Codename Prague (21 page)

Ekphrasis. Translation: representation. Translation: something that stands
for something else.

Translation: code.

To name a code is to further encode a code. A code needs to be The Unnamable. The disappearance of identity and the self is the first step to decoding the code. The ensuing steps progress in an infinite regression.

Somewhere beyond the spacetime continuum, the actions of one man will contain the code of the postreal, postfuturistic, posthuman condition. That man will not be an everyman. Nor will he be a superman. Nor will the code that his actions contain be the stuff of legend.

1111

Untitled Prague Rejektion Letter

(on Marvin the Martian Letterhead)

[Address
]

Dear Mr Anvil
-
in
-
Chief Vincent
“
Codename
”
Prague:

We have spoken to the producers of
Cats
in the Former Czech Republik and collectively decided to liquidate your position as Anvil
-
in
-
Chief. At your earliest convenience, please turn in your body to the nearest MAP way station for processing and (dis)integration. As of the present moment
—
i.e. the moment you lay eyes on this document (i.e. right now)
—
you no longer exist. Please do not mistake this abrupt transition to nonexistence as a figurative reality. I assure you that it is a literal reality. You are neither here nor there. We certainly do not know, acknowledge, or regard you as a person, robot, alien, black man, or inanimate object. Thus this letter does not exist because one cannot write something to a nonexistent person, etc.

On behalf of the MAP, we would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your service, hard work, etc. Best of luck to you. Keep in touch!

Yours,

Ron

Commodore Ronald Rabelais

General Assistant Managerial Choreographer of Mortal Affairs

Department of Anthropologism

Ministry of Applied Pressure

Klamm Central

Slaughterhouse $#
@
%?
*
&!

P.O. Box
•

City City, State 83

USAmerika

1517

The Death of Doktor Hermann Teufelsdröchk

“One day
—
I shall make all the universe wild and primitive! I shall destroy all the civilized planets!
^[19]
…Did I say that? Am I the man who said that thing? Or am I just a medium through which some liminal patriarch has articulated his ultimate desire? This makes sense. Nobody says
shall
anymore…But no. I am not a medium. I am a plagiarist.
I am plagiarism incarnate
.”

Dr Teufelsdröchk sprinkled a pinch of garlic salt on his tongue. He closed his mouth. The taste of the garlic salt slowly disappeared into his tongue-flesh as he reflected on and measured the content of his dialogue.

The Ugly and Untruth monsters lifted their guns and blew two holes in Dr Teufelsdröchk’s chest.

<<>>

[Another extended description of Dr T’s laboratory. Focus on various Spencer’s Gifts items (e.g. plasma spheres). Background melody: Freddy Mercury megamix or incidental music from Snoop Doggy Dogg’s “Doggy Dogg World.” Dr T = Rotwang ~ Loss of Hel + Failure to Become Top Chef. He hunches over a futuristic-looking gas range preparing comfort food. Enter Ugly and Untruth monsters. They startle him. Dress them like the assassins at the end of Kafka’s
The Trial
. Ref. the introductory paragraph to the last chapter, “The End”: “On the evening before K’s thirty-first birthday
—
it was about nine o’clock, the time when a hush falls on the streets
—
two men came to his lodging. In frock coats, pallid and plump, with top hats that were apparently irremovable” (223).]

“Where are my assistants?” said the doktor. He wore an old velvet robe with his initials stitched onto the lapel.

“Are we our brothers’ keepers?” said the monsters in unison.

“They’re not your brothers, Cain. They’re your makers. They’re your parents.”

“My father was an etc. etc. etc.,” said the Untruth monster. “Ergo:
—
” It ran a palm across its face and produced a vacant expression.

Dr Teufelsdröchk stirred a pan of chopped morels and scallions with a spatula, then added a bowl of shredded [???]. He worked the [???] around the pan…dash of spices…splash of white wine. He took a long sip from the bottle. “Gewürztraminer. Not a bad year. But I can tell that somebody has shit on the grapes. Just a hint of shit, mind you. But I can taste it. Never trust a German grape stomper.”

“We have come here to murder you,” said the Untruth monster.

“We have come here to murder you,” repeated the Ugly monster.

“Where are my assistants?” repeated the doktor.

[Smartassed remark here that rivals the tone of Billy Zane’s ultrabourgeois alpha male in
Titanic
.]

Dr Teufelsdröchk turned around. He loosened his robe and exposed himself. “Very well.” [Image of Leo DiCaprio whooping at the fore of the ship.] “So my beloved Truth and Beauty have effekted greener pastures. God bless them.”

The assistant monsters traded vacant expressions.

[Repeat the first three paragraphs of the chapter.]

“Ah, that hurts me, sirs,” said Dr Teufelsdröchk in a detached French accent. “Well. You got me, as they say. There’s certainly no question about it. Indeed no.” Dull red mud emptied from the wounds in a stream of claymation. He made no effort to plug them. “It’s better this way. I am not an old man. But I have never wanted to be an old man. Thank you dearly for fulfilling my wildest desire. Ha!” He looked at his wounds and outlined them with trembling fingers. His robe slipped off his shoulders.

The assistant monsters shot him again. One shot hit him in the navel and his stomach and intestines sprayed out of his back onto the cooking range. The other shot blew off half of his head.

Dr Teufelsdröchk didn’t fall down. He sort of marched in place, gesticulating with the spatula and making crude choking noises. An eyeball hung onto his cheek like a dead treefrog. Again and again he tried to push the eyeball back into its socket with his free hand. But the socket wasn’t there.

