'Nope. What's it mean?'
'It means I'm cooking with gas. I don't know what the hell it means, but I feel good. I feel positive. I sense the vibrations. I've been getting more fiber in my diet. Got that drink?'
'There's wine.'
Carney reached for the bottle and took a drink. 'Excuse me,' he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, 'but I have to keep a certain blood-level up.'
'John, you've been drinking. You never drink, very much.'
'Dutch courage.'
'There's going to be a fight?'
'There's gonna be a battle of epic proportions. Dionysus meets Godzilla, plus selected foreshortened subjects. I wish I could get you out of here.'
'Three minutes,' Tweel said, staring up at the clock. He looked extremely worried.
'You have to do something, John,' Helen said.
'Take it easy. Want a drink?'
'No.' She sat on the settee. 'He asked me to marry him.'
'What was your answer.'
'I said yes. It was a qualified yes, though.'
'Do you love him?'
'That's always the question, isn't it? It's a question I can never answer. I wonder if I can love anybody.'
'You can if you love life. Existence.'
'Maybe I don't,' she said. 'I'm frightened of life sometimes.'
'Aren't we all, sometimes. Videlicet, the present moment.'
'Maybe I don't love life.'
'Well, you can learn. But this is hardly the time for deep discussion.' Carney took another drink, then looked at her. 'What are you thinking of?'
'Being back home, in Illinois. Sometimes I get homesick.'
'What did you do to support yourself back there?'
'I worked in a cracker factory. Nights, I sang in speaks. Real dives. In one of them the dancers went bare- breasted.'
'Cracker factory?'
'Yes, snack foods, that sort of thing.'
'What did you do?'
'I was a taste tester. But I quit to come here.'
He took her chin. 'Was this the face that munched a thousand chips and spurned the topless bars of Illinois?'
'That's me.'
'All is gross that ain't you, Helen.'
'John.' She kissed him tenderly.
He said, 'One kiss from you and I'll be Methuselah.'
'Two minutes,' Tweel said, his eyes still on the clock. Beads of sweat had appeared on his brow, tiny drops, a film of worry and fear.
The house began perceptibly to shake.
Carney said, 'Sit tight and try not to be scared.' He patted her hand.
He got up and paced the room, now and then lifting the bottle to his lips. He examined the paintings, the expensive vases, statuary, and other objets d'art.
'One minute. One minute to live. O gods. Uncle Incarnadine, save me!'
'Stay calm, kid.'
Earthquake tremors shook the house. Paintings fell from the wall, vases toppled, and shelving collapsed, spilling fine limited editions all over the floor. Furniture began an eerie dance, shifting positions.
Carney lifted Velma off the couch and brought her to a corner of the room near Helen. He beckoned to Helen and had her sit in the corner, holding on to Velma. He moved a heavy Chippendale highboy in front of them.
'Thirty seconds! Gods save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to burn in Hell forever!'
Tweel was on his knees before the clock, fists at the sides of his head, his eyes shut against the terrible moment about to come.
To the sounds of cracking boards and splintering wood, the floor split down the middle, creating a wide chasm into which rugs, furniture, and lamps plunged. Flames leaped from the abyss. The hole went down to the basement and farther, into a deep pit that was the source of the searing fire. Smoke and sulfurous fumes rose.
Carney threw the wine bottle into the hole. He stood at the edge and unzipped his fly.
Tweel was still on his knees, staring with horror into the Avernean depths, mouth agape. The flames lit his terrified eyes, but he could not avert his gaze from what was in the pit.
'Oh! Is it ugly! Oh, close it up, close it up!'
The smoke and fire coalesced into a form hideous beyond description, but its human lineaments were discernible.
The ugly thing jabbed a taloned finger at Tweel.
'You, shit-breath! Get your ass down here, now!'
A pale yellow stream arched past the thing's face.
'Hey… what the bleeding blazes…?'
Carney stood in blissful relief, emptying his bladder into the internal conflagration.
'You, there! Just what in Hades do you think you're doing?'
Carney said. 'When you gotta go…'
Thick clouds of steam began to rise from the hellflame below. They billowed to the crumbling ceiling and filled the room.
'Now, just a damned minute. You just can't go whipping it out and whizzing wherever your fancy pleases. People live down here!'
'Yeah, they're going to be all upset about a little pee water. Spoil their day, it will.'
'That's not the point. The point is you don't casually piss on somebody's property. What if I came over to your game room and took a dump on your pool table?'
Carney grunted pleasurably. 'You know, when it's like this, after holding off so long, it's almost as good as an orgasm. Know what I mean?'
The steam roiled up in puffy white clouds, obscuring the fiendish apparition. Carney continued his evacuation, playing the stream in fancy filigrees across the chasm.
At length, he was drained to the dregs. A few last spasmodic spurts, and he was done. He repacked himself and zipped up.
It took a while for the steam to clear. The flames were gone. Nothing was in the pit but sooty, steaming rock, reeking acridly.
The apparition was partially dispersed, but still had voice.
'Son of a bitch! It'll take a thousand years to restart those furnaces! If they start at all! We might have to replace them!'
'Easy installments, no payments till spring.'
'Okay, pal, we got your name, and we know where you live. You think you're big stuff? Well, think again. This won't be the last time this abyss gapes before you.'
'Abyssinia.'
The infernal specter vanished. Faint smoke rose from the pit, carrying a smell like a four-mile-wide kitty-litter box.
Tweel staggered to his feet. He came to the edge of the abyss and looked down. 'They're gone. They're really gone.' He looked up. 'You did it, John. You pissed on the flames of Hell. It was epic. Homeric!'
'Have any more wine?'
