Adelaide Literary Magazine No.14, July 2018

Revista Literária Adelaide

Alfie aka Henry removed his bright red stove- be a storage closet and barely fit his cot and
pipe hat - always a crowd pleaser - a way for chair. When he lay down, his head touched one
busy commuters to spot him. It was damp and wall and his toes the other. He stared at the
wet. He touched his gray-flecked beard with wet cracks in the ceiling. The mold spread in
unpleasant discovery. What a wreck. slow inky symmetry like the web of a languor-
ous spider. Watery drops gathered mass, con-
“I never took you for a Yank,” said Billy. gealed and dove listlessly into the bucket in the
far corner. Billy's words echoed in his head.
“That was the idea. I came over in ‘87 - a grad- “We’ll meet at my brother’s - the aƩorney in
uate student in art. Believe it or not, on full the family - and sort out your passport. With
scholarship. That’s when I met Julie. An Aussie, luck, you’ll be in Brooklyn by New Year’s Eve.”
on scholarship too. I fell so far in love I never Alfie didn't believe in luck. And dreams were a
found my way back.” luxury he had cast off along with his name. So
he just listened to the rhythm of the drip, drip,
“What happened to her?" drip.

“I drank a lot. Julie couldn’t handle it. She hung Five days later, with passport and Ɵcket in
in Ɵll ‘89; finally gave an ulƟmatum - the booze hand, plus $500 tucked in a fine-smelling leath-
or her. I chose the whisky; or maybe it chose er wallet, Alfie was at Heathrow. Billy and he
me; I couldn't shake it. She went back to Mel- sat together at the departure drop-off.
bourne. Heard from her once in ‘92 but that
was it. I don’t blame her. But honestly, I loved “You’re actually a handsome fellow, Henry
her; sƟll do.” Wordsworth Blaylock. Kiss your Mom for me.”

“And your family?” He clapped him on the shoulder. “There you go
now; that’s a good one then. Remember, just
“Couldn’t face them; the cajoling and all, so I head for first class check in. They’ll take care of
just got lost. I became Alfie. Remember the the rest.”
song, What’s it all about, Alfie? SƟll don't
know. I just want to go home.” Alfie stepped out of the car and headed to-
wards the airport entrance. He turned and
Billy regarded him over his steaming cup. AŌer waved.
a moment, he said,
“How can I ever thank you? Such a thing to
“I’d like to help you with that, Alfie or should I do.”
call you Henry?”
“Good luck, Henry, just write me a note.” The
“No, Alfie is fine. And how could you help?” car sped away.

“My friend, I’m going to sort out your paper- He stood in the middle of the well-ordered first
work and buy you a first class Ɵcket to New class lounge. The airline personnel assigned to
York City. I only ask one thing: write and let me the area were obviously the cream of the crop.
know how you are. I’ll make it round-trip - just Quiet solicitaƟon and hushed voices offered
in case.” flower-infused water and full breakfast. He
noted that customers were helping themselves
“No can do, my friend. I’m a bum with no to the coffee and water. So they must be free.
clothes and no money.” It was true, but they But what about the food? He was hungry but
both knew he had his game on again. didn’t want to embarrass himself, so he had
elderberry apple juice and vitamin water. Of
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” smiled Bil- course the bar was busy. Free as well? He did-
ly. “Meet me here tomorrow at two. And take n’t want to find out. He’d been off the sauce
a shower. We’re going shopping.” for almost a week now. It felt preƩy good. He
saw his clean-shaven reflecƟon bouncing off a
The next evening at six, Alfie looked like a well- glass-covered billboard. Julie had always gone
heeled commuter. He took his freshly pur- weak for the cleŌ in his chin. He’d forgoƩen
chased navy carry-on - full of crisp new clothes
- home to his small basement room. It used to

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

about that. His large gray eyes were steady and "Hendrickson and Flatlands, please."
well spaced. Being tall had advantages; it had
helped him protect his corner turf. Now he "Street address?" asked the cabbie.
commanded another kind of respect. He could
see it in the women’s eyes as they smiled up at "The corner will be fine."
him. The men took his measure, deferring to
him as if he might be somebody. Who was he The trip from JFK was shorter than he'd ex-
now? And why had he agreed to this? He found pected. They were going against the Belt Park-
a taupe mid-century chair that faced the busy way rush-hour traffic that inched like a frozen
runway. slug towards Long Island. Lucky me; poor suck-
ers. He thought that maybe things would begin
He hadn’t flown in almost thirty years. He re- to break in his direcƟon.
membered the newness, coursing in hopeful
swells through his six foot-four frame as he "That'll be fiŌeen bucks even," said the cabby
crunched into his discount seat. Now he was as he pulled over.
about to board again - but this Ɵme consumed
with fear. Alfie handed him a twenty.

“Your flight is boarding, Mr. Blaylock, this way "Keep the change," he said, liŌing his bag onto
please. Gate 32.” the curb. He glanced around as the cab pulled
away. The house was a mile away. He needed
“Good day, Sir.“ The captain Ɵpped his hat as the Ɵme to center himself. He saw St. Thomas
Alfie passed into seat 2A. Aquinas rectory and wondered if Holy Family
was sƟll around, and Father Torres - a good
He was dazzled and confused by the myriad of priest who had pulled him away from trouble
buƩons and electronics in his luxurious cubicle. when he was a kid. He walked briskly, anxious
But the seat was quite large and his legs now to get home. His house, a mulƟ-family
stretched out as far as he wanted. He exhaled brownstone, had seen glory days, replete with
with the first sense of relief he had felt in days. Tiffany windows and inlaid wood; and desulto-
ry Ɵmes - when everything had been stripped
The city revealed itself suddenly, liŌing like a bare.
mirage through orange-Ɵnged clouds. The
evening lights outlined a silhoueƩe achingly The neighborhood had always been a kaleido-
familiar, interposed with strange new shapes. scope of shiŌing cultures - the new immigrants
He took comfort from the Empire State Build- oŌen resented and someƟmes feared by the
ing, dressed in Christmas green and red. Alt- entrenched inhabitants; who, in turn, had been
hough he knew beƩer, he searched for the feared and resented themselves when they
twin blocks that had been the World Trade had first seƩled there - going all the way back
Towers. He had never liked them architectural- to the 1600's and the Dutchman, Von Cow-
ly but now he mourned them - lost beacons in enhoven and the Lenape 'Indian chiefs' - from
his tenuous landscape. whom he had purchased most of what was
now Brooklyn.
He got through Customs quickly.
His grandfather, a dockworker of English-
"Welcome home, Sir," said the agent. Alfie German stock and builder in his sparse free
nodded, took his bag and headed for the exit. Ɵme, had bought the house in the FiŌies and
He flagged a cab and headed immediately to gradually made it livable - not elegant, but ser-
his mother's house - to his house. BeƩer to bite viceable. When his parents inherited it in the
the bullet right away. He clutched his wallet late SixƟes, they took the basement and parlor
reassuringly; how much was a cab ride these floors, and half of the second. They rented out
days? the top two stories - someƟmes a pain, but
mostly, it was a reliable source of needed in-
come for a family of five.

"Gee Mom, it's great to see you."

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"Wow, Mom you look terrific. Your prodigal "Tell me I'm not seeing a ghost. You god-
son is home at last." damned son of a bitch. Henry? Henry Blaylock?
What the fuck, Henry!"
He stood staring at his well-polished shoes -
not the footwear a beggar could count on for a Tommy raised his hand. Alfie didn't know
handout. He kept rehearsing phrases, trying to whether to duck or shake. He was five inches
get it right. He gave up and walked the remain- taller than Tommy but he had never beaten
ing twenty yards, immersed in guilt and anƟci- him in a fight. Not that there had been many;
paƟon, to the front gate. He took a deep Alfie's self-preservaƟon saw to that. The
breath and looked up. youngest of three tough boys, the kid never
backed down and never stopped punching.
It was gone. Even his beefy brothers gave up picking on him
by the Ɵme he turned six.
The house was simply not there. No gate, no
steps, no trees, nothing. I've got the wrong Taking what he hoped was a friendly proffer,
street. You damn fool. What a moron. His heart Alfie reached over the bar and grabbed Tom-
sloshed against his chest. Panicking, he sur- my's hand with the strongest grip he could
veyed the block. It was his street. He fell to the muster. Tommy burst into a wide even smile.
ground - automaƟcally assuming his beggar's
squat. The earth where his house once stood "We didn't know whether you were alive or
was smooth, packed down. He hadn't realized dead. Nobody did."
how big the lot was. An ugly gap. The block
seemed to be missing its front teeth. Who de- He ignored the comment.
molishes a house, just like that? He sat there
for a long Ɵme. His mind was numb. So were "Time's treaƟng you well, Tommy. The bar - is
his toes. It was geƫng cold, very cold. He rose it yours now?"
slowly, hesitated, then turned and ran along
Flatbush Avenue towards the water, searching "Yup, Dad's legacy. Never thought he had that
franƟcally, with his carry-on bumping behind much confidence in me. He was as nasty as
him. your old man. Longshoremen - mean-fisted old
bastards. We both have the scars to prove it,
SƟll there. "The Neon Mermaid" glowed gar- right Buddy?"
ishly in raunchy red, just as it always had. One
of his favorite haunts, back in the day. He He wasn't smiling anymore.
slowed down and caught his breath. Only half
full, the aŌer work crowd was slowly trickling Alfie was sƟll relieved that his father was dead,
in. The bar was the same - highly polished and some twenty years now - the last Ɵme anyone
well-worn hardwood. But the bar stools sport- had tracked him down. His brother, Chuck, his
ed cherry red Naugahyde cushioned seats with father's favorite, was always the one to try to
silver back rests. Upgrade. Someone's doing hold things together. "You've got to see him,
okay. He found a spot at the end of the bar. It Henry, he needs to talk to you. He's in bad
took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light. shape. Doctors say he won't last a week. Lung
Mood lighƟng. Hah. Fancy smancy. Summoning cancer; those damned cigareƩes. Please, come
his courage, he sought and dreaded anyone home."
familiar. There he is. Even from the back, Alfie
recognized Tommy Allen. He had a full head of "For him? Not on your life. Now maybe Mom
close-cropped salt and pepper hair, almost a can finally have some peace."
buzz-cut. It seemed to extend to his face, the
beard the same length as the hair - a mono- Chuck had hung up on him. Alfie had respond-
chromaƟc exposiƟon of head fuzz. His powerful ed by throwing his cell phone in the rubbish.
shoulders and ham hock neck showed no sign Pay as go from now on. And that had been
of age. He must spend a lot of Ɵme at the gym. that.
Alfie waited. Tommy eventually looked his way,
staring quesƟoningly as he got closer. "What happened to my house, Tommy? And
Mom?"

His old friend regarded him carefully.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

"Chuck and Sally sold it five years ago." "I'm in town, Chuck. I want to see Mom. I'm at
Tommy's bar. He told me she moved in with
"Why?" you and Janie."

"Because it was too much to keep up. Your "Now you call? Do you think Ɵme stopped just
Mom couldn't handle it - the tenants and all. for you, you selfish prick?"
She went to live with Chuck in Forest Hills."
"I'm not gonna argue with you. Just put Mom
"And who got all the money? Chuck, no on."
doubt."
"Well, that'd be preƩy hard to do, Henry. She
"Hey, man, don't drag me into your family died three weeks ago, you fucking asshole!"
stuff. I've got enough of my own. Don't think I Chuck slammed the phone against the wall. Or
didn't get this place without a load of resent- that's how it sounded from Alfie's end. He
ment from my own brothers." could hear Janie ask, "Chuck, what's going on?
What is it?" The phone clicked off.
"And what about Sally?"
"Excuse me," said a preƩy young woman bun-
"Your sister and Wayne are in Philly now. Her dled up against the late December wind. He
daughter is just as preƩy as she is. And your stepped aside to let her and her companions
nephew, he's a handful. Teenagers! Just like pass. The cold air blasted him as the canvas
someone I used to know." He winked. "We talk door admiƩed a steady stream of patrons. The
every now and then; sƟll carry that torch; can't place had filled up - the last workday before
help it." the long New Year's weekend. He turned and
thought to warm himself. The tea would taste
"Can you give me her number? And while good; so would a hot toddy.
you're at it, give me Chuck's too."
Instead, he wandered onto the avenue and
"Your sister never gave up on you, bro; neither headed towards Marine Park - always a refuge
did your Mom. Hey, you look thirsty. Let me when he was a boy. He'd played baseball and
get you a beer. Brooklyn is now the home of basketball there and someƟmes, a game of
some of the best microbrews on the planet." bocce with the old Italian guys. He'd been a
good athlete.
"What I'd like is some hot tea. Got to thaw out
a bit." His dad worked with his hands and disciplined
with his fists. Henry was always the one who
Tommy looked surprised; he kept the wise- got hit. Girls were never to be struck, not that
crack to himself. Sally ever gave her father a reason to consider
it. And Chuck? He was such a suck-up, always
"I'll be right back with their contact info - and seeking paternal aƩenƟon. He could sƟll feel
the tea. You take milk and sugar?" the blows hammering into his stomach - he'd
crumble forward as the wind got snuffed out;
"I like my tea neat," Alfie smiled, admiring his then the old bastard would punch his bended
friend's restraint. head. His mother would break it up. When he
was fourteen, she finally realized that gentle
The first call was to Chuck. He needed to see pleading was useless against a rage-aholic. In
his mother. He stepped out into the small ves- an act of adrenalin infused strength, she took a
Ɵbule - one of those temporary affairs made of wicker kitchen chair and smashed it to smither-
plasƟc and canvas that keeps the cold and eens over her husband's head.
snow from blowing in.
"If you ever hit him again, I will leave you. Do
"Chuck Blaylock here." not test me, MarƟn."

He's answering his home phone like it's a busi- Her husband had frozen in astonishment. He
ness. never touched his son again; and that included

"Chuck, it's Henry."

Silence.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

hugs. Henry had become off limits to rage and "And how about a sandwich to go with the tea?
affecƟon. That was fine with him. You look like you could stand to eat."

He loved the biƟng scent of the saltwater Alfie was hungry, and sick. He had felt it com-
marshes. The wind whipped through the dunes ing on since he'd been at the lawyer's office
- the grasses undulaƟng in a hoary sea breeze. five days before; it had finally caught up with
An almost full moon bathed the landscape in him. He wanted to call his sister, but not now.
ghostly splendor - a study in glacial white - just He'd wait unƟl he got some sleep.
like his heart, stripped now of his mother's
lifeblood. That night, he listened to the hot water pipes
gurgle up cozily. The heat felt good. There was
He longed for spring; for the exuberant chirps a decent shared bath just across the hall. He
of Myrtle warblers and grasshopper sparrows - treated himself to a long, hot shower and put
the joyous cacophony that once soothed his on his new pajamas; Billy Anderson had insist-
young soul. He used to lie in the shrubs, very ed he get flannel. They were hunter green,
sƟll. On a good day, a rabbit or a pheasant doƩed with small beige hunƟng dogs shaped
would cross his path. He thought of the horse- like English Pointers. The proprietor had given
shoe crabs; he'd discover their shells scaƩered him two extra blankets - one of which was
among the seaweed, rocking in the Ɵde. wool. He piled them on and crawled under,
Through births and deaths of myriad species, pulling them over his shoulders. But he could-
conƟnents, and new worlds - long out-lasƟng n't get warm; a fever gripped him. It was al-
the dinosaurs, they sƟll poured into this very most midnight, five in the morning London
spot, as they had for more than five millions Ɵme. The last thing he wanted to do was go
years, seeking a mate. If he was very lucky, out to get some aspirin.
he'd encounter a loon (another mulƟ-million
year old survivor) bobbing offshore, as it Compared to his room in Camden, this place
preened from its molƟng and reclaimed its was a palace. There was a desk with wriƟng
haunƟng call silenced by the winter winds. paper, a comfortable chair, a small sink with
hand towels stacked on a shelf, and a narrow
But it was not spring. Shivering uncontrollably, closet. He even had a window that overlooked
he headed back to the Mermaid. Tommy was several back yards - three of them had Christ-
relieved when he spoƩed him through the fes- mas trees. Their colorful lights swayed in the
Ɵve crowd. Alfie made his way to a small open- frozen breeze; through the darkness he could
ing in the now packed bar. see their muted hues dancing behind the gauzy
drapes. Maybe I'll stay here for a few nights,
"About that tea," he said mustering a smile. unƟl I feel beƩer. Drawing the covers closer, he
nestled into the lavender scented pillow and
"Coming right up. Where'd you go? Where are fell asleep.
you staying tonight?"
He was sƟll sick when he woke up at ten the
"Not sure, yet. I'll find someplace. Not to wor- next morning. The sun was shining weakly
ry." through a Ɵred haze. AŌer arranging to stay
the weekend, he walked to a diner on the cor-
"Not tonight you won't. Everything in town is ner and ordered eggs and hot tea. He'd picked
booked for New Year's. Listen, I have a friend up some aspirin and downed it with the water
who has a bed and breakfast just up the street. that, ridiculously, was served with ice. A nice
She's got a Ɵny room that she only rents out in American touch in the summer, but not today.
a pinch. I could ask her; maybe it's available. He shivered and cupped his tea. He decided to
Why don't I give her a call?" order some chicken soup.

