Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 32. January 2020

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Uh…” “So, I was nine, but I guess Princess Jas-
mine was a heroine, and I wore that tape
“Are you trying to get me to call you out I watched it so many times.”
‘daddy?’” Bernardo said. “I’m not saying no.”
“Damn, you’re old.” Bernardo smirked.
“No, I’m serious.” David laughed and
rubbed his face in embarrassment. “It’s like “Aren’t you my age?” David leaned in
how I force myself not to think how I hated closer.
college. You lie to yourself until it’s true, and
you get what you needed out of it anyway.” “So you know we should shave off at least
five years.”
“Lie to yourself a lot, huh?” Bernardo
smirked “My grandmother used to do that.” David
smiled. “She would say she was fifty-nine.
“I used to say I was ‘straight-acting’ in my This lasted until her daughter turned sixty.”
profile, so yes.”
“Heh. She was funny.”
Bernardo laughed and rubbed his leg
against David’s under the table, who pulled “She really wasn’t.” David shifted un-
it back immediately and said: comfortably in the seat and glanced down.
“My grandmother never really celebrated
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” David took a deep any holidays or anything like that.” David
breath and held his hands in front of his face looked straight into Bernardo’s wide eyes.
as though he were praying. After a moment “She said it would make my mom soft. So
of silence, he let his hands slide down to the my grandfather’s family once got together
table. With a sad smile he said, “I’ve been and made a real Christmas for her: deco-
through a lot. On top of that, my grand- rations, presents, all the ways late capi-
mother died this week and I have to, uh…” talism can show somebody loves you, you
know? My mom was so excited to see ac-
Bernardo leaned in and spoke softly. “Oh, tual gifts under the tree she walked into a
sorry. You guys close?” glass door.” He smiled. “She said she was so
happy: nursing two baby dolls in her lap and
“No. I didn’t think it would affect me this a bruise on her forehead.”
much. I’m just thinking about how I still need
to, well… I shouldn’t even bother, really, she David’s face turned dark. “But, after ev-
was actually a pretty terrible person.” eryone left, Grandmother got angry and
said that it was just all too extravagant.” He
“Uh...ok…” Bernardo leaned back and shuddered at the thought. “She started
crossed his arms. “Then fuck her, I guess?” throwing out all the toys. My aunt’s crying,
so she slaps her in the face. She gets to my
“I didn’t really feel happy or sad or any- mom, takes a look at the two dolls and tells
thing when I heard the news.” David traced her she can keep one and the other was
the edge of the coffee cup with his pointer going into the incinerator–”
finger. “Anything at all. I respected the im-
portance of it, but it was like somebody “Grandma Sophie’s Choice’d her own
whom I never met died. Like, you know daughter?” Bernardo sighed. “Savage.”
when Kurt Cobain died?”
“But, now she’s dead,” David said with a
“You didn’t feel anything when Kurt Co- smile. “She said she didn’t want a funeral,
bain died?” Bernardo raised his eyebrows.
“Were you addicted to heroin?”

49

Adelaide Literary Magazine

just that we bury her ashes in her sister’s His phone buzzed loudly.
grave. Apparently, she was the only person
she ever loved and she died fifty years ago.” “Don’t check it,” Bernardo said as his
mouth came in for more.
David sat quietly for a moment, his face
neutral. After a minute Bernardo reached “I have to.” David pulled back and read
out again, holding David’s hand from across the incoming alert. He stared blankly at a
the table. David let him and smiled. Re- moment before it registered. “Oh, shit. Shit!
turning it with a smirk, Bernardo said: Shit, shit, shit!”

“Wanna get the hell out of here?” “What’s wrong?” Bernardo said. “And, if
you’ve got a swear jar, you owe yourself like
They paid the check, leaving a 100% tip. $10,000.”
Hands in their jacket pockets to avoid the
cold, they rushed to David’s car. When Ber- “They say the blizzard’s coming earlier
nardo got into the passenger’s side he picked than they thought.” David punched the
up a strange black plastic case on the seat dashboard, shaking the statuettes. He then
and gave it to David, who put it in the back put his left hand on the top of his head and
very, very carefully. David then tried to get forced himself to breathe. After a moment,
the heater working while Bernardo smiled at he said, “We’ve got a few hours at most be-
the assembled statuettes on the dash. fore it gets here.”

“We’ve got Buddha, Ganesh, St. Christo- “Damn,” Bernardo said and straightened
pher, some buddies...” Bernardo rubbed his his collar. “Guess we should go to your place
hands together for heat. “Wasn’t expecting then.”
an audience.”
“No, it’s not that.” David was sweating
“I like to cover my bases,” David said. “Au- despite the cold. “It’s just, I’m sorry, I’ll call
dience for what?” you tomorrow.”

Bernardo leaned over the center console, “You’re not getting free that easily.” Ber-
wrapped his arms around David’s body, and nardo laughed. “What do you need to do?
pulled him forward for a kiss with a tight
and warm embrace. Bernardo’s soft, insis- “Well…” David struggled for a moment.
tent lips led to his hungry mouth, hot, and “Okay, well, I have to go... Uh, don’t freak out.”
groping for more. It was David’s first kiss
since the break-up over a year ago. He had “Just tell me, David.”
forgotten how they could feel: fulfillment
with growing leaps of anticipation, at once “The cemetery.” David said, then added.
losing yourself and becoming hyper-aware “Remember: you said I didn’t need to im-
of the liminal space where your body ended press you anymore.”
and his began, like water lapping against the
shore of a lake, and other similes which es- “This about your grandmother?” Ber-
caped David at the moment. All he knew nardo coughed into his hand. “You can visit
was it was good and he wanted more. Ber- the grave tomorrow.”
nardo’s hand slid down the front of David’s
chest, then the stomach, and then below. “The thing is I’m not visiting,” David said.
He swallowed and closed his eyes tight. “I
have to bury her.” He took a deep breath
and opened his eyes. “If I don’t do it today
the ground will be frozen over all winter,

50

Revista Literária Adelaide

and I have to do it secretly. They’ll notice David paused, thought, then said, “No-
me trying to dig up rock hard dirt. I was body else cared.”
going to do it later, but, well, now that the
blizzard’s coming...” Bernardo sat silently for a moment. His
body was tense, his face blank. It was as in-
Bernardo sat back, eyes open, mouth scrutable as the Mona Lisa, if the Mona Lisa
agape. Flatly, he said: were a hot Filipino guy who was ready to
give you some action for once.
“What?”
Bernardo said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
“I picked up the ashes this morning. That
plastic case that was here,” David said. “What?”
“That was my grandmother.”
“Yeah,” Bernardo said. “Fuck it. Let’s go?”
Bernardo grabbed his chest. “Why the
hell–” “Really?” David opened his eyes wide.
“I...I wasn’t expecting that. I thought, we
“My grandmother’s sister converted to would just have some coffee, I would go af-
Catholicism when she got married, so it’s terwards. But, that didn’t work out, for a lot
a Catholic cemetery. You can’t bury a Prot- of reasons, I guess.” David closed his eyes
estant in a Catholic cemetery, so I have to and shook his head. “I know how insane this
get creative.” all is.”

“Grave robbing?” “Wanting to do something like this is, I
dunno, beautiful and shit. And, I always
“I’m not robbing anything.” David could liked cemeteries. Even when you’re dead
no longer force a smile. “I’m adding some- and useful to nobody people still care a bit.”
thing. At the very worst, it’s defilement, but Bernardo smiled. “It’s definitely weird, but
everybody does that. Look at what Disney you do make me laugh a lot.” He paused
did to the Star Wars franchise.” and scratched his chin. “But, it’s like you
said when Kurt Cobain died. Don’t get it,
“But, why are you doing it?” but I respect it. You want a grandma, I guess.
Or something. I dunno. But it’s sweet and
“It was her last request,” David said with fucked up and I like that.” He paused again.
a shrug. “I don’t like the idea of her asking “Just when you tell the story of our first date,
something of us and then not giving it to her. maybe don’t mention this part.”
People who are gone are never gone, you
know. I mean, I don’t think she would turn “The story of our first date?” David
into a ghost, but…” blinked in disbelief. “There will be more?”

“You like to cover your bases.” Bernardo Bernardo smiled wryly.
threw his head back and looked at the car
ceiling: faded grey carpeting coming loose David smiled back. “And you’re okay with
in many places.. the part with grabbing my junk in a parking
lot, but not fulfilling a dead woman’s dying
“I don’t want a vengeful spirit knocking wishes?”
on my door at 2 AM. I sleep naked; dealing
with that would be a whole thing.” “Focus on that part.” Bernardo caressed
David’s cheek. “Everybody thinks I’m a slut
Berardo looked back at him. “But, why and I’ve got that reputation to maintain.”
are you doing it?”

51

Adelaide Literary Magazine

David laughed and put the car in reverse. “Thought you wanted to cover all your
After pulling out of the spot, he drove down bases.”
the highway, keeping his eyes on the road.
He could feel the heat from Bernardo’s body, “Yeah,” David said and gestured to the
an oasis of warmth in the cold car. The two box of ashes in Bernardo’s hand. “There
spoke about what they would do when may be ghosts, but this is the only one who
summer came. It was an automatic, cheerful knows where I live.”
conversation, with neither participant really
considering what the other had said. Even if Bernardo hurried alongside him. “You
the words were meaningless, the tone was say nobody would know, and you can say
intimate. And the heat of somebody in your the same for her. But, you would know, I
passenger seat is always sublime. guess.”

It was not far to the cemetery: just a “And you, too.” David smiled.
quick trip through stacks of suburban suc-
cess set against a sky turning a darkening Bernardo smiled back and let David lead
gray. When they arrived, the intricately the way from the parking lot to the grave.
carved wrought iron gates were open, It was a small tablet, cracked and weath-
but the grounds were completely aban- ered, in a sea of cracked and weathered
doned. Only endless rows of slate stones tablets, small as well. The air was very still
surrounded by brown grass. Even the cute here, and the lack of wind allowed the two
little church in the distance, which usually to keep their hands out of their pockets
looked like a Thomas Kinkade poster in for a bit, their fingers catching tiny snow-
a divorcee’s bathroom, was dark. David flakes, which melted immediately. The grass
handed the box of ashes to Bernardo and around the gravestone was neatly trimmed,
got a small shovel and a potted marigold and the epitaph was easy to read: Ellen Pe-
from the backseat. ters, 1927-1968.

“I feel bad she’s gonna die,” David said of David set the marigold down and started
the marigold. “It’s a perennial, so at least it digging with the shovel. The soil was not
will spread its seeds.” frozen, but it was hard and did not give
up easily. After a minute the cold, earthy
“So you’re okay with this?” Bernardo un- smell was everywhere. The wind came
buckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. back, sending the dry dirt flying, mixing
“It is a cemetery.” with the slight flurries. When it let up a bit,
David took the plastic box of ashes from
“What do you mean?” David joined him Bernardo, opened it, and gently shook the
outside. “Of course I want to do this. I even contents into the small hole. He then picked
bought a shovel. But that was very butch, up the marigold, took it from its pot, and
and I kind of enjoyed it.” planted it using his bare, trembling fingers
to tamp down the dirt. The whole process
“It’s silly and all, but that rule about the, was over in less than five minutes. David
uh, Catholics and Protestants. Means some- stood back up and surveyed his work. He
thing to somebody, right? I don’t care, but, wiped his hands on his pants and put them,
you know, they made this up for a reason.” trembling,back in his cracked leather jack-
et’s deep pockets. As he stared down at the
“No one would even know.” David started little flower fluttering in the breeze, he felt
toward the gate. “What would it matter?”

52

Revista Literária Adelaide

Bernardo’s warm hand slip next to his. He right? So, I guess you once must have made
did not react for a full minute, but let the her happy too. Now, maybe you can forever.”
blocks of ice at the ends of his arms thaw
a bit. “That was beautiful.” David pulled his
hands out of his jacket and embraced him.
Bernardo said at last, “Feels like we “I’m sure she would have hated it.”
should say something, or something.”
The two hurried back to the car. The
“Like what?” falling white had grown thicker, making it
harder to see. The car key had somehow
“I dunno.” Bernardo shrugged and gotten cold in David’s pocket, and he fum-
thought for a minute, his hand wrapped bled with it to open the door. But, soon they
around David’s. “You knew her and didn’t were inside, where David buckled up and
like her. Maybe I’ll do it.” He started to say adjusted his mirrors. He caught a glimpse
something, paused, then said, “What’s her of himself, and he saw that he was smiling,
name again?” despite his disheveled hair. Proving religion
was a Rorshach test, the assemblage of di-
“Rebecca.” vinities gave silent signs of approval in their
unchanging plastic faces. Even notoriously
“Rebecca.” Bernardo held David’s hand grim Anubis seemed to smile back. David
tighter. “‘The evil that men do lives after turned to Bernardo and gave a little shrug..
them; The good is oft interred with their
bones.’” Bernardo said, “So, you finally gonna
fuck me now?”
“Is that Shakespeare?”
David put the car in drive.
“Shut up.” Bernardo looked toward the
sky as the snow started falling harder. “Re- “After this?” He said. “Absolutely.”
becca, you were happy with your sister,

About the Author

Michael Gillen is a graduate of Vassar College with a
degree in English Literature. He lives in Queens with his
husband, Josh, and his dog, Aggie.

53

TELL HER

by Denise Cloutier

Ellen had been married to Richard Miller a drunk striving to appear sober. He opened
for twenty years and three months on the his mouth to speak, but his voice faltered.
day he died. He’d been losing his battle She leaned over him, turning her head to
with cancer for the better part of a year put her ear near his lips. She held her breath,
and she’d been by his side, supporting him, wanting to be sure she heard him, hoping to
through all of it. When dawn came on that hear him say he loved her one more time.
last day, she was sitting by his bed, imper- He said something, she thought, before
vious to the acrid smell of unwashed bed- he sputtered, then coughed. Perhaps he
ding, sweat and stale food she inhaled with cleared his throat. She might have missed
each breath. She’d lost track of the time but the first word he tried to say, she wasn’t
knew it was morning because the closed sure. With her head turned, she hadn’t
window curtains glowed from the light out- seen whether his lips had formed a word
side. She stood to open the curtains, but when a muted, guttural noise rose from
then thought better of it and sat back down. deep within him. Then came two words she
She didn’t want to disturb their twin teen- clearly heard: “Tell her.”
age daughters who had come home from
college for these last few days and, worn She waited for more, but those two
out with grief, were now sleeping in chairs words had been expelled on the air of his
they had dragged into Ellen and Richard’s last breath. Nothing more followed. She sat
bedroom. Leaning against the bedrail, Ellen back down and looked at his face, already
reached for Richard’s hand, folded it in hers slack. He had been fading slowly over the
and rested her eyes. She hadn’t felt herself last several weeks, his decline a series of
falling asleep, but she’d been miles away little losses that were nearly imperceptible
when he tightened his grip on her hand, from day to day. Yet when life finally left
triggering a jolt that brought her back to his body, it went instantly and completely.
his bedside. Nothing but a shell was left where her hus-
band had been only a moment before.
“I’m here, my love,” she whispered, bringing
her face closer to his. She sat in the dank room and slipped
her hand out of his, her grief blunted and
After days of lethargy and confusion, he confused by his last words. She’d heard
was struggling to cut through the fog. His the two words distinctly enough, but the
eyes jumped about as he tried to focus, like mystery was in the message. Who was

