Chapter 42: Jerry X Homer

Jerry looked out at the remains of Storm Lake. He thought it was very appropriate, how he had started in Iowa, just as he was now about to finish it. Soon they would usher in a new world. Officially, that was. Unofficially life had never been the same in this country since the Great Blackout. The Rainbow Shirts, and others like them, had long been in denial about just how badly the country had been fractured. To them lawsuits and sports games were just the antiquated versions of open warfare.

Of course, it wasn't like the old world had been much to be proud of either. Jerry thought of his own sordid life story just often enough to not lose focus of why he had been fighting for so long for the destruction of all these distant people and concepts. Jerry hated them all, deservedly so. But he still harbored a fear of hating for the wrong reasons. Destroy what needed to be destroyed, Jerry thought. He could let more positive-minded people worry about putting it back together again.

"Don't move," said a distant voice. "Hands up in the air. Turn around slowly."

Jerry did as he was ordered. He couldn't but smirk when he saw who it was.

"Well if it isn't my old friend Homer Ikari," said Jerry, slowly approaching. "We had good times together back in Chicago didn't we?"

Homer was cold and quiet. Jerry observed that Homer had an electric powered gun. Cognizant of the danger of the situation, Jerry tried to stifle himself to avoid laughing too loudly.

"Shut up!" said Homer.

"I'm sorry, it's just...are you actually going to try to shoot me with that?" said Jerry, tears forming in his eyes. "Does it even have any charge left?"

"Enough to kill you," said Homer.

"Why hasn't it already happened then? asked Jerry. "Wait, wait, let me guess...you have no way of proving I'm really Jerry Shankar do you? As far as the Rainbow Shirts are concerned, you probably just murdered an innocent indigenous tour guide."

"I said shut up!" said Homer, hands locked on to his weapon.

"You need my story," said Jerry. "You need proof. Well lucky you. It happens that I'm in a reflective mood. I'll tell you everything you need to know old chap, provided you lower that gun."

After a long moment of hesitation, Homer seemed no closer to lowering his weapon, though he still wouldn't say a word. They were interrupted by the arrival of a sudden flock of birds. Hundreds of black little things, all moving as if they were in a swarm. They alighted on the grass right in front of Jerry and Homer's still forms, swirling up and down before finally deciding to leave. Homer was so shocked he lowered his weapon, just in resignation. Jerry lowered his arms, mainly to press a certainly obscured button, and then placed them behind his back, walking forward.

"A fan of holy omens, eh?" said Jerry.

"I just..." said Homer. "Birds. It's been so long since I've seen birds. I thought they were..."

"Dead!" said Jerry, swiftly putting his hands up in the air at the same time Homer brought his weapon back up. "It really is remarkable, actually, how easy the other animals can bounce back when us humans aren't in the picture anymore. You wouldn't know of course. You're from the East Coast. I imagine you've eaten nearly every mangy animal that's dared to show its face in your bloated, overpopulated hellscape."

"We have peace," said Homer.

"You have death," said Jerry. "And that's all you've ever had. Aren't you curious what I'm doing here? At Storm Lake?"

"What lake?" asked Homer. "I don't see any lake."

"Of course you don't," said Jerry. "After the Great Blackout the people here drank it. Most of them died, since Storm Lake was horribly polluted and not safe. But those were crazy times. People did crazy things. They still do. The East Coast hasn't changed much mostly because people like you don't want to let it. Not that this makes things any less crazy you know."

Homer lowered his gun. Jerry lowered his arms. His expression was dead serious now. Homer was so used to Jerry's mocking tone the effect of his sincerity was disarming.

"The fiasco at Storm Lake," said Jerry, "is ironically enough, the main reason why Iowa's actually a pretty decent place to live right now. The people here were panicked. They turned to survivalists for guidance. In other states this created as many problems as it solved, because survivalists are nuts. What made Iowa different was that they had a charismatic leader, someone who was willing to work behind the scenes, outside the glory, to give people something functional without demanding bizarre sacrifice in the process."

"Some hero," said Homer. "Was it you?"

"Not even close," said Jerry, with a wry laugh. "It was Jill Smith."

Jerry beckoned Homer over to the lake's vantage point. True to form, it was just a giant hole in the ground. Maybe a few puddles here and there, from passing rain, but for the most part drained out.