"I'm used to Ɵny. Yeah, thanks, that would be As he headed back to his room, he surveyed his
good." old neighborhood. It had changed. What did he

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

expect? Of course, it had. There were high- "I'm so sorry, Sally. I swear I think I knew it. A
rises where there used to be wooden row few weeks ago, out of nowhere, I got so home-
houses. Tucked into the ground floors, the sick; I had to come back. But I'm too late."
storefronts were either naƟonal chains or small
specialty shops. ArƟsan this and that: coffee, He felt his eyes welling up; he stopped himself.
tea, leather goods, handbags, spices; trendy
bars. There were some remaining bodegas "You know the last thing she said to Chuck and
sprinkled here and there. And the Hispanic Janie, really the only words she got out, before
Center was sƟll open for business. Gentrifica- she died?"
Ɵon was infiltraƟng even the more dilapidated
side streets. That's probably what the neigh- He was afraid to hear.
bors grumbled about his grandfather, back in
the FiŌies, when he had bought the place for a "What?"
song. He wondered what would be built on his
property next. Not big enough for a high rise; "She said, Tell Henry when he comes home
so, probably some elaborate new brownstone. that I love him; tell him everything will be okay.
Did they have historic districts or strict building And that was it. She loved you so much, Henry.
codes these days? Or was everything going to She always knew you'd come back."
the highest bidder?
He reeled back from a blow far greater than
He sat on his bed and stared at Sally's number. any his father had ever delivered - a merciless
Somehow he knew that speaking to her would dagger of regret.
make all this real. He wasn't sure he could han-
dle it. He wrapped the blanket around himself They were silent for a long while. He could hear
and made the call anyway. her sobs; he wished he were there to hold her;
to protect her as he always had. But who
"Hello?" would he be protecƟng her from? He was sure-
ly a cause of her sorrow, of Chuck's rage. Com-
God, it was good to hear her voice. He found it ing back had been a huge mistake.
hard to speak.
"Where is she buried?"
"Henry, is that you? Chuck called me this morn-
ing. Henry?" "She's in Greenwood, cremated, in Grandma's
family plot. It was what she wanted. Oh, Henry,
"It's me. How are you, Sally? Tommy Allen why not come here and stay a while?"
sends his love," he said teasingly.
"First, I've got to see Mom."
It was a stupid thing to say; she was a married
woman now, not his fiŌeen-year old sister. He "She's gone, Henry."
regreƩed it immediately.
"Please, I need a few days. Then, we'll see. I'm
"Forgive me. It's just been so long. I'm a jerk. I so sorry."
guess that hasn't changed."
He hung up before she could respond and sat
She laughed worriedly. shaking on the bed. From fever? From grief?
What had he been thinking? He looked over at
"How are you, Henry? Where are you?" the desk and saw the wriƟng paper. There was
one promise he could keep. He addressed the
"Tommy got me a room at a friend's place. envelope, taking the informaƟon from Billy
What happened to Mom? Was she sick? Did Anderson's card.
she suffer? I can't believe, I don't believe she's
dead." New Year's Eve, American style

"She didn't suffer, Henry. She had a heart Dear Billy,
aƩack. By the Ɵme the paramedics got there,
she was gone." Well, you were right. Everyone here was so
happy to see me. My mother is overjoyed. How
He could tell she was crying. can I ever repay you for the generosity you
have shown me, my friend? I think I'll be stay-
ing with her for a while, unƟl I get my feet on

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the ground. It feels great to be in my old room He remembered coming here with his mother
again. every Easter as she planted new tulips and Ɵ-
died up the gravesite. OŌen, the winter would
They tell me the economy here has turned up; heave the earth up and parƟally obscure the
there might even be a spot for someone like boƩom inscripƟon on the marble stone. She
me. Imagine that! would use her hand shovel to move the dirt
away. Then she would get down on her knees
Don't be concerned if you don't hear from me and pray.
for a while, I've got a lot of catching up to do.
He couldn't bear to look, to find her name
With great affecƟon and eternal thanks, above his grandparents', but that was why he
had come.
Alfie (aka Henry)
It read:
P.S. Happy New Year!!!!
Loving mother, wife and daughter
He folded the leƩer, put it in the envelope and
placed it carefully in his breast pocket. He con- Greta Emily Lang Blaylock
sidered fedexing it; but, what was the rush,
he'd wait Ɵll the post office opened aŌer the 5/1/1937 - 12/5/2017
holiday.
He had never held much stock in prayer, at
It was biƩer cold. The sun succumbed to the least not since his Ɵme as an alter boy. But he
flurries - small white furies that swirled in the had an unshakeable faith in his mother - and
shiŌing wind. He walked for a while, north on he never doubted the simple fervor of her
Flatbush, towards Greenwood Cemetery - a prayers. And so, out of respect, he knelt on the
revoluƟonary site and part of a vibrant swath frozen ground and blessed himself.
of green that cut through Brooklyn, along with
the Botanical Garden and Prospect Park. A visi- "Hail Mary, full of grace . . ." He tried dozens of
tor might find it surprising to see such gor- ways to apologize to her, to explain what had
geous old trees- Pin Oaks, some over 100 feet happened. But he couldn't because he didn't
tall, Birch, Elm and Ash - that had bypassed the understand himself. He assumed his beggar's
city's wrecking ball. When he was in middle pose, and for the first Ɵme since Julie leŌ, he
school, he had come with charcoals and a pad, cried inconsolably.
hopping the graveyard fence, someƟmes
spending all day, sketching the naƟve flora. It had goƩen dark hours ago. He was afraid
that if he leŌ he might never come back again.
"The kid's gonna be a fairy - what with the art His body ached, and his mind was unfocused.
classes and all. What's next? Ballet? Well, he's But something had happened. He had experi-
your problem now. Remember THAT when he enced a kind of lightness, an ephemeral glim-
comes home with AIDS," his father oŌen mer of something new. He couldn't put his fin-
warned. His mom would ignore the comment ger on it. But it was real.
and hum. You are my sunshine, my only sun-
shine . . ." His father would leave the room and Alfie stood with great difficulty. Everything was
the topic - exasperated, but checked. locked up so he climbed the fence on the high
ground - the same spot he snuck over so many
By the Ɵme Alfie reached the ornate entrance, years before. He headed towards the church
he was exhausted. The walk had warmed him; where, he had learned, Father Torres had been
but he was clammy from the fever that had reassigned. Was he seeking absoluƟon or an-
come roaring back. It was late aŌernoon and swers? He didn't know.
the cemetery was geƫng ready to close its
enormous wrought iron gates. He hurried It was ten o'clock, two hours before the New
through as unobtrusively as possible. It took Year, when he finally reached the church steps.
him fiŌeen minutes to find the plot. As he expected, both the rectory and the
church were closed. The doors would open in
an hour or so for midnight mass.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

There was a cafe, adorned in holiday lights, just damn. She went down to search his clothes for
across the square where he could go and warm herself. Nothing in the pants' pockets; nothing
up. But he was just so Ɵred. He couldn't walk in the jacket; the coat pockets, no. She reached
anymore. He stretched out on the stone steps. for the jacket again and checked inside; there
was a breast pocket. She felt something and
"Here's another one, didn't even make it to pulled it out - a leƩer addressed to some guy in
midnight," Officer Beneto said to his partner. England.

"He's out cold. Amateur night for the drinking King's County had been a madhouse - the holi-
crowd," Officer Mendez replied. Beneto days, the drunks, the flu, the cold. And every-
reached over and shook him. one was pulling double duty, understaffed and
overworked. This week the docs, the social
"This guy is more than out cold; I think he's workers were the "B-team". The "A's" were
dead. Maybe he froze to death. A well-dressed enjoying their vacaƟon.
guy like this? It's not like he's a bum. You think
he'd have some place to be tonight." It really isn't my job! She wasn't about to call
the U. K. on her own dime, but somebody had
Mendez called for an ambulance. "Check his to do something. This paƟent needs to hear a
pulse." friendly voice if he's ever gonna make it. The
fundraising office was closed unƟl next week.
"I just did. I can't find one." But she knew they could place a call to the
moon if it meant tracking down some donors.
The ambulance arrived five minutes later. The
cops were relieved to resume their beat. It was Oh, what the hell . . . she let herself in and
too cold to stand around. reached for the phone.

"He's all yours," said Mendez. "SƟll, it's a Billie Anderson asked the nurse to open the
shame, to cash it in on the church steps, on leƩer; at his request, she read it to him twice.
New Year's Eve no less." He thanked her profusely.

The paramedic nodded and checked for vitals. "Any issues with payment, or if they try to
She detected a faint pulse. move him out of there, please call me. And if
the worse should happen, well, I'll take care of
"This guy is sƟll with us. Get a move on!" she that too."
said to the driver as she put the oxygen mask
over his mouth. Billy's brother had come through for him again.
There really was no privacy anymore. Within
The flu had been especially virulent this sea- the space of a single aŌernoon, he had found
son. In Alfie's case, it had turned into pneumo- out that she had divorced four years before,
nia. and recently moved to California to be near her
son - an art student at USC.
Three days and no one's called or come look-
ing, grumbled the ICU charge nurse under her She lived alone with her Maltese puppy, Frank-
breath. lin, who had his own Facebook page. She was
free-lancing as a feature film digital arƟst. He
John Doe was sƟll unconscious; they were los- had her cell number, e-mail and street address.
ing him.
The situaƟon was urgent he knew; but he felt a
She checked the notes to be sure - no ID on wriƩen text would be less startling, and maybe
him when he came in - just a wallet with four easier to process - and consider - than an intru-
twenty-dollar bills tucked into his back pocket. sive call. These days, it was the most immedi-
Not that it's my job but someone should give a ate way to communicate anyway.

"Dear Julie, . . ." he began.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author:

Maureen Grace has been wriƟng stories and
poems all her life but has only recently begun
to send them out for publicaƟon. She has a
master's in literature and had won numerous
awards for her wriƟng in television, film and
print adverƟsing.

57

DEATH ENTERS THE
ROOM

by Elaine Rosenberg Miller

“Did you hear that?” “Lower the volume,” he said, lying back down
and turning over.
“What?” he said, his voice muffled by a pillow.
She conƟnued to watch and listen.
The children were finally asleep. They followed
a nightly ritual. She would tell them stories, Images of emaciated men with purple blotches
sing to them. They would resist sleep. Some- on their skin flashed across the screen.
Ɵmes, she would recite Shakespeare, Roman or
French poets. “La chair et triste, hélas!" she “They’re dying!” she thought and shuddered
would coo, “et j’ai lu tous les livres.” Though with concern and fear.
they could not understand the words, she
hoped that they would respond to the ca- The next day she drove the children to school,
dence, the rhythm, her enthusiasm. Finally, aƩended a court hearing, then walked to her
they would seem to driŌ off and she would law office.
begin to Ɵptoe out of the room.
“Wouldn’t you like liƩle Johnny to wait in the
“Maa!” she invariably heard. waiƟng room?” she finally said, interrupƟng a
woman relaƟng a story of spousal neglect and
It was usually the older boy, driven by some abuse as her son sat next to her, his legs swing-
unseen anxiety. ing back and forth.

She would return, read some more, wait and The woman looked at her.
quietly slip out.
“No," she said, slowly. “I want him to hear eve-
“Hear what?” her husband asked aŌer a while. ry word.”

“Television. They said something about “I am sorry. It’s my policy not to permit others
“Acquired Immunity Deficiency Syndrome” to be in the room when I consult with clients.
He will have to go.”
“What’s that?’
Reluctantly, the woman told the boy to leave.
“Listen. There is no cure.”
The day went on.
He sat up.
She reviewed bills, signed checks.
“And HaiƟans are impacted,” the commentator
said. “Donna!” she called into the intercom. “Come
They sat silently. here, please.”

“There are a lot of HaiƟans in south Florida,” Her secretary entered.
she offered.
“Yes?”
“Homosexuals and intravenous drug users,”
the voice conƟnued. “Why does our insurance agency have a new
name?”

58

Revista Literária Adelaide

There was a long silence. Then, for the first Ɵme, she shed tears over the
death of a young man who had suffered a fatal
“Didn’t your husband tell you?” illness alone, his fate hidden from nearly all
who knew him.
“Tell me what?” In the years to come, others died. They seemed
to fade from view and an obituary would ap-
“Your agent, Anthony Russo died.” pear oŌen staƟng that they had succumbed to
a “long-standing illness”
“No!” A mysteriously transmiƩed disease was a now
a factor in her life and community.
“Yes.” The news was full of theories.
One day she heard an announcement that
“What from?” “HaiƟans” had been dropped from the profiled
groups.
“He had pneumonia, I heard." Intravenous drug users, homosexuals and he-
mophiliacs were at the greatest risk, they were
“I don’t understand. He was in great shape. He told.
worked out. He went to the gym all the Ɵme.” “At least we don’t have to worry about any-
thing,” she commented to her husband.
“When was the last Ɵme you saw him?” A half smiled played on his face.
“Right?” she asked.
“I don’t know. A few months ago. He has all
our insurance. The house, cars, the business.” About the Author:

“Sorry.” Elaine Rosenberg Miller's essays, memoirs,
poems and short stories have appeared in JU-
When was the last Ɵme you saw him?”“ DISCHE RUNDSCHAU, THE BANGALORE RE-
VIEW, THE BINNACLE, THE FORWARD, THE
Donna lowered her gaze. HUFFINGTON POST and numerous print and

“A few weeks ago.”

“And?”

“He looked very thin.”

“Thin? He was 32! He was a body builder! His
agency was a tremendous success. He was our
friend.”

“Sorry."

In the weeks to come she heard liƩle about
Russo. Though he had hundreds of clients and
many people liked him and recommended him
to others, no one seemed to know much about
him.

She realized that he had been an intensely pri-
vate man.

“He was so beauƟful,” she told her friend.
“Who dies of pneumonia at 32?”

“Well, he was gay and he died of AIDS.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“I never knew. I never imagined.”

“Try being gay in this small town.”

59

A GOOD

SLEEPER

by Keith Jenereaux

The condensaƟon that crept from the boƩom The car door slamming shut made her flinch, as
of the window was high enough to hide the though she hadn’t expected the noise to ac-
small front yard from Holly. Any other Ɵme she company the acƟon. Miss Woodrow said some-
would have wiped it clear with her forearm, thing, poinƟng at the window of her car and
dragging the sleeve of her shirt across the win- the officer nodded, Ɵpping his hat before he
dow unƟl the glass was dry, but she wanted to went to the cruiser. Holly stepped away from
stay hidden today, wanted to watch without the window when Miss Woodrow looked back
being seen. She went up on her toes, peaking at the house, scared of making eye contact
over the thin layer of water. Her vision was sƟll with the horrible woman.
distorted, blurred by tears, which she also
chose not to wipe away. “Hateful,” Holly whispered. She waited Ɵll she
heard the car door close before she looked
She could see their breath as they walked to again.
the cars, tuŌs of vapour being caught in the
wind before disappearing. It gave her chills, “He slept like a field stone. Even when he was a
reminded her of the cold, and she crossed her newborn. Dead to the world. SomeƟmes he
arms Ɵght below her chest. slept twenty hours a day. Not a word of a lie -
twenty hours. Mom said he was part cat. Said
“He was fine,” she said, turning her head to- his daddy must have mud in his blood to make
ward the other room. a baby that slept so much.”

No one answered. The cruiser leŌ first. It was on the road and
pulling away before Miss Woodrow's car start-
Holly looked back at the window, up on her ed to move. A fresh tear warmed Holly’s cheek
toes again. Miss Woodrow was opening the as she watched it back out of her driveway. She
back door of her car for the officer who didn’t raised her hand and waved absently, then
give his name, didn’t say a single word while he brought the hand to her mouth as the car dis-
was in the house. Miss Woodrow had done all appeared.
the talking. Holly watched as the silent officer
bent over and put her son in the car. “I’m sorry,” she said, sƟll looking out the win-
dow. “I know you don’t like me bringing up his
“He always sleeps through the night. Always. daddy.”
Ever since he was born.” She didn’t look away
from the window. “When I was pregnant, peo- From the other room came the familiar snap of
ple told me to get ready. ‘Get your sleep now, the television coming to life. It was followed
cause your geƫn none once the baby comes.’ briefly by the upbeat music from the children’s
That’s what Mom said. And Aunt Gert. And show Winston had been watching, but quickly
Mrs. Hiltz down at the pharmacy. That’s what changed to a jangle of mixed noises, too brief
everybody said. No sleep once he’s born. But to be recognized. This conƟnued unƟl Billy
they were wrong. Every single one of them. seƩled on a show about fishing, and the quiet
They were all wrong.” chaƩer of the men on the boat seemed to

60

Revista Literária Adelaide

somehow suit the confusion. Holly kept watch- was about to pinch them with her fingerƟps. It
ing the window. embarrassed Holly when he had his top off
while other people were around.
“It’s been months since he got up during the
night. Not since Halloween. You remember “How much does a lawyer cost?”
that? The night he threw up all over the crib?
That was the last Ɵme he was up before dawn. Billy was in the middle of a drink and he didn’t
Hell, before nine. That was the only Ɵme in a lower the boƩle unƟl it was empty. “A hell of a
full year that he got up during the night. That’s lot more than you got,” he told her.
it. Just once in a whole year. I never shoulda let “How much more?”
him eat all that candy.” Nostalgia forced a grin
to her face. “He just loved it so much.” A shrugged was his only answer.

She heard the fridge door open, followed by Holly set her boƩle on the windowsill. “I goƩa
the clink of a boƩle being taken from the shelf. call mom,” she said, and started towards the
Footsteps dragging into the room made Holly phone in the kitchen.
turn away from the window. Billy held up a
beer as he came toward her, a second one “She ain’t gonna be able to help you, Holly.
hanging by his hip in the other hand. She’s got less money than you.”

