It was a Tuesday evening, October third to be precise. The sky was gray, nearing black, the forecast was dismal, and there was snow both on the ground and in the air. The time was 7:03 p.m., too late for dinner, too early to have a fashionably late dinner. This was the night that Marvin Merkin lost his thumb. This also was the moment that began the end of Marvin Merkin.
Marvin had returned to his rented apartment after work that Tuesday by public transit. By day, he worked in an office moving around papers. Even he wasn’t too clear on what his job’s purpose was. At any rate, he did it well, received cost of living increases and survived as well as any reasonable 25 single male does in North America. He was able to rent one movie each week and eat lunch at a fast food restaurant twice. He usually rented the movie on Fridays and ate lunch out on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which is most likely the biggest reason he didn’t see his detached thumb calmly resting on the arm of his second-hand recliner. He thought the queasiness he felt was most likely gas.
Marvin, upon arriving home, took off his brown overcoat (which reminded him of the coats worn in The Matrix movie but the wrong colour) and lay in over the back of his recliner. It’s not that he didn’t have hangers in the hall closet; he didn’t like the loneliness he felt for it hanging alone. He had not lived at this residence through the seasons yet it and this was his only coat not in a box. He took a frozen entrée (his mother called them ‘cardboard dinners’) from the freezer, carefully peeled back the plastic film just enough so the vegetables (‘what vegetables?’ his mother would say) would get cooked but not soggy, and set the microwave timer to five minutes. While dinner was cooking, he used the bathroom, washed his hands, and checked for stray nose hairs. He did not find any. He did find a curious dead leaf in his hair, though, but it turned out that it was irrelevant.
He sat down, turned on the television and deftly punched the remote to his favourite news channel. He usually had to catch the news later than normal office workers because he relied on the unreliable, and often sloppy, schedule of the subway and the bus. He didn’t have cable but he had rigged an antenna to his television and window and could catch his neighbour’s satellite dish channels, which included a ghostly, but still watchable, version of the next time zone’s news hour. Marvin Merkin smiled in reminiscence of his own cleverness every time he watched television.
For the next hour, Marvin ate and watched. Actually, the eating was done quite fast and most of the hour was only watching. This hour featured one earthquake, one mudslide, 4 car crashes, one murder-suicide, one celebrity marriage break-up, the advantages to water conservation, where to purchase hunting licenses, the weather forecast for the next week(dismal), and a book review by an author who had just written some historical fiction (whatever that meant). Marvin thought about how a kumquat might taste during this last segment. He had never tried any before – both historical fiction nor kumquats – and was quite curious about the origin of the latter, not the former.
At the end of the hour, Marvin reached for the remote which had fallen off the armrest and in between his right thigh and the chair cushion and went to flick off the power. He had decided that tonight would be a good time to take up learning some more chords on an acoustic guitar his mother had given him for his birthday in June. He hoped to have learned enough to play American Pie by the end of the year. He knew with the television on his chances of doing anything but sitting in his recliner all night would be small to nil. He would guiltily ease off to bed around midnight having been suckered in by teasing trailers promising the resolution to the baffling crime scene mystery or the outcome of the court drama just after the next commercial break. Snippets of dialogue that were meant to keep Marvin heavy in his chair, hypnotized, mesmerized, catatonic.
The round power button on the remote control glowed a cave green when the lights were off reminding Marvin of prizes he had received in cereal boxes when he was younger (Truthfully, Marvin still bought cereal according to the prize it would offer up to him upon first cracking the box open. This month Marvin got a Velcro watch with cartoon toucan that was too small for his wrist, but he kept it anyway.). One month, Marvin ate cereal for both breakfast and bedtime snack in order to collect all six glow-in-the-dark skull rings, each one depicting a different leer. He got as far as four before the cereal company changed their toy. Looking at the power button on the remote control in the dark always brought back those feelings of nostalgia for Marvin; the excitement of collection mixed with the disappointment of the two missing rings.
The television remote wasn’t working, or so it seemed to Marvin Merkin, who still hadn’t seen his thumb laying on the armrest like a despondent cocktail sausage. He was looking at the remote in his right hand, thinking about the last time he replaced the batteries in it and not fully comprehending that his thumb was not covering the button as it should have been. He got up and punched at the television’s metal switch, which was not nearly as interesting as the rubber glow-in-the-dark remote button (Nor as pliable and sensuous in Marvin’s opinion, although he would have died before admitting it to anyone.). The television blinked off like a 100 watt bulb burning out with a small pop.
