Installation 37: Horrors and the Hydrological Cycle previous
Evaporation
Phoebe and The Phantom passed an idyllic week together in the underground hideaway and then Phoebe’s curiosity got the better of her.
“What was your childhood like?” she asked over a salad of arugula, walnuts and fresh tomatoes (where The Phantom got his fresh produce was as much a mystery as everything else).
“I don’t remember,” The Phantom said.
“But… you were raised in the country or the city? Do you have brothers and sisters? Where did you go to school?”
“I don’t remember,” The Phantom said. “Try the multi-grain rolls. They turned out well.”
“You’re changing the subject,” Phoebe said. She did take a roll, though, and it was quite delicious. Since arriving in The Phantom’s abode, she’d gained four pounds.
“What about you?” The Phantom asked.
“I have two sisters,” Phoebe said. “And my parents are still together. My mother creates scents for perfumes. She’s sort of a scientist. My father is a history professor.”
“Have they met your boyfriend?” This was The Phantom's first acknowledgment of Karl.
“What boyfriend?”
“Don’t try to play me,” The Phantom said. “You said you were seeing someone. In that very nice note you sent.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Phoebe said. “I never said boyfriend. He’s someone I’m seeing. Casually. Very casually.”
“Is that why he stays over all the time?”
“What? Have you been spying on me? That’s not cool.”
The Phantom pushed the coffee table, knocking the bowl of salad to the floor and making the rolls tumble. One went under the couch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Phoebe said.
“You come down here, live with me, make art, listen to records… and never a mention of that wretch.”
“Wretch?”
The Phantom was wild now. He threw his plate and it hit the wall. Bowtie pasta slowly inched down the wall and fell in a limp pile.
“You can’t have it both ways,” he said.
“I was brought here against my will,” Phoebe said.
“I don’t see you trying to escape,” The Phantom said. “All those times in the sewer, we were right there… daylight was on our faces. And you didn't exactly make a break for it.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Phoebe said. “I’m… It’s like I’m on vacation. Besides, my rent is so past due I probably don’t have a place to go anymore…”
“Is everything about you all the time? Your apartment, your job, your lackluster love life?”
“Who said it’s lackluster?”
Their shouting was interrupted by a low rumbling and the sound of rushing water.
“A storm,” The Phantom said. “The sewer will be filling. We’ll be fine if we stay in here.”
“OK,” Phoebe said. “Do you want to play dominoes or something?”
“No,” The Phantom said. “I don’t. What I most feel like doing is staring at the wall. In my room.”
“But that’s my room now,” Phoebe said.
“I’m not planning on joining you in bed, if that’s what your worried about,” The Phantom said. “I’m simply kicking you out for the night.”
“That’s fair,” Phoebe said. “Everyone needs some alone time.”
She went over to pick up the remains of The Phantom’s plate. The Phantom watched her for a moment, then sighed heavily and went into his room, closing the door behind him.
Condensation
Left to her own devices, Phoebe flipped on the TV. Every station carried reports about the severe weather moving through the viewing area. Hail the size of golf balls. Winds up to fifty miles per hour. Heavy downpours. She sulked. She wanted to play a board game or make art or have the The Phantom make crème brule for her. Instead, she watched a Will Smith vehicle called Hitch on cable.
Outside the apartment door the sound of rushing water rose to such a level that she could hardly hear the ending of the movie. She opened the door and saw the storm water level about even with the landing; a few more inches and water would come into the apartment and damage The Phantom’s album collection.
She knocked on his door.
“Phantom? Can I come in?”
The only answer was a noncommittal grunt. She took it as an affirmative and pushed the bedroom door open and slipped in. The room was in complete darkness. Phoebe put her hands out in front of her to feel her way around but she still fell over the bed and landed on top of him.
“Sorry,” she said and struggled to sit up.
The Phantom held her fast to his chest. He was naked except for boxers and the ever-present ski mask. He kissed her. Those lips! They had to be the softest but yet most persistent lips in the entire world. Phoebe found herself sighing softly with delight. The Phantom moved his hands over her body, pulling at her too-tight pants.
“Phantom…” Phoebe said. “Wait…”
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said. “I’ve been the good guy. I’ve been the pal. I’ve been the protector.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Phoebe said. “I want you to take off your ski mask.”
“I never take this off in front of anyone,” he said. “I never even see myself without it. If I have to take it off to bathe, I cover the mirrors.”
“But that’s silly,” Phoebe said. “I can’t possibly have a lover who wears a ski mask during sex. I can't take you seriously.”
“You’ll get used to it,” The Phantom said and kissed Phoebe’s bare shoulder.
“No,” Phoebe said. “Just let me…”
In one swift movement, she grabbed the front of the mask and jerked upwards, pulling the mask off. Where it landed in the dark room was anyone’s guess. The Phantom flew from the bed, howling as if she held lit cigarettes to his eyes. Phoebe ran after him.
Precipitation
In the dim light of the living area, Phoebe glimpsed The Phantom’s face. It was no more than a collection of folds made from thick bands of scar tissue. Where his nose should have been there was a depression with two small holes for nostrils. The skin beneath his eyes was pulled down in permanent sag, exposing pink flesh. He had no eyebrows and a bulbous forehead with small tufts of thick hair jutting from it at odd angles. His ears were no more than crevices; the lobes and cartilage having been eaten away by some evil chemical.
Seeing her standing there, The Phantom jumped up on the couch and screamed. She wanted to comfort him and put her arms out as if to hug him if only he would quiet down and climb off the furniture. Instead, he leaped at her, clasping her by the arm and dragging her across the floor.
The water was right outside, lapping at the stones and rushing faster than before. The skiff was nowhere to be seen. After a brief hesitation, he pushed her out and into the water.
Collection
Phoebe struggled in the current. Its rough movements pulled away most of what remained of her clothing. Still shocked by The Phantom’s face, she forgot she could swim, or at least push against the tidal wave of water to find something to latch onto as it floated by - a branch, a piece of furniture, a child’s blow-up toy. Her body was battered against the cement walls of the tunnels, twisted and turned, until finally she felt the force of the water sucking her down, deep into a place of darkness with no up or down and no opportunity to raise her head for air.
She opened her mouth, allowing the muddy water to flow in, hoping to hurry her death.
But just as suddenly as she entered it, the tunnel gave way, spitting her out and launching her into the the storm. She was deposited, roughly, into a stream filled with rocks and garbage. Water rushed on and over her on its way to the river, completing its cycle by returning to the earth. In this broken state, her head nestled between two rocks and her body pounded by run-off, Phoebe lost consciousness.