“Here.” He liŌed his chin at the boƩle. “I ain’t gonna ask her for money. I’m gonna ask
her what to do.”
“It’s only nine-thirty.”
Billy followed her into the kitchen. “How the
“So?” hell is she gonna know what to do? She ain’t a
lawyer.”
Holly took the beer and watched Billy dropped
hard into in the rocking chair by the wood “She’ll know.” The phone wasn’t on its base. It
stove taking. He took a long drink from the was never on the base. In this house it was
boƩle before he set it between his legs. She always in the couch or under the covers or on
turned back to the window. “I guess I goƩa get the back of the toilet. It was never on the base
a lawyer.” unless the charge was spent. “She knows stuff
like this. She used to work at the Sally Anne’s.”
“You can’t afford a lawyer.” It wasn’t under Billy’s hat off. “People were
always coming in with problems like this.” It
“Don’t they have free lawyers for people who wasn’t on the counter or in the drawer of sel-
don’t got money?” dom used utensils. “She woulda heard things
like this. She woulda heard how to fix it.” Holly
Billy shook his head. “That’s just on television. looked in the same spots again, picking up
No one does nothing for free in real life. You items that couldn’t possibly hide a phone.
goƩa pay if you want a lawyer. You goƩa pay “Where is the damn thing?”
through the nose.”
“Working at a thriŌ store ain’t going teach ya
“Maybe I could sell the car?” how to get a kid from social services. You’re
talking crazy.”
Billy laughed. “You’d be lucky to get a hundred
bucks for that piece of crap.” “Which of these make the phone beep?” She
started pushing buƩons on the phone’s base
He was sƟll topless, had come out of the bed- unƟl a muffled chirping started in the other
room like that when Miss Woodrow and the room. The sound led her to recliner.
officer were there. Holly wished he had put on
a shirt. It might have helped if he had put on a “You can’t call your mother now, it’s the mid-
shirt. Billy had taƩoos. Several of them. The dle of the morning. Rates are through the
ones on his arms didn’t bother her, snakes and roof.”
crosses and words in complicated cursives, but
centred on his chest was a picture of a naked Holly was already dialling. “But I need her
women with exaggerated breasts reaching help.”
a hand toward each of Billy’s nipples, like she

61

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Billy took the phone from her. “Nothing’s going “I wish he cried.” She wiped her eyes again. “I
to change between now and tonight. Wait Ɵll wish he got upset when she took him.” Holly
ten.” swallowed hard, then took a breath. “Why did-
n’t he holler for me, Billy? Why didn’t he yell
“Six. It gets cheaper at six.” for his mom instead of just siƫng there grin-
ning, smiling at that Miss Woodrow while she
“Yeah, but it’s even cheaper at ten. If you can took him from his home? He was happy, Billy …
wait Ɵll six, you can wait Ɵll ten.” Billy fell into Happy to get away from me.” She turned her
the beat up recliner, tossing the phone to the head toward the window. “But I guess that’s
couch on his way down. because I’m a terrible mom.”

There was a moment of thought, a reflecƟon The anglers whispered in the pause that fol-
on the phone itself. Her mother had given it to lowed.
her the day she leŌ, a parƟng giŌ that served
as a hint. Holly sat down beside it on the “How do you suppose she knew?”
couch. “In a way, this is all her fault.”
“Who knew what?”
The television had absorbed Billy’s aƩenƟon.
“How do you suppose Miss Woodrow knew we
“If she hadn’t of moved back to the island we went to the Red Line last night? How do you
woulda had a siƩer. She watched Winnie all think she knew we leŌ Winston here all
the Ɵme when she lived on Aldred Drive.” alone?”
Billy shrugged.
“Don’t call him Winnie. That's a girl’s name.”
Holly looked at the wall that separated their
“I wouldn’t a leŌ if he was awake.” She looked apartment from the one next to them. “Mrs.
away from the phone. “It’s just he sleeps so Dickson saw us leaving last night. I saw her
good. He never wakes up during the night. That peeking out from behind the curtain when we
lady, that Miss Woodrow, she wouldn’t even went past her window. She gave me a real dirty
let me talk. Wouldn’t let me explain. She didn’t look too. One of those judging kinda looks. I
have to be so …” Tears slipped down both sides bet she was the one who called Social Services.
of her face. “She doesn’t know Winston. She I betcha it was her.”
doesn’t know how good he sleeps. She didn’t
even know how old he was. Kept saying Win- “You’re probably right. The woman’s a cow.”
nie’s eighteen months. He’s not eighteen
months, he’s only sixteen. Not even. He’ll be Holly pounded the heel of her fist against the
sixteen on the twenty-first. Or is it seventeen? wall. “I know what you did,” she hollered. “I
Wait …” Holly started counƟng under her know exactly what you did, you bitch.”
breath, her fingers moving as she did. “Oh my
god, Billy.” She covered her mouth. “He is Billy laughed. “Give er hell.”
eighteen months. Winnie’s gonna be a year
and a half on the twenty-first.” She watched the wall, waiƟng for a reacƟon.
When nothing came she turned and hurried
“So?” out of the room. Billy stared at the television as
the front door opened then slammed closed.
Holly took in a deep breath. “I’m a bad mom.” He laughed to himself at the sound of foot-
steps stomping across the deck they shared
Billy said nothing. with the neighbours.

She wiped her eye with the heel of her hand. The wind was biƩer, blowing through the thin
“Miss Woodrow was right. I am a terrible night shirt she was wearing, but Holly didn’t
mother.” noƟce as she pounded on the door to the Dick-
son’s apartment. “I know what you did,” she
The only sound in the room came from the screamed again.
anglers on the television. Holly looked straight
ahead, stared at the blank wall on the other The door opened carefully and a small woman
side of the room as Billy watched the fishing appeared behind it. “Go away or I’ll call the
show. police,” she snapped.

62

Revista Literária Adelaide

“I know you called social services Mrs. Dickson. that it? You think you goƩa punish people who
I know it was you. Don’t try to deny it” don’t live just like you? You’re the monsters.
“I’m not denying anything.” Both of you. You’re the ones who can’t just
mind your own damn business and leave me
How casual the confession had been surprised the hell alone?”
her. She groped awkwardly for something to
say. Mr. Dickson pushed past his wife as he stepped
onto the deck. “You liƩle bitch.”
“You leŌ that poor child home all by itself. All
by its lonesome. And it ain’t the first Ɵme ei- She was not fast enough and Mr. Dickson had a
ther, I know it ain’t. You should be locked up, hold of her arm before she could step back. He
the two of you. You and that roƩen one over squeezed as hard as he could. “You want to
there. You’re monsters, that’s what you are. know who we are? We’re two people who give
They should lock the two of you up and throw a damn, that’s who we are. We’re two people
away the key, that’s what should be done.” who aren’t afraid to do the right thing, how
about that?”
“They took away my son, Mrs. Dickson. They
took my baby.” “You’re hurƟng me.”

“Good. That’s the best news I ever heard. Now Holly didn’t know what had happened as her
maybe that poor liƩle boy will have a fighƟng head snapped back. She didn’t figure it out Ɵll
chance, cause he sure as hell wasn't going to his hand came up again.
get one with the two of you. Now get off my
deck.” “We’re two people who spent our whole lives
trying to get the very thing you treat as a bur-
The door opened further as Mr. Dickson ap- den. An inconvenience. We’re two people who
peared behind his wife. He was a big man - his think a kid isn’t something you goƩa run away
wife only came to his chest - and Holly became from every chance you get.”
frightened as he looked down at her. “You
need to do as you’re told liƩle girl.” He pointed He slapped her again, the fingers catching the
toward the other apartment. end of her nose. The taste of blood came to the
back of her throat.
The cold was obvious now, the wind tearing at
her bare legs. She felt it, felt the uncomfort, “You’re garbage, that’s what you are. A piece
but it seemed so trivial to the situaƟon. “He’s a of trash.” He brought the back of his hand
good sleeper,” she said. “He never wakes up in across her face and Holly felt his knuckle rip
the night.” her lower lip. “You’re a whore. A worthless,
two-bit whore,” he screamed.
“You get on home,” Mr. Dickson said.
His hand was up again, ready to strike, but Hol-
Absent thoughts of her son came to her sud- ly had turned away, trying to hide from the
denly, song enough to take her away. Holly blow. She didn’t see the anger suddenly disap-
pictured his big, dopey grin, the corners of his pear from his face and she didn’t hear the
mouth cuƫng into his oversized cheeks. She crack unƟl aŌerward, aŌer he folded, aŌer his
loved the way he closed his eyes when he posture melted in front of her. He let go of her
laughed, the way his whole body shook with shoulder and his hand slid down her arm as he
the effort. collapsed on the deck.

“What kind of people are you anyway?” The top half of the mop handle had flung off
the porch with the impact, disappearing in the
She spoke quietly at first, sƟll caught in what loose snow that had fallen during the night.
she had lost. The boƩom half was sƟll in Billy’s hand as he
stared down at the old man. Short, thick puffs
“You think you have the right to go messing of steam came from his mouth with every
with someone’s life?” She saw them now, hud- quick breath, and his bare chest rose and fell in
dled in their doorway like a fox protecƟng her perfect rhythm.
den. “You think you’re God or something? Is

63

Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Morris!” Mrs. Dickson hurried to her husband. “That old bastard?”
Holly gave a slight nod.
Billy watched the woman cradle her husband’s Billy touched her cut, watched the deep wound
head. He noƟced the broken mop in his hand, open as he pushed her lip to the side. “It was
stared at it for a moment before he tossed it to just a mop. You can’t kill a guy with a mop. The
the corner of the deck. “Come on.” Taking Hol- wood’s too thin.”
ly by the arm he pulled her into the apartment Holly nodded again.
and dragged her into the kitchen. “Sit down,” Billy wrapped the towel around the peas.
he said, pulling a chair up to the sink. “Billy?”
He was quiet at first, focused on the peas, but
Holly sat down carefully as Billy disappeared silence forced him to answer. “Yeah?”
into the bathroom. Her breathing was short, She licked her lip carefully, then swallowed.
hurried, with terrified gasps interrupƟng it. She “I’m going to be a good mom from now on. You
watched the front door intently unƟl Billy just wait and see. I’m going to be a real good
stepped back into the room with an old towel. mom.”
He said nothing as the water ran, kept quiet Billy nodded. “I know,” he said.
while he soaked the towel, squeezed it, then He placed the towel gently against her lip and
shook it open, leƫng the loose water drop into held it there, listening for the faint sound of
the sink. Holly watched as he went down on his sirens to come.
haunches in front of her, the tap sƟll running
behind him. About the Author:

“That may need a sƟtch or two.” Billy dabbed Keith Jenereaux had no ambiƟons aimed at
carefully at her lip. “How’s your nose?” becoming a writer. A former child care worker,
his first novel came accidentally while he was
“It hurts,” she said, and sniffed. The taste of trying to record one of the stories he told the
blood came back to her. children, and since then plots and characters
have pestered him constantly. He lives in Nova
Billy touched her nose with his finger Ɵp and ScoƟa with his wife and daughter.
Holly moved back from his hand. “I don’t think
it’s broken.” He returned his aƩenƟon to her
lip, using the towel to remove blood from the
edge of the cut. “We’re going to get a lawyer.”

Holly looked at him, but Billy didn’t meet her
eyes. “For Winnie?”

“That’s right.”

She brightened. “He’s such a good boy, isn’t
he?”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid.” He stood carefully,
pressing the towel against her lip. “Hold this.”

The freezer was in the porch, and from the far
end Billy could see the porch through the win-
dow. The wife had disappeared, but Mr Dick-
son hadn’t moved. It would have been un-
seƩling had Billy allowed himself to consider it.
Instead he grabbed a bag of peas from the
freezer and went back to the kitchen.

“LiŌ your head. Let me see that lip.”

Holly obeyed. When she closed her eyes she
felt a throbbing in her nose, but she kept them
closed in spite of it. “Is he dead?” she asked.

64

TRADIO

by Richard LuŌig

I stubbed out my tenth Winston of the morn- “Hello?” the caller said.
ing. Thank God we were nearing the end of the
show. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure I got that. You
need a driver? Like a chauffeur?”
“We’re back,” I said, feigning enthusiasm.
“Time for two more calls. You’re on Tradio. “Well, not exactly,” said Robert. “See, I’m
What do you have today?” eighty years old, crippled with arthriƟs, and
my eyes are bad. Never been far from Wilson-
The voice sounded as parched as these Ohio ville. Took a trip to Chicago once and Niagara
fields during this two-year drought. “This is Falls on my honeymoon. But that was a long
Eleanor. You did a great job helping me get rid Ɵme ago.”
of that lawnmower. Helped buy my meds. To-
day, I have two bikes, a dryer good for parts, Get to the point, I thought. We’re off air in 60
and a rocking chair. I’ll take fiŌeen for the bikes seconds.
and dryer, twenty for the chair. Everything’s
negoƟable except the chair. It belonged to my “I’m sick of summers and winters here aren’t
late husband.” much beƩer. So I figured I’d hire a guy to drive
me to Las Vegas. Always wanted to play the
“Okay,” I said, “two bikes, a dryer and a chair. slots. I’ll cover expenses, but the driver has to
Your number and best Ɵme to call?” pay his own way home.”

Eleanor gave her number. “Call anyƟme. It’s The sound engineer was franƟcally waving for
not like I have a big social calendar.” me to wrap up the show.

I laughed despite my foul mood. I reached to “So, you want someone to drive you to Vegas,
punch in the buƩon for the next caller and my and you’ll pay the freight? Never had an offer
tee shirt rode up my stomach, a not-so-subtle like that before, but it sounds good. Give me
hint that I needed to exercise more. Okay, ex- your number and best Ɵme to call.”
ercise at all. It was one of the few perks of ra-
dio— I could be out of shape and no one would Robert leŌ the informaƟon and hung up.
know. Also, no dress code. Given my limited “Okay,” I said, “that's our show. Remember,
wardrobe of stuff from the used clothing stores that stuff in your garage is good for cash. This is
in this depressed town, I was grateful for not to Tradio. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
have to dress up.
I gathered up my papers and leŌ the booth.
“We got Ɵme for one more. This is Tradio. Tell OƩero moƟoned me into his office. Not a good
me what you got.” sign. The staƟon manager never spoke to D.J.s
unless they had screwed up on the air. Or
“This is Robert in Wilsonville. I don’t have any- about to be fired.
thing to sell. I need a driver.”
I tried to remember whether I had used pro-
I was stunned. fanity. It wouldn’t have been the first Ɵme. The

65

Adelaide Literary Magazine

show was boring enough, and I didn’t have I saw the sound engineer in the booth. I knew
paƟence with yokels who hadn’t rehearsed that he kept a list of calls. I rapped on the win-
their spiel. How hard could it be to remember dow, and he came out.
three things you wanted to sell for fiŌy bucks?
“Hey, Eddie, you got the log from this morn-
OƩero was shuffling through the mess on his ing’s show?”
desk.
He handed me the clipboard. “AŌer anything in
“What’s up, boss?” I knew he liked to be called parƟcular?”
‘boss.’
“No,” I said, not wanƟng to Ɵp my hand. “Some
He found what he was looking for. “I got this strange calls today. Just interested.”
from some judge. It says I need to garnish your
salary for back child support. I don’t have Ɵme I scanned the sheet, found the old man’s name
to be the court appointed bill collector.” and made a mental note of the number. I’d
write it down when I got outside, away from
I took the paper and fumbled for the generic prying eyes.
glasses I had bought at the drug store. The sta-
Ɵon didn’t offer health insurance. I got into my beat-up Ford Fiesta and drove as
quickly as I could to Kimberly’s school without
I perused the paper and stuck it in my pocket. geƫng a speeding Ɵcket. If I made the lights,
“It’s nothing to worry about, Stan. I got it under I’d be in Ɵme to pick her up for lunch.
control.”
When I reached the school office, she was
“How? By winning the loƩery? Take care of this waiƟng for me. I showed the secretary my I.D.
or find yourself a new gig. You got unƟl your and signed her out. “All set to go, Pumpkin?”
next paycheck to get this straightened out and
the court off my back.” She seemed worried.

He went back to his paperwork, indicaƟng that “I’m not sure I’m allowed to go. Mom says you
I was dismissed. owe her money.”

I was furious. Damn, leave it to Leanne to al- I saw that the secretary was listening.
most get me fired. Maybe I was a few weeks,
all right months, late with child support for That’s all I need, some busybody not leƫng me
Kimberly. But it wasn’t like I was rolling in take my own daughter to lunch.
dough. I was behind on everything, rent, credit
cards, car. Leanne of all people knew how bad I “No problem,” I said loud enough so the secre-
felt about not paying support for my daughter. tary could hear. “It’s just a misunderstanding.
That ten-year-old was the one good thing that Let’s talk about this outside, okay?”
had come out of the marriage, maybe my
whole roƩen life. Once in the car, I looked at her siƫng in the
passenger seat. I knew I was prejudiced, but I
But I just didn’t have it right now. If I couldn’t thought she was beauƟful, with her long,
pay on the car, the bank would repossess it. No brown hair and mother’s eggshell-color eyes—
car, no work. Then where would they be? blue but oŌen changing to green or hazel de-
pending on what color blouse she was wearing.
And now Leanne had put my job in jeopardy. Given that I had what was known in the indus-
No, they would all have to get in line. Even try as a face for radio, I realized that any good
Kimberly who deserved beƩer. looks she had she had goƩen from Leanne.

I remembered the old guy who had called the “Look, Hon, it’s true I owe your Mom some
show, the one wanƟng a driver to Vegas. I money but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
heard about blackjack dealers making $1,000 a
night on Ɵps. Maybe I could get a gig like that. She seemed unconvinced. “But Mom says we
need it to live. Why don’t you just give it to
her? Then everything would be okay.”

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I wished I could light up a Winston, but I never I punched in the number on my cell phone. No
smoked in front of my daughter. It was hell, answer. Maybe the old coot was asleep. I won-
but I wasn’t going to kill her with second-hand dered if the offer was on the level.
smoke.
The voice that picked up sounded groggy.
“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d give it to your
mom in a heartbeat. But things are Ɵght right Maybe the guy’s demented and calls radio
now. shows for fun.