54

Revista Literária Adelaide

the woman he was referring to? One of the bank and opened the box to find a pho-
their daughters? No, they had no secrets. tograph with the words, “August 5, 1995,
Someone else? Who could it be? And what Burlington, Vermont,” written on the back.
was she supposed to tell this woman? Or,
she wondered, remembering that guttural Ellen had stayed in the bank’s vault a full
noise, was there something that she wasn’t hour that day, sitting on the floor after her
supposed to tell? Ellen tried to replay in her legs had buckled, holding the photograph
mind the sound that preceded his last two in her hands. She hadn’t known that he’d
words. Had that gurgling exhalation actually been married before. But there he was in
been another word? “Don’t.” full color, standing tall and proud on the
steps of a church, his arm around his bride’s
Ellen pushed her questions aside and waist. The groom in the photograph was a
stood to look at the faces of her sleeping an- younger version of the husband she had
gels, one curled tightly inside the confines of married, but there was no denying that he
the upholstered chair frame, the other with was the same man. And while the photo-
limbs sprawled, spilling over and out from graph raised new questions that she wasn’t
the cushioned seat hidden somewhere be- at all sure she wanted answered, she could
neath her. Ellen dreaded having to disrupt now make some sense of his last words.
their dreams to tell them that this moment This had to be the woman. And the message,
had finally come. She went to window and she understood, was the news of his death.
closed her eyes as she drew back the cur- He had asked her to tell, or perhaps not to
tains, knowing the light would awaken their tell, this woman in the photograph that the
daughters and wordlessly deliver the mes- man she once married was now dead.
sage she couldn’t bear to say aloud.
As soon as she returned home, Ellen
Family and friends descended upon pulled out her laptop and started searching.
Ellen over the next several days. Rituals It took longer than she’d expected to find
for the dead filled her daylight hours and the information online, mostly because
pills that had been prescribed for Richard her trembling fingertips kept pressing the
carried her through the nights. She never wrong keys, but also because she hadn’t
told her daughters about their father’s anticipated her husband having a different
last words. She stowed those words and name back in 1995. Once she identified the
the questions they elicited deep in the re- newlyweds in the photograph as Paul and
cesses of her mind, weakening their power Lorraine Tanner, the rest of the dots were
by consciously refusing to acknowledge easier to connect. A wedding announce-
them. On the sixth day following Richard’s ment from the online archives of the Bur-
death, when Ellen allowed herself a mo- lington Times stated that the groom was
ment to think about what he’d said, enough employed at a local lumberyard and that,
time had finally passed that she was able after a brief honeymoon, the couple was
to dismiss his words as the murmurings of returning to Burlington to live in the home
a man infused with morphine. They didn’t they’d purchased on Bayside Road. Only a
cross her mind again until two weeks later, year after the wedding, Paul Tanner’s name
after the girls had returned to school, when appeared in the news again, this time under
Ellen found the key to a safe deposit box a headline announcing that a local man was
she never knew her husband had, drove to presumed dead following a boat fire on

55

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Lake Champlain. The scorched hull of Paul find any record of a second marriage. She
Tanner’s Stingray had been found adrift on discovered an announcement of one big
the lake, but his body was never recovered. change in Lorraine’s life, however: the birth
The newspaper also reported that Paul had of a son. By Ellen’s calculation, Lorraine
testified before a grand jury a few weeks would have been only a few weeks preg-
earlier, and two of his fellow employees nant at the time of the fire. Had Richard –
at the lumberyard had been indicted on or Paul – known he was going to be a father
charges of smuggling opioid pharmaceuti- when he left Vermont? Did he ever learn of
cals into the States from Canada. Although his son? Had he ever met him?
the cause of the fire aboard Paul’s boat
could not be proven beyond a reasonable And what exactly had Richard expected
doubt, the local press had no trouble spec- Ellen to do now? Was she supposed to find
ulating that Paul’s death had been murder. this woman and tell her that her husband,
Revenge. the one whose death she’d already grieved,
was dead once again? That he had replaced
It wasn’t, of course. Paul Tanner hadn’t her and their son with a new wife, new chil-
been aboard that boat when the blaze dren, and a whole new life for himself, as if
erupted. He was already on his way to a new she had meant nothing to him? Why would
life in Des Moines, Iowa. Ellen didn’t know he be so cruel as to want her to know that?
if he’d been enrolled in the federal witness
protection program or if he’d bought what The question made Ellen’s breath catch.
he needed on the black market, but when Was it because Lorraine already knew? Did
she met him in Des Moines only weeks after she know he had survived the fire? Had she
the boat fire, he had a new name, a cor- been involved in his decision to fake his
responding social security number, and an death in order to perhaps save his life? Had
Iowa driver’s license. He had found work they had been in touch over the years? Was
with a construction company and was cel- that why Lorraine needed to be told, so she
ebrating his first paycheck at the Iowa State would understand why she wouldn’t hear
Fair. After seeing Ellen give it her all in the from him again?
Skillet Toss competition, he had introduced
himself as Richard Miller and asked her Ellen rubbed her face and thought of
to dance. They married four months later. that guttural noise. Maybe Richard’s last re-
When they learned that Ellen was pregnant quest had been that Ellen not tell Lorraine.
with twins the following spring, he made a Perhaps Lorraine truly believed that he died
down payment on a home in the suburb of on that boat. She might have no idea of the
Altoona. In a matter of months, he had a job, life he’d made with Ellen. Maybe his final
a wife, a home and children on the way, all words had been a plea for Ellen to keep his
the pieces of a life that anyone would think secret, to leave Lorraine in peace, to protect
had taken him years to assemble. her from learning the truth about what he’d
done.
While Richard Miller had been forging
ahead with his new life, the widowed Lor- Ellen turned off her laptop, not wanting
raine Tanner had stayed put. She was still any more information. The day had ended
living in the Bayside Road home they’d hours earlier and her head was pounding,
bought as newlyweds, and Ellen couldn’t wrought by questions she couldn’t answer,
questions she didn’t even want to ask. She

56

Revista Literária Adelaide

didn’t know whether her husband wanted all true. It was her name, “Elle,” that had
her to tell this woman he was now dead, escaped his lips whenever they held each
but she was beginning to realize that what other. He used to make her feel like she was
he’d wanted didn’t matter to her anymore. the only woman he’d ever loved. She had
Silence wasn’t an option. She knew herself invested a lifetime believing that.
well enough to know that every day she
didn’t tell this woman the truth, she’d turn When she finally put the pen down,
herself inside out with worry over whether morning had come and she had eleven
she should change her mind. She couldn’t pages. She folded the letter, sealed it in-
bear that. She had to tell her. If the truth side a manila envelope and addressed it to
hurt, then so be it. It wasn’t her job to pro- the woman on Bayside Road in Burlington,
tect this woman from the truth. Vermont. She didn’t start to have second
thoughts about mailing the letter until
She started writing, pen to paper, the she couldn’t find any postage stamps. She
old-fashioned way. In a letter to Lorraine, searched the junk drawer in the kitchen. No
Ellen described the Richard Miller she had stamps, but she hadn’t said anything that
known. She told her how they’d danced at wasn’t true. She searched her purse. No
the fair that first night and how she knew stamps, but this woman wasn’t responsible
from the way he’d held her that they were for what he had done. She searched her
meant to be together; that their engagement desk. No stamps, but she was only doing
had been short, but their twenty-year mar- what he had asked her to do. Then again,
riage had not been long enough; that he’d maybe he’d asked her not to do this.
been a good husband and an exceptional
father to their two daughters. She wrote Damn it, she thought. She would not,
about the two family vacations they took could not choose silence. The post office
every summer – one always a new adven- would be opening soon. She grabbed her
ture and the other always the Iowa State Fair, keys, clutched the manila envelope under
where they’d dance again in celebration. She her arm and drove into town to buy stamps.
wrote that he’d never given her any reason She felt her temperature rise as she ap-
to suspect that he ’d been married before, proached the post office, but she didn’t
that he’d never talked about Lorraine, never slow down or put on her turn signal. She
even mentioned her name in all their years drove straight past the federal building,
together, not when reminiscing about his shaking her head as she checked her fuel
past, not in casual conversation, and never, gauge. She hadn’t even packed a bag.
not once, by mistake in bed.
She drove for twelve hours, spent the
Ellen paused, stunned by the vengeance night at a roadside motel, and arrived in
pouring out of her, the pain she was willing Burlington early the next afternoon. Once
to inflict on this other woman. She knew in town, she located the house on Bayside
she was trying to stake her claim, to keep Road and drove past it three times before
him hers and hers alone, even in death. It pulling into the parking lot of a convenience
was selfish, perhaps even juvenile, but store on the corner. Clutching the envelope,
writing this letter reminded her of what she got out of her car and sat on a bench
she’d thought they’d had, and something outside the store. She didn’t know what she
inside her needed that now. Besides, it was was going to do, but she needed to keep an
eye on the house while she figured out her

57

Adelaide Literary Magazine

next step. An hour passed as she sat there, all day without stopping to eat. I haven’t
staring at his old house, imagining his life had much of an appetite since my husband
before they met and all the things he’d passed a few weeks ago. I’ll go in the store
never told her. and get a candy bar and I’ll be just fine.”

She was using the manila envelope as a Unable to persuade her otherwise, the
visor to block the slanted rays of the late af- ambulance crew left. Lorraine was still there.
ternoon sun when she saw a sedan pull out
of the Bayside Road driveway. She watched “I heard you tell the EMTs about your
the car coast down the road to the store, turn husband,” Lorraine said. “I’m sorry for your
into the parking lot, and pull into the empty loss.”
spot right beside her. That was the last thing
she remembered before she fainted. How many times had Ellen heard that
phrase over the past three weeks?
“Easy does it. Take a deep breath and I’ll
help you sit up.” Lorraine continued. “I’m a widow, too.
It’s hard, I know.”
Blinking her eyes as though trying to
wake from a bad dream, Ellen realized that Ellen didn’t say anything.
it was her husband’s first wife who was
helping her, comforting her. “Candy isn’t enough,” Lorraine said.
“You’re coming to my house. It’s right up
“An ambulance is on the way. You’re the street, five houses down. A hot bowl of
going to be just fine.” soup is what you need.” Lorraine nodded
her head to confirm that the matter was de-
“I am fine,” Ellen said, pulling her arm out cided and stood up. “Unlike the EMTs, I’m
of the woman’s hands and dragging herself not going to accept no for an answer.”
back onto the bench. “And I don’t need an
ambulance.” Ellen knew she shouldn’t go. What good
could come from going to this woman’s
“I’ll leave it to the EMTs to decide what house? From walking into Richard’s former
you may or may not need.” Lorraine said, life? She started to argue, but realized that
putting one hand back on Ellen’s arm as she she was still trembling. She let Lorraine
leaned away, stretching to pick up some- help her get to her feet. Ellen appreciated
thing on the ground. “You dropped this,” the way Lorraine took charge, the way
she said, as she scooped up the manila en- she didn’t ask questions or offer options;
velope. she just told Ellen what to do. Right now,
that was exactly what Ellen needed. Ellen
“Don’t touch that!” Ellen said, her voice went to Lorraine’s car, the manila envelope
sounding, even to her own ears, like that of tucked tightly under her arm.
a woman losing control.
Walking into the woman’s home, Ellen
“All right, it’s okay,” Lorraine said, her took in the living room’s outdated decor: the
eyes focused on Ellen as she passed the en- plaid upholstered couch, an overstuffed re-
velope to her, never seeing the name and cliner, a knotty-pine coffee table and beige
address printed on its front. wall-to-wall carpeting. The room probably
looked exactly as it had when he’d lived
When the ambulance arrived, Ellen re- here more than twenty years ago. Did he
fused any treatment. “I’m fine, really,” she use to sit in that recliner? Put his book on
insisted, holding onto the envelope. “I drove

58

Revista Literária Adelaide

that coffee table? Had Lorraine preserved They didn’t talk while Ellen ate. Lorraine
the room just the way he left it in case he occupied herself with a mug of coffee. When
came back, so they could resume their lives Ellen’s bowl was empty, Lorraine poured her
together as if nothing had happened? Had some coffee and started the conversation.
she been waiting, hoping he might return
to her one day? Or had she just never been “I won’t lie and tell you it’s easy. It’s been
able to let go? twenty years for me and I still miss him. Not
a day goes by that I don’t think about him.
There was a framed wedding photo- A friend of mine once said that losing a hus-
graph on the fireplace mantel, a different band through divorce is like being a widow.
photograph than the one Ellen found at the All marriages end by either death or divorce,
bank. When it caught Ellen’s eye, she was she’d say, and she saw little difference be-
drawn to it like metal to a magnet. She went tween the two. She was divorced, of course,
to the fireplace, put the manila envelope and had no idea what it’s like to bury your
down on a chair and picked up the frame. husband. I would’ve given anything in the
In this picture, they were in each other’s world for Paul not to have died so young,
arms, dancing at their wedding reception. for him to have lived, even without me. He
He was smiling. Not a wide, mouthy grin, deserved that.”
but a serene and peaceful smile. She had
seen that smile before, and seeing it now, Ellen’s eyes bored into Lorraine. Was this
like this, hurt like hell. woman asking to be told? Did she already
know? Or was it that she couldn’t begin to
Ellen was blinking away tears when Lor- understand the pain that the truth would
raine stepped closer to her, drawn in by her deliver?
own memories.
“It’s the little things that trip you up,” Lor-
“He loved to dance,” Lorraine said. raine continued. “Things like nicknames. My
husband hated my name, said it sounded
“Yes, he did,” agreed Ellen. like the name of old lady. So he just called
me by my initial, ‘L.’ One day, a neighbor
Lorraine’s focus shifted from the photo- called me ‘L,’ just like Paul used to, and I
graph to Ellen. burst into tears. The poor man, he had no
idea what caused me to cry like I did.”
Ignoring Lorraine’s stare, Ellen neverthe-
less offered an explanation. “It’s obvious Ellen choked on her coffee. “He called
from the photograph,” she said. “He looks you ‘Elle?’” she asked.
so young.” Ellen continued to stare at the
photograph, transfixed, her knuckles white “Yes,” Lorraine said, her eyes moistened
from her grip on the frame. They stood by the memory, even after so many years.
there, silent, for what must have been sev-
eral minutes before Lorraine, unsettled by “That’s what he called me, too,” Ellen said.
Ellen’s reaction, gently removed the photo-
graph from Ellen’s hands and returned it to Lorraine’s eyes jumped to Ellen’s so
its place on the mantle. forcefully that her head followed.

“Come to the kitchen,” Lorraine said, ush- “My husband, I mean,” Ellen said, shifting
ering Ellen out of the living room. “I’ll warm in her seat.
up that soup.”
“Yes, of course,” Lorraine said too quickly,
out of politeness. And then, in a tone that

59

Adelaide Literary Magazine

suggested that questions were starting to “That’s Ellen’s,” Lorraine said, noticing –
rise to the surface, she added, “Your hus- for the second time that afternoon – Ellen’s
band.” reaction to that envelope being in someone
else’s hands.
At a loss for how to find their way out of
an uncomfortable moment, the two women “Well, it’s addressed to you,” he said and
hid behind their coffee mugs. When the placed the envelope face up on the table in
coffee was nearly gone and neither woman front of her. He didn’t seem to notice that
had figured out what to say next, the silence neither woman moved. “I’ve got to run,
was mercifully interrupted by the sound of Mom. I’ll see you tonight.” He turned to go.
heavy steps bounding down the stairs. Sec- “Nice to meet you,” he added with a nod to
onds later, a young man wearing the boots Ellen, and then left the two women in the
responsible for the distraction entered the kitchen and went out the front door.
kitchen. Ellen knew who he was before the
introductions were made. She couldn’t take Lorraine sat at the table and stared at her
her eyes off him. name on the envelope. Not many people
called her “Mrs. Paul Tanner” twenty years
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said, realizing that she after Paul’s death. She lowered her coffee
was making the young man uncomfortable. mug and placed it carefully, noiselessly on
“It’s just that you look so much like your father.” the table before picking up the envelope.

“That’s what my mom tells me. You knew “What is this? Why is it addressed to me?”
my dad?” she asked, without looking at Ellen. “You
don’t know me.”
Yes, he slept in my bed for twenty years,
she thought. But she shook her head from It was too late for Ellen to do or deny
side to side and said, “No, I just was looking anything. She could tell from the look on
at your parents’ wedding photograph.” Lorraine’s face that the pieces were already
sliding into place. They sat there, silently,
She could feel the heavy weight of Lor- long enough for Lorraine to think through
raine’s eyes on her. all that had happened that afternoon, ev-
erything that had been said, and everything
“Wow, you’ve got supernatural vision to that hadn’t. When she was ready, Lorraine
see any resemblance based on that grainy lifted her head in Ellen’s direction, as if she
photograph, but, hey, I’ll take the compli- intended to look her in the eye, but didn’t.
ment. Mom always said he was a handsome Her eyes stayed fixed on the envelope in her
guy.” He smiled his father’s good-natured hands. In a measured voice, one in which
smile and gave his mother a kiss on her she didn’t release her breath as she spoke,
cheek on his way out. He didn’t make it to she asked, “Did he tell you about me?”
the front door before they heard his voice
again. “I’m sorry,” Ellen answered, unwilling to
twist the knife. “I should go.”
“Hey, Mom, what’s this?”
“Wait. Please.” Lorraine took a deep
He was back, holding the manila enve- breath and closed her eyes, as if wishing she
lope in his right hand. would awaken somewhere else when she
opened them.
Ellen tasted the bile surge in her throat
and covered her mouth with her hand.