In the now quiet apartment, quiet as only white-walled apartments can provide, Marvin Merkin spotted his detached thumb. It was still pink with warmth, a plump, flesh caterpillar lethargic from overeating. He picked it up not realizing what it was. The end that had detached from Marvin was neatly closed and his thumbnail winked lazily.
There were doctor’s visits that followed and the next week was full of more blood tests than camping in August is full of mosquitoes. “Nothing physically wrong,” they kept saying, which made Marvin quite upset as he spent two hours filling out paperwork without a thumb. “Curious,” said a few technicians and lab assistants. Then they would hunch their shoulders and look to see if any doctor had heard them speak. “Bullshit!” said Marvin’s mother, but only to his step-father after she had hung up the phone. She considered making the trip across country to see her son, but Marvin’s step-father said, “It’s only a thumb. Carpenters make do with less.” Marvin’s step-father was an accountant, but he did do the books for one carpenter who had all of his appendages intact.
Marvin’s life, after spending a week in a waiting room, continued on. He still rode the bus, he still rented his movie on Fridays (now steering clear of the horror section) he still ate burgers and wiped his chin with napkins that felt like newspaper. He was learning to do certain things differently like using his left hand while stapling, peeing, opening doors, and eating with utensils. It was unfamiliar to Marvin at first, but he considered himself to be part of a new evolution, and sometimes scribbled “Thumbless Merkin!” over a doodle of him in a cape. He smiled. The girl with the freckles four cubicles over asked him what had happened and had touched his four digit hand. That was this morning.
Marvin also kept watching his ghosted news channel hijacked from his neighbour’s satellite. After settling down with two ham and cheese sandwiches (no tomatoes, no lettuce, just margarine) and a coffee mug of milk, he flicked on the television with his left thumb on the power button. This hour contained two murders thought to be connected, one baby abduction by a woman posing as a nurse, the fine art of cooking with parmesan cheese, a theory about circling every 10th, 12th, then 43rd word in the bible and finding a secret message (to discover the message, buy the book), and a farewell for one of the news anchors who was leaving for another channel. Marvin wasn’t quite sure why they were celebrating this since the news lady was going to work on a competitor’s station.
Why he was immersed in this thought, his kneecap slid down his leg and bounced off his foot.
Things became complicated in the short time following the kneecap event. Again, most of Marvin’s time was spent in waiting rooms surrounded by national magazines usually a few months past their publishing date but still readable. Generally, Marvin didn’t read anything but the backs of cereal boxes and, on occasion, the set of instructions for taking flu medicine. During his hours kept waiting, Marvin became an avid reader, fully aware of the politics of the war across the ocean, how to build an outdoor hockey rink, slicing a chicken with and against the grain, making polenta, the history of the atom bomb, a home remedy for warts, and the status of the marriage of a well-known pop singer (although, being a back issue, the singer’s status had changed again since then).
It was a good thing he was at the hospital when his ear slid off his face and hit the plastic waiting room chair with a thud like a wet fish slapping cement.
Home care became the solution while doctors whispered “curious” to each other but never in front of Marvin. “How does the skin underneath show no sign of the appendage ever being attached?” and “Why does the subject feel no pain at separation?” were the two major questions. Marvin’s case was quickly being reported all over the globe in hushed tones. Were they confident that something could be done for him, they may have been more vocal in seeking assistance from outside sources. As it turned out, perhaps this was the only thing done right for Marvin in what later turned out to be called The Merkin Syndrome.
Being housebound by doctor’s orders, Marvin’s elderly neighbour from the apartment across the hall became the sole source of Marvin’s contact with people (apart from his mother whose phone conversations were becoming increasingly screechy). One time a telemarketer called to sell Marvin a cellular phone and Marvin’s other earlobe became estranged from his head in the middle of the conversation. Luckily, Marvin had the receiver pressed against the defunct earlobe at the time. After numerous attempts at trying to end the conversation, Marvin finally shouted “My ear just fell off!” into the phone, and neatly caught the earlobe in his right hand, even without a thumb. He deposited the earlobe into a plastic bucket his neighbour had brought over for such emergencies (Her name was Merle. She had labeled the bucket with masking tape: “Marvin”, complete with quotations.) and then went into the washroom to vomit.
After becoming bedridden (Marvin suspected it was a music video marathon regarding world hunger that alienated both shinbones at once), Merle came over three times daily to feed, bathe and relieve Marvin. At precisely 9 a.m., noon and 8 p.m., Merle would gently tap at the door then let herself in with a key. Smelling of cabbage, she would hang her coat in the closet and peek through the kitchen cabinets, smirking.
