The Country from Hell
"What the hell was that? Don't you ever pull another stunt like that, ever again!" Maria practically jumps on top of you as you land heavily on the ground. She grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you violently. "I tell everyone how smart you are. You're too noble to fuck off to the West like all the other sluts in this country!"
"I'm not noble," you mumble, feeling incredibly stupid and embarrassed, even though no one but Green Bandit is paying any attention to you. The people in Camo Casip generally have to focus on breathing before they can devote attention to anything or anyone else. The air here is impregnated with a thick metallic presence, inescapable, sinking deeper and deeper into the lungs as long minutes drag themselves across the dusty clock tower. It always seemed appropriate to you that the most oppressed people in Iad should be those who live right in its historic heart, by the great Oak of Camo Casip.
"Let's get going so we can leave this shithole as soon as possible," you say to Green Bandit, glad for the chance to change the subject from you and your frivolity.
Sniffing at the air, Green Bandit pulls out a cigarette.
"You want one? It'll clean out your lungs."
"Fresh air!" you gasp, grabbing a cigarette from her open pack. You share a quiet laugh and then stand for a moment in silence.
Taking you by your free hand, Green Bandit leads you to a tattered map in the middle of the nearly empty town square. A big belch of black smoke billows across the horizon and you take a long drag on your cigarette to avoid the encroaching poison.
"It's just up this path, on the hill, just like in the history books."
"I hope it's not far to walk. I can barely breathe."
You make your way out of the empty town, which ends without any fanfare into a wide field littered with high weeds, Bear Beer cans, and also the occasional hypodermic needle. At least the land mines from the Revolution have all already been detonated. Rumor has it that there are a lot of one-legged gypsies in this area.
Each step becomes more difficult as you make your way slowly up Mintirian Hill. You feel like a pilgrim climbing the cathedral steps on her knees, becoming denser with each painful movement until you are made of the same stone heaviness that surrounds you. Maybe that is the real point of Camo Casip: to sacrifice yourself to the filth, to worship the filth, to become the filth...
"Stop here," Green Bandit says, reaching her arm across your chest and turning you around to view the scene below. You have never seen anything quite so strange. The black smoke mixes with the clouds to form a shiny gray which covers the countryside like a semi-sheer veil. The trees actually appear to sparkle in the distance, inviting you into a dark fairytale country where annihilation is the happy ending. The absolute quiet of the place is broken only by a train whistle calling in the distance.
"What a beautiful country we have," Green Bandit muses, wiping away a tear as she falls prey to a violent coughing fit.
Just as you suspected, the Oak of Camo Casip is nothing to see. Blackened on all sides, it leans sadly against a wooden support that wavers unsteadily in the wind. You wonder how long the tree has been dead and just how they keep it from disintegrating entirely.
"Look here," says Green Bandit, taking her notebook from her bag as she points to a large stone plaque on the ground in front of the tree. Peering over the tall weeds that obstruct it, you read:
You yawn. Green Bandit walks slowly around the tree, taking copious notes. A pensioner follows her, no doubt to hassle her about the camera that she doesn't have. After all, one never knows for whom one isn't taking pictures...Behind you, you hear a sad little violin and an accordion playing the National Anthem.
"Awaken, oh Iadian, from your deathlike sleep!" the accordionist sings sweetly. The scene is almost becoming pleasant when you feel a fat oily raindrop land right on the center of your head. The wetness immediately brings forth an overwhelming stench from the earth.
"It smells like shit! Can we go now?"
"Just a minute," Green Bandit replies curtly, scribbling furiously in her notebook. A steady dull drizzle has now begun and the music ceases abruptly. As the sky darkens, the Oak turns black, gesticulating angrily in the rain. You hear a roll of thunder over the hills, accompanied by that same mournful train whistle. Your breath catches in your throat as the black demon tree tries to lift its roots from the rancid earth.
Just then, a telephone rings.
"What the fuck!" exclaims Green Bandit, tossing her soggy notebook into her bag in order to dig for the battered old mobile phone. Her general rule is that no one is allowed to call her because she doesn't actually have any money to pay for minutes. She keeps it with her mostly for emergencies. Looking at the phone, she furls her eyebrows in confusion. "This is coming from your house!" she yells to you through the downpour.
The whole sky is instantly illuminated in a flash of daylight which yields instantly to a still deeper night.
"We need to get the fuck out of here!" you yell, grabbing Green Bandit by the hand and pulling her down the hill with you at a full sprint. Slipping over the oily grass and refuse, you think you can make out a faint light in the fog. Veering towards the light, you can finally make out a neon sign blinking the words, "Cozy Camo". It's a bar. Lord in heaven, it's a bar.
Just as the two of you stumble through the doorway into the warm interior light, the black omen phone starts to ring again.
"It's your house," Maria states somewhat blankly, avoiding your eyes. In one of his more sober moments, your father had once asked Green Bandit for her number so he could get in touch with you in case anything horrible happened at home while you were out. In case anything horrible...
You look away from the phone and into the long low-ceilinged room. The gypsies from the hill have already struck up a tune inside, and you find that you want nothing more than to sit down with a custia under the bright Iadian flags lining the walls. The accordionist smiles in your direction as he sings a happy folk song about strawberries growing in a sunny field. The phone stops ringing. Immediately, it starts to ring again. You don't want to know, you just don't want to know...
"I'm not noble," you mumble, feeling incredibly stupid and embarrassed, even though no one but Green Bandit is paying any attention to you. The people in Camo Casip generally have to focus on breathing before they can devote attention to anything or anyone else. The air here is impregnated with a thick metallic presence, inescapable, sinking deeper and deeper into the lungs as long minutes drag themselves across the dusty clock tower. It always seemed appropriate to you that the most oppressed people in Iad should be those who live right in its historic heart, by the great Oak of Camo Casip.