60

Revista Literária Adelaide

Ellen waited. She wanted to run, to hide, Lorraine nodded, then stood, the enve-
to scream, to cry, but she stayed, obediently lope heavy in her hands, her eyes vacant.
seated and silent in her chair. She waited for Ellen to get to her feet.

“I need to know … ” Lorraine started, but Ellen rose. She walked behind her chair
her voice trailed off. She swallowed and sum- and pushed it in against the table. Without
moned it back. “I just need to know,” she said, taking a step toward Lorraine, Ellen reached
reaching deep inside, “Was he was happy?” forward and gently eased the sealed manila
envelope out of Lorraine’s hands, and took
The two women did not look at one an- it with her when she walked out the door.
other.

“I think so, yes.” Ellen said softly. She kept
her gaze on the table. “But even so,” she
added, “he wanted me to tell you.”

About the Author

A graduate of Dartmouth College and Columbia Law School,
Denise Cloutier lives in Goshen, Connecticut. Her work
experiences as a lawyer, bartender, investment advisor,
caregiver, call-center supervisor, substitute teacher, and
collegiate women’s rugby coach provide ample inspiration
for her fiction-writing.

61

MY ROOM IN SAVILLE

by Peter Fraser

Six hours on the highway brought me back to alleyways, yet the driver has no intention
into Spain from Lisbon. How can you get of slowing down, honking and abusing pe-
tired, just sitting in a bus, staring out a win- destrians as they casually move off the road.
dow? It’s not possible. I’d read that Lord They pressed themselves against the an-
Byron made this identical journey in 1809 cient buildings, with a genuine indifference,
and it took him four days, but then again, to let our rude passage progress. Then re-
he was doing it on horseback. He arrived sume their map reading, their orienteering,
in Lisbon off the packet ‘Princess Elizabeth’. trying to understand the irrational medieval
He brought one personal valet and two ser- grid of the place.
vants with him. He understood there were
sacrifices needed to be made. Yes, I begin to recognise the immediate
area, we were in the right vicinity, I knew
Byron entered a Spain that was in the pro- that cafe and that square, then the hotel
cess of being turned over by Napoleon. He itself. I paid the driver and even gave him a
wasn’t too keen to join in the defence of Iberia, tip. I feel relief at the front door, anticipating
so he left for Cadiz and then eventually sailed room 305. There is a lightness in my demea-
to Greece. Saville is mentioned in ‘Childe nour, I feel safe, in a hostile world.
Harold,’ after publication it made him prob-
ably the first international literary celebrity. The manager himself was there, al-
And the guesthouse where he stayed is still though he always seems to be, he raised
here. Number nineteen, Calle de las Cruzes. his eyes as I opened the door. I recognised
him, but there was no returned acknowl-
My entry is a lot calmer. There are no edgement. He was most mature, perhaps
legions of Frenchmen wanting to pillage the even eighty years old, could that be pos-
countryside. Although a financial crisis is sible? Dressed like a caricature of a British
threatening. Modern warfare is conducted television barrister and was clearly a man
in a different manner, the place is now being in command. He belonged to an order of
squeezed and plundered by anonymous ancients that controlled most hotels and a
bankers. Yet there seems to be no evidence steady mature bureaucracy that held the
that the people are building defences, to city together. It seemed the elderly didn’t
repel an invader. They cannot even see the want to retire, which left the younger gen-
approaching enemy. erations contemplating migration.

I take a taxi to my preferred hotel. It’s in “I need a room for to-night.”
the old town, where the streets narrowed

62

Revista Literária Adelaide

I kept it succinct. There was no need to “Can let you have 305?”
elaborate what I might actually need. It all
goes quicker if he only concentrates on one “Yeah. OK. That’s just right. No. That’s
thing. great. That’s exactly what I want. I mean I ex-
pected it.”
He examined my luggage, scrutinised my
clothing, then looked deeply into my eyes, I think I was talking nonsense.
he then crushed a piece of paper, threw it
in an invisible waste bin on his right, reposi- It was the third time I had been through
tioned the office stapler and began to study all this. I knew and anticipated the dialogue.
the computer screen. Finally, he spoke to me. I appreciated the minor strain of checking in.
I understood my appearance would provoke
“One night?” some clerical drama, but I was sure a room
patiently awaited my arrival.
He asked without even looking up at me.
“Your passport? Credit card?”
“Yeah. Well certainly to-night. I mean I
might stay longer. We’ll see what happens. I had them ready. This is who I am. All
What do you reckon?” the information you would ever need to
know about me is in my passport and credit
“You. A reservation senor?” card. I could be identified in any part of the
world with only these documents.
Again, not bothering with eye contact.
The manager had a luxuriant full head of
“No. Don’t have one. Just showed up. As dark oiled hair, very handsome, his coiffure
you can see.” way cooler than even a young Mick Jagger.
Perhaps he was a retired footballer from Ma-
This information changed the entire se- drid or even an old matador that had survived
quence. I knew it would. He quickly looked or what about a redundant dramatic lead
up and studied me again, then contem- from the national theatre? Not impossible.
plated my luggage. Or was he investigating
my footwear? I’m not sure what he was Then I wonder why I need to attach all
looking for but my image held some se- that nonsense to him? He’s probably a ca-
cret knowledge. He crushed another piece reer manager. A position he has held for
of paper and threw it in a bin on his left fifty years. But he had the competence and
side. I think he had a waste paper bin posi- efficiency to quickly check in a foreigner and
tioned either side of him, stereo bins, then understood how tourists had a low toler-
emitted a deep sigh. His face returned to ance for time wasting. But I knew he secretly
the screen. It was no easy procedure and understood that I enjoyed the check-in pro-
his audience understood this as well. Al- cedure. There is only disappointment if your
though, I was confident he could do it. I audience does not appreciate the theatrics.
mean I had seen him do this before. Several If the arriving guests have no idea of hotel
times. I had no doubt. He punched a secret clerical protocols.
algorithm into the keyboard, his concentra-
tion intense, but it eventually eased. Then “Is room 305. And here your wi-fi pass-
he finally offered me my room. The tension word. Must need it.”
dissolved. We had come through the check
in process together. There was a bond. A “OK. Thanks. I know my way. I’ll be alright.
new relationship. We were now landlord And can you send up some white wine. Dry.”
and tenant. Again.

63

Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Water? Dry water? Senor?” cured for two years. And some red wine
from a local vineyard. Although they had
“No. Not water. Wine. Vino. Blanco. But salted cod with potatoes that was most
dry. And a proper wine glass would be ap- agreeable. I’d had that before and it seemed
preciated. If you can do it. Thanks.” a reliable dish. Well I’ll have both of them. I
am feeling hungry and the tapas made the
“Ah? Is done. With no complications. effort with their food.
Away straight now.”
I knew there was a waiter there that
Once he had my credit card he switched could understand my minor needs. He was
with ease to the role of wine waiter. But it their English expert, adjudicating on all re-
was my room. Room 305. Why did he al- quests made in English. I wondered if he got
ways put me here? It did play on my mind. paid extra for securing orders from these
I could see there was hardly anyone else foreigners with their limited communica-
in the place. I didn’t care, I had grown ac- tion skills? Most places seemed to have a
customed to it. There was a view out the designated English interpreter, usually they
window to my preferred evening tapas bar. were hopeless, but some could grasp what
I opened the window and let the noise from you were trying to say.
the world below seep into the place. The
bar was too crowded at the moment, but it I logged on and brought up the days
will be just right in an hour. The wine arrived emails. Nothing that required an immediate
with a proper wine glass. I had my own cork response. It seemed I was lost. Or the world
screw. This world still used corks. I liked it. had forgotten about me. I was not being
It suited my backwards vision of the world. asked to participate anymore. We seemed
There were no metal stelvin enclosures to be free of each other.
here, or anywhere else in Spain, that I had
observed. We were prepared to keep all The room was comforting, I think it was
that out. Even if it meant buying cork from glad to see me. I had a spare hour. I might
the Portuguese. wash some clothes, or I could watch a bit of
Spanish television, or I could just look out
I unpacked a few things, connected my- the window, at the alleyway and wait for
self to the wi-fi and enjoyed some of the my bar to surrender a spare table. These
wine. I couldn’t understand the label, but were the pressing issues I had to confront.
it was at the right temperature and most And I had no intention of evading any of
enjoyable. There was an interesting lifted them. They were pitched right at my skill
fruit. If only I knew what kind of varietal level. Someone understood my ability. All I
it was. needed was a bit of time. I’d come back and
decide. And then explain why I thought my
But I was thinking food. Acorn fed Ibe- choice was the right one.
rian jamon. Jamon iberico de bellota. Yes. I
might even go with the one that had been

About the Author
Peter Fraser lives in Australia, enjoys wine and coffee, reading and writing and ah...travel. He
published about fifteen short stories so far.

64

ONE LONG NIGHT

by Jay Hookham

I work too much. I keep telling myself it’s calls and finally it looked like we were going
because I need to if I want to stay in school, to get some sleep. That was the one perk
the couple of small scholarships I have of night shift, if you don’t get calls, you can
cover tuition and little else. They certainly sleep through your shift. This was my third
aren’t enough for me to live off. But as al- night shift in a row, needless to say, I haven’t
ways, there’s more to it. I also work to for- slept much lately. I mumble good night to
get about my many, self-inflicted problems. Jessie and we both go upstairs to the little
I deny this and try to convince myself it’s bedrooms in the station. The rooms are re-
because I am a full-time student and need ally just glorified closets, a tiny, squeaky bed,
to support myself. I can’t work a normal job small TV, a lamp, and of course the speaker
with nice daytime hours designed with hu- in the upper corner whose only job is to
mans in mind because I go to school during wake me up in the night to tell me someone
the day and so night shift is all I can do. Al- needed my help right that second. Too tired
though that may have been true a couple to get undressed, I pull off my zipper boots
of months ago, it’s not the only reason any- and collapse face down on the bed ignoring
more. its mouse like protests.

I work for a local ambulance agency, not “811 primary ambulance respond to
the highest paying job but it is what I know Highway 25 south mile post 157 for a two
how to do. At sixteen a volunteered as a ju- vehicle traffic accident, one vehicle upside
nior firefighter for a local fire district, had down, possible entrapment. 02:12” I hear
my EMT license by eighteen, and got a job as I am rudely pulled from sleep only to
at the ambulance agency a couple months have the reality of the call to sink in. I hate
later. Now after three years, I was ready to traffic accidents in the winter; they’re cold,
move on, hence the college thing. However, which makes everything more difficult, the
college wasn’t going so well at the moment workspace around the incident is small due
and if I didn’t get my grades up, even the to piles of snow, and they take forever. I
little scholarships I had would be gone. push my way back into my boots and slam
through my door harder than I meant to,
Its 1:28 a.m. Monday and I am just get- still waking up and stumble down the stairs.
ting back to bed from the last call. Ever since Jessie meets me at the ambulance. “Yours,”
the 12-hour shift started at 6:00 p.m., my she says telling me what I already know
partner Jessie and I had, gotten back to back that it is my turn to take the call. I get into

65

Adelaide Literary Magazine

the passenger side of my ambulance and hatchback of a now unidentifiable make on
fumble for the radio as we pull out of the its roof in our lane, the other car, an SUV
shed into the night. half in the left ditch blocking the other lane.
Other than a couple of cars pulled over
“811 to fire control you can show us en with their hazards blinking dimly, no other
route to the accident on 25,” I blurt into the vehicles are present. That’s odd, I think to
radio, my voice a little slurred from lack of myself, fire units and law enforcement al-
sleep. most always beat us to incidents out here. It
took us almost twenty minutes to get to the
“811 you are responding for a two-ve- scene, fire units are stationed much closer.
hicle traffic accident one vehicle on its top “811 fire control we are on scene.” I radio in
the other in the ditch, fully blocking traffic, as we stop about a hundred feet away from
possible numerous injuries.” How on earth the smashed hatchback.
can the dispatcher sound so cheerful at
this ungodly hour for a call like this?. Well, I open the back door and grab the
maybe “cheerful” is too strong a word, ap- trauma bag from the back. “I’ll get this one
athetic maybe? I take a moment to catch you check the SUV.” I tell Jessie while I head
my breath, mostly awake now. “Lights,” I tell towards the hatchback.
Jessie to have her turn on the emergency
lights as we speed through the night. “Hurry Up Damnit!” A by stander yells at
me for the fourth time as I walk over, nego-
If only I had emergency lights a month tiating the ice. “Can you move any slower!?”
ago, maybe things would have turned out the guy continues. I ignore him as I always
different, I start to think before I tell myself do. EMTs don’t run. If I rush somewhere and
I’m being stupid. slip on the ice and break myself, instead of
fixing the problem I came to deal with, I be-
I look up and see stars in the cold night come the problem and I’m already too good
sky, no snow is falling. Good, that means I at making problems. Reaching the vehicle’s
can probably get a helicopter in if I have a driver side, I bend down to look through the
serious patient. Medflight air ambulances broken drivers window to check inside the
are the best way to get patients to the high- car. Only the driver.
level trauma centers quickly instead of the
lower level facilities nearby. I sit back in my “Sir can you hear me? I’m Eric with the
seat, my lack of sleep beginning to show ambulance I’m going to get you out of there.”
again. It is the short, quiet times like these
I can’t keep the image of my sister away. “Yeah, please hurry.” He says in a shaky
After a long self-loathing minute, I shake voice.
off the painful memories and look out the
window. The driver is bleeding from a laceration
on his forehead and due to the unnatural
“How much farther?” Jessie asks after a angle his left leg is bent, I’m guessing his leg
few minutes. is broken. The air bags had deployed, and
he is hanging from his seat belt. We would
“Couple miles” I respond looking up from need help getting him out.
the map on my phone.
Into the radio. “811 to fire control, ETA
We round the last corner, skidding a for fire?”
bit on some black ice, and see a white

66

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Fire not yet paged; would you like us to falling back on my training. I then fumble
page now?” Was the response. for some gauze in the confined space and
hold it to the patient’s head wound to try
Suppressing all the snide replies that to control the bleeding. It works. Sort of. I
would get me fired if I said them over the hate head wounds, they bleed a lot, even if
radio, I simply said “yes.” Fire should have they aren’t too bad, it’s almost like there is
been sent at the same time we were but something important in there that needs a
occasionally that doesn’t happen. lot of blood. I think sarcastically.

I look back to my patient. He is in his thir- “Hey sir, in the bag’s left pocket are some
ties maybe, has a coat on, which will keep heat packs, can you find them and pass
him warm for a little while, but he will need them to me please?” I say to a pair of legs
help soon because of the artic like wind I assume belong to the bystander who was
blowing across the road. yelling at me earlier.

