The Narkoleptikos Brothers (from Jersey)
"Alright, Johnny, well this is it...Club Murmansk.
"Murmansk? What the hell is this, Siberia?"
"Nah, nah, Murmansk ain't really in Siberia, it's just on
the outskirts."
"Like what's the outskirts, what when you have five thousand
miles of frozen nothing and then you say the 'outskirts'?"
"Like the outskirts, like it don't qualify..."
"O.K., let's see what's in this place."
The Club Murmansk did appear shoddy from the outside. It's
entrance was on a hotel corridor -- a rusted door in the middle
of a thirty-foot reach of rotted wood beams all nailed together
at at anarchic angles, above which a cobalt-blue neon spelled the
club name, and a red neon formed a hammer and sickle and a star ,
each lighting up in a five-second delay, like some of the Vegas
ones do, the cowboy getting lit up from his boots and spurs to
his ten-gallon hat, basketball-sized asses on bicycles riding
down the strip passing Joe Marlboro by, boogers being picked and
spread on cheap Hawaiian shirts, the symbology of a palm tree as
a stalwart penis going up a woman's skirt running through the
mind of the bulgy bicyclist as he rides into the sultry desert
night..."
Alvin's confusion had lingered like a bad flu. He wondered
why, why, why were these strange things happening to him, and why
hadn't the Bowl Genie been so kind as to brief him on what he
might expect, instead of just handing him over to Johnny and his
consort Savarin? And then what exactly were these Narkoleptikos
Brothers and why couldn't anything stabilize in this place, not
even for one day, and to hear the constant bickering whenever
Johnny and Savarin were together -- it was nearly intolerable !
Inside, the place looked like some kind of shack in the
Siberian wilderness, walls of dilapidated wood planks, plywood
tables and stools, a small stage built of screwed-together
crates. There were few patrons, most of whom seemed to be in a
stupor, or passed out on their small tables. The trio navigated
their way through this junk pile to a table in the back near a
door marked "toilet."
"Great, what a dive this is. How do get a drink in this
joint? Is that the bar over there? Savarin, my sweet, why don't
you meander over there and get us a some martinis and a soda for
junior. There doesn't seem to be any help in this place."
"Why do I always have to do all the work, hah? Alright,
I'll get us something."
Savarin walked over to a counter that served as a bar, but
there was nobody behind it. A row of unmarked bottles and ceramic
cups lined the counter; she couldn't see any other supply of
booze. "Well, what the hell, is they want it back, they can take
it" she muttered to herself, and grabbed a bottle of a clear
liquid and three cups. "I guess junior will just have to start
early" she added while walking back to their table.
"What's this?" Johnny demanded.
"How the hell do I know? There's just bottles and cups up
there, and it's self-service."
Savarin poured them all drinks. "Now they don't have any
sodas up there, so this will have to do" she said to Alvin.
"Bottoms up" Johnny said, and they all sipped the mysterious
liquid.
"This is some rotgut moonshine, I tell ya" Johnny concluded.
"But it has a weird pepper taste, like they put peppercorns
in it" Savarin replied. Alvin made a face of disgust after
sampling the odd drink.
"Yeah, and it's got a kick, pow!" Johnny remarked, pouring
himself another one.
Soon they had (with the exception of Alvin, who wouldn't
drink any more after spitting out the first cup of it) put away
three small cups each. A mental smog soon crept into them, and
the feeling that it brought, while pleasant, was incredibly
disabling. The couple who were so used to jousting verbally sat
there silently, except for a few diabolical giggles -- the very
kind that the mad scientist in a B-movie emits while conducting
experiments.
Above the stage, some dim blue incandescent light bulbs came
on; 2 tall men in charcoal gray suits appeared from a concealed
door behind the stage. One was carrying a portable electric
organ,
the legs of which he unfolded. The other man fetched two micro-
phones and stands from a shelf hidden behind wood planks.
Strangely enough, he plugged the two mike cords and organ cord
into the floor.
"We are the Narkoleptikos brothers" they both intoned in a
grave, almost funereal manner.
The brother on the left played a sour discordant tone
cluster on the organ. The brothers stood there almost motionless
for a minute, then, as the organ harmonies drifted in a sea of
atonality, the brother on the right began singing like a tape
being slowed down:
"Oh....oh....oh...Moaaaaaan in Helllllllll..."
He sang progressively slower, and repeated the phrase
dozens of times. Johhny and Savarin imbibed further, and became
more ensmogged. Alvin plotted his escape, but wondered whether he
could find his way back, given that the corridors seemed to re-
arrange themselves at random. Johnny started grinning, and a
fine drool started to work its way down his chin. Savarin picked
-- no, more accurately, mined a booger from her nose with a red
false fingernail. Alvin felt queasy, disgusted by the scene. The
moan song segued into another "tune" concerning with a similarly
morose lyric:
"Been sleeping...in a sewer...LullllllllaaaaBYE, Ahhhhhh..."
Alvin started to cry. The brother playing the organ stared
out at the poor lad behind horn-rimmed glasses: it was the look
of Rasputin attempting to stop the hemophiliac children of the
Czar from bleeding.
It was now or never, Alvin thought, and feeling that Johnny
and Savarin would probably never know he was leaving, he started
to walk to the exit.
"No, no, no" the brothers chimed at him. As he was nearing
the door, a hand arrested him by the shoulder. Alvin turned
around to find Jimmy The Greek smiling broadly.
"Hey, if it ain't Johnny's little student, for crying out
loud."
"Leave me alone, fatso." Alvin said, trembling.