City of Darkness

parody - a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect.

I took a favorite story of classical literature (Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness), along with a little help from a favorite film (Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now), and added a childhood memory of the school class field trip, and came up with this:

            Safeway 458, a sturdy diesel-powered cruiser, sat there poised and peaceful in the school parking lot like a shiny yellow ship waiting for the tide to take her out. The day had begun so bright and serene, filled with great promise, and the shouts and squeals of pure joy were everywhere as we boarded her single-file and our bus driver pulled us out onto the first side street. We waved our good-byes to whoever might be watching and then were on our way. The first leg of our long-awaited field trip to the great City Museum was underway.

            The bus was filled front to back with no less than twenty-eight spacious green seats anchored to the floor, though our class was not nearly so big as to fill every available seat; and as we left our fair little town we were all bouncing around, practically jumping out of our skins with excitement, overcome by the unbridled thrill of a new adventure.

            However at some point in the long journey the enthusiasm began to ebb from us all, and over time it became quiet and subdued within the cabin, save for the rolling of the

tires and the steady hum of the engine as we held on our steady course. (For this no doubt our driver was ever so grateful.) A strange sort of fatigue eventually overtook me as well, and for what seemed the longest time I took to gazing out my window at the ground below, the smooth edges of asphalt tracing our progress with every slow turn. Something about the ground whirring by, mile after mile passing beneath me, captured my concentration and filled me with a sense of effortless flight. As if in a trance I began envisioning us as a great bird riding the currents of wind on a primordial migration to some unknown, yet fated destination.

            Then I looked up and was startled to see that the warm, familiar hills and plowed fields of home had disappeared. The faithful countryside I had lived in and known all my life had somehow slipped away. Out there now was a grayer, more barren landscape. I slowly held up my hand and touched the glass as if I might reach out and touch the strange new land to see if it was real. With the engine thundering ever louder in my head I started thinking of all we had left behind. And with that an apprehensive chill seeped down into my very being as I felt the bus pushing us deeper and deeper into uncharted territory. In my mind's eye I could see the wheels turning faster, realizing for the first time there was nothing I could do to stop them. Nothing at all.

            All of us now seemed similarly transfixed. The further south we went the more we saw an emerging proliferation of garish signs and metal poles that seemed to be closing in on us, choking the road we were on. Finally the first signpost was spotted telling us the Capital City was near. It was then that our science teacher, a thin and bespectacled man of pleasant nature, stood up to give us his no doubt well-prepared speech concerning our expedition to the City Museum. He balanced himself as best he could in the pitching cabin and cleared his throat before speaking. There was, he said, much to see and learn in the Museum but for us only a limited time in which to do it in. Himself a man prone to the use of fanciful analogies I was not at all surprised to hear him say that the Museum was a vast oasis of thought and learning, from which we could hope to take back only what our meager canteens could carry. At this point he pointed to his own head and paused for effect, while all of us stared back at him in blank silence.

            Aside from the brief distraction of his pointed analogy I was struck by a strange notion. Did he somehow sense my growing anxiety concerning our destination? Because he was looking right at me when he went on to say that a renowned professor – the Director of the Museum – was at one time a friend and neighbor to us all. My mind sprang to life. Mere mention of this man unleashed something deep within me, a surge of raw energy I had never felt before. The leader of the Museum – a man most certainly possessed with extraordinary wisdom and power – was born in our own town, amidst our very homes! Could such a thing be possible?

            But just when I wanted to hear more the teacher took one look outside and with a look of great concern sat down without saying another word.

            The drab and dreary grayness of the city now expanded all around us, as though the sun had ceased to exist, or simply lay buried behind layers of smoke and gloom. Stretching out as far as the eye could see was an unearthly jungle of mottled bricks and scarred concrete. One could look out either side at the tall buildings and lifeless windows stacked on top of one another and watch them blend together into one indistinguishable mass. All this with not a living tree or bush in sight. This is what we had waited so long to see?

            Yes, there was life out there, dim, hurried forms of ourselves we could see yet not fully comprehend. It was just not life as we knew it. Thankfully our driver held steady at the helm while all around us swarmed angry cars and honking trucks of every shape and size, each one spitting out filthy plumes of smoke as they clamored forward. We all were packed so tightly together that none could move ahead at any speed without crashing into another. What would happen if someone were to fall out of their vehicle here? I wondered. A chill ran down my spine and I shut my eyes to it all. The once free and open road had become a dense, convoluted coil of seething pressure, a concrete river of unalterable currents that held us firmly in tow.

