Project Purple

58 - Henri

"Don't eat too fast-you'll get sick," their trainer warned as the three pilgrims shared looks of chagrin-Henri didn't know about the others, but she had no intention of partaking in any of the meat dishes.

Henri would never eat meat again.

But, like the others, she soon overcame her initial reluctance and dove into the vegetables and breads and fruits and puddings, ignoring the trainer's terse warnings to eat slowly.

The singers on the side of the arena had since faded away, and a new and colorful dance of eclectica commenced as the colonists ate. The colorful show featured kabuki actors, yet sombreros and turbans and elaborate headdress made appearances, and they frolicked in well-choreographed unison, while the Uncle Sam stomped about the floor, and sections of his stilts systematically popped out, making him shorter, but not impeding the adroit stilt-walker, as he clomped among the dancers. A final section gave way and Uncle Sam's stilts collapsed under him, sending the man tumbling into the aisle-This held some strange significance, and the huge crowd, waiting for this, hooted in their appreciation, and he bounced up and took a grinning bow. They were having a good time, and Henri ate, taking cursory notice of the antics out on the floor with anxious, greedy eyes.

"No one ever said psychopaths don't know how to party," Tiffany mumbled.

Henri bit into a peeled orange, savoring its succulent nutrients, "Dahmer played the drums."

Buford studied the pie, "Shit, Hannibal Lecter preferred Stravinsky."

They were making dinner talk. But then a lone spot illuminated the other side of the stage, and another happy ovation greeted the smiling face of a young, hefty woman garbed in a large, overlaying white cloak. Underneath she wore only a loose loincloth and her large breasts often popped out from beneath the cloak, which had the words Rapa Nui stitched onto the back. They had seen her before, on stage in the casino extolling the virtues of teamwork. Rapa Nui waved a polite open palm at them:

"American values. That's why we have gathered here today. They are responsible for its most glorious triumphs." And she gave the colonists an affected smile, "But all empires collapse eventually." The smile turned reflective.

Rapa Nui, better known to the Americans as Easter Island, then clicked a remote control in her hand, and a sleek screen revealed a child-like scrawl of three words: Capitalism, Nationalism, and Individuality, written in the crayons of a grade schooler. In its cuteness, though, was the message of a practiced preparation, and Easter Island continued:

"By isolating and studying these key American values, values Americans will continue to cling to, even in the very face of its demise, we've been able to deduce clearly that a combination of several processes will..." Rapa Nui paused for affect, giving the colonists a small head tilt, "bring the American empire to a close within the next two decades."

Henri glanced at the others-Tiffany was sipping the red wine; Buford was thrilling in some lumpy cheese sauce; they were beyond caring what Easter Island had to say. But Henri felt she needed to focus, to understand what was happening-Were they really going to be allowed to leave this place? Did it matter? - That's what the other two were telling her with their easy, resigned glances.

Henri felt differently-She couldn't take pleasure in any meal, their reward, she supposed; to her, these people were a toxically deluded cult, like the Scientologists, or one of the weird Japanese religions, which had slipped beyond national borders. And filthy rich. And so dangerous.