“Don’t worry, though. I have something in the I disguised my voice. “I’m calling about the job
works, something that pays a lot. It’s going to you talked about on Tradio this morning. The
come any day now. And when it does, I’m go- one to drive you, expenses paid, to Vegas. Is
ing to pay everything I owe your mom and get the job sƟll open?”
something special for you.”
“Yeah,” the old man said. “You interested?”
“Like what?”
A moron. Would I call if I weren’t interested?
I spoke before thinking. “A surprise.”
“I might be if the terms are right.”
She became excited. “What is it?”
The old man changed the subject. “Say, you
Nice going, dumb-ass. sound familiar. Do I know you from some-
place? What’s your name?”
I scrambled to think. “If I told you, it wouldn’t
be a surprise. Let’s just get some lunch so Maybe he wasn’t as senile as he sounded.
you’re not late and we both get in trouble.”
“Probably not,” I said. “Is the job sƟll open?”
I dropped Kimberly at school promising to pick
her up for the weekend. But I feared facing “Yeah. But first let me ask you a few quesƟons.
Leanne. And having to come up with a surprise You got a license?”
seemed impossible. For the first Ɵme, I dread-
ed my visitaƟon rights. Again with the dumb quesƟons. Would I be
calling about a driving job if I didn’t have a li-
I drove aimlessly. There weren’t a lot of places cense?
to go in a town of three thousand people. Fi-
nally, I pulled into a space in front of Cal’s Bar “Yeah, I got a license.”
and went in for a whiskey. It might only be one
p.m., but given the day I was having, I figured I “You got a prison record?”
deserved it.
I was stunned. “Hell, no,” I stammered.
I sat on a stool and ordered. When I pulled out
my wallet, a slip of paper fell to the ground. It “Great. You’re hired.”
was a name and phone number. At first it did-
n’t register, but then it hit me. Robert, the guy “Just like that? Don’t you want to interview me
who wanted a driver to Las Vegas. first?”

I nursed my drink. This could be my Ɵcket. Out “Nope. I figure if you know how to drive, and
from under my crappy job. Out from Leanne you’re not a hardened criminal, you’re right for
threatening to garnish my salary. A fresh start. the job. Besides, it’s not like the phone’s ring-
ing off the wall with offers.”
But what about Kimberly? I pictured her face. If
I was going to break her heart, let it be one “When you fixing to go?” I asked.
final Ɵme and leave the kid alone to grow up
sane— maybe without a father--but sane nev- “Day aŌer tomorrow.”
ertheless. I’d be doing her a favor by leaving
once and for all. “Jesus, why the rush?”

“Young man, hope you don’t mind me calling
you young man, but next to me everybody’s
young. I don’t know how much Ɵme I have. I’m
on oxygen and got more pills than most
pharmacies. So, day aŌer tomorrow. Take it or

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

leave it. I’d go earlier, but I figure whoever I locked the apartment, stuffed the trash bags
drives me might have loose ends to Ɵe up.” into the trunk and drove off. Kimberly was
waiƟng at the bus stop near the house.
I wrote down the address and agreed to meet
him in two days. Then, I stared at my cell I took a chance that Leanne was not lurking
phone. nearby. “Hey, good looking! Want breakfast?”

What had I goƩen myself into? “Dad! What are you doing here?”

I didn’t have much to pack; you can’t get a lot “Do I need a reason to pick up my best girl?
of stuff into a one-bedroom apartment. Be- Hop in.”
sides, DJs live under the radar. If your raƟngs
were low, you could get canned that day. It had “I’ll be late for class.”
taught me to travel light.
“I’ll sign you in. What’s beƩer, homeroom or
The lease wasn’t a challenge. I’d just leave and pancakes?”
let the landlord keep whatever was leŌ behind.
Most of it was “Goodwill Modern” anyway. She slipped into the passenger seat and
glanced at me.
I wouldn’t tell OƩero. It would serve him right
when no one showed up to air Tradio. What “Mom will have a fit if she finds out.”
would they fill in with? I always wondered how
many folks listened to the show. Would anyone “Then we’ll keep it between ourselves.”
noƟce I was missing? Or care?
I drove to a diner where they served good
But Kimberly. How was I going to break it to breakfasts. We sat down in a booth in the back.
her? I knew I should just leave. That would be I didn’t need being noƟced by one of Leanne’s
easier on both of us. It would spare me having friends.
to lie about where I was
The waitress came over. “So what will you
headed. Sooner or later, Leanne would have have?” she asked.
the police looking for me. The less Kimberly
knew about my whereabouts, the beƩer. Kimberly didn’t hesitate. “Strawberry pancakes
and hot chocolate with whipped cream.”
But skipping out on my daughter would be the
final betrayal. I would probably never see her I ordered black coffee.
again. She would hate me forever, and I could-
n’t blame her. I was a shit as a father. When the order came, she skimmed the
whipped cream into her mouth without losing
Some things never change. a drop. “So what’s the occasion?” she asked
again. “It’s about the surprise, isn’t it?”
By travel day, I sƟll hadn’t done much prepara-
Ɵon. I crammed some clothes into two large I blinked in confusion.
garbage bags. The rest was staying behind. I
didn’t know how much room the old guy had in She giggled. “Don’t play dumb. The surprise
the trunk of his car. you promised the other day. You’re going to
tell me about it, aren’t you?”
As for Kimberly, I knew it was best for her if I
just disappeared. The less she knew, the less I struggled to recover. “Well, it’s a surprise. Just
she could tell Leanne. not the one you think.”

But I had to see her one last Ɵme. “I knew it! I told Mom you were going to work
things out and get her the money. I told her
you were geƫng a new place.”

She didn’t even pause for breath. “That’s the
surprise isn’t it? You’re geƫng a new apart-
ment. One with an extra bedroom for me. I
guessed it, didn’t I?”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

I looked into her expectant eyes. Where did It was crunch Ɵme, just like in blackjack when
she get this from? I tried to remember if I had you draw a sixteen and the dealer has a ten
hinted, even slightly, that I was geƫng a new showing. You have to draw a card or stand pat.
apartment. No, this was a just a ten-year-old’s Either way it’s a sucker’s bet with the odds
dreams running rampant. against you. That’s why the casinos were all
rich and the players poor.
She sat waiƟng, confident that she had guessed
the purpose of our breakfast. I sipped my Grow up asshole, I berated himself. You want
coffee stalling for Ɵme. “Yeah, something like to be a big shot in Vegas? How about starƟng
that. But you have to keep it secret. I don’t now? Cut the deck. Play a hand. Make a deci-
want any of this geƫng out unƟl it’s finalized. sion and sƟck with it.
You have to promise, not a word to anyone,
especially your mother. Okay?” My mind was made up. It was Ɵme. Time to
live up to a commitment for once.
Kimberly drained the last of her hot chocolate.
“Deal!” she said. “But it’s going to be hard.” I put the car in gear and drove off towards a
new life.
I felt like a heel. Breakfast had been a terrible
idea. But first I needed to make a stop. I headed to-
ward the staƟon. I needed to check the Tradio
I looked at my wristwatch. “Time to get you files. Maybe someone had a two-bedroom
back.” apartment cheap in town. Who knew, maybe
that prick of a staƟon manager might let me
I paid the check and drove her to school. pull some extra hours.

She reached for the door. I took her hand. And a second job. I’d need that to pay back
child support.
“Honey…I need to tell you that no maƩer what
happens, well… you know I love you. There’s I wondered how the old guy, expecƟng me to
nothing that will ever change that. I hope you’ll pick him up in fiŌeen minutes, was going to get
always feel the same way about me.” to Vegas.

Kimberly turned and gave me a hug. “I know About the Author:
Dad. Me too. I can’t wait to see you next week-
end. Maybe you can show me the new place.”

She opened the door and got out. I watched
her disappear into the school. Gone forever.

I had Ɵme to kill before I had to pick up Robert Richard LuŌig is a Midwesterner now living
and drive him to Vegas. My plan was to drive California. He taught at Miami University in
across town to a supermarket near where he Ohio. He is a recipient of the CincinnaƟ Post-
lived. I’d ditch the car there. It would be a cou- CorbeƩ FoundaƟon Award for Literature and a
ple of days before the store manager would semi finalist for the Emily Dickinson Society
report it to the cops. By then I’d be halfway to Award for Poetry. His stories have appeared in
Nevada. numerous magazines. One of his published
short stories was nominated for a 2012 Push-
I lit a cigareƩe and inhaled deeply. This was it. cart Prize. His book of poetry is scheduled to be
The line I was about to cross didn’t have any do released in 2019.
-overs aƩached.

I sat there, thinking. When had it all gone
south, my whole crappy life? Now I was about
to lose my daughter. I cut the motor and sat
with the windows rolled and lit up a Winston.

69

HOW YOU RIDE IT!

By Dave BarreƩ

That evening, towards eight o’ clock, Swan- He leaned into the hayrack as a third roller
son slipped out back and announced a change Ɵpped the deck. “We’ll put it off Ɵll the morn-
of plans. ing. That way we’ll avoid the lines and get a
fire going before dark.”
“Haul in the gear!”
From the wheelhouse came a loud squelch:
He’d startled me and I tried to cover this up someone trying to get through on the wire.
by siƫng down on the wood siding as a large Asking if this beach supper things was all right
roller Ɵpped the cockpit. All day I’d been with me, Swanson took my noncommiƩal
waiƟng for him to try something. shrug of the shoulders as an O.K. Without an-
other word— without any acknowledgment of
“Sure,” I said, seƫng the brake so I could the murderous scuffle that had occurred be-
face him. “What about the cooler on deck?” tween us at noon— he returned to the wheel-
house; the hitch of his high shoulder more
The fishing had dropped off shortly aŌer our marked than usual because of the rolling seas.
incident at noon. The flood of salmon we’d run
into earlier might have been the tail-end of this I opted to remain out back as we ap-
three-day Fraser River run. But now that the proached the narrow gorge leading to the Ɵny
Ɵde was changing— and acƟvaƟng a feed by bay we were to anchor in tonight. In spite of
sƟrring the ocean boƩom— there was a chance Swanson’s apparent willingness to let bygones
we could sƟll fill the cooler with a dozen or be bygones . . . I detected an underlying iciness
more local Kings and Cohoes. to his manner that indicated the maƩer was all
but forgoƩen. It was lurking just beneath the
“Naw. . .” Swanson said, grabbing the hay- guise of his calm surface, waiƟng unƟl just the
stack as we see-sawed over a second roller. right moment to lash out for the jugular.
“We’ll supper tonight on a liƩle beach I know a
few miles south of here. Cook in the sand. Get Having just finished packing the last of the
out of these damn winds.” day’s catch below deck, I sat on the cooler with
my fists between my legs, shivering. I won-
Nodding, I pushed back the hair from my dered why, with all these easier bays and inlets
eyes. A big williwaw had whipped up a few to get in and out of, Swanson had chosen this
hours ago. The sun was lowering behind Swan- one to camp at tonight. Another reason for
son: puƫng him in a strange silhoueƩed light. delaying our delivery at HARRY’S was because
I thought how unlike him it was to not take of our vessels size we could only get in and out
every fish we could get. of this bay during high Ɵde. High Ɵde having
occurred at 8:14, we were cuƫng it close as it
“What about the catch?” I asked, turning my was.
face away for a second as a ray of red sunlight
flashed in my eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to
deliver it at HARRY’S tonight?”

“The catch?” Swanson repeated, as though
the thought had just occurred to him. “Well...”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

I stood as we entered the first corridor of our bulwarks come crunching in at any mo-
this serpenƟne gorge. The sky was already a ment. What if Swanson had entered the wrong
deep turquoise. Granite cliffs rose ninety feet passage? What if this gorge suddenly came to
out of the water either side of the trawler at an end? Or it became so narrow we couldn’t
perfect ninety-degree angles. The waters were proceed further? There was no way in hell
as narrow as fiŌy yards across in places. And we’d be able to turn the trawler around: we’d
iceberg-like rocks liƩered the path ahead of us: be like the proverbial ship stuck in a boƩle!
juƫng thirty to forty feet out of the water as Finally, rounding one more dizzying bend of the
we driŌed by. gorge, the black green waters beneath us wid-
ened and we moved out onto the main body of
When we were about a quarter mile into the this hidden bay.
gorge, Swanson poked his head out the wheel-
house door and, poinƟng towards the gray AŌer dropping anchor, I was told to bring
cliffs on our right, said: the skiff from the roof of the wheelhouse. Un-
tying the orange plasƟc skiff, I slid it down on
“Petroglyphs . . .” my back and flip-flopped it right side up on the
water with a loud smack. It suddenly occurred
There were about a dozen in all: strewn to me if Swanson wanted to kill me or some-
across the broad-faced granite walls like inner thing . . . this would be the perfect place to do
city graffiƟ. They were rough hewn one dimen- it. There were probably hundreds, even thou-
sional figures of men and women and whales sands, of isolated liƩle bays like this all up and
and fish and animals. I was taken by one figure down the Southeast Coast. Swanson had men-
hewn in stone somewhat separate from the Ɵoned that only he and a few other fishermen
rest— about thirty yards deeper into the gorge. even knew this spot existed. He wouldn’t even
It was directly beneath a dwarf spruce tree need to do the killing with his own hands. He
growing perpendicularly out of a crevice in the could simply abandon me here . . . leave me to
cliff wall. In straight blunt lines it depicted a the elements . . . the bears and wolves and
man with one hand over his heart and the oth- lions that were said to inhabit all of these is-
er over his stomach. It was the simplest and lands. If someone should come looking for me
least creaƟve of the carvings: except for the months later, what was the likelihood they’d
strong feelings of horror and despair it evoked even think of searching out a place like this?
out of me. There was something about the Staring wide-eyed at the foliage massed in
man’s face that made me think he was very green along shore, I argued that I’d become
young and very old at the same Ɵme: a sage hysterical. But why else would any normal
and a fool all at once. His eyes were wide and person want to supper on a goddamn beach in
staring— and while his hand covered his a hollow like this? And why had Swanson
heart— his mouth was slightly parted and pointed out those rock carvings to me? Surely,
drawn down in a frown not unlike a salmon’s. he was trying to spook me; toying with my stu-
pid puny liƩle mind.
Entering another corridor of this gorge . . . I
began to pace deck. We were passing more of I was sƟll musing over these maƩers when
these iceberg-like rocks every two-hundred Swanson emerged from the wheelhouse.
feet or so now. The limbs of the dwarf spruces
growing in the crevices stretched their man- “O.K.,” he said— a bag of groceries under an
gled arms out over the glossy green waters as arm. “Get in the skiff.”
though to reach out and touch us. Barnacles
and mussels, aƩached to the cliffs at water I just stared at him.
level by the tens of thousands, seemed to
watch us as we slid by. Forcing myself to stare This was too unfucking believable. Strict
directly ahead (to belay the claustrophobic Hollywood script.
feeling I had that these granite walls were actu-
ally closing in on us), I began to wonder if we’d “Get in the skiff!” he repeated.
ever make it to this fabled beach of Swanson’s
before wrecking the boat. I expected to feel I got in.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Two hours later I trudged up and down the Searching distractedly though the dark bramble
shell and gravel beach searching for more fire- and underbrush outlining the beach . . . I imag-
wood. It was eleven o’ clock and sƟll we had ined this Robinson Crusoe of mine had, indeed,
not eaten. The moon, at last quarter, had just survived and was running wild, half-mad on the
cleared the eastern tree line: puƫng the hills, island at this moment . . . that years of isolaƟon
mountains and trees surrounding this obscure, from humankind had brought him to a Nean-
tear-shaped bay in a dull phosphorescent light. derthal state . . . that he’d learned to feed on
The air hummed with quiet: the crackle of our the raw flesh of deer and fish and wild goat . . .
fire, the soŌ lapping of the water along shore, and that he was, at this very moment, spying
the crunch of my own boots the only sounds on Swanson and myself . . . sizing us up.
reaching my ears. FiŌy yards away, following
me as I moved up the beach, the Western And it was while my head was full of such
World strayed on its anchor: its white paint- thoughts that the answer came to me. BURN
chipped exterior ghost-like in the purple THE WESTERN WORLD! BURN THE FUCKER
gloom. DOWN! It wouldn’t be hard to do. Our skiff
was just yards away, both paddles sƟll in it,
Swanson had started the fire over an hour almost inviƟng me to crawl in. Swanson’s back
ago, but was waiƟng, he said, for beƩer em- was sƟll turned towards me, and from where
bers. He sat cross-legged a yard from the the trawler had strayed it would be almost out
flames, sƟrring the fire occasionally with a of his view. I’d start it in the engine room, of
switch he’d broken off a nearby sapling. Alt- course. Swanson kept gallon cans of gas there
hough he’d shown no obvious signs that he’d and oily rags. Splash a liƩle Boy Scout juice
taken me here to do me harm, he had ap- around; dump out a box of matches, light a
peared more interested in keeping our fire well sƟck. By the Ɵme I was back ashore with the
-stoked than in engaging in any of the half- skiff, the first billows of smoke would be issuing
dozen conversaƟons I’d aƩempted to bring from the wheelhouse—
about.
SNAP!
I stopped when I came to the beached row-
boat. I’d stumbled upon it earlier while taking A knoƩy piece of wood popping back at the
a leak. The rowboat was half eaten away with fire, followed by cursing about the hold up on
rot, half-hidden beneath a clump of salmonber- the wood. Scooping up an armload of the ivory
ries. Gingerly pushing aside some the shrub’s planks, I trudged back to the fire’s pit.
thorny vines, I began to kick out pieces of
wood from the skeleton of its boƩom. Swanson was removing something from the
grocery bag when I arrived within the perime-
Along with offering a ready source of fuel, ter of the fire’s light. I stopped in my tracks.
the boat had become something of a mystery Since the moment Swanson had appeared with
to me. Its bleached weather wood had a petri- the grocery bag under an arm, I’d suspected
fied quality to it which made it hard to say just him of packing a gun inside the sack. Observ-
how long it had been here. It may have been ing that Swanson was only moving the salmon
only a year or two, then, just as easily, twenty now, I moved cauƟously forward.
or thirty years. And how had it arrived at this
obscure spot? Had a fisherman seeking refuge “Mmm. . . “ I said, smiling when Swanson
from a downed vessel paddled here on it? The glanced up at me. “Salmon smells good.”
surrounding trees and mountains would have
provided fortress from the rough seas and Swanson nodded, but said nothing.
winds outside this bay. If he’d been able to
forage through the summer . . . had been able Dropping the wood in its designated pile, I
fend of the bears and wolves and lions . . . had sat across the flames from Swanson; bracing
been able to provide makeshiŌ shelter for him- me Ɵred back against a rock. I watched Swan-
self . . . would he have been able to endure son reposiƟon the salmon, wrapped in alumi-
the long white season (seasons?) of winter? num foil, between two rocks. Then he brought
out a can of beans, opened its lid with a can-
opener, and placed it on a flat rock beside the

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Revista Literária Adelaide

salmon. He peeled off some foil from the salm- lemon juice more evenly with a sƟck. Then he
on and covered the lid of the can with it. Then closed the pouch, looking across the flames as
he resumed his cross-legged posiƟon. Once though he’d forgoƩen what it was we were
again his eyes turned towards the faint display talking about.
of aurora borealis shimmering pale green, pink
and blue above the northern tree line. Again I hesitated. What if I was wrong
about there being a revolver in the bag? Surely
I shiŌed uneasily: kicking sand and gravel there were easier— legal— means Swanson
into the fire’s pit. There was something too could take to get his revenge of me. He could
damn serene and removed about Swanson have simply called the Coast Guard and had me
tonight. And it wasn’t because he was stoned: arrested on assault charges. Why risk going to
he’d gone cold turkey now for over 24 hours. prison? This whole scenario— taking me to a
There was something else going on. I was sure deserted island to off me with a .38— was no
of it. It was almost as though he was trying to doubt a result of too many books and movies
lull me off guard. I was so out of it now it and TV. Yet . . . I couldn’t help it. I had to
wouldn’t take much. Already waves of sleepi- know if there was a gun in the goddamn sack.
ness were oozing into my head in thicker and The risk of not knowing was too great.
thicker waves; geƫng harder and harder to
fight off. If I didn’t try something soon— try to Suddenly, without realizing exactly what it
get to the boƩom of this— it might be too late. was I was going to do, I scrambled across the
sand on all fours and snatched the grocery bag
Clearing my throat, I asked, point blank: right out of Swanson’s hands.

