Muddy Men
By Sam Knaip
()
About this ebook
Mamzer is trapped in an unending routine of a maddening workday, feeling voiceless and shattered. His son-in-law and young wife are dismantling what's left of him when he gets home. He realizes he’s a 30-something decrepit whose legacy will be buried under the weight of his insignificance. That’s the scenery under which Mamzer decides to turn the odds in his favor and leave his mark on the world by doing something... good.
Muddy Men is the first short-story by Sam Knaip to be translated into English. Written in an offbeat, minimalistic style, this not-so-short-story renovates the dirty realism tradition, whilst keeping faithful to the genre expectations.
This book is not recommended for readers under 18 years old.
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Muddy Men - Sam Knaip
MUDDY MEN
by
Sam Knaip
© 2014 – All Rights Reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
I
I
No one forced you to work here.
You can always find something better
, a friend said, later.
We can live for a few months without income,
my wife said, today.
I can always find another dad
, the kid said, just now.
I drank, and I couldn’t listen to much as my eyes went red. And so there I was with my red and yellow eyes. I couldn’t understand if it was because of what the kid said, or if what my wife had said had actually come true.
I stood in front of the mirror. The light flashed a couple times, as it always took a few seconds to go on. After the first flash, the entire bathroom turned gray, which was the right color. After the second flash, the entire bathroom turned yellow, and that was wrong. Then the light went on for real and the bathroom looked like a butcher’s house. I felt cold and the walls felt cold, but I was sweating and my beard was scratchy as if tonight were a hot Sunday afternoon.
My eyes should be green and white, but now they were red and yellow. I could always find another job.
I could always find something better.
We could find a cheaper house.
The kid could find another dad as he had found me a few years ago.
But I couldn’t make any sense of what was happening. I could hear footsteps and the kid laughing at cartoons. How could he be laughing like that? Didn’t he know anything? What the hell was he thinking? What kind of idiot am I raising?
And the neighbor laughed. I couldn’t even take a shit without listening to whatever the hell that faggot was laughing about at any given time. Why was everybody laughing? What was wrong with the world? How could they laugh? My pupils were red and the rest of my eyes should be white, but now they were yellowish and everybody out there was laughing.
I didn’t felt like shaving. I could always find another boss. The next one couldn’t be as bad as this one.
The light above the mirror flashed once more. The bathroom was gray again. How come? That never happened. I turned on the shower and the light turned yellow again. It was mocking me. I could hear the electricity talking in the central control box down the hallway. The electricity was fucking talking and it spoke like popcorns do when they blow up. Maybe I could find some other shit to do. I could get another boss, another job.
I could sob for days after I drank. I wasn’t even a proper drunk. I only cursed because every time I tried to put anything into words I sounded like a weak piece of shit. I couldn’t speak out loud or laugh out loud like the neighbor because I didn’t have a job that allowed me to.
I had a place to be. I had to be quiet, as quiet as possible, unnoticeable. But I was always angry. I’m still angry. But then again, I’m not angry anymore, yet I still can’t stand the endless heating and cooling cycle that my life had become. My eyes are red and I’m angry, but nobody can see me burning on the outside. Unless they looked at my eyes, but nobody looks at eyes. They couldn’t care less about my eyes because they are too worried about their car insurance and the size of the next bullshit bill their school will send them.
Hey. Mister. We need you to send 20 bucks because we are going to make a fucking bowl of tropical salad
.
Oh, Mister! Look, it’s a school bill! Please send 30 bucks otherwise your kid won’t grow up because we won’t irrigate him if you don’t do as we say
.
Hey, Mister! We thought your last letter was way too aggressive and we assure you that we are not kidnapping your kid. And paying for his fucking schooling is not a symptom of Stockholm syndrome. Please seek medical care as quickly as you can because you are in worse shape than your kid is
.
The fucking bathroom was still yellow, and now the water was flowing. So there I was, complaining to myself with scorching water dripping from the shower head. Half of the world was drinking their own carbonated piss to cool off and farting under the blankets to keep warm, and there I was not caring about the starving children all over the world.