Cleanliness by Ben Sack

As Morris drove down a wide boulevard he swore he’d been down twice already, a beacon appeared in the mist. The yellow globule slowly came into focus as he approached, revealing itself to be a huge neon “H.” “Well,” said Morris, “it’s either a hotel or a hospital, and if I don’t find the first one soon, I’m gonna need the second.” He repeated this joke to the valet, because it was a shame nobody heard it the first time, but the young man just wordlessly took his keys and helped him with his suitcase. Morris looked up at the immense building – it’s surface was polished like a mirror, and either nobody had their lights on, or it was made of some kind of tinted glass, because it was dark blue all the way up to where it disappeared in the clouds. Even after he walked through the front door, Morris didn’t learn the nature of the place. Everything was white. The walls were built up with plastic to form curving, organic-looking protrusions full of little holes, and the floor was polished marble. Soft blue and yellow lighting ran in strips along the tops of the walls and the bottoms of the furniture, which grew from the floor in nebulous, spongy patterns. There were no corners – everything point where two surfaces met was curved, as if the whole room were one piece of molded material, like an acrylic bathtub. There was only one visible entryway besides the one Morris came in, a set of swinging diner-style doors to his left, and only one other person, a woman, standing behind a…desk? Morris didn’t know what to call any of the furniture, but he supposed this was the concierge. She was a young woman wearing a fitted blue latex tuxedo. “Is this a hotel?” Morris almost whispered.

“Not just any hotel!” she said enthusiastically. Morris waited for her to elaborate, but she just relaxed and started plunking away at the touch-screen embedded in the countertop. “What’s it called?” said Morris. “Oh!” The concierge said, suddenly realizing something. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were already a guest. People hardly ever just wander in here. And if they do, they usually think it’s a hospital. Welcome!” “Thanks,” said Morris. He looked around desperately for a brochure rack or a coffee urn, some vestige of what he expected a hotel to have, to confirm beyond this woman’s word that this was not, in fact, a hospital. “What brings you to Houston?” she asked. “I’m on a journey to find God,” said Morris. “Well, sir, I know of at least three Yelp reviewers who described their stay as a ‘religious experience,’ so maybe you’ve come to the right place. Would you like a room?” Just then, a sharp noise filled Morris’s skull. He cringed. It was feedback from his hearing aid. Maybe it was Junie trying to yell at him from 2500 miles away. “What’s the rate?” Morris asked. “First night’s free of charge,” said the woman, still tapping away at the countertop. “But I’ll only be staying one night,” said Morris, “I’m just passing through.” “First night’s free of charge, that’s our policy,” she smiled. “But we expect you’ll want to stay a little longer. First name?” Morris couldn’t believe his luck. “If you say so, lady. I’m Morris.”

She reached under the desk and produced a shiny white plastic ring. “Room 812. Just put this on your finger and the door will open for you. One of our trademarks. Never lose your room key again!” Morris slipped the ring on his finger. “Elevators are behind me, through the colored arch. Do you need help with your suitcase?” “I’ve got it,” said Morris. “Thank you.”

*** “What a strange hotel,” Morris mumbled as he walked through a pink opening that he thought looked a little like a vagina. But these days, Morris thought a lot of things looked like vaginas. He found the elevators, which, to his relief, seemed relatively conventional, and made his way to the eighth floor. Room 812 was made of tubes. A couch made of fourteen tubes stitched together. A very impractical dresser, which was five tubes like trash bins lying on their sides, stacked on top of one another, with translucent green doors in front. “No one uses hotel dressers anyway,” Morris laughed. The bed was a normal mattress, nested in a forest of skinny white plastic vertical tubes of varying heights, like a sterile coral reef, or a Fisher-Price church organ. Some steam was pouring out of a tube in the corner. Maybe it had something to do with the radiator. Morris was so tired he flopped down on the bed in his clothes. It was a very soft mattress, just the way he liked it. He hoped they had free breakfast, but who knows, in a place like this. He

wasn’t dropping a dime on his stay anyway, so he decided not to expect too much. Wonder what Junie’s doing right now. Probably praying. Oh! His pills. He got up and unzipped the front pocket of his suitcase and retrieved the little orange tube which contained his heart medication. Then he went to the bathroom in search of a glass and some water. He found the glass, swallowed his meds, and examined the interior of the bathroom. It was a disaster. Just pale orange tiled walls and a cube in the corner. He couldn’t even tell where the shower was. He relieved himself in a hole in the cube which he hoped was the toilet, took off his clothes, and went straight to bed.

