with unconcealed hostility. Her wide chest heaved with emotion; her hands were balled into fists. Harold stared vacantly at a point somewhere to the side of the room, as if afraid to face the source of the terrible words. His small hands had automatically come to rest on his breasts, as if to protect them from assault. Tears ran slowly down his face, but these were a different kind of tears. They were angry tears. His delicate feminine features had hardened.

Crazy sausage with rigor mortis, is it? He repeated Helen’s words as if in need of an opening counterattack. Well now you have gone the limit, Helen. Crossed the line. How the hell could you say such things? Many were the nights, I’ll tell you, that my crazy sausage was forced to shrink back to sleep because you were too tired, or not in the mood to open your enchanted castle. As for ripping your nightgown off, maybe that’s what you wanted me to do. I wouldn’t put anything past you. Besides, what makes you think your Abraham Lincoln is so precious anyway? You know what your problem is Helen? Plain and simple, it’s called penis envy. Freud would have been able to write a book about you. Yes, the trouble with you is that all that you have between your legs is some shaggy hair and an empty cavern. You just wish you had a sausage there, silly or not.

Harold was snapped out of his temper tantrum by the sound of hysterical laughter. He turned quickly to see his wife facing him, her body heaving with hilarity. But it was not her body. Only when he glanced down at her groin did he realize the cause of this strange reaction. Helen had lowered her pajama bottoms and was holding something in her cupped hands. Harold was horrified when he realized what it was. It was his penis! His penis! And she had it now.

Penis envy, is it? Well, I don’t have to envy it anymore, do I? She began to laugh again, gesturing obscenely as she did. Harold sank back against the headboard and gasped as a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. Then it was followed by another cramp, one strong enough to double him over. He gasped for breath and moaned.

Helen, help me. The pain…my insides feel as if they’re breaking apart. Helen was at his side at once.

It’s nothing, just relax dear. You’ll be fine in a few minutes. It happens every now and then. Breathe deeply and it will pass. She cradled his head in her hands and rocked it gently from side to side, all traces of anger gone.

An hour passed and the pain continued. The cramps were coming with increasing frequency and intensity. By then, Harold’s head was drenched with perspiration, his eyes glazed over with pain. Helen looked terrible too. She was visibly contrite and worried.

I’m going to call Dr. Schanz. This could be very serious if you aren’t treated immediately. I’m only in my sixth month, so it can’t be labor. We have to think of the baby. Harold was too exhausted to reply. He felt a sticky, warm sensation between his legs. Looking down, he saw a spreading crimson stain on the bed sheet. Helen was already dialing the phone as he sank into a merciful faint.

The voices sounded as if they were coming from far away. Harold recognized one of them as his own, and yet he knew that he wasn’t speaking.

She’s right in here, Dr. Schanz. It’s a hemorrhage. The bleeding seems to have stopped now, but it was pretty bad for a few minutes.

Harold looked up and saw his own face peering down at him. Next to him was the doctor, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Now let’s have a look see at the problem here. The doctor eased up the nightgown and began to cleanse the bloody area with a large gauze pad. Harold felt his legs being spread apart, and was vaguely aware of a strange probing inside his body. This continued for several moments, then the doctor spoke again. You’re a very lucky woman, Mrs. Kern. The cervix has closed again. It’s nature’s way of giving you a warning, though, and not to be taken lightly. If I’ve learned one thing in my years of practicing medicine it is never to ignore mother nature. He chuckled, as if amused by his own remark. I’ll give you a shot to relax you, then I want you to stay in bed for at least three days. Everything should right itself by then. After completing this task, he turned to Helen and smiled even more broadly. You are going to have to be a nurse for a few days, Mr. Kern. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and keep her in bed as much as possible. It’s very important.

Harold was already drowsy from the injection. His thoughts were muddled. Why was the doctor calling him Mrs. Kern, he wondered in his stupor. And how could he possibly be standing there when he was here in bed? He was too tired to try to figure it out, and decided that the best thing to do was to take the doctor’s advice. He closed his eyes and sank into a deep sleep.