“Where do you hurt?” I ask my patient. A minute later I reach out my bloody
gloved hand for the chemical heat packs
“Everywhere.” He responds more shakily that are being held out to me.
and softer than before.
“These?” The bystander asks.
“What hurts the most?” No response and
his eyes have closed. I shake his shoulder “Yep, thanks.”
a bit and raise my voice. Still nothing from
the driver. Shit. I start by going through I activate the heat packs and start
the basics in my head checking my patient. stuffing them in my patient’s clothing in
Pulse a little fast breathing a little shallow. strategic locations where large blood ves-
The car looks stable enough, so I go to the sels are near the body’s surface. I pause
back of the car to the hatchback’s shattered with the last one considering keeping it to
windscreen drop onto my back and crawl warm my already freezing hands then stuff
into the car behind the driver ignoring the it beneath the guy’s arm.
broken glass everywhere. It never ceases to
amaze me how quickly patients can crash. Jessie comes over and informs me that
Unfortunately, there is no room to try to one of the patients in the other vehicle
lower him and since he is unconscious, I’m wanted transport to the hospital, she had
powerless to try. no obvious injury but wanted to be on the
safe side. The other patient has already
Keying the radio again. “811 to Fire signed a medical release. I updated Jessie
Control, launch Medflight to our location on my patient and the helicopter before she
please.” left to take care of her patient. Even though
Jessie’s patient was probably fine, Jessie
“Confirming request for Medflight.” Dis- was stuck with her patient to monitor her
patch immediately answers. and would be unable to help me with mime.
So, I was alone on my back in a smashed car
I answer in the affirmative and go to with a multisystem trauma to deal with.
work on my patient. I reach through a
broken window to my open trauma bag I Laying on my back on the ceiling of a
left by the window and pull out a c-collar car, trying crane my way around the driver
and strap it around the patient’s neck to sta- seat gets uncomfortable after about a
bilize it in case he has a neck injury. Again,

67

Adelaide Literary Magazine

millisecond and only gets worse from there. Halfway through I got a blood pressure
Making things worse is the fact that cars and found that it was pretty low, unfortu-
are not supposed to be upside down the nately with me on my back and the patient
cramped space makes it difficult for even hanging from the seat belts, I couldn’t start
simple things. I elected not to splint the an IV to give him fluids to fix the low blood
fractured leg at the moment, it would be pressure. I tried three times but couldn’t get
much easier to do when there was more a stick. That was always the worst, knowing
space after the fire crews tore some stuff how to fix something but not being able to
out of the way. To think that half an hour for one reason or another. It seemed like
ago, I was in bed. my patient’s low vital signs were mocking
me and my low grades. A firefighter inter-
After 15 minutes that seemed like an rupted my gloom just then to tell me a few
eternity, the fire department arrived and minutes more and we would be home free.
started working around me to extricate Yeah right.
the patient. The operation was directed by
Jonas, a fire captain and EMT who I trusted My patient stirred again as one of the
with the extrication and had worked with door hinges popped with a spine-tingling
many times before. Remarkably, there is shriek of rent metal. When he opened his
little for me to do as they rip what’s left of mouth, some blood dripped out. There had
the vehicle apart around me with nothing been no blood before when he spoke to me
but a thin blanket to protect me and my earlier.
patient. Well, that’s not entirely true, I was
protecting my patient as well, making sure “Jonas, keep quite a second please.” I yell
that he wasn’t harmed by anything that was out to the firefighters and struggling with
happening around us. Fortunately, the fire my stethoscope investigating a hunch. It
guys are carful to make sure that nothing took a minute, but I could hear faint breath
happens that would harm us, but it always sounds on the right side but not on the left.
makes me feel nervous knowing I am inches A quick check of his oxygen saturation told
from equipment that could literally cut me me all I needed to know.
in half.
“Jonas, we need him out now, he has
My patient came around twice during a collapsed lung and his oxygen stats are
the 30-minute extrication distracting me dropping.” I yell again.
from what was going on around me and the
horrible thoughts that invaded my every “We almost got it Eric and the helicopter
quite moment these days. When the equip- is only a couple minutes out.” Came the re-
ment got loud, he would only cry out or say sponse.
something incomprehensible. I didn’t have
a thermometer, but I didn’t need one to A minute later one of the firefighters
know he was losing the hypothermia battle. passed an oxygen mask through the broken
I asked the fire guys for more blankets and windscreen and I strapped it the to patient’s
chemical heat packs as a cold breeze hit us face. I don’t panic, but I was beginning to
again and made me shiver. If I was having a question whether this guy was going to
hard time keeping warm, then my patient make it or not. If he could hang on until
with multisystem trauma was even worse. the helicopter arrived with it came high-
er-level providers who could go about fixing
things like the collapsed lung. However, if

68

Revista Literária Adelaide

he stopped breathing or I lost his heartbeat it was that serious. If I was there, I would
before then, there was nothing I could do have noticed the signs, in fact I did, but
until we got him out and by then it would be not until I checked on her an hour after I
too late. The broken-up car started to feel got home late. We had been close, only a
awful small. year apart but in the end, I couldn’t protect
her as I had just done for this random guy I
A minute or two later we were ready to don’t know and never will.
remove the patient from the vehicle and we
heard the chopper overhead on landing ap- The next thing I felt was the wash of air
proach. While we were pulling the guy out from the helicopter blades spinning above
there was nothing to do about his leg ex- my head as I backed away from the aircraft
cept try to be careful with it. There was no with the firefighters and it lifted off. “Good
time to follow my plan for splinting it now, jobs,” and “nice works,” were passed around
getting him out was more important. Stupid by the fire crew around me. I thanked them
mistake, I cursed to myself. We got him and headed back to my ambulance.
out as carefully as we could, and I crawled
through the broken glass on the ceiling, fol- A minutes later I saw Jessie for the first
lowing the patient out, I glanced around for time in over an hour in the back of the am-
an instant before getting back to it. bulance. She was taking care of one of the
passengers from the SUV, an older lady who
The scene was unrecognizable from didn’t seem to be injured, but wanted to be
when I had entered the car. Fire engines sure. I couldn’t blame her. Jessie told me
and their floodlights were illuminating she was ready to leave if I was. Since my pa-
the scene, police cars blocking the early tient went out in the helicopter and Jessie
morning commuters, a helicopter in the had hers in the back, I got to drive back to
road behind my ambulance, and enough the hospital. Twenty minutes for me to be
flashing lights to rival the seizure inducing by myself and sulk. Great. Just what I need.
chaos of a casino floor. Not to mention the I curbed my self-sarcasm and lingered in
smashed little car that was now torn apart the back for a moment before getting into
complements of the Fire Department. As the driver’s seat relishing the first hint of
we finished packaging the patient a medic warmth I had felt in over an hour; or maybe
from the helicopter arrived, I gave her my a month.
report and then we lifted the patient to their
stretcher and into the helicopter. Through After we got to the hospital and trans-
the window I saw the paramedic in the dim, ferred the patient, I cleaned out the back of
blue light, starting the IV I couldn’t. Another the ambulance. The trauma kit was missing
of my failures reminding me of my biggest half its stuff thanks to the veritable train
one and I felt like I got punched in the chest wreck of a patient I had. I looked for the
when the thought hit me. blood pressure cuff I had used on the pa-
tient only to remember that I’d left it on
My sister had died from a sudden brain the patient. I’d have to restock when we re-
aneurysm the month before. I was sup- turned to the station. A blood pressure cuff.
posed to be home that day, but I stayed out That is all I would have needed to figure out
with friends longer than I should have. She that something was wrong with my sister.
had been complaining of the worst head- Why hadn’t I checked? It would have been
ache of her life, all morning no one thought sky high and I would have put it all together

69

Adelaide Literary Magazine

and rushed her to the ER. My mind kept “Sure, it’s what I’m here for.” I say, al-
trying to tell me that it wasn’t completely ways kind of embarrassed during the rare
true; that symptoms don’t always show up instances a patient thanks me.
the same way for every patient making an
accurate diagnosis difficult, but it didn’t “Do you know how the guy in the other
work, and I still felt the guilt of my failure. car is doing?”
And now, I would never know if I could have
saved her. “No,” I answer breathily, “we flew him
out to another hospital. We usually don’t
I returned to Jessie sitting at a computer find out at all actually, privacy laws and all.”
finishing her report in the small EMS room
in the back of the ER. I hadn’t even started A pause.
mine yet, but it would have to wait until we
got back to the station. “Are you sure you’re all right? It seems
you’re more than just tired.” She had a con-
“I forgot to get a signature from her can cerned look in her eyes, and I realized that
you get it for me?” Jessie asked, handing me she genuinely cared about me.
the form, not waiting for an answer.
I don’t know why but I had the sudden
I took the piece of paper and walked urge to tell her all, how I wasn’t there to
back down the hall of a pleasantly quiet help my sister until it was too late and how
hospital to the room where we dropped I wasn’t supposed to be late, my grade trou-
off the patient from the SUV. I passed that bles, feeling like I was failing my patients like
room, the one where I said goodbye to my the one tonight where there was so much
sister. more I should have done but couldn’t, all
of it.
At the right room I tapped gently with
one knuckle against the frame of the open And I did.
door trying not to wake who I assumed was
the patient’s daughter sleeping in a chair, Ten minutes later I was finished; drained
no hospital staff were in the room. completely, laid bare before this stranger.
She didn’t say anything during this time
“Ma’am?” I said softly sitting down on a only looked at me with what I could only
wheeled stool next to the bed. “My partner guess was love. Outside of friends and
forgot to have you sign this earlier.” family, I rarely felt that, if ever. It was kind
of weird. Embarrassed again, I apologized
“Do you have a pen?” she asked. and told her to take it easy and turned to
go, at the door she said, “Hang in there Eric,
I handed her a pen. you’ll make it through.” And I believed her.
I smiled weakly. As I left, there was some-
“You look tired.” thing in her face, a look I couldn’t quite
place.
“It’s been a long night. . .or two.” I an-
swered. On my way back to Jessie I again thought
of the look the lady’s face had that I couldn’t
“I’ll bet, with this weather and all. What’s quite put my finger on. Something intan-
your name?” gible. I passed by a door with one-way pri-
vacy glass and caught my own reflection
“Eric.” for the first time in weeks and found that

“Thank you, Eric, for all you do.”

70

Revista Literária Adelaide

it mirrored the look I had just seen. It was troubled than I had in weeks, if only a little,
the look of someone who had experienced with the feeling that maybe, just maybe,
loss and pain. That was why she cared, everything might turn out okay in the end.
that’s why she understood. I left feeling less That maybe I could heal.

About the Author

Jay Hookham is a senior student at Central Washington University’s Creative and Professional
Writing bachelors program. Most of his writing has been academic in nature. Outside of
University, he has contributed to online wikis and similar community engagement.

71

COLD WAR GIRL

by William R. Stoddart

It was a long death in a short life. Aunt Tanya vodka from the bottle and noticed bits of
died from a proliferation of white blood cells, food swirling crazily in the clear liquid. Milo
the end coming just shy of her half-century had been eating potatoes. When he saw
birthday. “Your aunt was buried in Prussian me looking at the bottle he smiled; his rot-
blue, her favorite color,” my Uncle Jovan ting teeth looked like broken gravestones in
said. “I want to get drunk with Milo. You fetid earth. “You like my vodka?” He asked
come with me. Make sure I get back home. and grabbed the bottled from me with his
You good boy come to visit your uncle. We gnarled hand. “You drink my vodka and ask
visit Milo.” We sat around Milo’s kitchen for daughter? What you want next? Make
table and I was introduced to his daughter, love to my wife?” Milo smiled and the rot-
Yana. She had thick, straw-colored hair and ting teeth smell mixed with the tang of ethyl
a face kissed by the raw Yugoslavian win- alcohol. I felt myself begin to retch.
ter. Her green eyes were wide-set, serious
and judging. She stood with her large, dirty “He’s just pulling your leg,” my uncle
hands in a fig leaf position. Her eyes closed Jovan laughed. “My nephew good boy, no
for a moment; she looked like she was worries, Milo. Have another drink. God
making a hasty wish. She opened her eyes bless this house.” Jovan reached across the
and ran out of the kitchen. Milo got out his table and grabbed Milo’s beard. He gave it
homemade vodka and we drank and talked a playful tug. “You got to watch your mouth,
for a couple of hours. After the slow burn of Milo. Look what god can do.” Jovan grinned
a drink cooled, I found courage and asked wide and tapped his front tooth with his
his permission to call on Yana. She was sev- index finger. It was capped and the veneer
enteen when I met her. I was twice her age. made it look larger than his other teeth.
“God bless this house.”
“What you have to offer Yana? What you
give me?” Milo began his horse-trading. Yana and I got married two months after
we met. We moved to Vinca and were as-
“I got a job waiting for me in Vinca with a signed a one-bedroom, fifth floor apartment.
nice apartment,” I said proudly. There was a mix of administrative employees,
support staff and peasant-workers who had
“You police?” Milo looked at me suspi- apartments within the same research insti-
ciously. tute complex. The peasant-workers were
farmers who took seasonal jobs in the city
“Security guard. I’ll work with scientists to help make ends meet. They were typically
at the research institute.” I took a swig of

72

Revista Literária Adelaide

the nuclear garbage men who packaged the room. Stas took me through the storage
waste for eventual disposal — they also locker that was located in the basement of
cleaned-up the accidents. the containment building. There were rows
of metal shelving that lined the area like
“Every day it’s cabbage smell. Wafts up dominos. The shelves contained canisters,
from Boskovic’s apartment. How can anyone old motors, stacks of files, lose papers, as-
eat cabbage every day?” Yana asked. She sorted hardware and small cardboard box-
opened the window that overlooked the es. The boxes were labeled in black marker
courtyard. “Clothes smell of cabbage. Bed with a month and year. Stas and I made our
smells of cabbage,” she pinched her nose way through the rows of metal shelves. He
and wrinkled-up her young face. A light rain pulled a box off a shelf and lifted the card-
began to fall and Yana put her large hands board lid. “You handle this with protective
on the window to close it, but changed her gloves — I’m used to it so I don’t need,” Stas
mind. “When we get money saved, first said as he pulled out a glass cylinder. It was
thing we do is move to better apartment the size of a small test tube and had a la-
where scientists live,” she announced. bel attached. “This is production run sam-
ple,” Stas said as he held the ampoule up
“You spend money in your head. Look to the dim incandescent light bulb hanging
what I give you. Plenty of food and new from the ceiling. Inside the tube I could see
dresses. You live in a palace compared to a black powder. He slipped the tube into
your farm,” I said, tired of Yana’s bitching the inside pocket of his jacket. “Hundreds
about money. The rain got heavy and of these lying around here, no one will miss,”
started to come in the open window. he said as he reached into the small card-
board box and removed two more glass am-
“Close the window, you born in a barn?” I poules. He closed the box and positioned it
asked Yana. “Oh, that’s right, you were born within the dust outline on the shelf. “Let’s
in a barn,” I said, pleased to think I was clever. go, time for lunch,” Stas said and I followed
him out of the storage locker.
“Go to work old man. I pack your lunch.
What I do here all day, smell Boskovic’s It was a typically overcast day in Vinca.
cabbage? I want car so I don’t have to walk It was a Sunday morning and I met Stas in
to market. Scientist wives have cars,” Yana front of the church. People slogged past
whined. with their heads bowed against the cold.
No one bothered to shovel the sidewalks
*** anymore. The streets were plowed and pep-
pered with cinders once a week. Stas spat
I was working a night shift with Stas. I just blood into the snow outside Saints Peter
started my security job at the institute and and Paul. “Russian cigarettes like smoking
was shadowing him. Stas Dragulic was a razor blades,” he said. Stas took a deep
peasant-worker. His family owned a plot of breath of cold air and started coughing.
land in the village outside of Vinca where
Uncle Jovan lived. He worked three winters I followed him into the narthex of the
at the institute before he came on full-time church. The saint on the icon stand followed
as a security guard. He was twenty-two me with his serious and judging eyes as we
years old and lived with his older sister in a walked toward the basement stairs. There
ground-floor apartment in the complex. His were long wooden tables on the linoleum
sister, Bela worked in the institute’s mail-

73

Adelaide Literary Magazine

floor in the basement. The smell of old coffee and forced it into the candle box, bowed his
filled the damp air. A small group of people head and muttered a quick prayer.
gathered around several tables. Stas extended
his hand to the man sitting behind a table. Yana loved the faux Gucci handbag. The
“Five cartons, American,” Stas said quietly. makeup was a gift from Stas. “The lipstick
is from Los Angeles, USA.” Stas handed the
“I didn’t think you were coming,” the tube to Yana. She pulled the cap from the
man behind the table stood up and shook gold colored cylinder and clumsily twisted
Stas’ hand. “Who’s your friend?” he asked. the bottom with her large hand. She looked
at me and ran to the bathroom. “You give
“He works with me. We are partners. He lipstick to my wife?” I asked Stas.
has a young wife. Very pretty. She likes nice
things,” Stas said, looking like he was daring “Luka threw it in bag. What, I give to my
me to do or say something. “Her father lives sister? What she do with it, eat? I don’t
outside of Vinca, in village. His name is Milo,” know any other women. Yana is young. She
Stas was still looking at me. “She likes nice should have,” Stas said. Yana returned from
things,” he repeated. the bathroom. The gaudy red covered the
dry cracks on her full lips. “I want black,” she
“So, what else you got?” The man behind said slowly, her green eyes competing with
the table asked. her new red lips.

