"Maggots"

By Arbey Samuels

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 29, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462815661

Arbey Samuels

Arbey Samuels claims no fancy credentials. In fact, he will proudly tell you he is just an old boy from the heartland farm country. He was raised in a small town of 200, and that included all their dogs, cats, and the few chickens they kept in their backyards for fresh eggs and spring fryers. He considers himself to be a fair-to-middlin’ conjurer of tales, and loves to relate them in his books. You’ll find he does not draw pictures for his readers. He believes it is an author’s responsibility to provoke thought, positive or otherwise, and to encourage introspection. There will always be a thread of spirituality running throughout his works. Recognized or not, he believes it is an innate part of our humanity. Although he admits a little spice always helps a story, don’t look for any explicit, prolonged sexual encounters. Besides "The Harbinger," Samuels has completed three other novels: "Maggots," "Devil's Dew," and "White Collars, Crimson Souls."

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Eric groaned, rolled over onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. He cleared his sleepy eyes with clenched fists, then glanced at the alarm perched precariously on the edge of the night stand.

Oh shit, he moaned, what day is this anyway?

The pyramidal contour of the sheet above his thighs gained his attention. He was uncomfortable.

He threw the bed sheet aside, arched his back, and proclaimed, Screw you. Screw the whole damned world!

In syncopated hops and skips, he entered the bathroom. The toilet lid was already in raised position. He was too rigid to relieve himself. He opened the medicine cabinet, removed his toothbrush, applied toothpaste, and brushed vigorously. Finished, he glanced downward. The diversion had worked. He urinated forcefully, unmindful of the fallout he was creating.

He looked into the mirror, ran his palm and fingers over his chin, and decided there was no need to shave today.

He flushed the toilet, lowered the toilet seat, and turned on the shower. Back in the bedroom, he opened a dresser drawer, slammed it shut, opened the next and repeated the ritual. He finally located his undershorts, withdrew a pair and retreated again to the bathroom. He spat his tooth brush into the basin, and dropped the briefs on the toilet seat as he entered the shower.

He washed himself vigorously, dried quickly with yesterday’s towel, and fumbled in the vanity drawer for the dryer.

It takes this woolly mop forever to dry, he thought, and advanced the temperature control as far as it would go.

Dressed, he grabbed a satchel of books and papers from the chair near the door, turned, and surveyed his domicile.

Damn! What a magnificent upheaval!

Kevin waited impatiently. Eric, he thought, was a disorganized little bastard! He was never on time, a chronic offender of time constraints.

Eric and Kevin had met during their first year at State. There were no common denominators in their backgrounds. Eric was definitely inept when it came to worldly matters. Sensing this, Kevin had become the big brother-protectorate. They were both comfortable with this arrangement.

A gray and black Eddie Bauer rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt, much too close to the curb where Kevin stood. He had to jump out of the way to avoid being clipped.

Sorry Kevin, you drive, I have to finish some homework.

Eric moved right to the passenger side. Kevin slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb.

Old pussy lips Cogsdale is going to have his bowels in an uproar again! I guess you know that, don’t you! Kevin muttered. We’re sure as hell pushing our luck with that old bastard!

There was no response. Eric was already engrossed.

Kevin had surmised long ago that Eric’s power of concentration was extraordinary. When he entered into one of these moods, it was impenetrable. They were three minutes from the campus.

Paul Leonard Cogsdale, Ph.D., Professor of English Literature, sat staring at the watch he had removed from his wrist and placed on the desk before him. His long, thin frame extended beyond the knee hole of his desk. His placid expression was accentuated by the sparse, black mustache which bordered his upper lip.

Rimless spectacles, strategically placed just below the bridge of his nose, over which he frequently glared at his charges, were intended to be imposing.

His class sat before him, quiet and studious, he thought. 8:25!

Ah ha, he mused silently, Laswell and Doty will be late again. He would of course issue a proper reprimand.

Cogsdale had not been able to reconcile in his own mind some conflicting aspects of the Laswell-Doty liaison.

Eric Laswell, age 21, born and reared by proper Midwestern gentry of considerable means. He was tall, perhaps six feet two, slender, with dark hair and fair skin. Eric was more than an average student, but capable of more than he had achieved so far. Although his interpersonal relationships with faculty and his peers were excellent, the absence of organization and his chronic tardiness sometimes opened him to the consternation of both.

Kevin Doty, he thought, was another matter.

His lack of restraint in expressing himself didn’t exactly endear him to others. Doty, it seemed, exerted considerable influence over Eric. He was 24, and a powerfully built young man, from the wilds of Arizona. He was at least six feet tall, perhaps a little more, with curly, short-cropped carrot hair.

