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[Synopsis: SuperJew has enlisted the services of a santeria priest in his mission to retrieve the ten-foot solid gold Falasha Bagel for Mayor Bloomberg.]
“I dispose of an internet the same as you, but it’s an internet of the spirit world.” The man turned his attention to the note. He examined the handwriting, held the paper up to the light of a candle, and, rolling it up, passed it beneath his nose like a cigar afecionado. After spending a moment in contemplation, he said, “This is written by a disturbed person who is harboring very destructive intentions.”
“Do you think you can determine the identity of this individual, Señor?” asked SuperJew.
“Certainly,” said Señor Katz. “I knew who it was the moment I touched the note. I have only gotten this vibration once before in my life.
“One time, before I received the call to evangelize, I was in the DR, racing motorcycles. One night, while I was gambling in the casino in Sosúa, I observed this person, Smucklevitch by name. The vibration he transmitted was very distinct. It was a vibration of death and destruction, though on this occasion he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, sitting at a table with a group of young women and drinking $500 a bottle Cristal champagne.
“I’ll never forget the emotion of impending doom emanating from the man, which was even more distinct when he smiled or laughed. It was a premonition of cataclysm.
“He claimed to be a diamond trader from Israel, and when the time came to pay the bill, he tipped the waitress by giving her a diamond.
“Would you like to contact him?” asked Señor Katz.
“How would that be possible?” asked SuperJew.
“Through the assistance of my assistant, Maritza Santana, a tenth generation psychic on both sides of her family. She can contact any living person, and many who are no longer living.”
“Well, if it’s possible, certainly.”
Señor Katz called the young woman back into the room and instructed her in Spanish what was required of her. She immediately began to disrobe.
“Whoa, wait a moment!” cried Mitzvah Man. “What’s going on here?”
Señor Katz said, “The ceremony requires her to be nude.”
“Well, I can’t possibly be in the room with an unclothed woman who is not my wife. It’s against my religion.”
SuperJew, visibly annoyed, confronted his assistant. “Then I suggest you get out of New York and move to Rockland County, where you can save only fully clothed people. What are you going to say if you have to fly into a building and save people from a raging fire?” He mimicked the younger man, “I can’t save you because you don’t have any clothes on!” Turning to Señor Katz, SuperJew complained, “The younger generation, what a bunch of nerds!”
“I’ll just wait outside,” Mitzvah Man said meekly, and he left the room.
SuperJew said, “It’s getting harder and harder to find qualified help these days. Let’s proceed.”
The young lady climbed onto a table and Señor Katz surrounded her with burning candles. He put on a long robe and a crown of thorns, sprinkled rose petals on her body and, taking a swig of rum from a bottle, sprayed the rum all over the girl from his mouth. Handing the bottle to SuperJew, Señor Katz said, “Now you drink.”
SuperJew drank from the bottle. “What do I do now?” he asked.
“Nothing. That wasn’t part of the ceremony. I just thought you might like a drink.” Señor Katz lit a cigar and blew the smoke on the woman’s body. He put on a cassette of drum music and recited a long liturgy of incantation in Latin, Spanish and Yoruba.
The atmosphere in the room, permeated by rum and cigar smoke, became otherworldly. Abruptly, Señor Katz leaned over the young woman and screamed into her face, as you would talk into a speaker phone:
“Schmucklevitch, I summon you! Emerge from the shadows and confront your pursuers!”
The woman began to speak, but instead of her high-pitch, sing-song voice came the gruff, guttural intonations of a middle-eastern man. “Who dares to disturb the repose of Laughing Schmucko?”
Señor Katz turned and beckoned to SuperJew. “Here, speak to your man.”
SuperJew approached and spoke into the girl’s face. “¡Oye, Schmucko! This is SuperJew. Return the Falasha Bagel and turn yourself in to the authorities, and I’ll do everything in my power to assist in your rehabilitation.”
“How can you rehabilitate a man who has lost his soul?” screamed Laughing Schmucko. “My grandparents were scarred by the Holocaust. Their house in Israel was a mausoleum where no sunlight was permitted to enter. My mother, who was so disturbed from growing up in a tomb, hanged herself in her apartment, and when my father came home and found her hanging he jumped off the balcony and killed himself.