“You know where we work? She likes nice “Black lips with green eyes? What do you
things. Very pretty.” Stas cupped his hands think?” Stas asked me.
in front of his chest. I grabbed Stas’ arm and
pulled him towards me. The man behind “Wipe your lips and go pack a lunch for Stas
the table quickly walked away. and me. We have to go in to work tonight,” I
said, not looking at Yana.
“You want money for young wife of
yours? You think she stay with you without “I get you black lipstick. Your husband
nice things?” Stas said. I let go of Stas’ arm. and I have connections. Can get you blue
“The man goes by the name Luka,” Stas in- jeans, chocolate, even hand gun. Anything
formed me. Luka walked back to where we you like. Just ask your husband,” Stas looked
were standing. at me and laughed.

“Designer bag - New York,” Luka said. Stas “I want black lipstick and blue jeans, please,”
smiled and handed Luka a padded envelope. Yana looked at me like she was making a hasty
“Tell them we get more samples if they want. wish on a falling leaf – her green eyes were
We have what they’re looking for,” Stas said pleading.
quietly.
“If you make lunch I’ll get for you. We
Luka pulled a large plastic storage box want sausages, cheese, pogacha bread and
from under the table and began filling a a large thermos of coffee. We work into
shopping bag with items. He handed the Monday night — double shift,” I said.
full bag to Stas and we walked out of the
basement. Stas blessed himself as we en- “We can get booze — not that beetroot
tered the narthex. “We don’t forget Father shit. We get government vodka real cheap,
Nikola,” Stas whispered. He removed a maybe imported. Do you smoke?” Stas
white envelope from his inner coat pocket asked Yana.

“Don’t smoke, but I can start,” she replied.

74

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Yana!” I said firmly. “You want I should smoke cold fag? I lost
lighter somewhere in reactor yard,” Kuz
“I get American cigarettes. Not Russian said. The cigarette dangled from his lower
razor blade tobacco. We can get what you lip like drool. Stas tossed a book of matches
want,” Stas said. in the air in my direction and it fell to the
concrete floor. I picked up the matches and
“Yana, please pack our lunch!” handed them to Kuz. “Have good night new
guy. Go fuck yourself, Stas,” Kuz said as he
“Yes, old man, I pack your lunch. Re- staggered out the door.
member lipstick and blue jeans, cigarettes
if you let me smoke. Scientist wives have There was a Sunday night skeleton crew
American cigarettes and nice apartments of janitors, one reactor technician and Stas
that don’t smell.” Yana made pouty lips. and me. The cleaning crew worked their way
through the administrative offices. “They
“Black lips with alabaster skin. We get clean for a couple hours then sleep — no
anything you like,” Stas said. He leaned back problem,” Stas informed me. We entered
in the only chair I owned and smiled at Yana, the foundry and sat on a wooden pallet to
her baby doll face turned red with a look have a smoke.
of guilt.
“Do you trust him?” I asked Stas.
“Hurry with the lunch, some people have
to work,” I said impatiently. “Father Nikola trusts him,” Stas replied.
“It’s Luka’s problem.”
The security guard was gathering his
coat and lunch container as Stas and I en- “What do you mean?” I asked.
tered the guard’s station to start our night
shift. Kuz was the shift supervisor and had “It’s who Luka trusts that matters,” Stas
been sipping vodka to keep warm. He was answered. “Not our problem. He’s blessed
drunk and having a hard time finding the by Father Nikola.”
arm of his coat. He leaned against a locker
and rested his head against the cool gray Stas began coughing and spit blood on
metal. “Fuck you in your bloody pockets!” the foundry floor. “Why I want nice things?
Kuz slurred as he wrestled with his coat. I can’t use. You get for your young wife. She
likes to make herself pretty for you. I want
“You should watch your mouth in front of money,” Stas said.
new guy,” Stas said.
Stas dropped his cigarette in the bloody
“How ‘bout cigarette?” Kuz asked, trying spit — it sizzled out cold.
to focus his bleary eyes on Stas. He raised
his arm and pointed. “In your coat. Cigarette. “How much will we get?” I asked Stas.
What, I have to beg? American, you have?”
“Enough for new apartment for you and
Stas dug the pack from his deep coat Yana, better than scientist apartment. You’ll
pocket and removed two cigarettes. “Only need money for young wife. How else you
the best for Supervisor,” Stas said and threw keep her?” Stas asked.
the cigarettes at Kuz. I picked them up from
the floor and put one in Kuz’s mouth; I put the “She lives in a palace compared to her
second one behind his ear. I helped him with daddy’s farm. When I met her she smelled
his coat and he started to walk out the door. like a cow,” I said.

“Why you think she marry you? You old
man compared to Yana,” Stas said with a smirk.

75

Adelaide Literary Magazine

I balled my hand into a fist. “Yana is my was carrying. I reached out to touch the
business, don’t forget that or do you want duct-taped gloves and Stas slowly stopped
some of this?” I asked, raising my fist to his walking. I lightly touched the top of the
face. bundle with my fingertips — it was warm.

“Take it easy my friend, just busting your ***
onions!” Stas said with a chuckle. “After to-
night you’ll be thanking me. All you need to Kuz Boskovic was a proud soldier with the
do is keep watch and keep your mouth shut. Yugoslav Partisans during WWII. The slow
We get what Luka wants. After that, it’s his death of his communist party fueled his
business. No worries.” thirst for vodka. He planned to live out his
days in his fourth floor apartment. He had
The waste storage building sat at the everything he needed: enough money for
far end of the reactor yard. I walked to the cigarettes and alcohol, food (he was partial
side of the structure as Stas removed the to cabbage), and his mementos from his
padlock on the sectional door. I heard him Partisan days. He met monthly with local
roll the heavy door open. Snow began to fall veterans (a dwindling lot) in the basement
heavier and I leaned against the corrugated of Saints Peter and Paul church. Kuz was
steel of the building and looked down at especially fond of his cigarette lighter that
my boots. As fast as the snow fell it melted he had carried through the campaigns. He
once it hit the ground on a three-foot area would brag that he used his lighter to burn
around the building. I moved away from the bodies of dead Nazi soldiers. The emblem
steel wall and covered my private area with of his partisan unit was engraved in the
the small aluminum bucket I was holding. brushed chrome casing.
I worried that the nice things I would give
to Yana would not be enough to keep her Kuz didn’t go straight to his apartment
happy. With the money Stas and I would that evening. He went to a back street to
get for tonight’s work, I could afford a better purchase black market vodka. He removed
apartment. Yana can start smoking Amer- the cork from the naked bottle and took
ican cigarettes and wear blue jeans from the a long drink. He thought about his lighter.
USA. She’ll be happy with the money, even He couldn’t leave it lying in the reactor
though it won’t be coming in all at once. yard, not after he carried that damn thing
These things take time to unfold according through the war. He must have lit a hun-
to Stas. I took several more steps away from dred thousand cigarettes with it over the
the side of the building and kept watch. past fifty years. He wore the shiny case dull
When I heard the sectional door roll shut, from all the handling. It was a part of him
I approached the front of the building. Stas and he felt the dull pain of its separation. He
was waiting for me and holding two pro- put the glass bottle in his lunch duffel and
tective gloves fastened together with duct turned toward the Institute.
tape. He cradled the bundle to his chest
and walked slowly toward the foundry. He ***
carried it like a living thing, keeping the
bundle level and steady as he walked. “No Two security agents were zapping the se-
need for bucket, I carry it,” Stas whispered curity guard’s scrotum with a stun gun. He
like he was trying not to wake the thing he passed out with his eyes open and bulging
from their sockets. A trickle of blood ran

76

Revista Literária Adelaide

from his left eye. “I told you to slow down. his duty to shock. She offered the agent a
Now we have to wait for him to revive,” boiled potato and opened a bottle of vodka.
the older agent said, angry with his young- The agent finished his potato and took a
er colleague. The basement where they drink from the bottle; bits of food washed
worked was dry and soundproof. Outside, it from his mouth into the clear liquid. “Tell
was an overcast day in the suburbs of Bel- me, where did you get imported vodka?”
grade. The government people there were The agent asked, wiping his mouth with his
hopeful the State Security Service could shirtsleeve. He took the wife’s hand and
help them with their special problem. They kissed it softly. She drew her large hand back
didn’t want the scrutiny of the world if the slowly, curling her fingers into a fist. “I know
theft was discovered. The Security Service nothing about his business,” the wife said.
was grateful for the information that led to
the arrest. They were confident that their “And, those tight blue jeans?” the agent
interrogation would eventually lead them asked, starring at her legs.
to the location of the stolen material and
the security guard’s young accomplice. She unbuttoned her blouse and stood in
front of the agent. He buried his head be-
The older agent paid a visit to the pris- tween her breasts, wiping his hungry, wet
oner’s wife. He sat in the only chair that mouth over her soft skin. The wife lifted
she owned in the tiny fifth floor apartment. the bottle to her lips and drank. She blindly
“Your husband was seen with a man who reached for the cigarette pack on the dining
was carrying a bundle through the reactor room table; the cigarettes fell from the
yard. An eyewitness saw them both that pack like holy cards from gilded pages of
night. Do you understand the trouble your scripture. “And, American cigarettes?” The
husband is in?” The older agent asked. The agent asked, and finished quickly with his
security guard’s wife was a young girl in her last question.
late teens with strikingly beautiful green
eyes. This was an observation the agent had “I am good person. Father Nikola can
not overlooked. vouch for me,” Yana whispered. She lit a
smoke and relaxed; smoke rings floated from
“My husband likes his secrets,” the wife her painted black lips like trial balloons to a
said. “I am not surprised. You will not shock partisan witness. Things take time to unfold
me.” The agent was disappointed; it was — like a long death in a short life, she waits.

About the Author

William R. Stoddart is a poet and short fiction writer who lives in the
suburbs of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in Adirondack
Review, Ruminate Magazine, Pedestal Magazine, Every Day Fiction and
other publications.

77

THE BOY IN RED

by Sean J.H. Rubin

JOSEPHINE The first sound that came out of Hyke
was a soft aaa. He started correctly, with
The concert took place outside the kinder- the clear voice of a would-be professional, a
garten. Blue spruce strove to survive the celebrity who would awaken jealousy wher-
prolonged dry days of Armenian summer, ever he performed.
but the war had not helped. Dawn’s light
shone gold on shattered limbs amid the Her son seemed to notice someone pe-
blue needles. Mulberries clotted the side- culiar in the audience. Josy grimaced. She
walk. knew her son had seen Arso.

The last summer of the twentieth An older lady kept yawning while an older
century. man, presumably her husband, frowned at
her so frequently that eventually he started
Hyke alone wore a white claw-hammer yawning himself. Josy suddenly cleared her
coat. After countless forced rehearsals he throat as if forbidding the couple to get
alone was about to perform Schubert’s Ave bored.
Maria. He isolated himself from the other
performers and stood in the middle of the While singing Hyke tried to find his other
stage. Josephine sat in the centre of the friends among the audience, as the kids on
second row and had the proudest face a the stage could scarcely hold themselves
single mother could ever dream of having. together. His eyes shifted from left to right,
filled with panic. There was no one familiar
Josy knew Hyke had the worst breathing to him except his mum and the boy in red.
methods for a singer. One wrong move and He didn’t count Sonah, his teacher, as a
her son might be unable to hold the note. human considering he had never seen her
Josy was told singing lessons were better eating or going to the toilet. But then he
than therapy. Besides, she wouldn’t trust a was only six years old.
psychiatrist who would have listened to her
son’s complaints and turned Hyke against He gave up counting his absent friends
her. and focused on singing:

He feels lonely, so what? As long as he’s Pray for us sinners now
deeply involved in daily activities he won’t
have the time to think about loneliness or And at the hour of our death.
anything at all.
Amen…

78

Revista Literária Adelaide

HYKE “The next song will be a reminder of the
latest insurrection, the earthquake and the
In the end, the audience unexpectedly war. As you all know, we live on in thanks
clapped for a long time. Hyke bowed slight- to those who do not. After one minute
ly, observing the singing swallows perched of silence your children will express their
on the angel figure fountain. The angel’s sympathies, no matter their maturity or
right hand reached out from on-high as if awareness. Today some of the children will
waiting for another soul to hold. bid farewell to me.” Sonah looked at Hyke
with a bitter smile. “But know this! Own
I’ve always wanted to hold her hand, he your childhood as it was saved by those
thought, I wish I was taller… who lost their own. Cherish every second
of your lives and don’t try to mature too
Hyke was in awe of how the swallows quickly. When you grow older don’t put be-
fluttered in the fountain. He returned to hind these moments.” Sonah nodded with
his spot on the stage, trying to ignore the her head. “It is best to be a mixture of a
giggles surrounding him. He couldn’t tell child and an adult. Choose both and you will
whether the kids were joking or laughing at live happily by coexisting... with sadness.”
him. Their last joke had been rather unusual.
The women wept salty tears except for
It had happened in the kindergarten’s Josy, who gave Hyke an admonishing look
main hall. Children slept on mats, otherwise to leave the stage immediately. For some
stored in a large cupboard in the corridor. reason she didn’t like the idea of him
On this particular day, Hyke’s mat had been singing with the others. Hyke received one
dragged inside the dark cupboard while he last approval from Sonah and heard one
slept. He woke in darkness, hitting his head last whispering from one of the performers
on the wall. Innocent laughter crept in from while climbing down the stairs of the stage.
outside, their voices so pure and oblivious
to their own cruelty. Hyke soon started “That’s right, go to your mammy.”
laughing with the others as crying would
be too easy for him. He wouldn’t give them With clear intention in mind, Hyke
what they wanted. walked towards the angel figure fountain.
If the melody had ended and the pianist
As Hyke was still trapped inside, his voice, played the last cord, he wouldn’t notice.
louder than usual, couldn’t spread - it was
trapped just like him. Hyke heard a loud “Don’t do it. You’ll get wet.”
knock on the door. A nice looking girl had
unlocked the door with a sigh of impatience Hyke looked to the left. Beside him stood
before a teacher could walk in the hall. The the boy in red.
joke stuck to Hyke’s mind. I have no proof,
he realized, Who will believe me? “But I wanted to hold her hand since the
day I saw it.” Hyke whispered.
The sharp knocks, transmitting from
Sonah’s high heeled shoes, stopped when “You aren’t tall enough,” said the boy in red,
she climbed the steps of the stage and “Don’t give the others another excuse to laugh
stood beside Hyke, a female giant compared at you! Go change your clothes! Your mum is
to him. She spoke to the parents with an waiting.”
unusually deep voice.
“Are you going to come with me while I
change?”

79

Adelaide Literary Magazine

“You want to go alone?” about to reach and the black one was still
in his pocket. Two swans were cleaning their
“I guess not.” wings when Hyke and Josy came close to
the circular pond. One of the birds lacked
Hyke stepped cautiously into the locker quite a lot of feathers.
room. He pattered like a turtle across the
rare white oak parquet floor which was I wish I could save the swan…
often wet and slippery. He’d fallen in the
past, a jagged scar on his chin his reminder. Mother and son sat on a bench and
surveyed the surrounding green area – the
“Is something bothering you?” asked the hawthorn tree with its blossoming white
boy in red after Hyke finished dressing. and red flowers. An old woman, her left foot
longer than the right, hid under the tree’s
Maybe I should tell him what they did shadow after failing to open the parasol -
to me. Back then, where was he when they her protector against sun. A teenage boy
locked me up? Why didn’t he stop them? with a top hat stopped reading a book and
No, I shouldn’t ask him anything. It might be scratched his eyes.
my last question. Finding talkers is easier for
others, not for me. I wish I could fix her leg. I wish I could fix
his eyes. I wish I was needed…
“Hyke! Are you done?” Josy entered the
room. Everything was in constant movement.
No natural force could stop it. But now
“Yes, mum.” there were signs that suggested otherwise.
The first clue that time had stopped was
“Are you still talking to that boy?” when Hyke noticed his mum’s stone-like
stillness, her eyes staring at nothingness,
“Can he come along?” her hand, as cold and white as marble. The
elderly woman was holding her half opened
“No!” umbrella, the reader boy held the page of
his book that was nearly turned overleaf,
“But why?” but not quite.

