Steve and Delilah's Palace of Love
“Generator and fuel?”
“Check and check. One hundred gallons of unleaded gasoline.”
“Canned green beans?”
“Check.”
“Spam?”
“Check.”
“Canned beans, canned corn, canned soups, canned yams?”
“Check. Check. Check. Check.”
“Four hundred gallons of water?”
“Check.”
“Hot Plate?”
“Check.”
“Assortment of energy bars?”
“Steve, can’t we do this later?”
“No, Delilah. For the last time, do you want to be stranded down here and find that we’re missing oxygen masks or beans? Get with the program.”
“Maybe we should give it a name.”
“Give what a name?”
“The bomb shelter.”
“Honey, it’s not a bombshelter. It’s just a shelter.”
“Fine, but what name should we give it?”
“Why’s it need a name?”
“Because. It just does.”
“Delilah. Are you being serious?”
“Yeah. You know, we could call it the Taj Mahal or Never Never Land. Something like that.”
“How about we call it Home? Is that good enough? Home?”
“No. I don’t think so. This isn’t home. Home is out there.”
“Let’s call it Buckingham Fucking Palace then.”
“Steve.”
“Sorry. Delilah, don’t cry.”
“Steve, I just want it to have a name, that’s all.”
“Don’t cry. I’m sorry, Delilah.”
“Actually, I kind of like that name. Minus the fucking.”
“Awesome. So we will name it Buckingham Palace.”
“Steve. I don’t know about that.”
“Really?”
“No, it’s not the right name at all.”
“It doesn’t need a name.”
“If we’re going to be down here for who-knows-how-long, it would be nice to give it a name.”
“Why don’t we just name it later?”
“It would be nice to have a sign.”
“A sign?”
“You know, so we know where we are.”
“A sign?”
“It would make it official.”
“What needs to be official is the procedure for making sure we have everything we need. So let’s get this done with. First-Aid Kit?”
“How about we call it Steve and Delilah’s Palace of Love?”
“I like that, Delilah. I really do. Sounds great.”
“Awesome. See, Steve, It’s going to be so much more–”
“But we cannot name it that.”
“Steve, why not? Let’s just give it a name. Please.”
“Later on we will give it a name.”
“Remember during our honeymoon when we put up that sign on our door, Do Not Disturb: Steve and Delilah’s Love Palace? We should just name it after that.”
“This is not a honeymoon.”
“It sort of is.”
“It definitely is not a honeymoon. The room service lady still busted in anyways. That sign was useless.”
“I liked it, though.”
“Back to work, Delilah.”
“You know what, Steve?”
“First-Aid kit?”
“Check, but Steve?”
“Extra boxes of clothing?”
“Check. Steve we need–”
“Need what?”
“Steve, we should have got a dog.”
“A dog?”
“Yes.”
“A dog would need to eat food. A dog would want to run around. A dog would shit and piss everywhere. A dog would hate living down here.”
“It might like it down here. With us.”
“No. It wouldn’t.”
“Imagine if we had a dog. Just a tiny Yorkie or a Chihuahua. We could get it a little friend. They’d lighten the mood, you know?”
“Two dogs? They’d shit everywhere. They’d eat all the food. A dog is completely out of the question, let alone two.”
“I know. It would be nice, though.”
“It would be terrible.”
“I never had a dog.”
“Delilah, what would happen if we had a dog?”
“It would be nice.”
“Yes. It would be nice. But once we ran out of food what would we have to eat?”
“Spam?”
“We’d have to eat the dog, Delilah. Do you want to eat the dog? I don’t. This isn’t China.”
“But I never had a dog.”
“Have you ever eaten a dog, Delilah? Have you ever eaten a little Chihuahua or a Yorkie?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?”
“No.”
“Then we can’t get a dog. Anyways, it’s too late for a damn dog, Delilah. Canned fruits?”
“Check. Pineapples, mangoes, peaches and nectarines.”
“Three hundred pounds of spaghetti and other pasta?”
“Check.”
“Tomato paste?”
