Deuce Dharma

February 23, 5:23am
Was that a nightmare or did it really happen? The fecal matter on my arm has solidified but the memories are as fresh as the smell.

I reach toward the side of the bed where my wife sleeps. I hate to wake her, but I just need someone to talk to. She’s not there.

It must be the odor from my arm. I drifted back into a restless sleep, still haunted by what I witnessed just a few hours earlier.

I was already in the neighborhood when I got the call last night. Finishing up a routine investigation at the local depot.

“You’re not going to believe this.” The voice on the other line blurted out before I could answer. “It happened again.” She sobbed. “It happened again.”

I understood what she was telling me, but my heart could not comprehend. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” My mind is racing. The rain is beating down on my car like an angry mob.

I told my wife I wouldn’t go into this neighborhood anymore. It hasn’t been good to me over the years. But I thought it was on the up and up — until that diarrhea explosion from yesterday. That couldn’t really have happened again… could it? I ask myself.

She greets me at the front steps holding an umbrella. “You might want to hold your nose.” She looks worried. That’s like telling a doctor to close his eyes during an exam. I keep that thought to myself.

The scene is worse than I anticipated. Explosive diarrhea trickles down each side of the toilet. It’s not stopping.

“It’s clogged.” I point out to her. “But that’s the least of your problems. How did a fully formed log get smushed into the hall carpet?”

“That’s why we called you.” She looks up at me with trustful expectation. I’m not optimistic.

I reach my arm into the abyss of bubbling diarrhea and pull a sizable wad of toilet paper from the drain. The overflow momentarily pauses.

“We think it might’ve been a copycat defecation.” She looks unsure of her theory.

“What time does your restaurant close?” I prodded, still unsure whether to eliminate her as a suspect.

“We close at 10pm sharp.” Her Chinese accent is thick. “We have five customer near closing time. They order all you can eat buffet.”

I feel sick. That wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.

“My son ask them to scrub the diarrhea before they leave, but they refuse. One of them is responsible for this.” She’s becoming emotional again. “Buddha know what they did. They must pay for the dishonor of my business.”

I take a step towards the urinal. There’s a mysterious pube on the ledge.

“You forget take off your shoes.” She reminds me.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, I forgot.” Even though I made the same mistake yesterday. The ancient Chinese culture of taking off your shoes before walking inside always alludes my memory.

I’m a little embarrassed but she understands my mind is somewhere else.

I toss my shoes next to a a pair of red wooden clogs.

“What does that symbol mean?” I point to a mystical yellow symbol painted on the shoe.

“It’s an ancient proverb from Buddha.” She explains. “It means ‘when you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.’”

“There’s nothing perfect about diarrhea dripping down the wall.” I tell her. She seems to understand what I mean.

“Is this your shoe?” I hold one of the red clogs towards her son.

He looks at his mother as if he’s not sure whether to answer. She gives him a reassuring nod.

“Those are my finest shoes.” He explains. They were given to me by my grandfather. He died in the war.

“Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he saw the turd on the bottom of this exquisite red shoe.” I turn the clog over so he can get a whiff of the gooey brown smear spanning the bottom of the ornate oak sole.

“I’m sure he would also be upset with the fact that you were wearing them inside when you walked out the bathroom door this morning.”

The boy closes his eyes and tilts his head back. His shoulders slump. He looks like he wants to go to sleep and never wake up. But, there’s no escaping this moment. Not right now.

Tears well up in the old woman’s eyes. I recognize those eyes.

She can’t even look at the face of her own child.

I extend my damp arm towards the boy. The boy reluctantly grasps the clog from my crusty brown hand. I catch him studying the tender smudge.

“Always remember this.” I continue. “Three things cannot be long hidden — the sun, the moon, and the truth — and a clogged toilet. You have shamed your family, and you have shamed Buddha.”

The air is thick with the musty odor of swamp ass. A gurgling sound echoes from the toilet. The last of the diarrhea water funnels down the drain. It reminds me of the dwindling love in my marriage.

“I hope I don’t have to hear from you for a while.” I embrace the old woman and squeeze her tight. The diarrhea on my arm feels cool now that it’s begun to dry. “My wife doesn’t want me to come to this neighborhood anymore.”

She looks up at me with a look of ancient wisdom that cannot be explained. “No matter how hard the past, you can always begin again.” She whispers in my ear.

I think she knows she’s speaking for the both of us.

Dave Alexander is Chief Investigator and Lead Detective at www.ShitterSleuth.com.