“What are we doing here?” “Hey!” Swanson exclaimed. “What the
fuck? Give it back!”
Swanson looked down from the display of
lights, his chiseled features hatchet-like in the Smiling crazily, I shuffled backwards in the
red play of the fire. heavy sand, tripping ass backwards over the
pile of firewood. Scrambling to my feet, I
I hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t smart to make turned the bag upside down and shook out its
my suspicions known. SƟll, there was this contents: a box of matches, some utensils and
Ɵredness to consider: another wave of it press- paper plated, and a can of peaches.
ing down on me now like morphine.
“Peaches!” I shouted. “Where’s the gun?”
“I said what are we doing here?”
“Peaches? Gun?” Swanson said, on his feet
I leaned forward, back straight, fully alert. now. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Swanson grinned horribly— his eyes narrow- I dropped to my knees, picking up several of
ing into flint-like slits. the items liƩered at my feet. I turned the bag
upside down and shook it a second Ɵme. Final-
“What do you mean?” ly, convinced there was no gun, I let the bag fall
to the sand. My face burned in humiliaƟon. I
I glanced knowingly at the grocery bag. The glanced towards Swanson, wishing to explain.
image of Swanson suddenly removing the re- But it was too late. Swanson had already fig-
volver from the sack, and poinƟng the barrel at ured it out for himself.
my forehead and firing from point-blank range
flashed through my head: causing me to kick “Oh, shit! Oh, jeez! Oh, Christ!” Swanson
up more sand and gravel into the fire’s pit. exclaimed, falling to his knees double-up in
laughter. “A gun! Peaches! In a grocery bag!
“I mean what’s inside the bag?” Bang! Bang! Oh, man! That’s the funniest
thing— “
I flinched at a loud hissing noise from the
fire. The buƩer and lemon juice Swanson had But was unable to conƟnue: overcome as he
earlier placed in the salmon’s belly had begun was by the situaƟon.
to leak through the foil. Distracted, Swanson
flipped the salmon over. He opened the
foil pouch, and spread the steaming buƩer and

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Realizing how uƩerly ridiculous I must have About the Author:
appeared scrambling on all fours like a crab for
the bag of groceries, I began to laugh myself. Dave BarreƩ lives and writes out of Missoula,
First just a liƩle snicker; then a few more; final- Montana. His ficƟon has appeared most re-
ly whooping nearly as loud as Swanson. cently in Potomac Review, Cowboy Jamboree
and Midwestern Gothic. His story--EL PARA-
When we’d both calmed down enough to DISIO--will appear in Issue 24 of Quarter AŌer
talk, I wiped the tears from my eyes and stam- Eight. He teaches wriƟng at the Missoula Col-
mered out the only words I could think to say: lege and is at work on a new novel.

“I guess you know I’ll have to quit now.”

Wiping tears from his own eyes, Swanson
righted himself in the sand, and answered:

“Fine. Quit. BeƩer yet . . . you’re fired!”

I gathered up the plates and utensils I’d
scaƩered about, and aŌer Swanson had
checked the meat with a fork, we began to eat.

AŌer a good amount of Ɵme had passed,
Swanson said:

“Adam? Can I ask you a quesƟon?”

I nodded.

“All that stuff Miss Sue Ann Bonnet fed you
about Mother Earth and life out of balance and
thinking about future generaƟons: You bought
all that, didn’t you?”

I nodded again.

There was a long pause, and then Swanson
said:

“This is what I think, Adam. In the end— in
the grand scheme of things-- ol’ Mother Earth
will shake us off her like a Ɵck off a dog’s back.”
And, aŌer another pause, he smiled and add-
ed:

“The trick, kid, is in how you ride the bitch.”

74

REVENGE

by George Carlisle

Jon Corey was my nemesis. He lay sprawled the school’s literary magazine, and I knew her
across from me with his arm around Jenny, giŌ of puƫng people down, but with a warble
who was his girl friend. Jon, my nemesis, was in her voice to pretend she was joking.
the most hateful senior at St. Bart’s School. He
knew I was in love with Jenny. That’s why he Only encouraged, Jon asked Albert what he
had invited me to his party Saturday night, and thought of Starbucks. This Ɵme Jenny groaned,
that’s why I accepted. and I thought she closed her eyes in horror, but
in the candlelight I couldn’t be sure, but I
Eight of us sat together on an old rug in Jon’s hoped so.
liƩle hut, located in the School woods. These
last days before GraduaƟon were supposed to Jon began to banter with Albert about who
be special, part of the grand, final windup. might run the club next year, pretending to be
Nobody knew exactly what “special” meant, very important. The rest of us driŌed off into
but I knew it shouldn’t be as painful as this; dreamland without really listening. Jenny
watching Jenny snuggle with Jon. leaned her head against a big cushion. Her
hand rested only a few inches away from me,
We sat there in the hut, hidden away and out and I reached over and laid my hand on top of
of reach of the school, enjoying Jon’s good pot hers. She gave me a squeeze before moving it
in exchange for listening to him revisit every away. My heart leapt as I worked out the pos-
Ɵresome detail about construcƟng his hut – sibiliƟes of what Jenny might have been con-
ordering lumber from town, finding roofing in veying.
the school dump, stealing the rug from the
school storehouse, and hiring juniors to help Bored by the talk, Jenny interrupted. “Well,
put it all together. Eventually he ran out of Jon, now that you’re are all rich, let’s turn to
details, and took a long drag. I hoped for some something really boring, like how many Coreys
blessed silence, but this was not to be. are carved on the wall.’

“Well, Albert.” Jon paused for effect and con- Instead of being annoyed, Jon seemed pleased.
Ɵnued. “Are we rich yet?” I realized that he
was referring to the investment club that he “Yes,” I interjected. “Tell us about Coreys you
and Albert had started. spit on as you walk past.” I was trying unsuc-
cessfully to imitate Jenny’s humor. Each year
“We’re on track,” Albert said. the school would carve the names of the grad-
uates on the walls of the dining hall, and stu-
Then the two of them proceeded to enlighten dents would give their family name a spit shine
us about the astute purchases the club had as they passed by. I hadn’t mastered Jenny’s
made during the year. Apparently each mem- warble, and I realized how sarcasƟc I sounded.
ber had put up two thousand, and their invest- SƟll, it didn’t maƩer. Jon happily told us about
ment had grown to some unbelievable amount the first Corey, who graduated in the very first
that Albert couldn’t divulge. class, back in 1828. And twenty years later it

“Oh come on, Jon. Enough already!!!" Jenny
said. She and I were co-editors of “IMAGINE,”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

was his family’s company, of course, that built Saturday night, and I’m on duty, you know. I
the railroad north of Boston, right up past the just wanted to affirm that all is quiet in Win-
school. throp House. ”

“”Everybody buckle your seat belt. We’re in ”Thanks, Jon. It’s a comfort to know you’re
for a long ride.” Jenny said. There was that backing me up.”
warble in her voice, but, I was disappointed to
note, affecƟon as well. ”Yes, everything is quiet.”

Then the chapel bell tolled eleven. The cool I hated Jon, siƫng there so confidently. This
breeze carried the sound our way through the was Mr. Henderson’s first year, and he was
trees so that it sounded close. I took a drag young and trusƟng, never suspecƟng that his
and was struck by a thought I wanted to share house proctor was in the woods geƫng stoned.
with the others
“Thanks so much, Jon. I hope you’re having a
“Strange,” I said, “that only three months ago good evening.”
ice and snow sƟll lay under these trees.” I
wanted the others to understand that the “Yes, a few of us are in the woods smoking
evening was surreal in some way. It was as if pot.”
this place in the woods had been especially
prepared just for us by arrival of spring. Yet all We waved our hands wildly to make Jon stop.
this would cease to exist aŌer we graduated Jenny leaned over and tried to snatch away the
and went away. phone.

Cathy, siƫng next to me, said I was stoned, Mr. Henderson laughed; playing along with
and the others laughed. Maybe I was, but I felt what he thought was a joke.
so overwhelmed that in only a week we would
all be leaving forever. “I guess I’ll say good evening, sir,” Jon conƟn-
ued. “ A very good evening to you.” He turned
“I think I’m following you,” said Jenny, but be- off the I phone. “Done,” he said with great
fore she had Ɵme to explain, Jon cleared his saƟsfacƟon.
throat and took over.
We sat stunned. Jenny shook her head in dis-
“Now for some entertainment,” he said. He belief, moving across the carpet to get as far
rose to his knees, and everyone watched as he from him as possible.
pulled his cell phone from his jacket and dialed
a number. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”

“Hello, Vance Henderson here.” No, it wasn’t. Not yet saƟsfied that we were
suitably impressed, Jon waved his I phone
We all heard Mr. Henderson’s voice. He was above his head. We might be interested, he
Jon’s head of house. The voice jerked us into said, to know that he saved it all. Who knew
the real world of the school, even though it when he might need a friend in high places, a
was only from the I phone. kind of insurance policy?

A conversaƟon conƟnued. “It’s Jon, sir. Good Nobody spoke, but just sat there staring.
evening.”
Then we heard Jon’s voice again as he replayed
Hello Jon. How can I help you?” Jon had the tape. “We’re all out here smoking pot,” we
turned up the speaker so that Mr. Henderson heard again.
seemed to be siƫng there among us.
Jon fell backward, laughing. I wished him dead.
We sat shocked. The teacher’s voice was a vio-
laƟon. It didn’t belong here our sanctuary in The next to speak was Jenny. “Really, this is
the woods. We waved our arms to make Jon nothing but shiƩy, and I….” She stopped, una-
disconnect. ble to find the right words. She gave up trying.

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“Would someone walk me back to the dorm? I one last chance. As co-editors of IMAGINE,
didn’t bring a flashlight a flashlight.” Jenny and would preside at the annual literary
recepƟon, just the two of us together, side by
I was the first to volunteer. I held out my hand, side.
and she took it, and off we went, before the
others. We had reserved the common room of the
Union and ordered for seven o’clock crackers,
“He was just too much,” she said. “I had to get two kinds of cheese, and grape punch. Stu-
away.” dents would stop by aŌer dinner, when Jenny
and I would introduce our special visitor, Eric
These were magic words to me, but all I could Thompson, the alumni writer. It seemed im-
manage to say was “yes.” possibly wonderful that Jenny and I together
would be hosts. This would undoubtedly be the
I held the flashlight that guided us along the high light of my four years at school.
twists and curves through the woods, past the
glows that came from several other huts along We leŌ the dining hall early and walked togeth-
the way. The path veered around a marshy er to the Union to tend to the final de-
place, and the spring peepers momentarily tails. Maƫe, the school maid, was just filling
stopped singing as we passed. the big punch bowl from one of the big jugs
that had been delivered. We said hello to her,
I finally thought of something to say, but I was and she arranged the crackers and cheese on
so patheƟc. “There’s a log up ahead we have to the plaƩer.
step over.” My voice broke.
Then I set up the kindling in the fireplace. Jen-
Yes, thank you.” Her voice was soŌ and lovely, ny struck the match ceremoniously, and we
and gathered up enough courage to put my watched the fire transform the room.
arm around her shoulders to guide her.
I had her all to myself, and I imagined that we
The path opened up too quickly onto the were together, arranging a party in our own
school lawns, and I saw the dark shadows of home. I pictured us descending the stairs from
the chapel and the library against the light of our bedroom, down to where our guests were
the moon. I just had to prolong our Ɵme to- waiƟng.
gether, but only managed to clear my throat.
She spoke first. “I need to go back to the dorm, The dream ended when Jon entered – first --
but thanks for being my guide.” wouldn’t you know -- dressed like the lord of
the manor with a bow Ɵe and a silk handker-
“Any Ɵme.” I said. “Any Ɵme.” Oh God, I chief in his jacket pocket. He wore glasses with
thought. Oh God, God, God. My last chance, the heavy dark frames, which he thought made
and this was all I said? I headed back to my him look intellectual.
dorm. I was going to bed. One thought was
that maybe, just maybe, she had finally seen He strode up to us. “You’ve been seeing a lot of
the true Jon and decided to quit. my girl working on your liƩle magazine.” He
smiled condescendingly. Jenny laughed and,
The next morning I staƟoned myself aŌer Sun- failing to think of a response that was damag-
day chapel to find out. I saw Jenny and several ing enough, I managed a laugh.
girls walk down the steps talking together, and
a moment later Jon appeared in the doorway I watched as he fastened upon Mr. Thompson,
and surveyed the crowd. He spoƩed Jenny and telling him how much he enjoyed reading his
headed towards her, and I saw her smile at work. I was sure he was lying. I was disap-
him. I saw that nothing had changed. The two pointed when Mr. Thompson forfeited his
of them walked together towards Sunday chance to unmask him, but instead asked if he
brunch. Yes, they were sƟll a couple, and I himself wrote short stones.
was sƟll the outsider.

SƟll I managed to console myself by looking
forward to the next evening when I would have

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Undeterred, Jon said he simply enjoyed read- “You’re the best,” she said.
ing, not wriƟng. “AŌer all,” he said, “without
readers, there would be no point in wriƟng, The crowd became electrified and gathered at
would there? Why would you write if you had the punch bowl. Of course, it was Jon who
no readers?” now became the hit of the evening. I wanted
retaliaƟon, but he seemed impregnable. He
Finally Mr. Thompson was a bit more forceful. had won. I knew it.
“Have no fears, serious writers will keep
wriƟng regardless. It’s just the way we are.” Jon moved up to me and said; “I thought I’d
He looked at me for confirmaƟon, and I looked add a bit of spirit to your dull liƩle party.”
at Jon victoriously.
Precisely at this moment Albert suddenly
Any person with an ounce of sensiƟvity would pushed against me as he reached for a refill.
have retreated, but Jon conƟnued. “An inter- My arm flew up, and the contents of my full
esƟng way of looking at it,” he said, feigning cup few up and splaƩered on Jon’s face.
great interest. “Yes, I’ll be sure to keep that in
mind.” I pulled back and stared. It was impossible that
so much punch could have come from my cup.
Next he joined the crowd at the refreshment
table. He reached for a glass of punch, and Jon stood stock-sƟll. Then exhibiƟng great
smiled condescendingly at Maƫe. “Good even- coolness, he pulled out a handkerchief from his
ing, MaƟlda. Your special brew I presume?” back pocket, took off his glasses, and slowly
wiped them. Then deliberately he paƩed his
I hated his mock formality. face dry.

Maƫe laughed happily. “Get on with you,” she I couldn’t believe what had happened. “ It was
said. Albert’s fault,” I said. “He hit my arm.” I stared
at him. “Look what you did,” I said.
Jon made a salute with his glass and treated
her to a wink. He sipped and made a clicking Albert simply stared at me. “You’re out of your
sound with his tongue. “Not bad, but a liƩle mind. You threw it. Everybody saw you." He
weak, don’t you think?” The others standing looked around for confirmaƟon.
near the bowl smiled expectantly. Jon was not
one to disappoint, and sure enough, aŌer mak- “Perfect shot,” someone said. A few laughed,
ing sure Maƫe wasn’t looking, he removed his but most everyone simply stared.
big silver flask from his jacket pocket.
Jenny came forward with a handful of napkins
It was full, and he poured the enƟre contents and handed them to him. " My, you are a
into the punchbowl. I was sure it was vodka, mess, aren’t you?” I heard laughter in her
and the stream seemed to conƟnue forever. voice.
Immediately, of course, he became the star of
the moment. Never in the history of the school Jon glared at both of us. “I’ll leave you to your
had anyone ever displayed such audacity. liƩle party,” he said, and marched out the
door.
Then he topped off his performance by asking
Maƫe if she wouldn’t mind sƟrring the punch. Standing there, I tried to relive the scene.
“It seems that all that good stuff is on the top,” Without a doubt If Albert hadn’t hit my arm,
he said. such a thing wouldn’t have happened.