            All progress was slowed to a torturous crawl and I could almost see the shadow of foreboding fall across the other young faces in our group. Feeling helpless I sank down in my seat and silently prayed that our faithful bus would continue to protect us. Yes, I reasoned, she was strong and sturdy. As long as we were in here we were safe. But then came another stream of thought, emerging slowly from the misty depths of my consciousness like a serpent. The deeper we penetrated the sepulchral city the more I could not stop thinking about the leader of the Museum and what unholy demons must have driven him to leave our fair town behind for this. Thoughts of home and safety were now being challenged by an even more compelling desire to learn more of this man – the man they called Kurtz.

*          *          *

            The Museum was a monstrous creation of concrete and stone that reached out at indeterminable lengths in every direction. Located in the heart of the city, much the same way a sturdy vault is hidden from open view, it was a fortress of high gray walls and spired towers designed, I'm sure, to humble the strongest of men before its great expanse. As our class finally disembarked from the bus I took the chance to run over and touch it with my own hand. A dark, sooty residue caked the stones with a tomb-like seal – the cold and clammy wetness of unending years. In an instant the power emanating from these walls ran through my fingers and told me that the secrets locked inside were as treasure was to a lordly king from days long gone.

            Huddled tightly together we walked with our teacher through the heavy front gate and once inside were met with an enormity of space that easily matched the starry heavens of a summer's night back home. The air inside was heavy and stale, instantly bringing to mind thoughts of slow decay. From windows high above shafts of dusty light angled down upon us. The extraordinary height echoed every sound to the degree that if we spoke at all we were compelled to whisper like altar boys in a church. Indeed as I took it all in I saw before me not a simple building of brick and mortar but rather a purposeful cathedral of someone's making. With equal parts fear and wanting I gazed up above. There could be no other explanation for how I felt that moment other than to say that somehow I knew this place had been waiting for me.

            There was a scattering of other adults with us in the great room – pale and haggard-looking clerks mostly, along with two pair of stiff men wearing dark suits. The suits bore an insignia on the left breast, giving them a most official, if not menacing bearing. One look at them and I knew right away they had to be Kurtz's men. It wasn't a cruel or vicious expression I saw in their faces so much as it was an even more frightening look of emptiness, a complete and total lack of human warmth. I was busy studying them when a thin little man with oily black hair and eager eyes stepped forward and introduced himself as our tour guide, officially welcoming us on behalf of Professor Kurtz. After asking us where we were from (he showed no recognition of our answer) he finished his opening remarks and then beckoned us to follow him to the first exhibit hall. I breathed deep the rank air. Fully aware that I had no other choice I stepped in line with the others and proceeded onward.

            At a brisk pace our guide led us down a long, narrow corridor that eventually opened up again into another cavernous room, brightly lit yet still holding that same acrid smell of dust and decay. There inside the room was a most peculiar sight. Row upon row of heavy glass cases. The guide waited patiently as we filed in, then cleared his throat with great effort in order to speak. This, he said grandly, was the Origin of Man exhibit. But as his voice droned on about the collected information my attention was quickly drawn elsewhere. While my classmates were busy pressing their noses against the glass to see the fossils and ghostly artifacts I was looking at something else. What caught my eye was a small white sign that read simply KURTZ. That was all. No explanation. No further inscription. Just KURTZ.

            My eyes hung on those black letters like fresh meat on a butcher's hook. I looked over into the next case and saw the same exact sign. And again in the one next to that. Every case on display had his name on it. I quickly surmised that there had to be more to this brazen act than the mere weakness of human vanity. But what then? As I stared at it I began to see that the black and white simplicity of the sign was pure power, his way of saying that this was his exhibit, these were his facts, indeed that this was his Museum. In short time it became clear to me that the man was trying to bastardize all knowledge and history, taking it over and making it all his own – surely an act of absolute madness. Or, perhaps, sheer genius.

            I needed to know more.

            After a time the rest of the class moved on ahead while I deliberately hung back at the end of the line, finally darting out and ducking behind one of the glass cases when I had the chance. Nervously I watched my classmates slowly disappear down a corridor heading for the Origin of the City exhibit. Alone now I could listen to the awesome silence and focus on what strangely but undeniably was becoming my personal quest to learn more about Professor Kurtz. Like a steady drumbeat his name kept echoing in my head and I could not help but feel that something was drawing me to him. Looking around for the next clue I wandered the length of the great room until I came upon a strange sight – three display cases shrouded in black. No lights were shining on them and the cases themselves were covered with heavy canvas. Something here was not being shown, like a page ripped out of Kurt's own book of Genesis. With pounding heart I slipped beneath the red rope that cordoned off the cases. Slowly my hand approached the canvas.