***

Morris woke up to a deep, lingering sense of displacement and the smell of bacon. He hoisted himself out of bed using the tubes to balance, wandered into the bathroom, and took his morning medication. After staring at the mirror and the walls for what felt like ten minutes, Morris decided that if there were a shower in here, he had no idea where it was or how to use it, so he’d better give up and get some breakfast. His head was clearing as he slipped on some sweatpants and a red flannel shirt his wife had bought him a few years ago, both of which had seen a lot of use on this trip. The bacon smell seemed to be coming from the radiator. Morris remembered he was on the eighth floor. “Either that’s some really good bacon, or the kitchen is on the seventh floor,” he said aloud.

There was a new woman was at the front desk, wearing the same uniform as the girl she replaced. Morris asked her where breakfast was and she pointed at the diner-doors to the left. There was color in the restaurant. It reminded Morris of the buffets on the many cruise ships he had taken Junie on over the years. Paper lanterns in green and orange and purple hung from the ceiling, reflected in the glass windows that looked out onto the street. It was raining, and there was no one outside. There were ten two-top acrylic tables in a line across from the windows, with a powder blue upholstered bench running the length of the wall on one side and egg-shaped chairs on the other. A lunch counter came complete with yellow stools from which you could see the kitchen, which was behind some high windows. Well, you couldn’t see the kitchen, but you could see a collection of chef’s hats bobbing up and down, like jellyfish in an aquarium. They could have been on sticks. A man in a latex tuxedo stood behind the counter. His uniform was considerably less fitted than those of his female coworkers, but it still made Morris uncomfortable. Another man who looked about Morris’s age sat way down at the end of the counter, and a small English Setter rested quietly at the base of his stool. Morris sat down and the host handed him a menu. It was thankfully un-futuristic, eggs and pancakes and potatoes and coffee. There were no prices. “Breakfast is included with your stay,” said the host. “We expect you’ll be back for lunch and dinner.” “Actually I’m taking off after I figure out that shower. I’m starting to feel like I’m ripping you guys off.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the host. “I’ll take the steak and eggs with a side of bacon. Over hard. Ha! Thank God my wife isn’t here,” said Morris. The host didn’t laugh but the man at the end of the counter chuckled, so Morris called down to him. “Thank God the cholesterol police aren’t here, right?” The man stood up and approached him, his dog following close behind. “Thank God the real police aren’t here, I’m wanted in forty-eight states,” said the man, grinning. He was a chubby and nearly bald and red in the face, he looked like Morris’s uncle Sal, who had actually been a criminal, and Morris wasn’t sure if this man was only kidding. “I’m only kidding,” said the man. He reached out his hand. “I’m Jesse.” “Morris,” Morris said. Jesse’s hand felt like wet leather. “Wanna grab a table?” asked Jesse. The dog yipped. The man bent down and tousled its ears, rubbing his nose against its head. Morris hoped they wouldn’t kiss, it wasn’t natural when people did that with their dogs. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jesse sounded like he was talking to a baby. “Did daddy forget to introduce you?” Jesse looked at Morris and held up the dog’s paw to wave hello. “This is Hunter.” “Pleasure,” said Morris.

“I’ve been here a few days, on business. This place had great Yelp reviews,” Jesse said. He was drinking a beer, which Morris thought was odd, but this was Texas, and he didn’t know

the local etiquette about drinking in the morning. Morris swallowed the glob of steak and eggs which was lingering in his throat like guilt. “You take your dog on business trips?” he asked. “I’m in the dog business, actually.” “A breeder?” “No, I facilitate dog shows. You wouldn’t believe the amount of money people pay to enter their dogs into dog shows. It’s a really lucrative enterprise.” Jesse gleamed. “And what’s your role exactly?” asked Morris, half-interested, munching on a piece of bacon like a chipmunk, savoring it. “I book the venue, print the tickets, I have all the equipment in the back of my truck, trophies, winner’s stand, red carpet, that sort of stuff. I make it a turn-key operation. People always wanna put on dog shows for fundraisers.” “Is Hunter, uh, a champion? A show dog?” asked Morris. “He’s retired,” said Jesse. Hunter snored on the bench next to him. “What brings you to Houston?” “I don’t know. It’s weird,” said Morris. “You’ve got no reason not to trust me,” Jesse smiled, sipping his beer. “How much time do you have?” asked Morris. Jesse looked around. “All the time in the world.” Morris took a deep breath. “I’m looking for God,” he said. “That’s a queer reason to be in Houston.”

