Chivalry Is Dead Read online

  “Thank you, son,” my daddy said as he took the card that I created out of a sheet of paper and a few crayons. And then Daddy did something that I had never seen him do. My old man smiled and there was a twinkle of life in his watery eyes. The spark was there briefly, honest to Betsy it was there, and then it was snuffed out again just as quickly as it had appeared.

  “I don’t see you bringing those beer bottles in here!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.

  Daddy groaned angrily, but took a moment to smile at me again and rub one of his big, calloused hands across the top of my head. “Thanks, son, I love you, too.”

  4

  I was really pleased with myself by the time I returned to watching my morning cartoons, but something in the back of mind was tugging at my thoughts. Did I actually see a glimmer of life in my father’s eyes? And if I had, what did that mean? I had never considered that there might be a way to restore life to a zombie. Was it possible?

  Eventually, Momma called me into the kitchen, disrupting my thoughts. It was time for us to have breakfast. Daddy was never allowed to eat with us. Not even on special occasions like Father’s Day, or his birthday. Momma said since she brought home the bacon he couldn’t have any. She would sit at the kitchen table and every once in a while she would yell toward the living room, “If a man don’t work, he don’t eat!”

  Why does Momma and Daddy hate each other so, I often found myself wondering. Momma was always as sweet as pie to me, except for the occasional disciplining, and Daddy was the coolest undead dude I ever had the privilege of meeting. You would never know they had a hating bone in their body until they came into contact with each other. At their meeting, tension began to spew into the atmosphere like lava and ash from an upset volcano.

  My sympathy mostly went toward Daddy. Momma was always hitting on him and yelling at him for reasons that I never understood. Daddy never hit Momma. He never even so much as raised his voice at her. I suppose that’s the way the relationship between a witch and a zombie works. Servant never stands up to the master. Momma said it was because she had older siblings that would have torn him to shreds if he even thought about laying a hand on her. Daddy would just mumble under his breath, but I knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t afraid of my aunties, Daddy was scared of the village people coming after him with torches and pitchforks if he harmed one of the citizens. Even if that citizen happened to be a witch.

  As I sat at the breakfast table and thought about the prejudice people had against zombies, another brilliant idea came to me. I decided to fix Daddy some breakfast. Momma always made too much food for the two of us, and a lot of times the surplus was thrown away. Momma didn’t want to risk Daddy getting a hold of anything to eat. So that morning, when Momma went upstairs to get ready for work, I fixed Daddy a plate and hid it in the oven.

  A few minutes later, Momma came back downstairs and saw that the food on the stove was gone. “Did your Daddy come in here?” she asked with an angry look on her face.

  “No ma’am,” I said. “I ate all of the food.”

  “My! You sure was hungry!”

  I just smiled and patted my belly.

  5

  It wasn’t long before I heard Momma’s car pull out of the driveway. That’s when I hurried over to the oven and took out my daddy’s Father’s Day plate. I carried it into the living room and when I gave it him I exclaimed, “Happy Father’s Day!”

  “Well look at you!” my daddy said when he looked down at the plate. “I feel ashamed saying this, but this is the best gift I could have ever gotten. Thanks, Demetrius!” For the second time in one day, Daddy gave me a genuine smile.

  While he ate, I sat next to his leg. Needless to say, I was happy as a fox in a henhouse full of legless chickens with clipped wings. Before long, I heard the sound of silverware clinking against the plate. Assuming that Daddy was just about done, I looked up at him and asked, “What are we going to do today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s Father’s Day, and we should do something special for you. Plus, the teacher gave us an assignment to do over the summer break and I don’t want to write about sitting around the house.”

  Daddy just shrugged his shoulders and finished off the last bit of grits left on his plate.

  “I was thinking…do you think it’s possible that we could get you a life? Maybe not the life that Momma stole from you, but another one,” I suggested.

  Daddy laughed and said, “That would be great! How would we do that?”