Unaware of what had happened, she sƟrred I stood there repeaƟng this in my mind as Jen-
and gave him a cupful to sample. ny took charge and introduced Mr. Thompson,
who began to read one of his stories. Only
He sipped carefully and noisily and then hand- when he began answering quesƟons did I begin
ed back the cup for a refill. “Thank you, Maƫe, to pay aƩenƟon to him.
much beƩer. He lowered his voice to a whis-
per. “Absolutely delectable,”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

It was Jenny, not me, who finally brought the and the bartender secretly poured us setups
evening to a close. “We’ve worked Mr. that we could top off.
Thompson too hard,” she said. “Just one more
quesƟon.” I saw three people raise their “I paid off the bar tender,” explained Jon, who,
hands. The evening was a success. as always, was the showman.

Together, Jenny and I walked with Mr. Thomp- I pretended not to hear him. The effect of vod-
son back to the school guesthouse and said ka began mercifully to take effect, and I walked
goodbye to him, I suggested that we head over over to some friends to talk. I began to feel
to the Union, but Jenny didn’t hear me. She beƩer. We formed a nucleus of friends -- close,
wondered about Jon and began sending him a bonded, but together for the last Ɵme. To-
text. He was in his dorm, she learned. Would I morrow we would be broken up, scaƩered
want to come too? At first I thought she was across the country.
joking, but she wasn’t. I said goodbye and
headed off alone. Jenny walked over to our group. Her hair was
Ɵed up in a special way that I loved. Jon fol-
The last few days passed far more quickly than lowed her, of course, and gave me a superior
I wanted. My mother emailed me, reminding smile as he put an arm round her waist to show
me to start packing. She knew my father me that she belonged to him.
would want us to leave soon aŌer graduaƟon. I
deleted her message. I moved over to some others and tried to put
him out of my mind, but I always seemed hear
My room stayed unchanged, just the way it him. With his drink in his hand, he made his
had always been and the way I wanted it to rounds about the room, grandstanding as usu-
stay -- my posters of Hemingway and Paris sƟll al, in a very cool way, of course,
on the walls, the worn out Oriental carpet on
the floor, the story I was wriƟng on the com- He was too drunk to noƟce that he was scuffing
puter, the books crammed on the shelves and up a wire that led across the floor to the sound
scaƩered on the desk. system. I watched as the wire started to form
a lasso around his right foot as he performed a
I realized the end was near when my Mother liƩle piroueƩe to illustrate something to a
and Dad arrived Saturday morning, the day group of people.
before GraduaƟon. I allowed myself to be
swept along with demands for small talk. Yes, I “ What are you staring at?” Albert asked. He
was sad to be leaving (and I was), but excited tried to follow my gaze, but didn’t noƟce what
about the future (and I wasn’t). was happening.

They were appalled, they said, by the state of “You lose something?”
my room, and they insisted on helping me
pack. They brought in packing boxes that the “I thought I heard something fall,” I said.
school had put in the hall for seniors, and I only
watched, leaning against the wall as they tore Albert shrugged his shoulders and walked
everything apart. away.

By five o’clock, they finished to their saƟsfac- The noose began to Ɵghten, as Jon appeared
Ɵon and went to the hotel to change clothes to be doing in some kind of dance. He shuffled
for the last night party. Jon’s parents and a from one foot to another. He thought he was
few others had rented the local Audubon Soci- being very funny, and I heard Jenny laugh with
ety nearby so we could all celebrate together. appreciaƟon.

I entered the party room with my mother and The wire grew taut as he tried to take a step
father, who immediately saw old friends to hug forward. I watched Jon lurch forward and slam
and kiss, leaving me free to join my friends. Of to the floor.
course, the bar was forbidden to us because
of drinking laws, so we carried our own flasks,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

. “I’m OK! OK!” I heard him scream. All conver- “Meaning what?” I asked again.
saƟon stopped as everyone turned to stare.
I panicked and looked around to see if Jenny
Then, there on the floor, he did pushups, three was listening. I saw. She knelt in front of Jon,
of them. “I’m all right, just needed a liƩle exer- and cupped his chin in her hands and said
cise!” He was trying so hard to pretend he was- something in a low voice.
n’t drunk that he didn’t noƟce he was pressing
a hand down into the broken glass. She hadn’t heard, but Albert would tell her
everything soon enough.
“Always do pushups this Ɵme of evening –
good for the health” He tried to sound forceful, “I think he needs the school infirmary,” said
but he was out of breath, and then his voice Mr. Corey, He seemed calmer now. He stood
broke as he saw all the blood. He jumped up beside John helping him to stand and sup-
and held the hand against his chest. Blood porƟng his arm with the tourniquet. Then both
soaked his shirt and ran down onto his pants. Mr. and Mrs. Corey began to steer Jon to the
door. Mrs. Corey turned to the crowd and as-
Jon’s parents rushed up to him. “You’re drunk, sured everyone that Jon would be all right.
that’s the problem,” said his father. Everything was under control, and everybody
should conƟnue to enjoy the party. she said.
“Can’t you see he’s hurt?” His mother tried to
embrace him. and I saw blood soak the front of I moved towards Jenny and said. “Don’t worry.
her dress. It’s OK,” PatheƟc words, I knew, but all I could
manage. Jenny ignored me or at least didn’t
“He’s drunk I tell you!” his father repeated. see me. “May I go to,” she asked Mr. Corey

“No he isn’t,” I rushed over to him. “It was the “Yes, do come, of course.”
wire. There it is. That one!” I pointed to it.
“It tripped him up, and he fell.” “I want to go too.” said Albert. They leŌ to-
gether with Jon in the middle. The door
“He’s right,” Jon said in a weak voice. slammed shut behind them, and I stood alone.

Mr. Tomlin, Ike’s father, stepped up and guided If only I could relive again what had happened.
Jon down into a chair, “We need a tourniquet,” Only five minutes would be enough. Then I
he said. could call out to Jon. “The wire,” I would
shout. Watch the wire.”
Before anyone else had the chance, I tore off
my Ɵe and handed it to the man, who doubled Many people hurried back to the bar, but I
it up and wrapped it around Jon’s arm. Some- stood there with Jon’s blood on my hands and I
one handed him a fork, and he inserted it in became some kind of a hero. You’re a true
the knot and twisted. friend, someone said, and the others agreed.
My mother whispered that I go wash, but I
Then I grabbed a cloth from the bar and rushed shook my head no. His blood needed to re-
forward. I pushed though the people gathering main. It showed I had tried to help.
around Jon. I crouched down pressed the cloth
against the blood. It was then I told the truth. The praise was
intolerable. The enormity of the situaƟon was
“ The wire. That’s what did it. The wire!” too much for me. “It was my fault, I said.
There on my knees I called to the others in the And then I added, “I saw him. I saw what hap-
room. “ It wasn’t his fault. I saw it happen.” pened. I saw the wire, and I didn’t say any-
thing. SƟll no one seemed to hear. or, worse,
“You should know,” came a voice behind me. they couldn’t understand.
It was Albert,
I told the truth, but it didn’t make anything any
“Meaning what?” I stood and forced myself to beƩer. I tried again. I walked over to a group
look at him.

“You were watching what happened,” he said.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

if parents and said, “I could have warned him.” About the Author:
People nodded pleasantly, but didn’t hear.
“You’re a good friend,” they said. George Carlisle graduated from the Writers
Workshop at the University of Iowa, and taught
Now they started saying goodbye to each oth- as an intern at Phillips Exeter Academy, before
er. The party was breaking up. moving on to St. Paul’s School, New Hamp-
shire, unƟl his reƟrement. His specialty was
My parents walked over to me. Maybe you teaching creaƟve wriƟng and he was long-Ɵme
could wash your hands now,” Mother said. adviser of the school literary magazine. For-
mer students are staff writers at theNew York-
“And then we can go out to dinner,” my father er and others have published poems and short
said. stories in other publicaƟons. Carlisle and his
wife spend Ɵme in Boothbay Harbor, Maine;
I would go with them, of course. I had no Cambridge; and San Miguel de Allende, Mexi-
choice. I would have preferred to go back to co.
my room and be alone and think, but it was not
my room anymore. Everything had been
packed. I had nowhere else to go.

81

OUR SALLY

by Ruth Deming

Over the years, The Newman Girls followed the the bad desserts that would greet you later in
fortunes of their next door neighbors in Shaker life.
Heights, the fashionable suburb of Cleveland,
Ohio. It was just their good fortune to live next Somehow the years swept by. Glenmore Road
door to the Hunters. Each family had four was no longer their home, with its “island”
daughters. Comparisons were inevitable. And across the street, land that would never be
inevitably unpleasant. built upon, perfect for baseball, building forts,
and reading dirty books like Peyton Place by
The Hunter’s house had red shuƩers on the Grace Metalius. Sharon, Lilly, Annabell and
windows, the Newmans had green. The Hunt- Lynn Newman reluctantly leŌ when Dad found
ers ate “shaved ham” from the deli and kept new jobs in the women’s apparel field in New
their buƩer in a kitchen cabinet, but not in the York City and Boston.
fridge. The Newmans were among the first
Jews in the neighborhood back then. The Sher- The Hunters had indeed been “prepped” by
wins, on the next street, got eggs thrown at their genƟles-only Hathaway Brown.
their windows.
ChrisƟna Hunter became an expert on race
The Hunters were debutantes, like in those relaƟons. Wrote a couple of books on the sub-
Katherine Hepburn black and white films, ject. Married and divorced Kelsey, a black man.
where she’d come down the stairs with a smile Their daughter, Judith, needed years of psycho-
and a wink. The names of the Hunter kids were therapy. Rosemary became a social worker
as unforgeƩable as our backyard swing set with who specialized in working with people with
the blue seesaw the kids always tried to Ɵp borderline personality disorder.
over.
Annabell bought her own clothing store, “My
ChrisƟna, Rosemary, Ellen, and liƩle Sally. Four Darling Daughter,” which did quite well. Then
girls to The Newmans four girls. The Newmans she bought the store next door. “Hunter’s
were not allowed to have pets of any kind, Chocolateria.” When her clothes bulged at the
while the Hunters had Pete, a black French seams, she bought a yoga studio and lost
poodle, a yapper, who followed them like a weight.
fiŌh child.
LiƩle Sally was as talented as the others. Were
For the nouveau riche of Shaker there was an these in fact the modern-day Bronte sisters?
assortment of private schools. The Hunters CreaƟve juices oozed from her pores like honey
aƩended Hathaway Brown, tucked away in the from Winnie the Pooh’s honey pot. She was a
woods. A yellow mini-school bus would pick portrait photographer, trying to get her name
them up every morning for their special college out to the public and much too busy to think of
-prep educaƟon. Pete would be outside yap- marriage or hooking up with a mate. Either sex
ping goodbye. would be fine.

Trouble was unknown. When you’re young, And then came her stroke.
wealthy, athleƟc and poised trouble was one of

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She lay in bed in her ManhaƩan flat. The morn- the scalp. Sally was one of three people who’d
ing light crept through her blinds. Today’s the suffered a stroke. Others were individuals with
day, she thought, when she’d photograph the loathesome diseases such as Parkinson’s and
last of the twins, for a book on twins she was that dreadful ALS. “Just shoot me dead,”
working on. She hoped Aperture Press, one of thought Sally.
the best, would publish it. It was not impossi-
ble. Just improbable. She had no intenƟon of dying.

Then it happened. Slowly, like spilt milk drip- People flocked to help her, people she hadn’t
ping on the floor. The leŌ side of her face, with seen in decades.
her blue eyes, quivered and froze in place. Her
enƟre leŌ arm lost feeling, as did her leŌ foot. One of The Newmans came to visit her in her
ManhaƩan pad. Lynn took off from her job as
“A stroke?” she thought. “But I’m too young.” manager of The Merlin Theatre and stayed
She couldn’t for now remember how old she with Sally a few days. They’d been close as chil-
was but she wondered how she could get help. dren. Lynn’s birthday was July 3, while Sally’s
A million thoughts came to mind. BeƩe Davis was the fourth. Since Lynn was a pack rat, she
going blind in Dark Victory. Ray Milland brought a huge satchel of things for her friend,
aƩempƟng to kill his wife in Dial M for Murder. including a Minolta camera someone leŌ at the
Of course, she couldn’t remember the names theater.
of the films, but she clearly saw the famous
scenes. “I tell you, Sal,” she said when they sat togeth-
er in the kitchen. “We could open a store with
Her survival insƟnct sprang into acƟon like a the things people leave behind at the theater.”
revved-up ballerina. Without a further thought,
she rolled out of bed – thump! thump! – and Sally visualized a darkened movie theater, with
kept rolling and crawling into the living room. 12 different theaters. Once when she brought
Her hardwood floors scraped her elbows and her nieces Juliet and Robin to see the Disney
knees through her pink silk pajamas. She was film, “FantasƟc Mr. Fox,” the girls did somer-
so dizzy the room spun about her as if she saults across the carpet. How they laughed and
were on a Ferris wheel. didn’t mind people staring. She encouraged
their playfulness and individuality.
Her blond Ikea table sat waiƟng for her. Toast
and jam is what she would have, if only she Lynn and Sally lounged at the kitchen table.
could. She stared up at it from the floor. Her Using two hands, Sally poured Lynn a cup of
land line hung on the wall, with its curlicue cinnamon tea. Her face was immovable. She
cord leering at her: Catch me if you can. She pinched it. Then gave it a playful slap.
pulled the cord with her right arm, it flopped
down onto the floor and she dialed 9-1-1. “Will you ever be able to speak?” asked Lynn.

She made a bargain with the universe. Save me “Noooo,” came a sort of whisper.
and I will change my life.
Lynn, who had shoulder-length black hair,
It seemed to be working. Every morning Luis pushed the Minolta in front of Sally. Sally re-
from the rehab knocked on her door and membered aƩending summer camp and all the
wheeled her down the elevator in her Hover- photos she had taken of fellow campers and
craŌ wheelchair. A water boƩle sat in one of counselors. They were somewhere in her
the pockets. Her sisters paid for everything and apartment. She smiled as she remembered the
told her not to worry. short black-haired counselor Ina. They liked
one another and had wriƩen postcards for a
The rehab was in a former elementary school. while. Wasn’t it Ina who had organized the
The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed plenty of skinny dip in the lake?
light. Cindy, her personal trainer, fixed Sally’s
hair. How good it felt to have her shoulder- Sally had never felt so free in her life. As she
length graying hair combed, straight down to lowered her skinny body into the water she felt
not a whiff of self-consciousness as the cooling

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

waters embraced her like the white gloves they many people in ManhaƩan were broken down,
wore as debutantes. depressed, suffering from supposedly incurable
condiƟons. Everyone wanted a piece of Sally
She liŌed up the camera with both hands and Hunter and her posiƟve outlook on life.
looked tentaƟvely at Lynn. Gingerly, she stood
up. She was quite good at this now. Rehab had Lynn decided to visit her friend again. She got
taught her much. Everything, however, must her friend Neil, the assistant manager, to take
be done slowly. As slowly as a liƩle mouse charge of the Merlin Theater, and she took the
sneaking into her flat and helping itself to the Greyhound to ManhaƩan.
Cheerios she’d spilt on the floor or dribbles of
popcorn. Did Cinderella’s mice eat everything, Sally heard her friend walk down the linoleum
like hers did? hallway and waited for her at the door.

AŌer she picked up the camera, a sound came “Lynn?” she asked as she unlocked the chain.
from Sally’s mouth. Laughter. Real, genuine
laughter. Lynn stared at her. It was not Lynn. It was a man in a black ski cap,
who pushed Sally aside and rushed through her
“Shit,” said Lynn. “You can’t tell me you’re nev- apartment. He liŌed up the cushions in the
er gonna recover. You know what my daddy living room, rifled through her underwear
used to say?” drawer, and when he saw her camera, he put it
in his pocket.
Sally looked over at her, remembering Lynn’s
father who would occasionally change into his Sally went aŌer him with a broomsƟck, poking
Marine Corps uniform, and brag to the assem- him wherever she could reach. Her strength
bled neighbors, “I’m tough as nails. was abysmal. He had a few unkind words for
her, as he kicked her and punched her in the
“And so are you, Sally Hunter.” mouth.

Sally got up from the table and halƟngly “Celebrated photographer killed by intruder,”
walked into her bedroom. In one of the boƩom read the obituary noƟce. “Memorial service
drawers was a manila envelope. Inside was a will be held at the O’Toole Art Gallery, 530
swatch of Grandma Hunter’s hair. With difficul- West 25 th Street. Naturally the Newman Girls
ty, she sat on the floor, opened up the enve- made the trip. Their sister, Annabell, met them
lope, and spread the hair out on the floor. She at the art gallery in her late-model Mercedes
could feel its soŌness with her right hand, and SUV.
now, with part of her leŌ hand. With the Mi-
nolta, she photographed it. When Lynn signed the Legacy guestbook, a
crypƟc message had been leŌ. “Sorry,” said
Her craving to photograph became unstoppa- anonymous. “Was desperate to buy my co-
ble. If the Stones had sung “I Can’t Get No caine. Am now enrolled in a 12-Step Pro-
SaƟsfacƟon” she made it her moƩo to find gram.”
saƟsfacƟon by photographing everything, with
the help of Luis: pies and cakes on the counter
at the Broadway Deli, where breakfast went for
a good fiŌeen dollars. Wealthy people walking
their dogs. Coffee carts parked on the street
with foreign-born men and women dispensing
hot dogs, hot salted peanuts, and sweet-
smelling French fries. And, of course, children
siƫng on the lions at the New York Public Li-
brary.

Sally’s sister Rosemary helped her find an
agent. The photographs traveled around Man-
haƩan, appearing in top galleries. “Healing
through Photography” was a sensaƟon. How

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About the Author:

Ruth Z. Deming, a psychotherapist, lives in
Willow Grove, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia in
the good ole USA. A mental health advocate,
she writes Guest Columns for local papers to
help lessen sƟgma for mental illness. Her poet-
ry and prose have been published in Blood and
Thunder, Pure Slush, Page and Spine, Bookends
Review and other literary venues. She writes a
poem a day on Facebook.