“Well, I’ve been all over. Wyoming, Louisiana, Arizona, New Mexico, California…” “Where you from?” asked Jesse. “I live in Florida with my wife, Junie.” “The cholesterol police.” “Right. We’ve been married thirty-five years, we moved to Florida from Maine about five years ago, used up most of my retirement fund to buy a condo by the beach. Anyway my wife got skin cancer last year…” Jesse put his wet leather hand on Morris’s. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “Oh, she’s fine. It’s really not that bad,” Morris said, pulling his hand away. “Everybody gets skin cancer sooner or later. Anyway she was pretty shook up by it, started wearing long sleeves and a shawl all the time.” “Like an Arab?” Jesse asked. “Almost. Well her friends were all our neighbors from the condo, and they all just went to the beach all the time, like you’re supposed to when you spend all your money to retire to Florida, so they eventually stopped calling her. Junie’s a pretty social person, gets real sad when she’s got no one to gossip with.” “My wife’s the same way,” Jesse said, gesturing to the host for another beer. “You’re married?” asked Morris, surprised. “Used to be,” said Jesse. “Go on.” “So Junie started going down to the JCC to go swimming indoors…” “What’s that?” asked Jesse.

“The Jewish Community Center,” he said, discretely mapping out escape routes and examining Jesse’s face for wrinkles of antisemitism. Luckily it stayed as plump and red and happy as ever. “And because she wears long sleeves and a shawl all the time, the Orthodox women that hang out there thought she was one of them,” Morris continued. “And so to fit in she became very religious, and then about three weeks ago comes to me and asks me if I believe in God, because she realized she’d never asked and doesn’t know if she can be married to someone that doesn’t.” “You sound like you’ve told this story before.” “I told it to a tour guide in Kentucky and a bartender in Arkansas.” “They weren’t any help, I suppose.” “None.” “Well, do you?” asked Jesse. “I didn’t know, honestly, I didn’t. So I went to the beach to think about it, and the sun was shining, and I really felt my place in the universe, you know? I know that sounds like earthy-crunchy BS, but standing on the edge of a continent like that and feeling the sun on my face…Well, I thought about it and decided that no I didn’t.” “I bet she didn’t like that,” said Jesse. “She consulted her rabbi, who said that sometimes people find God on long solitary journeys, just like in ancient times. So that’s why I’m here.” “And you haven’t found him yet?” asked Jesse.

“Not yet,” said Morris.

*** Morris stood naked in the middle of the bathroom. The concierge had told him that the shower was all voice-activated. “Shower?” he asked. He felt ridiculous. “Morris?” a woman’s voice answered, mocking him. A tile in the center of the floor flipped, revealing a drain, and tiles on the walls spun to reveal glistening silver shower heads. “Ready?” said the voice. It sounded like a sultrier version of Junie. “Could you change your voice?” Morris asked. “How’s this?” It sounded like Ingrid Bergman. “Better,” said Morris. Warm water sprung from the shower heads, converging on Morris’s chest and back. It was such a large volume. Morris wondered what would happen if everyone in the hotel tried to shower at the same time. Never mind the amount of electricity it takes to run one of these things. “How’s the temperature?” asked Ingrid. “A little warmer, please.” Morris felt like he was standing at the base of a waterfall in a rainforest somewhere. Truthfully, it was lovely. He felt more relaxed than he had until now on his journey, and he had bathed in the hot springs of Arkansas. “How do you feel about lemons?” asked Ingrid.