  How can we restore life to a zombie, I asked myself as I looked down at the carpet. When nothing came to me, I returned my attention to Daddy and said, “I don’t know any counter curses, or spells of undoing. But people on T.V. are always talking about going out and getting a life. Maybe if we go out, we might come across one.”

  “I must be still drunk, because I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. But … there is one thing you said that did make sense. This is Father’s Day and we’re not going to spend it being cooped up in here. We’re going out,” Daddy said.

  I smiled up at my father and said, “Awesome!”

  6

  My father and I left the house shortly after deciding to go out. To my dismay, he went as is. I was not embarrassed to have a zombie for a father, but I was afraid that others might react in a negative way—like trying to slay him. Instead of going upstairs to freshen up, or put on a clean pair of clothes, Daddy went out the door looking like he had just clawed out of a grave six feet under. Daddy’s clothing was tattered and stained with various substances, his hair needed brushing, his skin was bruised, and he smelled of death.

  The first thing he did when he stepped out onto the front porch was shield his eyes from the bright sun. The fact that zombies don’t like going out during the daylight had totally slipped my mind.

  “Are you going to be okay, Daddy? Should we go back inside?” I asked.

  He slowly shook his head. “Naw, I’m okay.”

  It was warm outside, but it felt better than being in our stuffy house. A strong breeze greeted us and caressed our skins as we walked down the sidewalk onward to our first destination. My zombified father staggered about and I skipped alongside. A couple of people, who were going in the opposite direction, looked at us weird, but my father didn’t seem to be bothered so I didn’t let it get to me either.

  Eventually, we came to the first stop in our Father’s Day outingThe Birmingham Art Museum. Daddy said it was free on the days when there were not special exhibits. I had never been to the museum, and I was easily amazed by both the large foyer and the abstract art that hung from the ceiling.

  “Hello,” came a greeting from our right.

  We responded in kind to a heavyset man sitting at a table. In front of him was a glass box that had dollar bills inside. As we went up a small set of stairs, Daddy informed me that the box was for donations. He said that it wasn’t necessary to put anything in the box, but I still felt bad that we didn’t have anything to give.

  The two of us ventured farther into the building and we saw all kinds of artwork. Daddy pointed out statues and paintings while he lectured me about the artists and the creativity behind each piece. “How do you know so much about art?” I asked him when he brought us before a painting called God’s Country. I had no idea that a mindless zombie was capable of possessing so much knowledge.

  “Well, once upon a time, I was an aspiring illustrator. I was very good, too, and I loved familiarizing myself with renowned artists who came before me. I was even interested in cave paintings. That’s why I know a lot about art.”

  I suddenly felt sad. “Was that before Momma turned you into a zombie with her witch powers?”

  He smiled slightly as he nodded his head. “Yeah, that artistic flame burned brightly within me before I met your mother. Even after I met your mother I was still passionate about my art. Oh, how she bewitched me with her pleasant words, lured me with those brown eyes, and hooked me wit
h those long eyelashes. It was your mother’s sweet, kind personality that I fell in love with, but her long, black hair and vivacious curves didn’t hurt matters.”

  I frowned up at his poor choice of words. Momma wasn’t vivacious, she was my momma. “Eventually, I married your mother,” Daddy continued. “On our wedding night I realized that I had been conned by a trickster. She left her kind words at the altar, and those long eyelashes, she sat on the dresser next to her long, black hair. Her kind personality had developed an edge and those vivacious curves…well, she undid her bodyshaper, and those curves fell to the floor.”

  I imagined Momma’s curves falling to the floor and found it hard to envision.

  “I was disappointed, but I lived with it and eventually we had you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. To make sure you had a better life than I had, I gave up on my artistic dreams and settled for a job that I disliked. It paid the bills, so I didn’t complain. Things between your mother and I got worse as the years went by. She discovered that she had a talent for nagging, and so she nagged, nagged, nagged.”