[Continue to describe the gory details of Dr T’s murder. The assistant monsters shoot him a few more times. Finally Dr T falls onto the range and catches fire. The fire spreads throughout the kitchen, etc. FINAL
MISE EN SCÈNE
: The assistant monsters exit the smoking entrance of Dr T’s “lair,” amble across a vast prairie and vanish into a distant bed of sunflowers.]

66.799

The Nowhere Incident

Nobody seemed to know who Vincent Prague was anymore. Nobody had asked him for an autograph in…how long? So long he had almost forgotten his name. He touched his face to make sure he wasn’t wearing a mask.

He recalled the incident that made him famous…

[FLASHBACK: Dialogue between CNP and The Nowhere Man (TNM). Prelude to the climactic/originary scikungfi fight in the novel.]

[TNM as a distant relative of Mister Nobody (see pg. 208 of
The DC Comics Encyclopedia
). Explain…TNM has the unique ability to exist nowhere and everywhere at once, i.e., he can project his psyche (nowhere) onto the spatial plane of reality (everywhere)…TNM as a wax figure (see 2nd entry in
Passagenwerk
chapter). Whenever he appears, speaks, etc., there is a dull screeching sound in the background…Show how CNP’s preoccupation with the impossibility of the assassination of TNM pathologizes him. He is haunted by TNM’s semiotic ghost.]

They discussed the possibility of chess to settle the score. Then they discarded the idea. Both Prague and The Nowhere Man could see thousands of moves into the future. They might be playing for years.

[FIGHT: Each martial artist brandishes a flashy sci-fi weapon, says he doesn’t need it, and tosses it aside. They do this for hours before engaging in hand-to-hand combat, which only lasts for half a minute before they revert to weaponry. Long stylized scikungfi battle. At one point TNM dares CNP to fight him with a savage, large-breasted woman slung over his shoulder. He returns the dare. The fight continues…pause. The combatants retire to the bushes. They emerge twenty or so minutes later smoking cigars. Resume fight…Then, unexpectedly, CNP beats TNM via a strong grip on TNM’s wrist (ref.
Beowulf
)…How does TNM die?]

[Metanarrational elements. Something about science fiction. Mention Gernsback and/or Campbell?]

[How do I account for the chapter being a negative number?]

[Cram chapter with authorial notes in brackets. And yet keep the chapter under 500 words.]

[End w/anecdotal fragment: “In an alternate diegesis, CNP was a town crier, which is to say, he was the only person in the town who could cry because everybody else’s tear ducts had dried out. He stood in the town square, weeping, and the villagers worshipped his false sorrow like a true deity…]

#

Codename Prague

Commodore Rabelais faded onto the screen in monochrome stop-motion animation. He stood in his office with hands folded. Behind him, beside him—the corpses of SAMSAs and janitors.

“
Narrative of the Life of Codename Prague
,” he said. “There should have been more sex scenes in this narrative. There was only one, by my reckoning. It was an anal sex scene, and that’s a step in the right direction. But it’s one measly step.”

Gray bolts of static moved up and down the screen. Prague rapped his knuckles against the console. The static disappeared, then came back twice as strong.

“Where the hell are you, Vinnie?” said Rabelais. “I can barely see you.”

“You know where I am. I’m in outer space. I’m in a spaceship. Zero gravity, motherfucker.” Prague’s voice echoed for miles, bouncing down the corridor of the unmanned freighter he had stowed away on. He didn’t know where the freighter was going. The nearest black hole, for all he cared. He needed a vacation. A terminal vacation.
 
The Ides of Misanthropy commanded it. He had no hard feelings. Live long enough, and one of two things killed you: cancer or the hatred of mankind.

“I can see that much,” replied Rabelais as Prague floated onscreen, offscreen, onscreen, offscreen…

“What’s with the dead meat?”

Rabelais peered around the office. He stomped on a body that wouldn’t surrender its reflexes. “I ran out of androids. I’m waiting for the MAP to replenish my supply. Sometimes they take awhile.
Elend ist ich
. But it’s not the end of the world.”

Long pause. Prague floated counterclockwise until he was upside-down in the corridor. Rabelais smirked.

“One day,” Prague whispered, “I shall make all the universe wild and primitive. I shall destroy all the civilized planets.”
^[20]

“What? What? I can’t hear you.”

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“Explanation? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Vinnie. Spell it out for me. Treat me like a child.”

“I always do.” He closed his eyes, listening to the flow of Victory martini juice through his veins. If only he could afford Hammer blood. Things might have turned out differently…He opened his eyes. “Why did you torture me?”

“Torture you? The MAP tortures everybody, young man. Being employed by the MAP doesn’t exempt you from being abused by the MAP. That goes for any legitimate Amerikan bizwax. It’s common sense. How long have you been in space? How long have you been alone? Outer space and a lonesome dove
—
not a good combination.”

Prague put a gun to his head. “What was the purpose of my mission?”

“Purpose of your mission? That’s none of your business. That’s nobody’s business. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Tell me again.”

A SAMSA shuffled onscreen. He looked innocently at Prague, then at the stiffs, then at Rabelais. “You, uh, wanted to see me, sir?” he said.

Rabaleis jumped on the SAMSA and strangled him to death, screaming, “Let me strangle you! Let me strangle you! Let me strangle you!” The SAMSA let him.

Rabelais stood and brushed off his suit. He undid his tie and gripped each end. “The purpose of your mission was to send you on a wild goose chase,” he announced. “Period. At the same time, the purpose of your mission was
not
to send you on a wild goose chase, which is to say, your mission was to take certain premeditated actions that resulted in certain inevitable effekts. Either way the mission tells a story. In the end, that’s all that matters. That’s all people are interested in. Narrative. The fiction of everyday life.”