Eric and Kevin tried to slip in unnoticed. Cogsdale had redirected his attention to the window behind his desk, surveying the parking lot.

The boys seated themselves quietly in two remaining spaces at the back of the room.

Mr. Laswell and Mr. Doty, Cogsdale began without turning his head, I feel it is incumbent upon me, in behalf of your fellow students, to once again impart..., he hesitated a moment to swallow, and then continued.

Your habitual tardiness is an unwelcome and unwarranted diversion to this class!

He spun in his chair, faced the rear of the room, and glared over the rims of his spectacles. His lips quivered.

Eric and Kevin bid farewell before leaving Carson Hall, and congratulated one another on winning reprieve from Old Pussy Lips.

Eric had promised to meet Elizabeth at 10:00. It was fortunate, he thought, their friendship was of long standing. Elizabeth was editor of the university annual. There was little hope, now, he would have his biographical sketch ready. He had progressed no further than Name, Thomas Eric Laswell.

Eric had taken his time walking the short distance from Carson to the library. The crisp, October air had been invigorating and distracting. He had dawdled and lost track of time. He would say he had been unavoidably delayed. Elizabeth, he surmised, would accept this explanation without reproach or pressing for details.

Elizabeth Fairchild sat on the steps of Carey Memorial Library waiting for Eric. Elizabeth and Eric had grown up together, and Eric had become the brother she did not have. Now, each had gone their own way. Eric still relied upon Elizabeth to help him through predicaments he found himself in because of his own admitted neglect. They still spent considerable time together, however, and Eric frequently escorted Elizabeth to social functions.

Their mothers, Constance Fairchild and Sylvia Laswell, were close friends, and together presided over the social agenda for the community. Nothing would have pleased these two more if Eric and Elizabeth had become romantically involved. In spite of their concerted efforts, it did not happen. They had given upon on the possibility long ago.

A gentle breeze from the south had tousled her light brown hair, which hung to just below her shoulders. Her clear, creamy complexion was contrasted only by a hint of rouge, applied inconspicuously to her cheek bones. She wore no lipstick or eye makeup.

Her attire, although conservative, portrayed the impression intended: affluence. A wristwatch was the only jewelry she wore. A light brown cardigan hung loosely about her shoulders.

She glanced at her watch: 10:05. She was certain Eric would arrive directly. He had been unavoidably delayed, she thought. She would not be perturbed, or in any way show displeasure with his lack of consideration.

Hi Betz! Eric had ascended the twenty or more steps without her noticing. Betz was his pet name for her, although he was always on his guard not to use it when Betz’ mother was around. Constance Fairchild almost crapped her panties, he thought, the first time he used it. Her preference was Elizabeth, and didn’t hesitate to let Eric or others know how she felt.

Eric and Betz sat at a table in the corner of the library, opposite one another. Betz had asked to review his biographical sketch, and Eric had persuaded her he had not had time to finish it. They agreed to complete it together, although Elizabeth knew she would end up doing it herself. One of these days, she thought . . . .

Eric was awakened by loud pounding on the door. It was Kevin. Others used the doorbell. It had grown dark outside while he dozed. He reached up, turned on the lamp beside his chair, and glanced at his watch. 8:30. The book he had been reading slipped from his lap. He retrieved it from the floor, earmarked a page and placed it on the table.

Hey super stud, Kevin blurted as the door was opened. I was in the vicinity and . . . .

Knock it off, Kevin, Eric interrupted irritably. He was still drowsy, and not in a receptive mood for Kevin’s humor just now. Come on in if you must, he finished, stepping aside for Kevin to enter.

Poor baby, Kevin responded, I must have interrupted your sleepy-bye time, he paused, then continued. or is there something hot going on in here you don’t want to share with your old buddy?

He skirted Eric and entered the bathroom. Opening the shower doors, he bellowed, Here Betz! Here Betz! Where are you Betz!

Returning to the bedroom, he dropped to his knees, crawled to the bed, flattened himself to the floor, and peering beneath, repeated himself.

Well by gosh, he concluded, There ain’t nothin’ under here but a bunch of those little fuzzy pussies!

Such antics were an ingrained part of Kevin’s personality, and he knew exactly when to employ them to jar Eric out of one of his moods.

All right, Kevin, Eric’s tone mellowed, I was just reading something not too interesting. Sit down you monkey’s ass!

Kevin got up and dropped to the bed, kicked off his shoes and arranged his long legs in front of him. He removed a pillow from beneath the bed spread, plumped it between both hands, and arranged it carefully behind his back.

OK, Mr. T. E. Laswell, Kevin began, I detect a bit of frustration that seems to be bugging you these days! Has Betz cut you off?