  “Is nagging some sort of witch’s spell?” I asked.

  “Oh! It’s the worst! Things between us totally fell apart when you were five years old and the company I worked for laid me off. I wasn’t worried. I was positive that I would have a job in no time, but days turned to weeks, weeks turned into months, and months became two years and counting. Your mother resents me because she had to go back to work. Now she’s bent on making my life a living nightmare. She just sucks the life out of me, making me a shell of who I use to be.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said.

  He looked down at me and put his arms around my shoulders. “It’s not your fault big guy. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have the strength to wake up another day with that witch.”

  “You keep mistaking your W’s for B’s,” I muttered absently.

  “What did you say?”

  Realizing that I had said my thoughts out loud, I replied, “Nothing.”

  7

  We walked around the museum a little bit longer, then we left for the park. When we made it to the playground, the other kids backed away from my father. There were even some parents who scooped their children up and ran off when he started pushing me on the swings. Everybody must have been sur-prised to see a zombie and his son playing. At least they didn’t try to kill him.

  The sun was beginning its slow descent by the time we left the park and headed home. To my surprise, Daddy looked as if life was beginning to return to his wretched form. His skin still clung to his bones, and his eyes still had that sunken look, but there was a definite twinkle in those brown eyes of his. Not only was there a spark, but he was steadily smiling. I helped my daddy get a life!

  Daddy and I were walking up the sidewalk on our way to the house when we noticed that Momma had gotten off of work early. Before either one of us could let out a sigh of disappointment, she stepped through the doorway and came to stand on the porch. “And where have y’all been?” she asked

  “My son took me out for Father’s Day,” Daddy replied in a nonchalant tone.

  Momma let loose a mocking laugh and asked, “Where could you two have gone? Neither of you have any money.”

  “The best things in life are free,” he replied. “You used to know that at one time.”

  Momma snorted at his response and headed back inside the house. “Hurry up and get in here so y’all can shut this door. Y’all letting bugs in.”

  I looked up at my father’s face and I immediately started to despair. That spark had left his eyes and a frown replaced his smile. Daddy was groaning again and he started to mix his W’s up with his B’s worst than ever. When he moved toward the porch, I reached out and took hold of his hand. “Daddy, don’t go in there!” I said.

  Daddy looked down at me and asked, “What’s wrong, big guy?”

  I couldn’t stand to see him re-enter the tomb that Momma had built for him and climb onto the couch that doubled as his coffin. “You were just happy a minute ago and now you’re a zombie again! Don’t go in there! You know what? Go away! Go far away as you can!”

  Daddy laughed and said, “I’m not going anywhere. I would never leave you. Your mother on the other hand…”

  “You wouldn’t be leaving me,” I clarified. “You would be leaving Momma, and you would be free of the evil power she has on you.”

  Daddy stared at me for a long moment.

  “Y’ALL GET IN HERE NOW!” Momma yelled from inside the house.

  Daddy looked at the front door, he turned his gaze back to me, then he looked down the road.

  “Go, Daddy,” I whispered.

  He stared down that road for a long time as if he was contemplating his choices. When Daddy turned back to me, his smile was bigger than I had ever seen it and that twinkle was back brighter than ever. “For a seven-year-old boy, you’re very wise. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go, but I want you to know that I’ll never abandon you. You hear me?”

  I gave him a smile that was just as big and genuine as his and I replied, “Yes, sir, I hear you!”

  The screen door burst open and Momma stormed out onto the porch. Daddy gave me one last smile and he turned. I never seen a man run as fast as Daddy did that day, let lone a zombie. Runners in the Olympics had never moved that quick.

  “HEY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” Momma yelled after Daddy.

  “I’m going to get a pack of cigarettes witch!” he shouted back gleefully.

  I knew that his parting statement was a code meant just for me. Daddy didn’t smoke. He wasn’t going to get cigarettes. He was going to get his life back. I didn’t want Momma to see me smiling but I couldn’t help it. Run as fast and as far as you can zombie man, I thought happily while watching him lope away. There was no stagger about him at that moment.