85

SILVER HORSES
REINED IN

by Susandale

Eight p.m., or thereabouts: the usual Ɵme for gossamer folds, she steps into Four Horses with
the droves of kids that peeled into the diner, silver sandals that click-click her along.’
Four Horses, at seven, to peel out. Josh put
Reggie in charge of p.m. fries and cokes before For the first Ɵme in his confident life, Josh felt
he plunked down in the back booth with a low rent: grungy apron, his nose twitched with
book propped up in front of him. His assign- the awfulness of it: a combinaƟon of ketchup,
ment, the bone-weary, *Heart of Darkness mustard, and pickle juice merged with the
awaited him. piercing odor of fryer grease that permeated
his hair and body, versus Rita’s goddess perfec-
‘This is the third Ɵme this week I’ve aƩempted Ɵon.
to plod through this ball-breaking rag.’
Josh’s was a common-enough reacƟon for
Stubbing his cigareƩe, he was about to turn mere humans, but unƟl this very moment low
another page when he glanced out the window rent was unknown to him. He looked up to see
and saw Rita’s jaguar racing around the corner. Rita poised and posed in the doorway. She
seemed miles away: alabaster and shimmery
‘Huh, what’s this? When Rita told me she one moment, and in the next, a lioness prowl-
couldn’t make it tonight, I volunteered to short- ing the jungle for a mate. Blinded by the sun
order on my day off, so why is she coming here exploding over the lake in blazes of sunset, at
now?’ first glance Rita wasn’t able to find Josh. He
saw her searching with her eyes darƟng
The perplexiƟes falling over Josh seemed to through the Restaurant.
be caught in the illuminaƟon of the sinking sun.
‘No, it’s not the sun; it is Rita who is sailing “Hey, Rita, over here,“ he called out in a voice
through sunset.’ he struggled to hold steady.

Narrowing his eyes, he widened his imagina- A nod for acknowledgment before Rita head-
Ɵon to Rita’s Jaguar, as a silver chariot. ‘Like ed his way. ‘As she glides through the scruffy
coming down from Mount Olympus, pulled and place, the walls seem to slip back into the foun-
being reined in by a golden goddess gliding daƟon. Her movements carefully conducted, as
down, but down to what?’ though she is performing: Rita, conƟnually the
presence:now, as ever.’
He widened to fully open his eyes to the stark
reality of Four Horses parking lot: pot-holes, When she made her way over to the back
over-stuffed garbage cans, dented cars lined up booth, she slid into the booth in the seat across
and honking their horns beside rusty call boxes. from Josh.

Josh dropped his book only to fall back in the Her perfume or was it Rita, Josh couldn’t be
booth. ‘So what if she canceled our date to- certain___ floated over to him with its elixir of
night, as she does so oŌen these days? How mysteries: something deep, heady, but indefin-
can I stay angry at this exquisite goddess pull- able. Her perfume, or what was it that exuded
ing in the reins to halt her chariot? Draped in

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from her pores? Rita and her fragrance wrap- undying love, a passionate honeymoon stretch-
ping Josh up, while her gestures, the set of her ing into a happily-ever-aŌer with two children:
chin, shoulders sƟff, body squeamish___ were a boy and a girl, of course. Rita’s dreams she
saying don‘t touch. But Josh wasn’t seeing the cradled in a hope chest of candlelight and whis-
forbidden signs. He was seeing Rita, as they pered endearments, while inside her actual
were in the beginning of their romance when hope chest laid priceless treasures, a dowry,
she gave him every indicaƟon of wanƟng them really. Tucked in amongst her grandma’s silver
to be a couple. His hand moved over hers. In- and her mother’s pewter, an ivory and amber
advertently, mistakenly, and oh so fuƟlely, he bracelet from Russia, a Picasso sculpture from
was trying to take her back to that Ɵme. AnƟbes, and her lace bapƟsmal gown brought
from an island close to Venice. Once promised
“Don’t!” by her father, but not going to happen now___
a blow-out wedding in Grandma Porter’s Ca-
“Don’t what?” thedral in downtown Cleveland: solemn Mass,
heavy with white lilies and mulƟtudes of ta-
“Don’t touch me like that.” pered candles. An orchestra with a trumpet
would have announced her arrival down an
Barricaded behind her words, Josh said, aisle that trailed her saƟn train. Peals of bells
“Like what?” greeƟng the guests, and from the choir loŌ
celebratory voices would have sung out.
“Like I belong to you.“
None of it going to occur now: Rita’s loŌy
‘Not even the fingers his hand cover are Josh’s dreams and her father’s long-held promises
any longer,’ she thought. She belonged to came to an end.
someone else now, and she searched for the
words, which would sever the slender thread ‘But when? She wondered. ‘On what night of
that once connected them. soŌ airs and careless passions? We first met on
a hot, crazy night at Catawba Beach when the
“Alright.” When he held his hands up in sur- three-piece-group repeatedly played “*Night
render, he freed both Rita and himself from the Train“ in diverse rhythms. A drunken sailor on
place they found themselves to be, as of late: leave kept hiƫng on me. He was icky, scary
painted into separate corners. persistent unƟl David knocked him flat. And
while the dizzy sailor was groaning on the
He said, “I am sorry I couldn’t talk to you dance floor, David said, “He’s not fully to
when you called, Rita, but I was in the middle blame, you know. You are unbelievably beauƟ-
ful” Later, we walked along the shoreline and
of … “ looked up to see a glorious array of shooƟng
stars. We were together and then we weren’t,
Rita’s expression stopped him cold: rebuke and then we were again.’
flashed with impaƟence.
All that dreamy history in but fleeƟng sec-
“Well, you know how it gets around here.“ onds, Rita took a deep breath to expel it. And
here she was at Four Horses. ’Josh and I need
“This isn’t about you, Josh; this is about only clear away the debris that we’ve accumu-
me.” lated this past year when I was, more or less,
his main squeeze, even as David and I were
“What is about you?” secretly meeƟng. Only then can we go on. Ah,
but this is going to be so very difficult.’
“What happened.”
Laying her head on the back of the booth,
“What happened?” Rita shut her eyes. ‘Unbearable for me to look
into the direct, uncomplicated blue of Josh’s
David happened before Josh; he happened eyes when I reveal the decepƟons, which are
aŌer Josh, and now Rita had no place leŌ for
Josh in her life rapidly turning topsy-turvy:
Josh, but a trespasser in the aŌermath of se-
cret passions that brought Rita to this place at
this Ɵme. This Ɵme, this place: neither, nor was
the terminus of which Rita had long dreamed:
a ring slid on her finger with his declaraƟon of

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

about to change the courses of our lives: all with a touch or two of tenderness to scruff off
three of us.’ the sandpaper-edges.

She made Ɵght knots of her fists. “Help me She opened her eyes to, ‘what is the myste-
out, Josh; this isn’t going to be easy.” rious ‘happy’ shining in Josh’s face?’

“I can see that it isn’t. Quit your peek-a- Before she could get a grip on Josh’s twin-
booing, Rita, and play it straight with me! Tell kles and glows reacƟon, she was hearing him
me what it is that you have to say.” say, “So, you are proposing, are you?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Unaware, he
“Play some music then. I don’t want anyone conƟnued. ‘So this is the reason, Rita, that you
else to hear this.” and I have hung on through all that we’ve been
sloughing through lately. All this Ɵme you
Bewildered, Josh dug inside his pocket for a wanted commitment. Why didn’t you say so
couple of quarters. AŌer sinking them into the before now, honey? I realize I’m a clod when it
jukebox on the wall beside them, he held his comes to guessing what you want from me,
palms up in an obligatory gesture that preced- but, Rita, you gave me not even a hint.”
ed an old game on theirs. Josh dropped in the
quarters: Rita selected the songs. Though she “But, Josh … “
went along with their old game, this Ɵme she
did so without so much as a glance at what “If it is commitment that you want, commit-
would be playing. A short while into *Billy Holi- ment is what I will give you and in full doses,
day’s, *”Autumn In New York,” she sideswiped too, beginning with an elaborate proposal and
the Restaurant with her glances taking in her on my knee yet. The ring, well it won’t be what
surroundings: rowdy teens, some dancing, I wanted for you, which explains why my
some gathered in circles laughing. Flirty-busy pledge has taken so long. I didn‘t think; it didn’t
waitresses. Car hops bustling in and out the even cross my mind …”
side door holding trays, a dishwasher carƟng
off tubs of dirty dishes. “But, Josh …”

Her heart took another tumble towards the “In my wildest dreams I never let myself
ending of more than her and Josh. Directly in dare hope that you would want to be the wife
front of her but distancing themselves to fur- of a restaurant manager. You, a surgeon’s
ther back, ’my peers, calls coming from the cars daughter, way so above me both socially and
at the call boxes, the end of my carefree, privi- financially, why would you come down to the
leged youth when the most pressing decision of greasy spoon of Four Horses?”
the moment was, “ leather or cashmere for
Homecoming,’’ shrimp cocktail or lobster bites “Josh, that’s not what I’m trying to say …”
when I lunch with grandma at the Yacht Club,
but now …’ “Three weeks though? I don’t know any-
thing about planning weddings, but three
Squaring her shoulders to her new realiƟes, weeks; isn’t that sudden for a wedding? Or are
Rita thought, ‘I must get this over with and as you wanƟng me to lean a ladder up to Doc’s
quickly as possible.’ place, and ... “

Which was the reason she blurted- “I’m Rita’s eyes spilled over with the tears that must
geƫng married in three weeks, Josh.” wash away Josh’s foolish conclusions. “I am
pregnant, Josh,” she said flatly, but as gently as
Josh’s head fell forward. “Married?! But, she could.
but, when, what, why ... “
“What, what: pregnant?”
Rita’s eyes snapped shut: unbearable for
her to see the confusion flashing across Josh’s Pregnant - a foreign word too female for
face. With eyes yet shut, she arranged and male understanding: a word like a treacherous
rearranged the next words she planned to say curve. Presto - right out in front of Josh: too
sudden for him to put the brakes on - too sharp
for him to drive around.

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“Pregnant, but how? We haven’t ... “ “It could have been anyƟme, too, with me
working double shiŌs - this fucking summer
Bang into a brick wall - knocked flat-out! school,“ he spat furiously, as though it were
Like a balloon with the air escaping, Josh was the books, pens, and grill that impregnated
helplessly zigzagging through the winds of Rita. “When Rita, when and where did the two
change. Soaring up when he thought Rita want- of you, you and Du’Jon ...?“
ed to marry him only to spiral down with
doubts and half-formed conclusions. But when “What is it that you want from me, Josh?
the lightening truth struck him, Josh crashed The Ɵmes and the places?”
with whirlwind speed into the reality of Four
Horses’ drudgery. His hands flew from her shoulders. Trying to
bar her words from landing on him, he held his
Such an immense effort it was for him to arms in front of his face. “My god, Rita, no! No,
regain his balance. To steady himself, he gath- don’t tell me!”
ered his hands within the thick mane of Rita’s
hair in a moƟon both sensual and riveƟng. His Rita stood. “I am leaving, Josh.”
hands firm on Rita’s scalp held the two of them
in this Ɵme and in this place. Steady now. He Flee she must from the pain that filled Josh’s
had to wait for the room to stop spinning with face. Nothing in Rita’s privileged life had pre-
pregnant, pregnant, pregnant swirling around pared her for this hell: all of it: her mother
him. scathing her with vitriolic words, her father
mute and despondent, David’s silent despera-
Rita shut her eyes; bar them she must from Ɵon, and now Josh’s agony.
seeing the pandemonium that distorted Josh’s
features. With his fingers yet clutching her Up, to be away from the booth, Rita rushed for
scalp, Josh brought her around to face him. the door; she flew out. In visibility of her car
and escape when she was seeing, no, she was
Feeling his fingers firm on her scalp, Rita feeling, not Josh’s, but David’s eyes searing
slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him her: David’s eyes piercing her through the dark.
warily. Only by the fearsome light in David’s eyes was
Rita able to find the father of her unborn child.
He was saying, “Let me guess the father-to- Running through the parking lot, she clutched
be, slash, groom.” her forehead with Ɵght fingerƟps; she was
aƩempƟng to block out the anguished light in
“Josh, keep it down; there are kids all David’s eyes.
around us.”
Once, when Rita was a child, her father
“What the hell’s the difference? In three trapped a stray cat in the gardener’s shed. She
weeks, isn’t that what you said, three weeks never forgot the cat’s demonic desperaƟon
and it’s a done deal.” begging for release. David’s eyes bored into
Rita with that same desperaƟon..
“You needn’t be so crass.”
She had just reached her car and was open-
“It’s about to get a whole lot crasser, Rita. ing the door when an inexplicable sickness
Could the father of your baby-to-be maybe, moved from her stomach to her throat. She
just maybe, be my sister’s steady: one and the feared the vomit that came without warning
same, Lea’s sweetheart and your old flame sƟll these days. She backed up and stopped. Over-
burning bright: Du’Jon?“ Josh demanded in come with nausea, she bent over the open
words emerging in such Ɵght bites, they poi- door and took deep breaths to hold back the
soned the very air they were breathing. sickness she felt burning in her throat. Thus,
she didn’t see Josh, suddenly beside her. But
His hands leŌ her head and fell to Ɵghten on when she felt a hand over hers, stunned, she
Rita’s shoulders; he was yet trying to steady looked up and into his face gone pale.
himself in a room dizzily swirling around him:
spinning with the whirlwinds of Rita and David: “You canceled our date tonight, only to
David and Rita, and their deceits and lies? come here with this?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Her mouth agape with an answer she didn’t Of a’ sudden, David’s deceit to his sister hit
have. Josh. It felt like a harsh slap across his face.
‘They are, they were a couple. Everybody knew
“Maybe you figured that I would read your them as together. And now this: why, Du’Jon
nupƟals in the society page, and just like that, isn’t as much as the dirt under Lea’s feet.’
you and I would be finished.”
Though he was infuriated to the brink of
“Shortly aŌer I cancelled tonight, Josh, I had combusƟon, for Rita’s sake, her pregnant,
a crisis of conscience. I realized that much as I frightened sake, he tried swallowing his anger:
dreaded it, I had to tell you.” close to impossible with the lump of rage
blocked in his throat too poisonous to gulp
“Conscience!?” back, and too large for words to pass around it.
His words he leŌ barred behind his grinding
“I am on a merry-go-round, Josh, going teeth. He was literally shaking with the enormi-
around and up and down.” ty of his un-expelled anger. Yet and sƟll, with
clenched jaw and red-rage face, he sƟffened
A ride, however, that you’ve wanted to take his back to soldier on.
for a long Ɵme.”
Holding Rita against his chest, Josh pulled
“Not like this,” she sobbed. himself together. He said “Maybe it’ll take that
bas--as— e-er, take Du’Jon, take him some Ɵme
Josh’s face soŌened with the love that he to get used to the idea of being married. Some
felt for Rita, ‘strangely enough, as powerful Ɵme, to, ah, prepare himself to be a fa-fa-
now, as when I saw her in her silver chariot in father,” he stammered with the words he sure-
the beginning of this nightmare night.’ ly did not want to say.

Rita’s silver steeds versus the four old nags of “No, no!” Rita stood back so that she might
Four Horses Restaurant: Josh suddenly realized fully explain her ordeal to the right-on, steady
that they were never going to be together sturdiness of Josh. EverlasƟngly, Josh had been
again. ‘Me and Rita: we were never meant to Rita’s on-target steady: so straighƞorward, and
be together. I guess I knew it from the first, but so in love with her.
I was lured by her lavish beauty and sensual
ways.’ “It is more complicated than that, Josh.”

Gathering Rita close to his chest, Josh held her “Frightened, maybe, confused? Oh hell, I
torment against the tangled mess he had yet to don’t know. And what’s more, I don’t give a
sort through. With fury tempered with tender- good, gawd-damn.”
ness, he moved outside of himself to comfort
Rita. Circling his waist, Rita sunk within the Slashes of rage and grief were ripping Josh
warmth of his strength. apart; he felt them tearing at him. He laid his
head against Rita’s even as he held her so
“David is so, so ... “ close, she could feel the sobs wrenched from
his gut.
“So what?”
Stroking his head, Rita murmured soŌ caring
“It’s not to be explained: The light in the things to Josh: tender endearments such as she
back of his eyes: it’s fearful, explosive. He says wished her mother would have spoken to her
nothing, but his eyes burn me with a terrible when Rita told her that she was pregnant.
light.”
She felt Josh’s tears bathing her shoulder. And
Josh’s anger mounted. He clenched his jaw in the grandeur of a purple twilight bapƟzing
so Ɵght that it hurt. He wanted so much for the horizon, Rita finally, belatedly, knew how
Rita to share his tomorrows, and her beauty to much she would miss Josh ... his abiding
lessen the hardness of his days___ that the strength, his decisive moves, the certainty of
very thought of David sulking around and wor- his love and adulaƟon.
rying Rita, who was carrying his child, enraged
him.

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“Rita, I don’t know where I’m going. As long as About the Author:
you were with me, wherever it was, it was to a
future that held promises. How can I trudge on Susandale’s poems and ficƟon are on West-
without you?” Ward Quarterly, Mad Swirl, Penman Re-
view,The Voices Project, and Jerry Jazz Musi-
“Oh, Josh, I don’t know. I can’t think beyond cian. In 2007, she won the grand prize for poet-
the baby, marriage, David’s silent rage. I’m ry from Oneswan. The Spaces Among Spac-
living from moment to moment. I don’t know es from languageandculture.org has been on
how you will carry on without me. I’m so sorry, the internet. Bending the Spaces of
but I can’t help you. I don’t know how. ” Time from Barometric Pressure is on the inter-
net now.
Somehow, Rita’s words to Josh caused her
to be antsy. She twisted away from the shelter
of his embrace: not all that difficult. Exhausted
with anguish, Josh’s enƟre body had gone limp.
Silent, numb, he stood alone with tears burning
his cheeks as he watched Rita drive off: golden
goddess with silver steeds pulling her silver
chariot up, up … and further off into the hori-
zon of a black night, coming on hard and fast.