Usually breakfast would consist of dry brown toast with a half an orange and a glass of powdered milk. Marvin would spend most of his chewing time concerned about the other half of the orange. He guessed it was sitting sedately on the top shelf in his refrigerator wrapped in plastic and wondering where was the other half of itself. He didn’t like asking Merle questions as she stared at him intently for four seconds before answering.
Lunch was pill-time. Along with 14 different varieties of red cylinders and moon-shaped drugs was clam chowder, unsalted Saltines (Merle had high blood pressure), and a peeled apple. Marvin saved the peeled apple until after he had used the bedpan because of the weary, wrinkled look of the fruit. Most days Merle would stay after lunch and read the headlines of Citizen’s Query to him. Merle was a subscriber.
Marvin used to notice Citizen’s Query (whose motto is: Do you really know the truth?) while standing in line at the grocery store buying his food (cardboard dinners). Sometimes the headlines made him smile. 7 Foot Tall Chicken Eats Man!, Aliens Discovered in Gelatin at the North Pole!, and Elvis is Alive and Selling Tacos! were some of his favourites. He had never bought one, though. If he had any spare change, the almond and coconut chocolate bars spoke louder than the newsprint.
A few weeks ago, after Merle read Golden Nugget Found inside Peanut Shell! and the article that followed (Merle liked to read them in a conspiratorial stage whisper. She was voted “Bette Davis Look-Alike” in seventh grade.), Marvin’s whole arm flew off and rolled underneath the bed. He was trying to wave off the story at the time, knowing he was scheduled for another body separation. Although he couldn’t predict them completely, losing four fingers to Merle’s insistence on hearing “a bit of interest from the outside world” (An alligator from the sewer attacked a baby and ate its hand.) was nearly three days ago. He was due.
Dinner was Marvin’s most lonely time of the day. He missed watching his ghostly news followed by the entertainment news (“What news?!” his mother would screech. This was even before Marvin’s body parts started making a mass exodus.) then either a courtroom drama or a show where they solve crimes by finding clues in carpet fibers. He missed the feeling of his used recliner where the springs used to dig into the backs of his thighs. He missed his thighs.
Meanwhile, Marvin’s mother was furious that nothing was being done for her boy. She was on the phone from 9 a.m. until 11 a.m. and then again for another hour in the afternoon, talking with nurses, with health food store owners, with acupuncturists, once in awhile with doctors, but mostly she spent time on hold. After getting no answers from anyone except the New Age guru who said, “He must eat more artichoke hearts,” she started calling the newspapers, the radio stations, the television stations, anyone who would commiserate with her (Had she asked Marvin his theory on his own body’s revolution, things may have turned out differently, but probably not.).
It was also unfortunate that Marvin’s mother didn’t pay attention to the Citizen’s Query while waiting in line at the grocery store. Had she known what type of newspaper she was calling (She thought their ad looked very professional in the telephone book.), she may not have called them first. As it was, she did call them first and found a very sympathetic person on the other end of her phone call. She also didn’t know how sympathetic the switchboard at the Citizen’s Query was trained to be. All staff, based out of a medium mid-western metropolis, was screened on the basis of their reactions to the abnormal. Human resources found that teenagers that watched a lot of horror movies were the best candidates and grossly overpaid them to remove any traces of puberty angst. Citizen’s also offered bonuses to those operators hooking the best story of the week. When Mindy-Queen (Not her real name. Citizen’s also let staff chose their own aliases to use on the job.) started speaking with Marvin’s mother, her face broke into a wide grin, distorting the lines she had traced in black eyeliner from the corners of her mouth to her chin. She started doodling the new electric bass guitar she had seen downtown last weekend. Her band, The Goth Warriors, was practicing a punked out version of American Pie to play at her little sister’s birthday party next week.
After spending an hour empathizing with Marvin’s mother, Mindy-Queen transferred the call over to one of the top field reporters for Citizen’s Query, Jane McCraine (Also not her real name. Jane had started working for Citizen’s on the switchboard when she was 17. Her favourite horror flick was The Omen.). Jane, who knew an exclusive when she heard ‘missing body parts’, cancelled all prior appointments (which included a grilled cheese sandwich with Mother Mary’s face on it) and rushed to buy a plane ticket to see Marvin in the flesh (what was left of it).