  “That no good, son-of-a-such-and-such ain’t coming back,” Momma said as she watched him disappear down the street.

  I guess she knows the code, too, I thought.

  The end.

  8

  The classroom erupted in clapping. Ms. Truffles could only remove her ugly glasses and let them hang around her neck. “You didn’t write that,” the english teacher stated more than asked.

  Demetrius shook his head and replied, “I didn’t write it, but they were my thoughts, just Daddy’s words.”

  “And you would be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the story you just read is a true tale?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Demetrius answered

  She looked down at her desk and let out a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” she said.

  “I don’t see why you would do either one,” Demetrius said. “I don’t think I said anything funny, and it’s not a sad story. I still see my daddy, just about every day as a matter of fact. He helped me write my essay after all.”

  “What happened to him?” the teacher asked.

  “He went back to the museum one day and somebody that worked there offered him a job. They overheard him when he gave me a tour and they were impressed with his knowledge. Daddy’s doing real well now and is getting ready to move out of Grandma’s house. He told me not to tell Momma so she wouldn’t try to…uh, stick him for his paper. He’s got some meat on his bones and his eyes don’t look sunken anymore. What’s even better is the fact that he smells wonderful now. He doesn’t have that zombie aroma.”

  Ms. Truffles smiled. “What about your mom? How is she coping with your father’s absence?”

  “She’s fine,” Demetrius replied. “Later, on the same day Daddy left, she introduced me to a new friend of hersUncle Marcus. He keeps her company a lot now. Daddy says that she found a new victim to practice her witchcraft on. I told Daddy that I don’t care much for the guy, but he said that Uncle Marcus will be leaving as soon as the curves drop.”

  Ms. Truffles put her glasses back on her face so she could look down at her attendanc
e sheet. Demetrius took that as a sign that he was free to go back to his seat, because Ms. Truffles did not say anything. At the moment she couldn’t say anything. She was speechless. The teacher could only shake her head as she thought, Just when you think you’ve heard it all, a seven-year-old comes along with his Summer assignment.

  D. Krauss was born in Germany, adopted by a military family, and so became a US citizen in a roundabout way. He lived in Oklahoma and Alabama, then somehow ended up in New Jersey where he lived every single Bruce Springsteen song ever written. He joined the USAF to get the heck oudda there and stayed in twenty years longer than he expected because, well, lost track of time. He has been: cotton picker, sod buster, a painter of roads, surgical orderly, weatherman (yes, a weatherman), librarian, a badge-carryin’ gun-totin’ special agent, and an analyst. Guy can’t keep a job. D’s been married over 36 years (yep, same woman) and has a wildman bass guitarist for a son.

  “Zombies are slow, soulless, mindless, decaying and disorganized... right? Well- when one drives by in a dump truck, and more in buses... you’d be a little unnerved, too.”

  Cistern

  By: D. Krauss

  It’s surprising enough to see a truck going down the street. It’s ten times more surprising if a zombie’s driving it.

  That’s just not standard zombie behavior.

  If you’ve ever seen any of George Romero’s classics, then you already know that. It’s amazing how much of zombies George got right. I don’t know if he was a genius, a prophet, or simply had rarified gifts of projection. I’m guessing the latter. Since you’re dealing with creatures whose brains have turned to soup and whose only interest is eating flesh, you can figure out basic MO.

  Some things he didn’t get right, like how it happened. In the Night of the Living Dead franchise, he posited a satellite crashing back to earth with zombies generating from the radiation. The truth was more like 28 Days Later, a bug. Not from a lab or eeeevil military experiments, just something naturally occurring. Best explanation came from the CDC some years ago—a necrotic, animating bacteria infecting the brains of recently deceased persons. Plausible, since zombies reproduce just like a bacterial colony.