“Don’t argue with me!” “Come close, child.”

Josy and Hyke left the boy in the room “Who is this?”
alone who had the most apologetic smile
on his face. They walked out through the “You can see me. I’m in front of you.”
iron gates and onto the street.
“What is wrong with my mum!?”
His last morning in kindergarten.
“Nothing. She’ll awake soon once I speak
“Let’s go to the park, shall we?” Josy said with you.”
with light-hearted voice.
Hyke came close to the lake. No swimmer
Hyke nodded and placed his small hand was inside the pool. Not on the surface
in hers. He felt nervous around her. anyway. The pool water looked nothing like
ice. It moved and with it moved the only
They reached the avenue and passed thing that still resembled life beside Hyke;
many familiar shops. Hyke remembered the swan itself.
how he stole two caoutchouc balls once.
One white, one black. He lost the white
ball to the boy in red in the park they were

80

Revista Literária Adelaide

“The measures I went through to make “A goddess?”
this happen,” said the swan. “Be grateful,
little one!” The swan ignored him and drank some
water.
“You shouldn’t be talking!”
“Don’t worry about me, child. The Black
“And you shouldn’t have let your guard Swan won’t let me die.”
down!”
“Who is the Black Swan?”
“What are you talking about?”
“A noble bird worshiped by the Datranian
“I see. You like being a victim. Blaming Legionnaires. But even their faith can not
others is easier than changing your attitude.” stop the time for much longer. My proposal
is yet available. What say you?”
“I don’t understand…”
“I will not leave my mum alone! NEVER!”
“You could have prevented what hap-
pened at kindergarten.” “Your stubbornness is admirable. Now
go and sit back again. You don’t want your
“Who told you?” mum to look upset when she awakes.”

“Someone who knows. You can not fix Hyke couldn’t agree more. He returned
any legs nor any eyes. But you can change to his spot and the swan shacked its wings
your attitude.” three times as if casting an incantation.
When the world awakened the swan simply
“I won’t! It wasn’t my fault.” honked and joined its partner.

“A child indeed. Shall I propose another “Mum?” Hyke called to make sure she
option?” was fine.

“What?” “Sorry, dear. I was spacing out.”

“Aramazdia. A world where you could She didn’t notice anything, Hyke thought
find a belonging.” with a mixture of amazement and realiza-
tion that he couldn’t tell anyone about his
“I can find it here. I have… my mum, my recent encounter.
friend…”
JOSEPHINE
“Your friend is from Aramazdia.”
Hyke couldn’t stay calm longer than five
“And he has no trouble accompanying me!” minutes. Josy knew that his patience was
limited.
“What if he leaves you? Will you change
your attitude then? Will you want to leave?” “Let’s go!” Hyke demanded wrinkling his
nose.
“What do you know about change, swan?
When your maiden dies you will die along “Right. Want a chocolate ice-cream?
with her.”
Hyke’s eyes widened “Yay! Yummy!”
The swan looked to the feathers his
partner kept losing. Josy laughed. “We’re not eating yet. Hold
your appetite!”
“You’re smarter beyond your age. I do
know a great deal about change. This park
was a forest once and a goddess lived here.”

81

Adelaide Literary Magazine

The cafe was called Tishinah meaning instead of putting Hyke on her knees, just
silence in Russian. The sign was shaped in because he was too short for the table. Only
cute handwriting fonts of shining gold. The now Hyke noticed the spoon.
only free table had a single chair. A shy
waitress brought the second one. Josy took “Mum?”
the menu and chose one glass of chocolate
ice cream and one Armenian coffee. Hyke “Yes, dear?” Josy was busy rotating her cup.
was distracted by the tall columns made of
grey marble. Four columns supported the “Tell her to bring me a metal spoon.”
building, while two had a lightning shaped
crack. Hyke shook his right hand. “Oh, for the love of…” Josy remembered
that Hyke liked to spoon the ice cream into
“Mum, look!” his mouth upside down so it landed directly
on his tongue.
“Yes, dear? Oh, she brought your ice-
cream. Enjoy!” “Can’t you do with the plastic one?”

Hyke raised his eyebrows. “No mum! “Yeah, but the metal is cold…”
There! Look!”
“Oh, God, deliver me…” Josy shook her
Josy looked to the spot where Hyke was head.
pointing with his tiny finger.
“What?” Hyke asked.
Four columns and two of them are dam-
aged. Noticed Josy. How familiar… “Nothing.” Josy ignored him and called
the waitress. “Excuse me, do you have a
“What?” said Josy pretentiously. moment?”

“Don’t you see it?” The waitress came running to them
shaking the flour powder from her black
“See what?” apron at the same time.

“The crack!” “How can I help?”

Josy shrugged her shoulders. “Please, bring him a metal spoon?” asked
Josy with a forced smile.
“I don’t see any cracks. Now, stop talking
and eat your ice-cream before it melts.” The waitress barely looked at Hyke
without rotating her head. “Yeah, sure.”
Hyke narrowed his lips.
Hyke nodded with joy and emptied his
“But mum!” cup soon after. He noticed how Josy put her
coffee cup upside down on the saucer.
Josy pointed at the ice-cream.
“You always do that.”
“Hyke! And don’t play with your food. I
don’t want any stains on my shirt, like the “Yes, dear,” confirmed Josy.
last time”.
Several minutes later she turned the cup,
Josy had a point. She always wore light which struggled at first as if it was clinging
colored dresses, like yellow for today. Hyke to the plate with glue.
took the cup from the table and placed it on
his knees. Josy knew it was better this way Hyke fisted the table. “What is inside?
What do you see?”

82

Revista Literária Adelaide

Josy was focused on the cup. “Nothing. If I play “never have I” again, I will say
Just a key…” that never have I met a man so peculiar, to
say the least and then I’ll drink the whole
Key means an answer… thought Josy, No! cup, preferably a red wine.
He’s too young to know… I can’t tell him!
Time worked against Josy’s interests, as
Josy called the waitress. the stranger was running even faster by
each second, his beard shaking. She chose
“Please, our receipt.” to shield her son and forgot to hide her
purse out of the stranger’s reach. Grabbing
*** the purple purse from Josy’s right hand, the
thief made Josy scream in terror while her
They were walking towards a dark tunnel forehead veins glowed in the blinking light.
when Hyke looked to his left and saw an arc
bridge surrounded with moss, cedar and “NO! I WON’T MAKE IT EASY FOR YOU!”
poplar trees. Howling street pups trotted
after their mother, who guided them. The The thief tried to bite her hand when
other half of the bridge was destroyed. A Hyke charged against him with his head for-
dead end. ward like a cannonball and crushed his belly.
It only made the thief angrier.
Josy smiled. “I used that path to attend
the music school when I was fourteen.” “NO!” Josy screamed after the thief
kneed Hyke’s left cheek with a patellar jolt.
Hyke looked at her. “And what of this She let go of her purple purse as if she di-
lake beside the bridge?” vided her soul in two. The man sprinted
out of the tunnel and disappeared with his
“Oh, there used to be a boat. I rode on it spoils.
with my classmates.”
Josy stroked Hyke’s cheek and hugged
“I don’t see any boat.” him. “It’s alright, dear. Calm down. Calm
down, it’s not a big deal… Let’s go home.”
Josy didn’t answer. There was nothing
left but a swamp. The beggars who now She never made it clear what exactly
lived nearby pissed on it. wasn’t a big deal. Her purse or her son’s
cheek?
They entered the tunnel. It smelled of
filth and ash. Hyke held Josy’s hand with Mother and son stepped forward lis-
all his strength. They could hear the cars tening to the faraway foot-sounds of the
echoing from the roof. The ceiling lights thief, sprinting onwards with his prize. The
blinked and made the most intense elec- noise grew in distance, the fear remained.
trical noises, as if scratching someone’s skin.
If only..., Josy thought, If only you were
A man with bushy facial hair ran in Josy’s here too, this wouldn’t have happened.
direction. At that moment Hyke was looking
at the message written on the wall – a poor Another hermitage of garages was built
attempt at graffiti. ‘‘I will always love you’’. here in the circular yard where they lived.
When Hyke turned his head in the oppo- It took some time until they reached the
site direction he saw the running man and eighth porch of the apartment building. At
flinched. Josy drowned in speculations least nature gave some clue of a garden.
caused by the stranger and his appearance.
She said to herself.

83

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Even if most of the platanus trees were cut needed it to keep the fire inside them. She
down. Even if the whole yard was a pile of filled the water in a white kettle illustrated
banana skin, empty milk bottles or chicken with the Hazaraan Bell-Bull. It meant Thou-
bones to which street cats were so partial. sand Feathers in Armenian – a mythic bird
who recreates nature in the critical times
HYKE of world extinction. Josy filled the cups and
the aroma spread through the rooms. She
Josy opened the apartment door. She en- went back to the living room.
tered and turned on the light. Hyke fol-
lowed her inside examining the long narrow Hyke took the cup. “Thanks. Arso?
corridor. The walls still unpainted, the living
room was a mountain of bambusa parkets. “Thank you, Mrs Josephine.”
Four chairs and a three-foot table were lo-
cated in the corner of the room. A boy the After Hyke finished his drink Arso jumped
same age as Hyke sat by it and played with from his chair so unexpectedly as if to save
the candle fire. He wore a red velvet jeans, his ass from a needle.
a red velvet shirt and a black velvet necktie
emblazoned with tiny red gemstones. He “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Have you chosen
had black straight hair which Hyke was al- your school?”
ways jealous of.
“Not yet. I have a whole summer to de-
“Hyke, finally!” cide.” Hyke stated the obvious.

Boys hugged each other. “Hey, man! “Right. Wait for a sec. I want to speak with
What’s up with your cheek? mum…”

You came to tell me you’re leaving the “With mum!?”
country, are you, Arso? Going back to Ara-
mazdia, wherever that is? Hyke thought to JOSEPHINE
himself.
Josy sighed. She glanced at the table. Arso’s
Arso smiled after a short pause. tea was getting cold, because there was no
Arso.
“Dad bought the apartment on the
second floor. We’re neighbors again.” Shall I tell him the truth about Arso?
Josy asked to herself. Will it harm him or
“Arso, you’re kidding, right?” Hyke asked help him if I deprive him from his fantasies?
with a tone of uncertainty. He managed to stay the same after all I’ve
done to keep him busy! If the ghost makes
“Nope, moving to this building after a week.” him smile rather than grieve then why not?
After all, Arso would’ve been alive had he
“But how?” survived the war. He would’ve been by his
brother’s side.
“I told Dad your address. We were gonna
sell our house anyway. The apartment here “Mum?”
is great. Daddy checked. I have a larger
room now. I’ll show it later.” “Yes, dear?”

Hyke laughed in joy. Josy managed “How come Arso was inside our house
a smile while making a thyme tea. They when it was locked?”

84

Revista Literária Adelaide

Josy hugged him. “What do you mean replace you! Tell
Arso to leave! Now!”
Maybe I was too hard on him? On myself
too. I was so desperate, so selfish to forget “He won’t listen! Arso says you live in
everything. Shall I tell him now? the past, before I was born... He says you
can have him if I make you sad. What is he
“What’s going on, mum? Are you crying?” talking about?”

“I’m not. It’s just… I gave the keys to Arso, “I don’t know, but I will never replace you!”
you know.”
“Are you sure?” asked Hyke determined,
“You wouldn’t do that. You hate Arso!” but his voice was no different than Arso’s.
The boy in red vanished and from that mo-
“He’s your brother! How could I hate him?” ment he existed in Hyke. Josy widened her
eyes. Her next words came out reflexively.
“What are you saying?”
“NO, ARSO! STOP RIGHT NOW!”
“Arso is your brother, dear! It’s the truth!”
“I can’t have my previous form, but my
“Arso is my… I don’t have a brother!” soul will obtain Hyke’s body.”

“You had.” “GIVE ME BACK MY BOY!”

“What happened to him? Why haven’t “Why? You always wish I was alive in-
you told me?” stead!”

“He died as a soldier along with your Even though Hyke’s lips were moving it
father. Just like the cracked columns you was Arso’s mannerisms and body language
showed me!” twisting his image.

“How?” The room lost its colors. Hyke had no
relation with his own body. He was gone,
“I’m so sorry, dear. I’ve told you enough as if he stopped existing. His eyes were
for now. You’ll know the rest when you full of nightmarish boredom - the kind that
grow up.” milks all the joy and leaves the poison. Josy
screamed with panic.
“No! You’re lying! This can’t be happening!”
“I LOVE HIM! I WOULD NEVER REPLACE
“I wish I was, dear, but this is happening.” HIM!”

Josy looked to her son, her fingers “But you don’t love him enough to tell
trembling. She didn’t tell him after all. The the truth!”
images of Hyke’s reaction to the truth, so
vivid and realistic, kept repeating in her “I CAN’T TELL THE TRUTH UNLESS YOU
head like an unrealized memory, like a tree RELEASE HIM!”
that would only grow if the climate changed.
“You’re lying to me and to yourself.”
“Mum, why is Arso calling you mum all
of a sudden?” Hyke asked for real this time. “I AM DONE LYING!”

“Please, ask him to never visit you again!” Silence fell. For a moment the only things
that moved were the trembling shadows of
Hyke delayed his answer. the boy and Josy. Minutes from now, the

“Arso is saying he will replace me if you
don’t reveal the truth…”

85

Adelaide Literary Magazine

candle would melt completely. Arso spoke alcohol on it and gently spread it on Hyke’s
again, but now, his voice was gentler and cheek. The smell of alcohol spread from his
more tender than before. nose into his throat. Hyke looked shocked
and composed at the same time. Whatever
“Thank you, mum. This is what I wanted Josy told him was against Sonah’s wishes, as
to hear. Bless you!” he matured and instead of asking too many
questions he asked only one.
Josy noticed how Hyke’s senses had re-
turned while he appeared to be confused. “What was in your purse, mum?”

“Mum, what’s happened? Where is Arso?” “The photo of your brother. I don’t have
the copy.”
“Arso is no more, dear. Come, I have to
tell you the truth.” “Maybe that’s for the best.”

Minutes later Josy brought a blue plastic Was it?, Josy thought and felt guilt be-
box while blaming herself for being absent- yond measure. If she was able to relive this
minded. She took a piece of cotton from moment would she choose to keep Arso in-
the box, put a small mouthful of medical stead? She was never sure…

86

THE DYING ROOM

by Vince Barry

“Nervous,” my wife goes, I think, ’cause she’s definitely not Vons. She doesn’t like Vons—
in the laundry room, which comes off the the market, I mean, not the pharmacy. The
garage and is narrow and low beamed; so, if pharmacy she likes, especially the pharma-
somebody says something, let alone mum- cists, as do I. “Caring and cordial,” we call
bles, you don’t always get it. And she mum- them, after picking up, she her L-Thyroxine
bles, my wife does, when unsettled. ’S why and alprazolam, the former for thyroid the
garble is what I get, ’cause even worse, I’m latter for sleep; and I Lisinoprol, Amlopodin
standing in the kitchen, which comes off the and Metoperol, for high blood pressure, all.
laundry off the garage and I’m in the middle Oh, right, alprazolam also, for sleep. Neither
of secreting contraband, . . . and there is, to of us sleeps well, you can tell, but what you
boot, unaccustomed distant thunder. can’t, never together. I sleep in a Relax the
Back zero gravity recliner. She? Well, she
So, naturally, I say, fidgety, Queeg-like, has Sam. . . . But I meander.
“‘Nervous’? Whose nervous?,” and she goes,
“‘Service,’ not ‘nervous,’” in a prosecuto- It’s something, not nothing, is the thing. I
rial sort of way, cold and sharp, from the know, ’cause I know my spouse—her Friday
laundry room, and I, showing her the back face, her sullen tone, her played out pos-
of a hunched shoulder, cache the Pressed ture, especially do I know her aposiopesis
Juicery bottle into the pocket of my black, that means nothing is something. . . .
packable WearGuard windbreaker, which
I’ve donned ’cause rain’s threatening, TG, Don’t get me wrong—she’s no Eeyore.
and I’m headed over to the campus like a It’s just that—well, picture in the kitchen a
man walking the last mile, were it not for sullen noir Gloria Grahame after flinging a
my tonic. dish towel, snapping, “Oh, it’s nothin.’” You
get the picture—of nothin’ that’s some-
“‘Service’?” I go. “Whaddya mean, ‘ser- thin’? Right. Only she’s not flinging anything,
vice’?,” and I wonder if to her as to me my my wife, just flustering in a subdued tone,
voice sounds damp and dreary? “Zack,” before breaking off again.