Like a awkwardly loaded and unbalanced freight train, Marvin could feel the end moving swiftly toward him. He was down to a torso, a penis, and one full head of hair grown to cover his missing earlobes. On his nightstand was a glass of water with a bendy straw and an old bible Merle brought over. When Marvin still had arms, he opened the front cover and saw that the bible had once belonged in the Three
Seas motel. He hadn’t done anymore reading since then, except to think about opening the Playboy magazine buried in the top drawer. He had supposed he should have gotten rid of it when he was still mobile enough to do so, but now he just thought of the girl on page 14. Marvin thought it was curious how reading that magazine had never provoked a reaction from his body parts, save one.
As of late, a team of doctors came to visit Marvin daily, poking and prodding him with cold, steel instruments. Because of a chart error, they called him Melvin. Marvin didn’t correct them. They bent over the bucket of body parts like rummagers at a garage sale, expecting the last doctor to take the bucket of “Marvin” with them on the way out the door. The last doctor usually forgot to bring the hazmat transportation unit, so Marvin’s fingers, elbows, and toes were left on the kitchen table like old hockey equipment.
Jane McCraine had spent the morning maneuvering her way around traffic circles and talking with Merle, who was immediately star-struck. Merle asked Jane to autograph her back editions of Citizen’s Query which were in various piles around her apartment. Jane spent an hour of scrawling a big “Jane McCraine” over the yellowed copies (There were 123 in all. Jane wished she had picked a shorter name at age 17. She had considered Mia Te.). Jane sat at Merle’s collapsible two-in-one card and kitchen table and blew the scum back off the top of her coffee before taking a small sip. Merle gave Jane a long list of the reasons she thought Marvin had fell apart, number one point being not enough artichoke hearts in his diet. They talked for nearly an hour then Jane excused herself to use Merle’s restroom. Jane actually needed to take a few (6) headache pills and check for stray nose hairs. After all, she would be on camera in a few minutes, exposing what was promising to be the best expose of the month! In Merle’s medicine cabinet Jane found a small piece of guitar sheet music (oddly enough, American Pie) folded into a bulgy square with the name Marvin Merkin neatly scripted in the top right hand corner. Jane slipped this into her purse.
Taking the tray that Merle had prepared for Marvin’s lunch, Jane McCraine made her way across the hall with her cameraman’s spotlight leading the way. Merle trailed along behind even though she was asked to remain at home. Jane knocked quietly and entered swiftly, as Merle had instructed her to do. She set the lunch tray down on the table beside the recliner, fluffed her hair a bit, licked her lips, and shot Merle a dirty look for intruding on this moment (her moment!). She whispered, “Ready?” to her cameraman and without waiting for an answer stormed down the hallway, microphone thrust out in front of her like a jousting rod.
She burst through Marvin’s bedroom door without knocking and began peppering him with questions, all of them beginning with W. Marvin, drowsy with thoughts about the girl on page 14 and having an erection he could do nothing about, opened his eyes wide, trying to realize who this loud woman was in his bedroom and why there was a bright light shining in his eyes. Was he in heaven; was this a processing line like the ones at the bank? As the weight of who this woman was set upon Marvin’s chest he yelled, “No! Wait! Sto…!” At that point his tongue slipped of its base at the back of Marvin’s mouth and down his throat. His last thought was that he still had a hard-on. After Marvin lost consciousness, his penis fell off as well. No one really noticed as the cameraman had a tight shot of Marvin’s face taking his last breath.
As imagined, the Citizen’s Query sales became astronomical. Marvin Merkin was the top headline for the next 12 weeks. Torso Man Chokes to Death on Own Tongue!, Knighthood for Torso Man!, and Torso Man Alive and Living in Las Vegas! The last headline was accompanied by a doctored picture of Marvin wearing a feathered costume and straddling a pole. This issue went platinum, as they say in the paper business.
Jane McCraine went on to become an anchor for a more reputable news station, and although the pay was substantially less, she felt her parents were proud. Mindy-Queen bought a bass guitar and new T-shirts for all her band members which they promptly ripped into the latest fashions. Marvin’s mother had a stroke and got divorced from Marvin’s step-father within the year following her son’s death. She had been spending most of her days at Marvin’s headstone with a can of mace. After the stroke, she remarried a carpenter. Merle became a quiet millionaire, selling Marvin’s items she had collected during his illness at online auctions. She invested her money into glass sun-catchers and pork bellies.
And Marvin Merkin? Well, he was yesterday’s news, wasn’t he?