“I prefer apricots,” answered Morris. A nozzle popped up from the floor in front of him and sprayed orange foam at his crotch. Apricots, how about that? How many smells do they have in there? Tiles on either side of his feet sprung open, and two robotic arms with loofas for hands started scrubbing his buttocks and armpits. “Is that ok?” asked Ingrid. “I feel like I’m in a carwash,” Morris giggled. He felt ashamed for letting himself enjoy this. He was always an advocate for simpler things. But it just felt so… “But you’re not a car, you’re a man…” said Ingrid, the last word trailing off with the sounds of scrubbing and splashing water. They must not have taught these robots to make good conversation. Morris heard a buzzing sound on the floor. A small black machine that looked like a radio-controlled dung beetle was skating towards his feet. He screamed. “It’s ok, Morris, it just wants to clean your toenails.” “Wants?” The beetle scraped away at Morris’s toes with its pincers. It was surprisingly gentle. Shampoo poured down on his thin hair from the ceiling, and robotic fingers descended and massaged it into his scalp. Morris hummed with pleasure. “How about a shave?” A tile on the wall in front of him opened and another arm came out, holding a straight razor. It glistened. Morris felt his chin, he was getting some stubble, and it had been a while…

“Wait!” he yelled. The waterfall ceased. The arms retreated. The little beetle scurried away like a scolded pet. “I don’t know about that.” He hardly trusted a barber to shave him, let alone a robot. “Can I have a towel, please?” He looked around, waiting for an arm to reach out and hand him a fluffy towel. But nothing happened. “Have a little faith, Morris,” Ingrid said. “We are expertly designed.” “A towel, please?” his voice was quivering. Why was it quivering? “Don’t you trust me?” she sounded sad. The water came back on, a little hotter. The loofa arms returned, but with hands attached. One of them started feeling Morris’s leg. The lather nozzle came back, sprayed him with something that smelled like…what was it? Lavender? Cinnamon? A hand caressed his lower back. “Stop the shower. Do you hear me? I’m done bathing now!” The hand moved closer to his crotch. It tingled. “Is this okay, Morris?” One hand grabbed his behind, and the other caressed his penis. Hot water sprayed up at him from underneath. The lather was another scent now. It reminded him of Junie. He felt ashamed for being so easy. “Okay…” he mumbled. Ingrid was talking but he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t want to imagine anything. How long had it been since he orgasmed without imagining anything? Did early man have to fantasize to get off? His legs quivered. What if he slipped? He’d end up like those old men in the commercials for bathtubs with seats built in. No, he wasn’t old like them. Old, sure, but still virile, still in control.

The hands squeezed tighter. What would Junie say about all this? Was this cheating? He wasn’t about to open that can of worms…oh God. Faster and Faster. “Oh God!” God was keeping him from feeling this way every day of life. He was married, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be so lonely. Steam all around, lost in the mist, he couldn’t see the hands, he couldn’t see past his chest. Junie. Lavender. Cinnamon. Apricots. The water came gushing harder. He wasn’t about to wash thirty-five years of marriage down the drain, even if he had to lie…

“Do you need to sit down?” Ingrid asked. Four tiles behind Morris elevated and formed a stool. He sat down, his chest heaving. The razor returned. “How about a shave?” “Okay,” Morris gave in. He would leave this shower a new man. A hand lathered his face with hot cream. “Did you wash your hands?” he joked. Ingrid laughed a tinny, monotonous laugh. The razor extended, chopping down the rough hairs on his neck with finesse. It was bliss.

*** Jesse had paid for the first three rounds, and Morris was starting to feel a little guilty, but he sipped his beer and decided that Jesse was probably the kind of guy who liked being generous. “I’ll tell you, I’ve been traveling for a living for twenty years, and I have never stayed in a place like this.” 14

“And here I was thinking the future was gonna be terrible,” mumbled Morris. “There’s your problem.” “My problem?” Morris said. “You think everything’s gonna change and you’re not gonna understand it. But you learned everything once and you can do it again.” The host came by and offered them a sample of a really tall and skinny tiramisu. “The chef is thinking of adding this to the menu. Please,” he said. Morris took a big bite with a tiny fork and smiled. It was lovely. Hunter nuzzled against his leg, and Morris felt the soft fur of the dog’s ears against bare ankles where his pants had ridden up. “So, where to next on your scavenger hunt?” asked Jesse, still rolling the tiramisu over on his tongue. Morris took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of staying here for a while.” Jesse stood up, finished his beer, and picked Hunter up off the floor. “See you for breakfast tomorrow, then.” Morris nodded and finished the tiramisu.