“Oh, it’s—,” she goes before breaking “What about him?” I ask, of her brother,
off, leaving me to finish the track of her the one who lives—oh, I don’t know, some
thought: “nothing.” miles or so above us somewhere or other
above “Fog City.” Then I think, “This ‘ner-
She starts to unload a bag of Trader Joe’s vous/service’ business probably has
. . . or is it Whole Foods? . . . I don’t know, but

87

Adelaide Literary Magazine

something to do with Lolly,” ’cause, y’know, Love? Love certainly figures in, inasmuch
Zack just had her up there visiting. Other- as love—what? bears, believes, hopes, en-
wise, she’s down here, at what’s called a dures all things? . . . But for me, I don’t know
“unique retirement campus.” I visit Sunday why but “secret debts” has always captured
afternoons. it— the unknown owed, I mean, or, perhaps,
the owed unknown. Whichever, I’m talking
Lolly is my wife’s mother. Just turned about what can never be repaid, though we
ninetysomething and is well into the terri- blister against the tackled task and-and we—
tory of the enemy. Senility. . . . Okay, “de- well, Sisyphean though it is, we dree our
mentia,” as my wife corrects me insistently weird— exhausted but exalted. . . . Surely,
as a toothache. “Not senility, George,” you know what I mean. Surely. . . .
she decrees, like a rasped Charlotte Haze,
throwing in for good measure, her long-fin- “All I know is she keeps marveling,”
gered hands on large, loosely hung hips,“not goes my wife, of Lolly of me of my visits,
even ‘senile dementia’!” “Whatever, my “‘that husband of yours! That husband of
love,” I concede, like the nymphet-obsessed yours!’”—Lolly’s not good with names any-
Professor Humbert, mentally subjoining, more— “‘He sits right here’”— pointing so
“marcescent, nonetheless.” theatrically to an imaginary chair that I can
almost see the senescent line of Lolly’s back
Mind you, I don’t object to the nomen- — “‘and we have so much fun!’” “’M glad it
clature— I get it, I do. She’s under a lot of helps,” I muster like weak tea, and add with
stress, my wife is, what with Lolly, and Sam’s a touch of asperity, “’S no big deal.”
never finding enough work. Did I mention
Sam? No matter, to end it, when we get to Of Lolly’s well-meant flummery: Credit it
caviling about senility, or one thing or an- to the precaution I take on my excursions.
other, I say, “Oh well, youth must be served.” That Juicery bottle I mentioned? with the
And—here’s the kicker!—she doesn’t know motto I didn’t: “Get back to your roots”?
whether to mind or not. Whether to take it Truth be told, for its aloe vera and water
as choked with sarcasm or a-choke with first I substitute vodka—always “The City’s”
love-longing. Y’know what I mean? . . . SKYY—and a shot of Canada Dry. Thus my
tonic on the sly.
Anyway, there are, besides her and Zack,
two of them—Barkleys, I mean, my wife’s So armed it’s not so bad, going over,—
blood. Well, I take that back—one now, though, grantcha, a tad tiring for pressed
though he’s also far-flung. ’S why it’s fallen to view, time after time, pictures of Pop—
mainly to my wife, and she’s about worn to that’s Lolly’s second husband—and the
shreds. family photos that multiply like rabbits and
substitute for words before, their image
I know, you’re probably thinking: “But fading, leaving silence our only conversa-
Lolly lives in a comfortable senior commu- tion.
nity.” Well, believe me, there is still a whole
lot of—what? well, “secret debts” owing is The worst part is traversing the long,
what I call them. . . . Oh, I don’t mean repa- close-smelling corridor to the apartment,
rations. No guilt and regret and self-recrim- which happens to be number thirty-three.
inations, no vulgarities like that—except of I mention that, the room’s number, only
the youngest, I s’pose, but not my wife. . . . because I always summon, upon arriving,

88

Revista Literária Adelaide

my go-to conversational icebreaker: “Thir- She passes her arm through mine and
ty-three is a sacred number. It appears thir- clings to it like lagan to a buoy, a blue-veined
ty-three times in the opening chapter of bony hand now and again tightening its
Genesis. Jesus died at age thirty-three.” Like hold at the dull growl of gathering thunder
that, but with, of late, something inchoately behind a bank of serried clouds. We pause
whizzing around in my head—or something before birds of paradise . . . garden sage. . .
inchoate whizzing or-or some inchoate bougainvillea, gold and orange, purple and
something whizzing. . . . Anyway, my head blue. . . . All the while, that-that, well, that
aside, Lolly, for her part, listens with no an- inchoate something or that something in-
swering light in the crags and straths of her choate—whatever, it nags, inchoately, it
wizened face, her jaws working on a word. does. . . .
It is, “Thachew?” It is, me.
And as I,—much like her devoted swain
Oh, I almost forgot, “Some say,” I keep Lou did Grace along the “Always Turned On”
on, dandling my foolish head from side to boardwalk—, as I Grandisonize Lolly back to
side, “we will exist eternally in a state of room thirty-three, I make a mental note to
being at the age of thirty-three.” Then a tell my wife of— of what? Hmm, of what I’m
pause till I detect, in their shimmering dot not certain. . . .
reflection, a humorously puckering of red-
rimmed hollow eyes, before adding, “Of “Doesn’t something smell funny over
course, pure conjecture, that.” there?” I begin. Then enlarging, “Sour …
rancid . . . fetid?,” omitting, for being be-
There follows a noisy silence before, fogged, I suppose, the inchoate mental note
from Lolly, as if cued, a solemn requiescat of the inchoate, but tempted to say, “a bud-
in pace, “Rest his soul.” To which I respond, ding rose above the rose full blown,” though
like an altar boy at a Mass for the dead,—no, why, I couldn’t say—though, did I say I once
no, more like The Armed Man of “A Mass taught English briefly? Oops! I mean, briefly
for Peace”— “Who’s that, Lolly?,” and taught English. Sorry. . . .
from Lolly, antiphonally, “Jesus.” Then a re-
spectful pause for the deceased before en- I forget, she’s anosmiac, my wife is. Lost her
tering room thirty three, careful to shut the sense of smell—oh, I don’t know, ’bout when
door behind me, as I would have my mother she took up with Sam, s’pose. I’ve urged her
would have me do were she— But let us not to have it checked. “Might be something se-
dwell on what is past, albeit not gone be- rious,” I tell her. “How does food taste?” She
yond grief. Agreed? Good. has no appetite, she says. . . . A shame, ’cause
Sam’s a caterer—a “niche caterer,” whatever
Once inside I let—what? auto—auto— that is. . . .
what’s that high-priced word once memo-
rized in the dim past for some standardized Cohabit? Oh, I don’t know if that’s—I
test or other?. . . Ah! Yes, auto-auto, yes, it mean she’s over here every day at our place
was that ages ago committed-to-memory . . . then spends the nights at hers, Sam’s. So,
Greek-rooted barbarism “autoscheadiasm” do we or do we not cohabit? Do they or not?
that I then let carry us along, Lolly and me, I don’t know, frankly. I mean, what defines
like the adage flotsam and jetsam on the “cohabit”?. . . Time of day? Day or night?
hushing river that secretes no secrets in its Lightness, darkness?. . . To paraphrase the
flow, for an hour or so before— Prince: There is nothing but thinking makes

89

Adelaide Literary Magazine

it so. . . . And I don’t, honestly, make it so. . . My wife, y’see, feels what I never do, the
. In any event, it doesn’t matter with whom pinch of what the British call scrimshanking.
she cohabits. . . . Now, whom she dreams On one hand, like me, she doesn’t care for
of—well now, that is a different matter en- memorial services. “Monstrously mawkish,”
tirely, isn’t it? Of which, blessedly, we know she calls them. Far prefers, does she, and
nothing, one of the other. . . . has said as much: “Why not memorialize
by sitting quietly alone in a room for ten
Oddly, the arrangement has brought us minutes?” Indeed. But still, unlike me, she
closer together. . . more polished, actually, feels duty-bound to join in, in celebrating
in the practice of marital courtesies, you the life of still another wingless angel who
could say. . . . We talk more. once trod the earth unbeknownst to us. Not
to would be, well, to scrimshank. . . . Did I
About what? Well, about our daughter, mention she’s English, my wife? . . .
of course, who’s away at college. But be-
yond her. . . well, politics. Now there’s And so she’ll go, her battle bowler a black
something we never used to— pillbox hat, up the ladder and over the top,
and I with her ’cause, like a good soldier, I
We’ve even invented a word game—well, tell myself she needs me to get by. We have,
a couple actually, for describing The Great after all, shared a trench, so to speak. . . .
Leader. The first—I’m not sure whose idea
it was, but probably hers, since she used to Kyle’s my wife’s nephew. Jinty is, was, his
teach English, as did I,—oh, I said that,—but wife. Diagnosed with cancer like—like yes-
not, did I?, before morphing into George terday, and then, before you can say Shep-
Babbitt? or “Rabbit”Angstrom? or, of late, I herd’s Pie, she’s dead. Of being a woman.
think Gregor Samsa? . . . I think not. “After losing his mother just two years ago,”
I observe in the kitchen, as if thinking aloud,
Anyway, the first game was to come up and the kitchen, for its part, bleeds in silence.
with words with the suffix “maniac” for the
aforesaid Great Leader— y’know, like “ego- Kyle’s mother, Catherine, my wife’s
maniac,” “megalomaniac,” “mythomaniac,” older sister, lived for years back east with
“monomaniac, “proditomaniac,” “theoma- a man of brag and bluster who spoke with
niac,” like that. Then she upped the ante, in- swift greed and a dealmaker’s green-eyed,
deed said, “Let’s up the ante,” by which she spot-on recognition, whom one day she
meant, “recherche words associated with grew to detest, and then one day caught a
The Great Leader,” and fired off: “samfie,” stubborn cold and inquired of a young inter-
“snollygoster,” and “jacktance” before I nist one day why she couldn’t stop coughing,
could break in with “droog,” which she in- and the the young internist said, “You have
stantly rejected ’cause, she said, “The Great lung cancer.” Just like that, one day.
Leader has henchmen but is not himself
one.” “A technicality,” I objected, before con- Chemo, bald head, wigs, hope, despair—
ceding the point and firing off, “trombenik,”
“numpty,” and “postiche,” all of which she I was there the night she—well, actually
trumped with “Punchinello,” “alazon,” and— the night before the morning she died.

“Zack says Kyle’s planning a service for It was raining, TG.
Jinty next Saturday.” And at once I unravel
the mumble and garble. Bending low and drawing close, I whis-
pered, “You’ve brought the rain,” ’cause,

90

Revista Literária Adelaide

y’see, at the time we were in the midst of if a hopped-up Hopper around a campfire,
an unforgiving drought, unlike now, TG. TG? pointing, y’know, with nerves in wild clamor,
Oh, ’s Irish short for “Thank God.”. . . Cath- “The pocket-square Jackson! The pock-
erine managed a smile, slow and dim, and a et-square Jackson! It matches the green
weak,—get this—, “TG.” Imagine that. silky squares of his tie!” He was right— they
did, Jackson and tie, match.
Then someone—I don’t know who—but
someone or other in white asked if she Shortly thereafter they wheeled Cath-
wanted to see a priest, ’cause Catherine erine off to— well, another room is all I
was a Catholic, technically. All of ’em were, know, ’cause I left, walking out in the rain,
the Barkleys, Catholics. Kennedy Democrats, TG, like the good Lieutenant Frederic Henry,
right up to the papacy, y’cud say. Anyway, thinking over and over, “The dying room,
I guess it sorta stuck ’cause Catherine just the dying room.”
sorta nodded. But the priest someone or
other summoned wasn’t on duty. I know, Sure enough, the next morning Cath-
where’s a Father when you need one, right? erine née Barkley died.
But, presto, a man of sixty or so with a loud
wildrose face and wispy pork-fat-colored But here’s the thing, the big thing that’s
hair is inviting us all to form a circle holding since set me to thinking—“dying room.”
hands. Then, with a cloudless smile and
little pink-lashed piggy eyes, he intones, I mean, I don’t know, but maybe Jinty’s
“‘What a friend we have in Jesus. All our sins legacy to me, to us, is—what? Catherine
and griefs to bear. And what a privilege to redux? Dying room. . . . I’m talking about
carry everything to God in prayer.’” Indeed, China’s dying rooms. You know, where ba-
what a friend— bies were left to die?

The thing is, y’see, I love Jo Stafford. “You Oh, of course, that was years before they
Belong to Me,” “I’ll Be Seeing You,” espe- died, Catherine and Jinty, and a lifetime ago,
cially “No Other Love.” But Jo’s “What a y’cud say, before I thought, “If I don’t do
Friend We Have in Jesus” makes me shiver this now I’ll regret it the rest of my life.” Of
with irritation, the way “The Old Rugged adoption I meant, being at the time mid-
Cross” swells the vein in my temple. Still, dle-aged and azoospermic.
clerical plagiarism aside, I had the good
sense to hold my tongue and to follow the Of dying rooms, mind you, I knew
sage advice: “In human relations kindness nothing. Nor did she, my wife, who back
and lies are worth a thousand truths.” The then, I like to think, I do, with typical Celtic
stolen words, after all, seemed to comfort bathos, was like me, still a-choke with first
Catherine, not to say the other three— love longing, even as I traverse the long,
Kyle, Catherine’s husband Alf, and Billy, her close-smelling corridor like a man walking
beatdown, beat up brother, who, Alf kept to his own—but not today, not—
reminding me of what I well knew, had ad-
diction issues. . . . This rumbling Sunday I walk the last mile,
not to an execution, but— to another per-
Afterward, Alf stuffed a sawbuck into son’s misery. . . . And with that the inchoate,
the chaplain’s breast pocket, which Billy like the fog with little cat feet, moves on,
thought graceless, I guess, ’cause he said, as and in moves, clear, plain, and simple, from
one or other of memory’s hiding places cov-
ered by the drift of time, before thirty-three

91

Adelaide Literary Magazine

to thirty-three, in giving life to me, a secret like— Freddy Malins, y’cud say. Y’know,
debt owing, . . . and, naturally,—and who Joyce’s indecorous but thoroughly decent
wouldn’t?— I make a mental note, then fellow given to drink and palilogy? Right,
double down, to tell my wife. . . . right—that Freddy Malins. . . . Like Freddy
might. . . . recall making, I mean, of some-
But once back, I’m not sure, for being thing a mental note of a mental note of
fuddled I guess, of what else to tell her— something to tell his spouse, had he one
besides, of course, of banter and bougain- to make his way to through a narrow, low
villeas, fetors and pongs, territs and frights. beamed room of garble and mumble, and
. . . But, by George, certain I am of making just enough thunder to drown out a sob.
a mental note, squared at that, much

About the Author

After retiring from a career teaching philosophy, Vincent
Barry returned to his first love, fiction. His stories have
appeared in numerous publications in the U.S. and abroad,
including: The Saint Ann’s Review, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, The
Broken City, Abstract: Contemporary Expressions, Kairos,
Caveat Lector, Terror House, The Fem, BlogNostics, The
Writing Disorder, whimperbang, and The Disappointed
Housewife. Barry lives with his family in Santa Barbara,
California.