            "Get away from there!"

            Everything stopped. I spun around and saw a thin little man coming toward me carrying a mop and pail. His face was as pale as speckled marble and it twitched often with some sort of nervous affliction. At first I was too frightened to say anything.

            "He does not want these shown today," the man continued, speaking in an accent that was quite foreign to me. "And whatever the man wants, the man gets."

            "Kurtz?" I said with trembling voice.

            "Professor Kurtz to you. Of course. He makes all decisions around here. Now what are you doing here by yourself?"

            "I…I got lost from my group and I've been trying to find them."

            "You don't look lost."

            I paused to take a deep breath. "Well, actually I came here to learn more about Professor Kurtz."

            "Learn? About him?"

            "Yes. What can you tell me about him?"

            "Aren't you the daring little sprout."

            "Please, sir."

            "Why should I tell you anything?"

            "Because Professor Kurtz would want you to."

            He thought about that for a moment. Then he quickly looked around the room, up and down, side to side, assuring himself that it was safe to speak. "He is everything to us: poet, painter, visionary. He is what we call the universal genius. He makes us see all things in new ways."

            "Where is he? Can I see him?"

            "No. He will see you. But only if he wants to."

            "You don't understand. I must speak with Professor Kurtz."

            "I'm telling you you shouldn't be in here. Not alone. This can be very scary place. Others like you have gotten lost in here. Get in big trouble, if you know what I mean. Now go!"

            And with that he turned with his mop and pail in hand and quickly walked away, escaping the room by means of a hidden service door. As I watched him scurry away like some two-legged beetle it occurred to me what a fine line it is that separates power and madness, simple obedience and outright submission. With what I admit was a growing fascination I was convinced that in coming to this distant outpost years ago Kurtz had found those very same lines and, for some as yet unknown reason, crossed over them to the other side. And with that came another unsettling thought: if it could happen to a learned man like him, then what about me, indeed what about all of us?

*          *          *

                        Completely set apart and adrift now I carefully rambled through the labyrinth of airy

corridors and strange exhibit halls, in the process getting myself truly lost. As if in the midst of the deepest

jungle the path behind me looked no different than the path in front. Several times I ducked into bathrooms

or around quick corners to narrowly avoid the notice of others, including twice those stern men in the dark

suits. At one point, I admit, I wanted to cry out for my classmates, my teacher, anyone who could rescue

me. But even if they could find me I knew they would never understand what this quest of mine was all

about. So having no other choice I pressed on deeper into the bowels of the great building.

            Descending one floor, then another, I finally came upon a set of large, heavy doors. With all due trepidation, and great physical effort, I opened them just enough to squeeze myself through. Beyond lay a corridor illuminated only by soft red lights. As the doors clanked shut behind me I felt a rush of energy course through me. He was close. Real close.

            At the end of the red corridor I entered yet another room and there I found myself standing on a raised platform with a metal railing and narrow stairs leading into darkness down below. Reaching out in front of me, as best I could tell in the gloomy half-light, was a sunken room in the shape of a large circle. Looking up on the wall above me I could read the bold letters: THE FUTURE OF MAN – KURTZ. At first glance I saw it as just another sign. I looked at it again and this time said the words out loud, and something about them chilled me to the bone.

            "Anybody in here?"

            Hearing nothing in response I walked cautiously to the top of the stairs that led down into the pit. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could make out the shapes of more glass cases, though not their contents. I stepped down to the ground floor and looked all around. It was then that I caught a glimpse – or thought I did – of something moving in the shadows to my right.

            "Who's there," I asked in a weakhearted voice.

            There was an audible click and instantly I was covered with bright lights from high above.

            "Professor Kurtz, is that you?"

            The room remained cold and deathly quiet, save for the low electrical humming of the lights.

            "I know I'm not supposed to be here but I kinda got lost from the rest of my class and—"
            "You are now alone in the wilderness, Mister Marlow."

            It was a strong, almost regal voice that instantly raised the hair on the back of my neck. I didn't even think at the time how it was that this as yet unattached and omniscient presence knew my name.

            "I have been awaiting your arrival," the voice boomed.

            I so wanted to say something profound, but only one word passed my lips in a whisper. "Damn."

            "I knew someone like you would come sooner or later. It was only a matter of time."

            There was a long pause and now I could hear footsteps.

            "I sense that you are a very perceptive young man."