"I actually came here because of her," said Jerry. "It took me awhile to realize she was the reason, though. People only talk about her in terms of rumor. And it's not like there were a whole lot of immigrants either. I came here solely on the strength of the optimism I heard, from eavesdropping on the phone calls of other students at school. Do you remember those days right after the Great Blackout? All those people lined up just to talk on these old gimmicky phone booths that were set up for tourists?"

"Vaguely," said Homer. "I was a little busy at the time."

"Weren't we all," said Jerry smiling, though he had enough sense to avoid trying to touch Homer in any way. "It's funny how you East Coasters all know who I am but just think that Jill Smith is some random passerby. Or even more ridiculous, that she works for me. Last time I saw her she was ready to turn me into you as a trophy, a peace offering. Bit of a humbling moment, that. Getting my ass handed to me by my own hero."

The sun had started setting. Homer's eyes opened with wonder. From Jerry's exact vantage point, they could see the setting sun encircled by two trees that had entwined with each other in such a way as to form a semi-circle. Jerry had always appreciated that metaphor of beauty from inosculation.

"Take a picture if you like," said Jerry. "I've tried to before. But you can't capture the same feeling in a photograph. The way it all just sort of...fits. Belongs together, in our mind's eye. That's what Iowa is to me. Just these random accidents of nature working in harmony to make something beautiful."

"Then why don't you just appreciate it?" said Homer. "Why are you engaging in this…nihilism?"

"You think I'm the nihilist?" said Jerry, again struggling to suppress a laugh. "Why do you think I'm here and not in the East? I actually like it here! It's your world that's the nihilist one. You don't think it's even possible for people to live in harmony without an oppressive guiding hand."

"If this place is so great," said Homer, fingering his weapon. "Why not just tell us about it?"

"Gerald Littlefoot tries his best," said Jerry, shrugging his shoulders. "Ah, that incredible idiot. Always chomping at the bit to try and explain what makes Iowa so great. Always cowed into silence by idiot tourists who think they're coming to Amish country. Very, one hundred percent positive that nothing here could compare to whatever the latest glorious technological fad that's going on back home."

"Don't you see?" said Homer. "We could work together. The best of both worlds."

"The entire economic system here is completely divorced from what's going on via the East Coast," said Jerry. "Your gadgets can only exist because you have no necessities. There is no middle ground. That's why we're at war. The victory of some necessitates the destruction of others. That's the actual guiding principle of the United States. It always has been."

Jerry had a distant look on his face. As the sun escaped the semicircle of the trees so too did his mood grow crueler and more disgusted.

"You've never been able to identify me because of my facial structure. Half Asian Indian. Half Native American Indian. The great joke of my existence. I don't even remember which part of India anymore, or which tribe. I'm the culmination of the melting pot. My father died working himself to death trying to impress his employers into giving him a better visa. My mother committed suicide via alcoholism. They could have solved their problems by getting married. Why didn't they? Because they didn't like each other? Because they were too stupid to understand the benefits? Because there was some stupid regulation in there that wouldn't let them because they didn't have sworn affidavits from people who could attest that he didn't knock her up for economic reasons?"

Jerry gave a bitter laugh. The stars were coming into view. Soon it would all be over. He was grateful that Homer had come. A more plausible delivery system. And finally, an appropriate subject to listen to Jerry's ranting about the sheer meaningless farce of their mutual identities.

"They loved you," said Homer, fingers still on the trigger. "They wanted you to be happy. Not…this…"

"Idiot!" laughed Jerry. "This is why the old world was such a hellscape. This was why it needed to be destroyed. Yes, we could have had good lives. You and me both. Why do you think that didn't happen? Because we didn't try hard enough? Because our parents didn't try hard enough?"

"Because of injustice…" murmured Homer.

"No!" snarled Jerry. "Because this country, the United States, turned us into freaks!"

  "That's not…" mumbled Homer. "That's not true…"

"Look at you!" said Jerry. "Look at your stupid name! Homer Ikari! Why did your parents name you that? Did they like The Simpsons?"

"It's how they learned English," said Homer. "They wanted me to fit in here."

"Did it work?" asked Jerry.

"What matters is that they…" said Homer.

"Did it work?" said Jerry, louder and more forcefully.

"…No…" said Homer, so slight as to be a whimper.