“Check. But Steve, what if we got a big dog. You always said you wanted one of those big hairy Newfoundland dogs. It would be like a big fuzzy blanket that could sleep with us.”
“For all we know every dog in the world could be dead in twenty four hours. No dogs allowed in my shelter.”
“Your shelter?”
“Our shelter.”
“Good.”
“Just be lucky you’re not staying in the Carsons’ shelter. Did you see that piece of shit they built? They’re toast.”
“Don’t say that. I like theirs. Mary Carson decorated the whole family’s oxygen masks with glitter. They’re really nice.”
“Good for the Carsons. They’re not going to survive a second in that thing. That shmuck Gary Carson had no idea what he was doing.”
“At least they have a Christmas tree in theirs.”
“A Christmas tree isn’t going save them when their shelter implodes.”
“But the Carsons have a carnival popcorn stand and an their entire collection of Disney films. All we have is the Encyclopedia Britannica.”
“The Encyclopedia Britannica will help bring culture back to this soon-to-be medieval world. We will use it to spread enlightenment. We will be the keepers of the fire.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“No it doesn’t, Delilah. We are going to have the obligation as the sole survivors to repopulate this world. There’s a natural reason why the Carson’s are wasting their time with carnival popcorn poppers. You know what that reason is?”
“They like popcorn?”
“No, Delilah. Darwin’s Natural Selection. That means we, the superior engineers and human beings and keepers of the Encyclopedia of Britannica will survive whatever devastating disasters are on their way because we were smarter and better prepared, and thus our posterity will be the most capable of surviving in the dark and barren world that is upon us.”
“But what if we don’t survive?”
“This bad boy is a work of engineering genius. Thirty feet thick of steel reinforced concrete. It wasn’t cheap. This shelter is to shelters what the nuclear bomb was to bombs. That makes me the Einstein of shelters. We can survive tsunamis, earthquakes, category five hurricanes, World War III, scorching global temperatures, and god knows what else down here.”
“If you’re so proud of it, why won’t you give it a name?”
“Let’s call it Steve’s Badass Work of Genius.”
“Fine, but It better work.”
“Of course it’s going to work.”
“I really hope it’s worth all that money. I told you about the dream I had.”
“Delilah, that was just a dream.”
“What if it turned out to be true? You don’t know how to deliver a baby.”
“It can’t be that hard.”
“Steve.”
“What? You’re not going to get pregnant down here.”
“But what if I do? I don’t want the baby to be born in a bomb shelter.”
“One, it’s not a bomb shelter. Two, you’re not going to get pregnant.”
“Even in Steve and Delilah’s Palace of Love?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come on, Steve. We’ve been married for four years. Don’t you still want to have that house full of kids you always talked about?”
“I didn’t say a bomb shelter full of kids.”
“It’s not a bomb shelter.”
“You’re right, Delilah. It’s a work of engineering genius.”
“It’s a lousy place for a baby. We need to get baby food, and a crib, and paint this place a nicer color – the concrete is really gloomy. We can’t have the baby being brought into the world in such a depressing place.”
“You won’t be thinking this place is depressing in a few days, Delilah. This will be the center of the world’s culture; the epicenter of a renaissance.”
“But the baby won’t like it.”
“There’s not going to be a baby, Delilah. We’ve got two years worth of condoms.”
“Those don’t always work, Steven. You know that.”
“Somebody has to repopulate the world.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“It’s not fun. It is glorious and hard. It’s a good thing people like us will be around to do so. People like the Carsons aren’t cut out for this sort of work.”
“I don’t care about repopulating the world, Steve. We should just have a baby.”
“Enough baby talk. Do we have oxygen canisters?”
“Yep, forty.”
“Alright, check.”
“But Steve, shouldn’t we get a third mask just in case?”
“If you would like, you can give yours to the baby.”
“Steve. What if all this catastrophe doesn’t happen? What if we’re just wasting our time with all this stuff?”
“The world has to end sometime, doesn’t it? Beef jerky?”
“Check.”
“Vitamins and carbohydrate– who’s knocking on the hatch?”
“I’m not sure. Probably Janice.”