92

RETRO – GENESIS 5:24

by Stephen Stratton Moore

Fairfield County, Ohio 2012 ly enjoyed. With a freshly brewed mug of
coffee, her ID number logged in, and a final
A capricious dance of clouds and low-slant- breath of satisfaction, she was ready to be-
ing sunlight brought the field of wild grass gin what should have been a quiet evening.
to life, turning it from the dull hues of winter
into a brilliant, glowing blanket of bronze. It was in that moment that she became
The vision spoke sacred words within him, aware of a commotion from the Alzheimer’s
words that were as familiar as they were wing. The new nursing assistant called from
unknown, words that could not be articu- the far end of the hall. “Mr. Rutherford is
lated but only expressed by the smile on gone!” With no hesitation, Audrey initiated
his face. The glowing field faded again just the procedure for such an event, as she
as smoothly back to its winter drab. It was was trained to do. “Doctor Bricker, we have
as if God himself were blowing upon some a code 920 from wing two, R17. I’ll notify
sacred, cosmic ember. security.”

The watcher, the walker, and the breather Fairfield County, Ohio 2012
of breaths noted and appreciated the mo-
ment. He, in fact, treasured it as a sacred The old man walked across the field, his
gift, a celestial exhalation. It warmed him hands welcoming the caress from the tas-
some, cutting the bite of cold wind on his sels of wild grain that brushed across his na-
skin momentarily to a more agreeable, sun- ked palms. The sensation reminded him of
warmed breeze that carried the scent of downy feathers that must clothe the thou-
sodden earth with its own eternal promise sands of birds that chattered and chirped
of green things yet to come. It was a mental their private conversations along the tree
bridge to spring or perhaps a bridge to some line. Their language was foreign yet pleas-
previous spring of long ago. ing, despite the fact they were most likely
speaking ill of him in their warbling tones.
Maynard Glen Assisted Living 2012 It was of no matter. “Let them talk, the lit-
tle bastards! I know things you don’t…many,
Audrey Carmichael was settling into her many things. My brain is bigger than four of
shift, rearranging her workspace from the you put together, and for that reason alone,
previous occupant’s sense of order to her I deserve your respect, you little chirping
own. It was her ritual, one that she secret- shits!”

93

Adelaide Literary Magazine

He halted his trek across the field to was full of crazy people!” He was glad to
listen to their splendid cacophony, and in be rid of it.
that moment, the entire tree line exploded
into a black mass of flight. The dark cloud He walked on into the muted light of the
of birds undulated its way across the field, evening and found that despite the growing
folding in and out of itself as one living en- chill, he was enjoying himself. All his senses
tity. Then, as smooth as the sunlight, they were heightened: his vision sharper, his
blended into the trees on the far side of smell keener, his awareness greater than it
the field. It was as if they were no longer had been of late.
there. It was the complete silence that he
noticed first, and he pondered how things He felt a connection to his surroundings,
might be if he himself simply disappeared. a fresh synchronicity; he was a part of it
He watched in silent wonder, lost in time all―the changing qualities of light, the wild
until he realized that he was not breathing. creatures going about their daily business
He drew in a long, cold, rattling breath and as if he weren’t even there, the adolescent
thought, it’s a pretty good trick to disappear whitetail deer only offering him a momen-
like that…The birds do have their own se- tary acknowledgment before resuming its
crets. They had secrets that he would never evening meal of roughage. Somehow, they
know. So maybe, just maybe, they were all knew that he was no threat to them, and
even. the knowledge of that greatly pleased him.

It was the here-and-now that was at the He knew where he was going. T he family
crest of his awareness, the cutting edge of farm was just over that way apiece, maybe
a newly- sharpened blade that had only re- five fields over and then through the back
cently been quite blunted and dull. There acre of woods behind the house. The map
were other things too that began flowing was in his mind. I’ll be there by daybreak, he
through his mind, bits and pieces, fragments told himself and meant it, too. He was on a
of scenes, that floated just underneath the mission. He knew that Margaret would be
physical surface of the magnificent, nat- worried about him, being out all night, but
ural vista that he now beheld. There were he would explain it to her in the morning
visual and emotional elements that briefly over a steaming mug of coffee at the kitchen
revealed themselves before diving back table, and just like always, she’d understand.
down deep, just out of reach, beyond the She always understood, my Margaret.
thin and fragile boundary that was his re-
ality. He found memories of holding a pre- With some effort, he hoisted himself
cious hand that did not hold his back and over a fence rail and made his way through
echoed voices of his sons telling him, “This the briar and leaf clutter to the edge of a
is the best thing, Dad. You can’t take care deep, tree-filled ravine. From there, he
of yourself properly any longer. We’re really slid and bounced his way from trunk to
worried about you.” trunk until he reached the bottom where a
stream meandered and gurgled in the same
His response had been succinct and to general direction that he was headed. He
the point. “Bullshit!” Eventually, he gave in knelt on his naked knees, cupped his hands,
to the boys’ insistence, but he hated that and scooped the cold water to his lips. His
place with a passion. “It smelled bad and walk had been thirsty work, so he repeated
the gesture until he was full.

94

Revista Literária Adelaide

He had been hearing the sounds of ur- ing his hair. His first awareness was of her
gent voices coming from far behind him warm breath on his ear, whispering to him in
for a while now. There were lights, too, but a soothing voice. “Shhhhhhhhhhh, baby. It’s
they didn’t frighten him, really. Waiting for all over now. You are here at home with me.”
the shift change had made all the difference
in providing him a good head start. Just the It was the recent hard times that brought
same, I’ll follow the creek for a spell, he back the nightmares. He hadn’t had a damn
thought, with visions of Cool Hand Luke and war dream for almost thirty years, but now,
Papillion playing in his mind’s eye. they were happening two or three times
a month. “Shit,” he said, sliding his hands
With his thirst quenched, his followers down his sweating face. “There won’t be
far behind him, and the ravine cutting a cold any more sleep tonight.” He leaned over and
wind on his back, he felt a new vigor flowing. kissed Margaret, got dressed, pulled on his,
Momentarily surveying his darkening sur- filthy work coat, and went out to the barn to
roundings, he stepped into the frigid water, replace the distributor in his pickup. It was
noting the sensation of the tiny grains of the way that he managed things these days.
sand and small pebbles underneath his foot.
He curled his toes, digging them deeply They still had their allotted 40 acres; the
into the bottom of the streambed before family house was paid for, but like so many
planting his other foot with similar results, others across the entire country, the bank
as the flowing coldness stung him higher had taken the rest of his farm with all the
on his calf. After several more steps, all the equipment and cattle. It was damn hard to
sensations of his feet disappeared from his stomach at first, but with time, he felt for-
awareness. tunate for what they had because so many
of their farm neighbors faired a whole lot
As he went along, his mind began to worse. Lester Piles killed himself after the
wander to places it had not been in a very bank took his family’s farm. Four gener-
long time. Old experiences ebbed in and ations they had been at it, and old Lester
out of his consciousness, things he’d not ended it all with a single shot the same
thought about in years. They had been day the single stroke of an auction mallet
locked away in an old trunk or at the bottom took away everything he loved. The land
of a chest of drawers―memories, old and becomes a part of a man who works it from
timeless. He took note of the moon, low in dawn till dusk…and well into the night at
the sky starting its own night’s journey as he harvest time. He understood what Lester
splashed along with the complete assured- did and why he did it, but he did not ap-
ness that Margaret’s smiling face was just a prove. Not when there was so much more
few more miles away. to live for. In the end, it came down to pride,
stubborn pride. There’s so much loss be-
Mind at large- Fairfield County, Ohio 1986 cause of pride, but he had no judgment for
Lester. He made his choice as a man has a
“Shhhhhhhhhh, baby.” Breathing heavi- right to do. He just wished that Lester had
ly, he awoke with a start but kept his eyes taken a little more time to think things over,
squeezed tightly shut. It took a few mo- before… well.
ments for him to realize where he was. His
wife was cradling his head and gently strok- At least he and Margie were able to
keep the house where they had raised their

95

Adelaide Literary Magazine

family. The boys moved on in the midst breach. “The B.A.R. is froze!” he yelled and
of all the turmoil, but they still came back sat up to give a good pull on the bolt. As
and visited from time to time. Good boys. the rifleman finally freed his M1 rifle from
After college, they went their own ways, his coat, Jimbo’s helmet flew off his head
and who’s to blame them? The whole town in a pink mist, and he slumped backwards
pretty much went the way that Lester did. It unmoving in the snow, his inoperable B.A.R.
just took a while longer, but the result was machine gun still lying perpendicular across
all the same. He and Margie managed well his lap. The rifleman, momentarily stunned
enough. Margie was waitressing at Missy’s by the sight, turned toward the din of the
Home Cookin’ over by the interstate, and gunfire and bugles and emptied his 8-shot
he sold insurance in town. They kept a nice- clip. He yanked his glove off and jammed
sized garden behind the house, and Mar- down another clip and repeated the pro-
garet canned in the fall. They made do with cess. After placing a third clip, he took a
what they had; what got them through the deep breath as he took aim at the moving
bad times and the good was love, simply forms swarming up from the swale below
love. When it’s all taken away, you either them. Someone on the line yelled, “My God,
have that or you don’t. they’re thousands of them!” They just kept
coming up the hill screaming as they ran,
Mind at large- North Korea, 1950 and the Marines just kept mowing them
down. After five minutes, the rifleman
The Marine rifleman’s only awareness in heard a bugle, and just as quickly as they
that moment was of the darkness and had come, the enemy, melted into the dark-
his frozen feet. The unmistakable thump ness and falling snow and retreated down
of launching mortars announced the first the hill.
warning that something was wrong. He
instinctively raised his head only to be mo- Lieutenant Milton shouted for them to
mentarily blinded by a brilliant white flash replace with fresh clips and to fix bayonets,
from a multitude of flares in the sky. As “Bring up the corpsman! They will be back,
soon as they ignited, he heard the surreal fellas, sure as shit.”
sound of bugles and whistles coming from
down the hill, and it took a few seconds for It was dark again; the flares had burned
him to register what was really going on. out, but the snow on the ground and in the
It was Lieutenant Milton yelling, “They’re air provided an eerie illumination all its own.
coming!” and the rest of his squad opening Obeying his lieutenant’s orders, the young
up that slapped him out of his stupor. The rifleman prepared his weapon for a second
young rifleman had his M1 tucked up un- assault and flinched a little when he heard
der his coat to keep it warm, and he imme- the thump of a mortar tube again. He ex-
diately regretted doing so as he struggled pected the flares and another onrush of
desperately to free it. the enemy, but instead he heard the Shh-
hhhhhhhh…BOOM! of an actual mortar
Jimbo, his best buddy from basic training, round. It landed behind them and to the
was right next to him. He manned the right. Shhhhhhhhhh…BOOM! A second was
Browning Automatic Rifle in the squad and twenty yards closer. They were walking the
was slamming his fist repeatedly on the mortar rounds in his direction. Shhhhhh-
hhhh…BOOM! A third round exploded with

96

Revista Literária Adelaide

screams of men just down the line from him! was made to carry her there on the gurney.
The next will surely land squarely on top of Each step and bump and jostle was an
me! Thought the rifleman, hugging the cold all-encompassing jolt of excruciating pain
ground as tightly as he could. He heard the which she endured until she finally passed
thump of the next mortar being launched out from the sheer agony of it.
from out in the darkness. This one’s got my
name on it! He clamped his eyes shut and As he walked alongside the gurney,
waited for an eternity for the mortar round holding her hand in that moment, he noticed
to explode and rip him to pieces! “I love you, just how beautiful she was. Her grip on his
Margie!” Shhhhhhhhhh BOOOM! hand had not loosened when she had passed
out either. If anything, she was squeezing his
Mind at large- The Campus of hand harder and harder. “It hurt, too; man,
Ohio University 1946 did it hurt.” It felt like his hand was caught in
a slowly tightening vise. She still was holding
The sloping sidewalk was frosty, and leaf tightly to something…and so was he.
covered. The young woman hurried to get
to class, her thoughts solely on the embar- When she opened her eyes, her first
rassment of arriving late when her right awareness was the throb of her leg and
shoe heel jammed into a crack in the pave- her second was of a rather handsome,
ment and her left foot came down squarely but strange boy looking at her with what
upon a single acorn sending her sprawling seemed to be amusement curling the cor-
in unbearable pain amidst a spread of wet, ners of his mouth. “Who are you and why
golden oak leaves. are you smiling at me like that?” she de-
manded in an angry tone. Maybe it was the
Her shinbone was sticking out the memory of all the unhelpful strangers that
front of her right leg just above her ankle. added to her ire, but the weird kid just kept
It was a gruesome injury, so gruesome, in smiling at her.
fact, that the students around her could
hardly believe what they were seeing. They After an awkward, very uncomfortable
were themselves in shock. The grisliness silence, he uttered, “I came by for my jacket.”
of the injury just froze them all in place.
She screamed at them, “Please, help me!” Click. She remembered it all now―the
but no one moved. They just stood there jacket, the soothing voice, his hand holding
gawking at her with various degrees of dis- hers―and her face flushed with embarrass-
gust and awe carved on their faces. ment. “I’m so sorry!” she blurted. “You’re
the person who helped me, aren’t you?”
Finally, some kind person grabbed her She collected herself to the degree that she
hand and helped her up on one elbow but was able and extended her hand in intro-
blocked her from seeing the true extent of duction. “Hello, my name is Margaret, and
her injury. He soothed her and covered her you are?”
with his jacket. An ambulance finally arrived,
but because of the grotesque angle of her He smiled broadly; holding up a fresh-
leg, they could not fit her into it without ly-casted hand, he replied, “I’m the guy
damaging it further. The university hospital whose hand you broke.”
was only a few blocks away, so the decision
From that moment on, they were a
couple. They didn’t at first realize it, or ever

97

Adelaide Literary Magazine

really try to acknowledge their relationship He’d feel the cool breeze on his face and
as anything beyond a deeply connected smell the green smells of summer and the
friendship held together by mended bones. cool leafy scents of autumn. He knew that
But in no time, they went from being best eventually his old friends would come, and
friends right into marriage, just as smooth he would wait patiently for them, knowing
as a sunrise. absolutely, he would finally see them again.
The sight of them, their beauty and strength,
Mind at large- Fairfield County Ohio, 1940 always filled him with awe.

The boy slowly stalked along the tree line, He came upon his old special place
his rifle ready and tears welling in his eyes. where the crook of a tree made a little
His outward awareness was of his sur- bench that fit his body perfectly. He looked
roundings, the open field to his left, and the around him and all was quiet. He would sit
chatter and chirp of the grackles and star- and wait and watch. He’d watch for them to
lings above him. His inward awareness was come, like he always had, and they always
only of his brothers’ sharp words playing on did.
a loop in his head, both of them sneering
at him. He had refused to join them and He heard it before he saw it. He tensed
their dad on the long-planned hunting trip. a little; a bead of sweat dripped from his
“I don’t like killing,” the boy had told them. forehead to mix with the tears in his eyes,
momentarily blinding him, but when he
“Hey, Bobby, yah think he’s too scared to wiped it away, he could plainly see it, a
come with us?” single adolescent buck. It was roughly the
same age in deer years as he was, and it was
“Nope,” replied Bobby, “that ain’t it at just standing there. Unaware. He observed
all. He’s just a P-U-S-S-Y! Every family has every detail: the flexing muscle just beneath
one… and he’s all ours.” Those were their its shiny beige and white fur, the small nubs
last words to him before they climbed into on the top of its head, and its large reflec-
the truck, bounced down the driveway and tive brown eyes. It was close enough for him
pulled out onto the main road. His brothers’ to see the sky within them. The boy slowly
words that morning were hurtful enough, raised his rifle to his shoulder and leveled
but he was used to that. the barrel, switched off the safety, squinted
down the sights, and took a deep breath.
What really hurt him, on the inside, was He opened both eyes…and they stared at
that his dad was within earshot of it all and each other. An eternity of sorts passed be-
didn’t say a thing! “NOT A DAMN THING! I’ll tween them in that single moment, a mo-
show them ALL that I ain’t scared!” ment that ended with an echoing report
of a rifle shot sending the entire tree line
There was an animal trail that ran into a black mass of flight. The dark cloud
through the field not 30 yards out from the of birds undulated its way across the field,
tree line. He knew of it because he had a folding in and out of itself as if it were one
spot where he liked to sit and watch things living entity. Then, as smooth as the sun-
on lazy afternoons. When his chores were light, they blended into the trees on the far
done, he’d head on out to it and think about side of the field. It was as if they were no
stuff. He’d sit and watch billowy white clouds longer there.
sail across the sky like clipper ships aflight.

98