Cut me off? Eric responded with question.

Yeah, you know, . . . no meooooow!

Good grief Kevin, where did you get the idea there was anything like that between Betz and me? Eric responded irritably. We grew up together. We’re more like . . . well, . . . brother and sister!

Oh! Well . . . OK, I’ll accept that, I guess, Kevin responded. But the fact remains, my lad, at our tender age there are certain cravings that need to be allayed, ‘else you’ll go schitzy real quick!

Yeah? Tell me about it, Kev. Eric baited.

Yeah, Kevin confirmed. us guys have that testosterone gunk building up inside us. It’s just dying for a little interaction with all that progesterone and estrogen stuff women our age have in abundance. It’s the same for them. They have cravings for us too, you know!

Good grief, Kevin! You can be so damned gross sometimes! Eric began. Let’s not cheapen the idea of sex!

Oh, ho! Here comes Mr. Goody Two Shoes again, Kevin chimed!

Bull crap on you too, buddy boy! Eric retorted irritably. I know I’m going to get a lecture, so I might as well ask the question: Is there anything special in the way of a remedy you want to pass on to me?

Yeah man, Kevin retorted. But you’d just accuse me of being gross. He removed the pillow from the bed and propelled it forcefully in Eric’s direction.

Eric and Kevin watched television for a while. They shared a bowl of popcorn, and washed it down with cans of cola. By mutual agreement they decided to terminate the evening at 9:00. Kevin had a long walk home. Eric offered to drive him, but Kevin declined. He had an errand to take care of on the way.

Eric accompanied Kevin to the elevators and repeated his offer to chauffeur him. Kevin declined again. The elevator doors opened. Kevin turned abruptly to face Eric.

Eric, ole buddy, he said seriously, I’m going to do something about that gleam in your eye. Chronic frustration isn’t good for a man’s soul!

Kevin rounded the corner of the apartment building and walked directly to a small sedan parked there. The engine coughed momentarily, then purred.

Pretty good for an old clinker, he thought. Clarice really should replace this heap.

He turned right on State Street bordering the university, and a short distance further turned right again into the driveway of the Pennington residence. The garage door was already open. He had activated the automatic opener a block away. It was his way of letting Clarice know he had returned.

Hi Babe, he chanted as he entered the house through the kitchen door.

The essence of this place warmed him. He draped his fatigued leather jacket on the back of a kitchen dining chair and entered the living room, dimly lighted by a single lamp on a corner table. He squinted, then blinked to adjust his vision. Strains of Mendelssohn’s Third Symphony coaxed him down a short hallway to the den. She was totally engrossed in the mood, reclined in the large lounge they often shared, her back to the door through which he entered.

He approached silently and maneuvered his hands, gently, to her breasts.

Clarice bolted upright, and Kevin was knocked off balance by a powerful blow to the side of his head.

You bastard, she screamed. "You scared the pee out of me! Your hands are like ice!

Regrets and apologies had been exchanged and accepted. Warmed by the brandy Clarice had poured for him, Kevin nestled himself into the lounge next to her. He had showered, and dressed in pajamas and robe. They relaxed in silence, listening.

Concluding strains of the symphony jolted Kevin from his twilight sleep.

When are you going to marry me, Clary, he questioned?

Never, probably, she responded quietly.

He drew her nearer, guiding her head to his chest. Her fragrance and nearness aroused him, but they sat silently. The question had been asked once again, and answered ceremoniously.

Clarice and Kevin awakened the next morning at 8:00, suspended in the warm glow of their love. Clarice was the first to withdraw.

Freshly showered and dressed, she knelt beside the bed and kissed Kevin gently. She reminded him Andrew would be there at 10:00.

They shared coffee and toast at the breakfast table in the kitchen, and at 9:00 they bid farewell.

Ashen skies and a cold north wind greeted Kevin as he left, jettisoning him back into the reality of his own lonely world. His light jacket provided little warmth.

He crossed the street and entered the campus grounds. From there it was a short journey home.

CHAPTER 2

Eric, Elizabeth, and Kevin waited in the lounge of Bowmans on the Plaza. They wished now they had called ahead for reservations. The hadn’t however, thinking they would have little difficulty being seated promptly.

They were offered cocktails while they waited, but declined. Elizabeth decided wine with their meal would be more to their liking.

She enjoyed the attentiveness of both Eric and Kevin. She wore a brown skirt and long-sleeved paisley blouse of red, green, and blue. The fall air was quite chilly, and she was happy she had brought along the light wrap she carried over her arm.

She surveyed her escorts, and thought how handsome they were in their suits and ties. It was a startling departure from their usual campus attire.