"The United States of America," said Jerry. "The most free country in the world. Where we can be anything we want to be. But the farther away we move from being selfish independent-minded conformists, the more miserable we become. A melting pot, where we can't even understand ourselves outside of these absurd stereotypes. Do you know anything about Japan aside from anime? Or did your parents think they were doing you a favor, not explaining why they left and why they came here? You're older now than they were when they made those decisions. Do you still think their age was any obstacle to their being idiots?

"Look," said Homer, fighting to hold back the tears. "Maybe I was doomed, but what about you? There's other indigenous people here. The New American Indian Movement. You could join them. And…"

"They wouldn't accept the likes of me," said Jerry. "Nor should they. I certainly wouldn't if I was in their position. The United States of America was a devil nation. They turned us into freaks. But we're freaks who could only ever have come from such a play. People like us could only ever have come from such a horrific, dysfunctional place. You know, when I was a kid? I got bullied for nothing. For being a half-breed. I didn't blame anybody on the reservation. I thought, these people had nothing. I would have things. Then when my father bequested me to a high tier boarding school, you know what happened? The exact same thing. Except these bullies, they were from privilege. They had everything, but they brutalized the people just for the fun of it. I hated them then and I hate them now. I'll gladly kill them all. Goodness knows I've already gotten plenty of them."

Homer started backing up, nervously drawing his weapon. Jerry had to resist the urge to laugh. It was strange to Jerry how easy it was for him to present an image that terrified people. But at this point it was an artform. Years of practice so perfectly honed in on a single interpretation, that Jerry could turn it on and off like a switch.

"I don't hate you, for whatever that's worth," said Jerry. "I used to, but then I got to understanding who you are and why you tick and really, it's just sad. You have what, one real friend, and you think that makes up for a lifetime of people mocking you? Makes their twisted little world worth saving? I have friends too, you know. They inspired me to do more ambitious things. Whereas you...all the power in the world, scaled down to these little excuses for doing nothing at all. I had to trick you into fighting actual nazis, and then you stopped the minute you were afraid I was going to use all that nazi death for evil, somehow."

"But aren't you?"

"Who cares?" said Jerry. "Their death sustains me, as will yours."

Jerry started walking away. His bike wasn't far. He wasn't sure how Homer had gotten here but then it didn't really matter as long as Jerry could make a break for it.

"Hold it," said Homer, lifting up the gun.

"Look," said Jerry. "Shoot me if you want. But we both know you can't risk it until you confirm my story. I'm not hiding by the way. I'll be camping out at a high school near here. Shouldn't be that hard for you all to find. I'll leave the lights on for whenever you want to bring me in."

"It's a trick," snarled Homer.

"Obviously," said Jerry. "But is your little army really just going to surrender in front of a gimmick I might or might not have under my sleeve? I savored the deaths of your people in the swamp. You've always wondered, haven't you, whether you could have gotten me then if only you'd tried harder? Am I right?"

Homer had turned red. He was furious. Regardless, he was not pulling the trigger. Jerry had to applaud his restraint if nothing else. Homer was that dedicated to not stooping down to Jerry's level.

"Look," said Jerry, "even if you did kill me, so what? I'm smarter than you and I always will be, even in death. That's what really gets under your skin."

"She's going to die," said Homer, abruptly lowering his gun.

There was deathly silence. As they had been speaking, pauses and all, everything had turned black. The faint rustling of the grass and a dark wind had piled up, making for an eerie atmosphere. Jerry could only imagine how much creepier this would have to be for Homer, as the quickly arriving nightfall was slowly rendering Jerry invisible.

"Excuse me?" said Jerry.

"Cassidy Jones," said Homer. "Whatever you're planning, she's going to kill herself once it's done."

"And you know this how?"

"She told me," said Homer. "Not in so many words, but enough. Seeing your scheme through to the end is her main motivation for living. Take that away, and she-"

"Why are you telling me this?" said Jerry, nervous at the thought of how plausible this seemed.

"Maybe you're not the monster you pretend to be," said Homer. "Maybe you can still save her."

"Or maybe you're just screwing with me," said Jerry.

"But you can't tell, can you?" asked Homer. "Not so fun is it?"

Jerry scowled, taking comfort in the knowledge that Homer wouldn't be able to see it. Jerry made a point of not turning on his bicycle lamp until he was absolutely positive Homer wouldn't see it. It was dangerous, for sure, but Jerry knew the route, and he wasn't in the mood to be followed just yet.