"Let's get going so we can leave this shithole as soon as possible," you say to Green Bandit, glad for the chance to change the subject from you and your frivolity.
Sniffing at the air, Green Bandit pulls out a cigarette.
"You want one? It'll clean out your lungs."
"Fresh air!" you gasp, grabbing a cigarette from her open pack. You share a quiet laugh and then stand for a moment in silence.
Taking you by your free hand, Green Bandit leads you to a tattered map in the middle of the nearly empty town square. A big belch of black smoke billows across the horizon and you take a long drag on your cigarette to avoid the encroaching poison.
"It's just up this path, on the hill, just like in the history books."
"I hope it's not far to walk. I can barely breathe."
You make your way out of the empty town, which ends without any fanfare into a wide field littered with high weeds, Bear Beer cans, and also the occasional hypodermic needle. At least the land mines from the Revolution have all already been detonated. Rumor has it that there are a lot of one-legged gypsies in this area.
Each step becomes more difficult as you make your way slowly up Mintirian Hill. You feel like a pilgrim climbing the cathedral steps on her knees, becoming denser with each painful movement until you are made of the same stone heaviness that surrounds you. Maybe that is the real point of Camo Casip: to sacrifice yourself to the filth, to worship the filth, to become the filth...
"Stop here," Green Bandit says, reaching her arm across your chest and turning you around to view the scene below. You have never seen anything quite so strange. The black smoke mixes with the clouds to form a shiny gray which covers the countryside like a semi-sheer veil. The trees actually appear to sparkle in the distance, inviting you into a dark fairytale country where annihilation is the happy ending. The absolute quiet of the place is broken only by a train whistle calling in the distance.
"What a beautiful country we have," Green Bandit muses, wiping away a tear as she falls prey to a violent coughing fit.
Just as you suspected, the Oak of Camo Casip is nothing to see. Blackened on all sides, it leans sadly against a wooden support that wavers unsteadily in the wind. You wonder how long the tree has been dead and just how they keep it from disintegrating entirely.
"Look here," says Green Bandit, taking her notebook from her bag as she points to a large stone plaque on the ground in front of the tree. Peering over the tall weeds that obstruct it, you read:
HERE STANDS THE GREAT OAK OF CAMO CASIP
CENTER OF IADIAN FERTILITY, MIGHTY IADIAN RACE!
LET ONLY THE HEROES OF THE LAND BEHOLD YOUR GLORY
THE SPIRITS OF THOSE WHO PERISHED FIGHTING CAPITALISM!
THUS IS THE IADIAN, THUS IS THE MIGHTY OAK
UNITE, COMRADES, AND MAKE OF YOUR SONS GREAT PATRIOTS!
Dedicated 9 May, 1978
CENTER OF IADIAN FERTILITY, MIGHTY IADIAN RACE!
LET ONLY THE HEROES OF THE LAND BEHOLD YOUR GLORY
THE SPIRITS OF THOSE WHO PERISHED FIGHTING CAPITALISM!
THUS IS THE IADIAN, THUS IS THE MIGHTY OAK
UNITE, COMRADES, AND MAKE OF YOUR SONS GREAT PATRIOTS!
Dedicated 9 May, 1978
You yawn. Green Bandit walks slowly around the tree, taking copious notes. A pensioner follows her, no doubt to hassle her about the camera that she doesn't have. After all, one never knows for whom one isn't taking pictures...Behind you, you hear a sad little violin and an accordion playing the National Anthem.
"Awaken, oh Iadian, from your deathlike sleep!" the accordionist sings sweetly. The scene is almost becoming pleasant when you feel a fat oily raindrop land right on the center of your head. The wetness immediately brings forth an overwhelming stench from the earth.
"It smells like shit! Can we go now?"
"Just a minute," Green Bandit replies curtly, scribbling furiously in her notebook. A steady dull drizzle has now begun and the music ceases abruptly. As the sky darkens, the Oak turns black, gesticulating angrily in the rain. You hear a roll of thunder over the hills, accompanied by that same mournful train whistle. Your breath catches in your throat as the black demon tree tries to lift its roots from the rancid earth.
Just then, a telephone rings.
"What the fuck!" exclaims Green Bandit, tossing her soggy notebook into her bag in order to dig for the battered old mobile phone. Her general rule is that no one is allowed to call her because she doesn't actually have any money to pay for minutes. She keeps it with her mostly for emergencies. Looking at the phone, she furls her eyebrows in confusion. "This is coming from your house!" she yells to you through the downpour.
The whole sky is instantly illuminated in a flash of daylight which yields instantly to a still deeper night.
"We need to get the fuck out of here!" you yell, grabbing Green Bandit by the hand and pulling her down the hill with you at a full sprint. Slipping over the oily grass and refuse, you think you can make out a faint light in the fog. Veering towards the light, you can finally make out a neon sign blinking the words, "Cozy Camo". It's a bar. Lord in heaven, it's a bar.
Just as the two of you stumble through the doorway into the warm interior light, the black omen phone starts to ring again.
"It's your house," Maria states somewhat blankly, avoiding your eyes. In one of his more sober moments, your father had once asked Green Bandit for her number so he could get in touch with you in case anything horrible happened at home while you were out. In case anything horrible...
You look away from the phone and into the long low-ceilinged room. The gypsies from the hill have already struck up a tune inside, and you find that you want nothing more than to sit down with a custia under the bright Iadian flags lining the walls. The accordionist smiles in your direction as he sings a happy folk song about strawberries growing in a sunny field. The phone stops ringing. Immediately, it starts to ring again. You don't want to know, you just don't want to know...