Helen spoke to Dr. Schanz for several minutes before showing him out. She wondered if he suspected anything. No, it wasn’t possible. Anyway, even if he had the slightest inkling of the truth he wouldn’t believe it. How could he? She had played her role to perfection, and Harold had been too far out of it to do anything to make the doctor suspicious. She walked nervously back to the bedroom, feeling very awkward in her husband’s tall, heavy body. He was lucky he could sleep. How she wished she could have asked for a similar shot. The feeling of envy was immediately replaced by one of guilt, as Helen realized how close Harold had come to a miscarriage. Then she began to question whether it might not have been better, under the circumstances, for Harold to have lost the baby. She pushed this thought out of her mind with an inward shudder, feeling guiltier than ever. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and covered her eyes with her hands, silently praying. Someone had to help them, she thought, someone had to. At once she thought of a possibility. Certainly, a man of God was the one to turn to. Pastor Gerlan would help them. He would know what to do. Relieved somewhat by this glimmer of hope, Helen stretched out next to her husband and closed her eyes.

It was already late afternoon when the telephone startled Helen out of a nightmare-plagued sleep. Disoriented for several moments, she looked around the room blankly. Then she recalled what had happened that morning. When she saw her own face on the pillow next to her she knew that it had not been a nightmare. Actually, the truth was a lot worse than the dreams, one of which stood out in her mind. It had been the weirdest one she ever had. She remembered reclining on a large red platform, surrounded by naked men with patches of hair where their genitals should have been. All were pointing at her accusingly, as if she had something to do with their missing parts. Suddenly, one of them stepped forward and raised a gleaming knife above his head, striking downward at her breasts. Horrified, she watched as both breasts, cleanly severed from her body, fell onto the platform and began to bounce crazily as the naked men kicked out at them. She uttered a loud shriek, but her mouth was immediately stopped up by a huge, elongated object that began to choke her as it slid painfully into her throat. She bit down as hard as she could, right through the object, and then spit the pieces onto the platform where they, too, began to bounce about like pogo sticks. As they bounced they made a ringing sound. At that point she woke up.

She picked up the receiver and had to steady it with both hands. On the other end of the line was Mr. Philbright, Harold’s superior at Warnet’s.

Hello Harold, chimed the other in his usual sing-song manner. We were wondering down here at the office why you hadn’t come in today, or called in sick. I thought I would call to see if everything was all right." An expectant pause followed, increasing Helen’s nervous tension. It took her several moments to realize that Mr. Philbright had mistaken her for Harold because of her voice. She knew that she would have to be careful; from now on both she and her husband were going to have to think of everything. She pulled herself together as much as she could and answered.

I’m very sorry Mr. Philbright, but we’ve had a most trying experience. My wife had a hemorrhage and almost lost the baby. The doctor was here to treat her, and I’m afraid that in all the confusion I forgot to call you. As a matter of fact, it seems as if I will have to be out for the next three days. The doctor said that I will have to make sure Helen doesn’t get out of bed…Perhaps you can deduct the time from my summer vacation. I’m sorry, but it was totally unexpected. There was a silent pause. Helen held her breath, afraid that she had given herself away. Finally, Mr. Philbright spoke again.

"Well, Harold, I certainly am sorry to hear about your wife’s problem. You know that my best wishes are with you both. But that is neither here nor there. I’m afraid it is my duty to be totally candid with you, as sympathetic as I am personally. Number one, you have neglected your responsibilities at Warnet’s by not phoning in sick. Now you may think this isn’t so important, but in a sense you have betrayed all of us here by your oversight. It’s difficult enough running an accounting department when the full staff is in, but when someone takes it into his head to stay home without giving the proper notice it becomes next to impossible. Put yourself in my position, Harold. Warnet’s is a humane firm, but it is, after all, a business.

We must always keep that in mind. We cannot afford sentimentality. I’m sure you know what I mean."

Helen was shaken by the coldness of Philbright’s words. Moreover, the implied threat was uncalled for. Harold had worked for Warnet’s for eleven years without missing a single day. How many mornings had she tried to convince him to stay home because of one ailment or another, only to have him shrug off his pain and report to work? Philbright must be well aware that Harold’s record was spotless. Before she could jump to her husband’s defense, however, the supervisor spoke again.

Now Harold, I won’t insist that you come in today, since the workday is almost over already, and I will make a genuine attempt to forget that you forgot to phone me to explain your absence. As for your request that you be allowed to leave us in the lurch for three more days, however, that is simply out of the question. The payroll has to be prepared regardless of your personal problems. Your wife’s ‘female trouble’ has nothing to do with Warnet’s. Actually, I’m surprised that you could make such a request in the first place. After all, we can’t be expected to bear every employee’s personal burdens now, can we? A sharp click followed, and then