            "And you, sir, are—?"

            "I am Professor Kurtz."

            As if on cue he stepped out into the ring of harsh white light in front of me. Far from what I had expected, his frame was thin and delicate, his immediate appearance was

that of a tired old man, a back-room clerk. His head was shaved and the white coat he wore clung to his stooped shoulders like a sheet on a wire hanger. He avoided my gaze at first, then looked directly at me, almost through me, with an intensity for which mere words could not do justice. If indeed the eyes are the window to the soul then what I saw in his eyes were black chasms of pain and suffering, even misery so deep that I could not fathom their true depth. How cruel it was to see the immense stature of this man held captive in such a withered, worn-out shell.

            "Tell me, what was it that brought you here?" he asked.

            "A bus."

            A flash of anger came to his face and his right hand clenched tight. "Don't play games with me. You know what I'm talking about."

            "Sorry. I came here on a field trip with the rest of my science class, but from the moment I heard that you came from our town…I don't know, I just had this weird feeling that I had to meet you."

            "Do you believe in destiny?"

            "Destiny?"

            "A preordained purpose. A higher calling."

            "I don't know. Maybe."

            "Long ago, when I was still a young man, I found my calling, or thought I did, right here in the heart of the city, within the walls of this museum."

            "That's the part I don't understand. I mean, why? Everything about this place is so dark and depressing."

            He slipped his bony hands into the pockets of his jacket. "The simple answer would be that I was given a job to do. I was sent here to deliver these people from the ravages of their own ignorance. I was to restore this museum and use any and all resources at my disposal to give them knowledge, understanding and wisdom. All such noble pursuits. What I didn't realize until later was the true purpose behind my mission. You see, what was good for the museum was good for this city, and what was good for the city was good for business. That's all that really mattered to my superiors – good business.

            "Me, a man who had dedicated his life and soul to the preservation and pursuit of knowledge in its highest form, was little more than a barker at a carnival. 'Step right up and see the New World. Buy your tickets here.'

            "But as the years went by an even stranger phenomenon began to take place. With few exceptions the people in this place did everything I told them to do, believed everything I told them to believe, without question. In their feeble minds I could do no wrong. Think about it, young Marlow. Think of the power! Those who did dare challenge me on any matter were…dismissed. Those who should have spoken out against me stayed silent. I had it in my power to make the people of this city rethink everything – about their past, their present, ultimately their own future. True or not the facts didn't matter. And the more power I had, the more I wanted. That was all I could think about."

            He lowered his head, a broken man confessing his sins while bathed in a beam of white light. "The sanctity and virtue of knowledge meant nothing any more."            

            It pained me to see a man so broken up and hollowed out by his own dark desires. "Then change it all back," I blurted out. "Just make it right."

            "Come now," he said. "Do you really think it's that simple?"

            The answer, of course, was no. By his own complicity he had laid bare the human condition of lust and greed, not for money but for power, and from that there could be no simple correction. He knew that. And so did I.

            "Then come back home with me."

            He stepped over to an oblong case and ran one hand along the glass. "I belong here now," Kurtz said gravely. "And it won't be long before someone will take my place as Director of the Museum. Maybe even you some day."

            "Me?"

            "The force of destiny brought you to me, made you seek me out. And now only you know the real truth of this place. You would be perfect."

            "But…I can't stay here. I can't."

            "In due time, young man, in due time. You will come to see things differently."

            By now visions of home were flooding my mind and the thought of staying here in this room, this building, this city one minute longer than was necessary filled me with a dread I could not have imagined possible.

            "I want to go home."

            "Very well, young Marlow."

            He stepped back and pressed a button on the wall. Shortly thereafter two of the men in dark suits entered the room and descended the stairs behind me.

            "See to it that he is reunited with his group."

            The next thing I knew they were leading up the stairs and out towards the heavy doors. Before leaving I took one more look down into that pit and saw the back of Kurtz's

white coat vanish into the shadows. And his last words echoed throughout the room: "The horror. The horror."

            My classmates were waiting for me in the entrance hall, gathered around our science teacher, all with the strangest looks on their faces. Seeing me approach with my silent escorts surely had much to do with that. They were afraid to even speak to me, like somehow I wasn't one of them anymore. With little delay our teacher herded us outside and into our shiny yellow bus, itself a welcome sight to us all. And so we began the long journey home. Eventually the open spaces and orange skies of a brilliant sunset came into view, as did the happy dispositions of my classmates. All but me, as I sat looking into their fresh and eager faces with a sad awareness that life would never be the same again.

-end-