“What do you mean probably Janice?”
“Well, I told her if she would like to, she could come stay with us.”
“You told Janice she could come stay with us?”
“I thought she would have found somewhere else to stay. She’s my sister. I couldn’t not invite her–”
“Delilah. You invited Janice?”
“I didn’t think she would actually show up.”
“No way are we letting her in. No fucking way.”
“Well, that definitely sounds like my sister out there.”
“It sounds like she brought that goddamn dog of hers.”
“She probably brought dog food.”
“She probably didn’t bring anything. She’s been in fucking art school for forty years.”
“You just want to leave her out there?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Steven.”
“No way are we letting Janice stay here. She probably has her fucking pet flying squirrel tagging along with her too. That nocturnal bastard is going to keep us up at all hours of the night.”
“Steve. We have to let her in. She’s family.”
“She’s a Satan worshipping freeloader. There is no way that she is about to enter my shelter. She can find somewhere else to stay.”
“Steven, she’s my sister.”
“If she comes in, Delilah, we’ll end up having to make little Janice babies. They will eat everything.”
“I’m letting her in.”
“Delilah, we cannot let her in.”
“Steve, we have to.”
“That hippy didn’t bring any birth control, and I’m not about to begin repopulating the world with her genes. No way.”
“Steven, don’t say that.”
“We can’t let her in. We are the keepers of the flame, not the keepers of freeloading, lazy, inferior artists.”
“Steve, that’s awful.”
“It’s the truth. I’m not going to be responsible for the inability of the human race to do anything productive in its future.”
“You’re not going to have sex with her.”
“You’re damn right, and I’m not about to let her in my shelter either.”
“Our shelter.”
“Excuse me, our shelter.”
“I’m letting her in.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Janice is not coming in here, and neither is her flying squirrel. Those things are meant to perish. They’re small and inferior.”
“Why does everything have to be your way, Steven?”
“I’m a natural leader, Delilah, and I tend to know what’s right.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m letting her in.”
“Don’t you dare, Delilah. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Move, Steven.”
“I’m not letting you open that hatch, Delilah.”
“Move.”
“No, Delilah. She is not qualified to enter this shelter.”
“She’s my only sister. Get out of the way, Steve.”
“It’s either me or her, Delilah. Make a decision. You want me out of here?”
“Steve. Move the heck out of the way.”
“So you want me out, do you?”
“No, Steve. Move.”
“What about the baby, Delilah? What about the baby?”
“What baby? You jerk.”
“WHAT ABOUT THE BABY?”
“Steve. Let go of me.”
“It’s either the baby and me, or your goddamned sister.”
“Steve. Let go.”
“Sorry Delilah. I am not letting go. It’s for the good of our baby.”
“Let. Go.”
“She will eat up all of our precious baby’s food. I cannot let that happen.”
“Ouch, Steven. Let go of me. Now.”
“This cannot become “Janice, Steve and Delilah’s Palace of Love”. No way.”
“Steve, that hurts. Stop.”
“I’m not letting you open that hatch.”
“Steve, if you don’t let go I will not say a single word to you as long as I live.”
“Fine. Go get her.”
“Steven. Let me in. Let me back in, Steve. Please, let me back in, Steven. Open this hatch now. This is just as much my bomb shelter as it is yours, Steve. Steve? Steven?”
“Steve, this is Janice. You let my sister in right now. Right this second, Steve. I knew you were no good, Steve. I knew it. Look at yourself, this is evil.”
“We don’t need you, Janice. Go away.”
“Steve, I always knew you were a bastard. My sister’s too good for you.”
“Janice, you are not allowed in this shelter.”
“Steve, let me back in. Janice can stay out here.”
“I’m your sister, you cold bitch. You’re worse than him.”
“Steven, please let me back in. Just me. Not her. She has her flying squirrel. Let me in. It’ll be just you and me.”
“Go stay with the Carsons, Delilah.”
– Nick Chambers is a senior creative writing major at Colorado College. Originally from Massachusetts, he now divides his time between Boxford and Colorado Springs.