“I grew up in an institution where the other children hated me and mocked me unmercifully. I became a nuclear engineer, and while I worked at Israel’s nuclear program at Dimona I ate a matzoh that had become contaminated by radiation. Instead of killing me, it invested me with superhuman powers.
“I take this as a signal from God that my mission is to exact revenge on the gentile race, and now I possess the engine of my revenge, the Falasha Bagel.
“At the stroke of midnight tonight all the dead souls of the Holocaust will emerge through the hole of the Falasha Bagel and destroy all the gentiles of the world.!
“Only then will I be at peace.”
“Schmucko, you’re a sick person. Ninety-nine percent of the gentiles of the world never had anything to do with the Holocaust. I come from a world where all the Jews were destroyed in a flood of boiling borsht and I’m not bitter.”
“SuperJew, you’re a cool guy. Why don’t you join forces with me and together we can rule the world?”
“Get the hell out of here, you criminal. I intend to retrieve the Falasha Bagel for Mayor Bloomberg and consign your sorry Hebrew ass to prison or a psychiatric facility. I’m not here strictly to save Jews, but to go to the assistance of all deserving people. The only way to bring glory to the Jewish people is to serve all of universal humanity.”
“Well, if that’s the case, SuperJew, you have made your decision. After the demons of the Holocaust wipe out all the goyim, then I will personally decimate you, their turncoat defender. I just obliterate people and leave it up to God to calibrate the distinctions. Over and Out!”
“Fuck you, ya’ moron!” SuperJew turned to Señor Katz. “No point in negotiating any further with this imbecile. Bring the girl out of her trance.” He reached in his pocket. “Here’s a contribution for you to continue your good work.”
“Gracias. Siempre à la orden, SuperJew.”
SuperJew walked out into the bright sunlight of Dykeman Street, where he was met by Mitzvah Man on the sidewalk.
“So…..?” inquired the Dreadlocked Defender.
“So nothing. The guy’s a nut job who wants to waste all of humanity. He’s ready to level all the great marvels of civilization because he’s had personal tragedy. We have eight hours to retake possession of the Falasha Bagel or the world will be reduced to a Salvador Dali tableau of desolation.”
Before he was able to issue instructions to his acolyte, SuperJew’s attention was distracted by the waving pink handkerchief of his most ardent female admirer.
“Yoo-hoo, SuperJew, it’s me, Lois Latke!”
“How did she find you all the way up in Inwood?” asked Mitzvah Man.
“That woman has a divining rod that points toward money. A long time ago I dated her for a while, and now getting rid of her is like trying to pry off a glue trap that’s stuck to your shoe. If she thinks she going to trap me into becoming a money-grubbing prick to set up her and her family to the nth generation, she’s CRAZY!”
Mitzvah Man regarded SuperJew with the crooked, confused expression of a person who has been totally let down and disappointed. “You know, you’re not like your image at all.”
“Oh yeah, what’s my image, a freakin’ Boy Scout in tights? I’ve been rescuing New Yorkers for twenty-five years and I’ve learned some hard lessons along the way.
“Sometimes you go to a person’s rescue only to find that they’ve instigated a criminal situation that went wrong and now they’re in mortal danger.
“Or they figure I’m loaded and try to drag me into court on a nuisance lawsuit. ‘I got whiplash when SuperJew saved my bus from going over the bridge!’
“You know how many paternity suits I’ve had to respond to? ‘SuperJew es el papá de mi baby.’
Listen, kid, the reason that I’m a superhero and that you’re a superhero is not out of a benevolent love of humanity, but because there’s no other way for us to express our talents. What else would you do, play baseball? They’ll start screaming, ‘He’s on steroids!’ Be a movie star? They got computer animation and special effects that can beat anything you can think of.
“No, saving people in distress is the only job description that fits our qualifications, otherwise we’d have to hide our talents and ride the subway to some shit job every day of our lives. And then, when you get old and you haven’t fulfilled any of your youthful potentialities, you could sit in a wheelchair in the Hebrew Hospital Home and say, ‘What a fool I was not to give it my best shot!’
“So when you get down to it, being a superhero is a selfish act like every other human endeavor.”
[TO BE CONTINUED]
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Posted on 7/16/2006
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