______*Heart of Darkness by writer Joseph Conrad: 1857 -
1924

______*Autumn in New York by composer Vernon Duke:
1903 –1969

____ __ * Billy Holliday: Blues and Jazz singer: (1915 –
1959)

_______*Night Train: liŌed from Duke Ellington’s Happy
Go Lucky Album and recorded by Jimmy Forest 1951

91

SEA COW

by David H. Miller

Edna’s knuckles cracked, a stark sound of snap- feel the sand under her feet. Her knees appre-
ping twigs that was muffled by the mud. She ciated the stability.
clenched her fists again, leƫng the bones
grind. Open. Close. Open. Close. Hurt more Verne said he’d never seen a waterman with
each Ɵme she did it. Her calloused palm Ɵts before. Neither had Edna. SƟll hadn’t.
brushed against something solid. She reached Because she was a water-woman.
down deeper and then deeper sƟll. Her elbows
disappeared below the surface, the frayed She had made him a promise, just before they
ends of her stringy, gray hair dipping into the got married all those years back. The bay, that
murky water. She felt around with her finger- was his domain. If she wanted to jump into the
Ɵps, searching for the sandpaper touch of a ocean during a weekend in Rehoboth, by all
buried clam. She had ditched her gloves early means, but the bay was off limits. Dwight said
on, trickier feeling shells through rubber. She he was protecƟng her. Too many local boys
nicked herself more oŌen since then, but she and girls claimed by her waters. Edna some-
had upped her haul. Lost the top of her pinky Ɵmes thought it felt like the bay was his mis-
about a year ago, though no one seemed to tress. Spending all that Ɵme together, away
noƟce her nub digit. Dwight would have, but from home. Giving up her bounty day aŌer
he hadn’t been noƟcing anything for a while day. Edna hated the bay most of her married
and wouldn’t again. The bay water squished life on account of that noƟon, but once the
and slurped as she dug through the shoreline creditors showed up on her doorstep, she for-
sludge. She felt her mangled pinky jam against gave Lady Chesapeake.
that same solid something. Nothing but a rock.
Now she was drowning on dry land. It started
It took Edna a few months to step onto the with the urgent care. Then the tests, lots of
shoal. Verne TroƩer helped her locate tests. Hospitals bills piled on the living room
Dwight’s trawler at the Kennersley docks, coat- carpet, atop the couch. She had to start watch-
ed in seagull shit, the hull overrun with barna- ing her programs in bed again, like she and
cles the size of silver dollars. The engine was Dwight had done for half their thirty years.
flooded, probably from the tropical storm that Cost more to die than to live, thought Edna, as
hit two Septembers ago. Edna hadn’t remem- she dug her hands into the silt.
bered the storm. Dwight was in hospice then.
She hadn’t found a single clam all morning.
She took to the job faster than most. Osmosis, The news liked to tell her the bay was dying.
she reckoned, aŌer three decades of marriage Maybe so. There was a lot of that these days.
to a bonafide merman. There were moments, She had already let go of knowing. When they
echoing across her memory, her salt-haired told her that with the chemo Dwight had at
husband bobbing just below the surface of the least two to three good years leŌ, they knew
bay, holding his breath three, four, fives unƟl they didn’t. She had let go of Jesus too.
minutes. She couldn’t swim nearly as good as He didn’t know shit either.
Dwight, and she had no idea how to fix a trawl-
er. She preferred to walk the shoals anyway, She wandered down the shore, ready to
call it a day. CuƩers in the distance, white sails

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dancing across the chop. A few trawlers sƟll lucky. And Lady Luck was as a much a legend
trying to make their haul. And there it was. for Edna as this clam would be a few years
from now, a good yarn to tell at high Ɵde.
She brushed over barnacles, looking for the
edge. Her hands danced across the boss, feel- Of course “Luck” was a lady, thought Edna, as
ing the contours, the grooves and ridges, she wedged the knife blade into the valve and
geƫng more excited inch by crusty inch. A jimmied it the best she could. The only god
doggone bonanza. The edges of her lips turn- anyone prayed to in earnest these days was
ing up into what your average joe would call a the same one they cursed, the only small “g”
grin, but anyone who knew Edna Holly would god it was safe to call a bitch. You didn’t hear
call a great big smile. She ran her hands over the winos at the Docksider calling big “G” God
that clam shell nearly twenty minutes before a bitch. He only got their praise. He was the
she found the umbo. one who made their philly come in first. It was
Lady Luck who was the whore. It was her fault
It wasn’t always clams. You spend your Ɵme when your colt came up lame. Screw them
digging, you find things. Beer cans. PlasƟc both, thought Edna.
bags. Traffic pylons. Dwight found a skeleton
back in ’88, though it might have been ’92. She adjusted her grip and wrenched the knife
Someone was geƫng elected. Edna remem- even harder. The clam didn’t give an angler’s
bered all the signs in Gayle Dunleavy’s yard. It inch. So she summoned what extra strength
wasn’t really fair to call it a skeleton, since it she could and leaned all of her one-hundred
was just a foot. A few toes were missing. The and twenty-six pounds against the knife. The
police wouldn’t let Dwight keep it, though all blade snapped off the bolster and stayed there,
he had asked for was a single bone, something suspended in the thick, salt build-up.
to remember. Edna wished he had kept it,
even if it didn’t exactly belong to her late hus- And there was Edna’s jusƟce, landing the larg-
band. It would sƟll have been his in some way. est clam a woman, or man, had ever seen —
She sƟll had the trawler at least. Thankfully bigger than anything Dwight had brought home
her memory hadn’t gone yet. Dwight’s went in thirty plus years — and she couldn’t even
preƩy quick. shuck the darn thing, which was a major
breach of protocol given the clam was sƟll
She spent another hour digging, clearing off lodged in the wet sand of the shallows. But
the mud. Then, with a heave that cracked all moving it was a pipe dream if there ever was
her joints at once, Edna’s clam broke the sur- one. Heck, she had almost ripped her arms off
face, juƫng out like a drowned schooner aŌer liŌing that briny bivalve out of the mud. And
a hurricane. Her smile went sideways. Just the any clammer worth his sea salt wouldn’t help
hull of an old sunfish, she thought. The paint her out for anything less than halves. Edna
peeled off, stripped by the barnacles. Sure as would chuck herself overboard with rocks in
hell looked that way. her boots before she let anyone else take a
piece.
But no. There was the valve, crusted shut.
That there was a clam. Praised be. A big one. Rage seeped in, taking her to that same dark
Enormous. She thought about calling the folks space she found herself when the collecƟon
at the Guinness book. Lester Denton would agent had shown up the morning of Dwight’s
want a photo for his wall; every catch of note funeral. It made her eyes see spots and her
went behind the bar at the Docksider. Jools body become like one of those marioneƩe
Vanderpreiss at the paper. Lily Sweetwater and puppets that got its wires tangled, that is to
all the other ladies Edna used to see at the say, she lost control of herself. She snatched
kniƫng circle. Dewey Trout. Verne TroƩer. up the hammer, clenching so hard her knuckles
They would surely want to weigh her, feel her, cracked again. She swung like Casey at Bat,
slobber their tongues all over her. Soon enough pounding against the clamshell. Bits of boss
the whole town, the whole county, would be and barnacle broke off, whole pieces of shell.
wanƟng their piece, and all Edna would have SpiƩle whipped from her lips. A final pound,
leŌ would be a big ol’ empty shell. If she was and Edna dropped the iron. Her lungs were on

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fire. Chalky dust hung in the air a moment be- Lady Godiva of the Black Lagoon.
fore seƩling into the frothy surf.
“Speak mortal,” spat the woman.
“Dangitall,” she yelled.
The Ɵdewater swirled around Edna, piƟfully
The shell creaked open. aƩempƟng to drag her out to sea. She gazed
up at the sea hag. Words hovered inside her
Edna froze, waves of fear and awe hiƫng her throat, jaw locked by terror and acid-reflux.
like the breakers, a feeling she hadn’t felt since
she watched Dwight’s soul slip out from be- “Art thou mute? In awe? Perhaps your people
tween his blistered lips. She half-expected the possess not the words to describe my beauty?”
secrets of the universe to pour out of the dark- The hag pulled back her algae-coated locks,
ness. Her other half expected dinner at least. exposing her wide sargasso see.
A choking stench of rancid grouper gills and
stagnant sulfur pools waŌed out instead. Edna “So you’re not a manatee,” Edna surmised,
doubled over and chundered her breakfast into earnestly baffled by the creature standing be-
the ebbing Ɵde. fore him.

She wiped a bit of half-digested gruel from her “Manatee? Do I have fins, mortal? Do I have
chin and peered into the shell, making sure to the whiskers of a beast?” asked the woman.
shield her tortured nostrils with the folds of her “Behold, Venus, The Goddess of Love!”
shirt. A tangled cocoon of seaweed and split-
ends lay at the boƩom. It quavered. Shook. “If you say so,” said Edna. “SƟll don’t excuse
Writhed. Something within pressed against the you standing there in your birthday suit.”
bourride jumble, yearning for escape. A soggy
palm shot through the morass, flexing its fin- The hag furrowed her brow, crushing a sand
gers. Human fingers, wan and waterlogged like crab as it skiƩered across her forehead. That
those floaters kayakers found from Ɵme to look brought Edna back to the Ɵme her son,
Ɵme beneath the Bay Bridge. Gus, had taken a lighter to liƩle Vera Daugh-
dril’s Barbie doll. Melted half its face off. The
The waterwoman fell back, splashing onto the doctors had called him “emoƟonally disturbed”
shoal. The haggard hand gripped the edge of and insisted that he be placed unƟl a profes-
the shell, rising before Edna, a resurrected nau- sional’s care, but aside from that fist fight with
Ɵlus. Soggy tendrils hung like vines, masking the Ukrainian skipper when he was fiŌeen, Gus
the creature’s face and body. It was impossible had been a model ciƟzen. UnƟl the meth at
to tell where the hair stopped and the seaweed least, but that was another thing enƟrely.
began. What skin peeked through the over-
growth bore a mossy hue. Folds of sallow flesh The woman lowered herself to the shoal, ex-
hung from all sides and angles. Edna could see tending a mossy limb.
the creature’s nethers peeking between two
pasty, brined thighs. It reminded Edna of a “Come mortal, I have taken pity upon your
manatee caught in a net, an image painted for simpleness. Thou shalt feel the sweet embrace
her by that nickel-and-dimer Dewey Trout, who of the Goddess, drink of the divine nectar…”
swore he had seen it on a fishing trip down in She whipped her head back, a shower of bar-
the Conch Republic. nacles plinked into the waves. “My sacred
flower shall be yours. The mighty Ulysses was
The creature brushed aside a slimy tress. An not so lucky as to taste my— ”
eye peeked through. A woman’s blue iris.
More mollusk than moll, her chest looked as if “There’s a clinic up the road a ways,” offered
someone took a pin to a pair of puffer fish, Edna. She dug her hands deep in the muck,
resƟng flat against the curve of her protruding searching for something solid. “They could
midriff, marshmallow paunch jiggling with each check you out.”
raspy breath. Skin pulled taut over sodden
knuckles, like overstuffed sausage casings, as Edna volunteered at the Methadone clinic eve-
she aƩempted to unknot her taƩered mane. ry Sunday. It wasn’t like she was gonna be
spending that Ɵme at church. At first she
hoped she might see Gus there, but she gave

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up on that dream preƩy quick. Lately, the clin- An ocean poured from the eyes of Venus, the
ic felt less crazy than the rest of the world. At Goddess of Love, all the salt water soaked into
least the people at the clinic got beƩer some- her innards, now oozing out. Her bloated body
Ɵmes. quivering. She looked up at Edna with her pale
blue eyes. “I have temples in my name…” She
“Hear me, simpleton. This is a godly giŌ I have reached out to steady herself against the clam-
offered to bestow upon thee. My sex— ” shell.

“Hear ME, bitch,” interrupted Edna, her mind “Good for you,” said Edna.
retreaƟng once again to the comfort of that
dark, angry space. “I ain’t got no problem with “The bravest men fight wars at my word. Kings
lesbians, but that sure as shit ain’t no invitaƟon lay their swords at my feet. None can resist
for you to get groovy. Now I think it best we me…” Her words trailed off, lost in the sloshing
get you some sorta health inspecƟon before Ɵde. She stared off, out past the waves, to the
your Ɵts fall off.” arƟficial calm of the horizon, her divine moƟva-
Ɵons incomprehensible to a mere mortal like
“Mortal. You freed me from my prison. Let me Edna.
reward you,” she begged. “I have spent millen-
nia trapped in that accursed crustacean. I yearn “Maybe we can wash you up first. I’m sure
to quench my thirst. To do that which I was you’d like that seaweed ouƩa your hair,”
created for…” The hag’s words trickled out offered the waterwoman.
unƟl no sound came from her lips.
The sea hag’s shoulders slumped. She gripped
Edna cleared her throat. She thought of the shell’s edge, straining to pull herself back
Dwight. The cooper had messed up the grave- into the safety of her clamshell prison. Her
stone. “Living husband,” it said. Edna had to hands slipped. She tumbled onto the shoal.
land a larger haul than a waterwoman or man Seaweed, sand, sagging flesh, splashing about,
would find in a lifeƟme to pay them to change a tantrum unfit for a goddess. Her fists pound-
that “i” to an “o.” But they’d already laid it in ed the sea, sending small tsunamis harmlessly
the ground, years back. Edna didn’t want to lapping against Edna’s boots. Her feet kicked
disturb Dwight again. That’s why she hadn’t up sludge, unearthing buried fish bones and
considered selling the clam before she opened sloughed crab skins. Edna thought she looked
it. She hadn’t forgoƩen her husband. even more like a manatee caught in a net,
trapped, drowning in the ocean it calls home.
She pushed herself to her feet. She was a head It reminded her of something Dwight had said,
taller than the sea hag. Algae dripped from the back when they had first heard Dewey Trout
woman’s once-golden tresses. Salt-cracked lips tell his tale. They’re like them water buffalos,
framed a dying reef, her teeth pocked and the ones out in ‘Nam. But someone forgot to
roƩed from centuries of binging on the bones give ’em feet. Not fit for the land and not fit for
of boƩom-feeders. She was a drowned god- the ocean. Ain’t got a place in the world, mana-
dess, her beauty soured in a clamshell sous tees.
vide. And in that moment, like the mirrored
surface of the bay on a windless winter morn- “Brought low by a fishmonger,” Venus tore at a
ing, Edna saw herself. She hadn’t yet built up tuŌ of seagrass. “Hippolyta led armies!”
the courage to fish for suitors at the Docksider,
but she probably didn’t look too much different Edna cracked her knuckles, unsure what else to
to those land sharks. Dewey Trout had called do with them. “I got a fireplace at my house. It
her a sea cow last week. He and the other ain’t much, but it’s warm and preƩy dry.”
crabbers had mooed under their breaths as she
refueled the trawler. The goddess’s eyes seemed an even lighter hue
now, having liquidated their excess stock. “This
“You want something to cover yourself?” Edna happens not to Mars. War, death, murder fail
wiped her sandy hands on her shirt. “Got a to change. But beauty, love has not the stasis
jacket in my truck.” that evil, that cruelty, possesses.” The sodden
goddess rose to her feet, wiping the tears from

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

her face. “Hast thou heard my tale, mortal? twisted back and forth, an unseen hand jimmy-
The story of my birth?” ing it from its marshy entanglement. Squish.
Squish. Splosh. Edna quickly stepped aside as
Edna felt the acrid temper of her words. She the shuck burst from its confinement, looking
shook her head. like a mastless schooner as it sailed out to the
fleeing goddess. Snatching her up in its craw,
“I have heard it. I have heard it for millennia, the sea hag uƩered not a word of protest. And
from the gilded halls of Olympus to the bilge of with a faint pop, the shell sealed itself once
a CreƟan trireme,” the goddess closed her again, and dove below an approaching wave.
eyes, summoning her story. “The dismembered
phallis of fallen Uranus was flung into the sea Edna stared at the spot where the goddess,
and out of it, I emerged. Beauty born from the Venus, had stood only moments before, and
discarded genitals of a deposed divinity.” saw her reflecƟon in the mirrored surface of
the bay.
The sea hag dislodged a coil of kelp from her
mane and held it to the sky. She breathed on She kept her eyes on the road ahead. Too
the swollen pods and, from within, small flow- much to think about. Edna just wanted to lay
ers broke through the carapace, reaching for down and forget about the creature, forget
the warm rays of the sun. They fluƩered in the about everything. Even Dwight. Especially
cool ocean breeze, verdant and alive, but in an Dwight. It was too hard, all the digging, and
instant, they were dead. Shriveled. RoƩen. She the living. She had already decided she wasn’t
dropped the refuse into the waves. “We are at going to tell anybody about it. Not like there
their mercy, as we have always been.” was anybody for her to tell. Anyway, it
could’ve just been something she ate. And she
Edna twisted up her fingers. She felt the joints hadn’t really been sleeping much lately, at
grind. She didn’t know what she wanted, this least since Dwight passed.
Venus of the Dunes. It was hard enough look-
ing at her, the grotesque way her body hung, Lightning flashed on the horizon. The storm
out there for all the world to see, not a lick of had landed. Rain pelted the windshield.
clothes on. She hoped Dwight didn’t look like Edna’s wipers creaked. Right, leŌ. Right, leŌ.
that, down in that casket. Most she could hope Leaving translucent streaks across her field of
for, that he was just bones at this point, like vision.
that skeleton foot.
Ka-Boom! A tree beside the road exploded.
The sea hag bent her head, performing a cor- Flakes of wood and Ɵnder peppered Edna’s
pulent genuflecƟon. An invocaƟon, a plea. Her cab. She swerved to the shoulder, dodging a
lower half disappeared into the murky sea free-falling limb. Her Ɵres squealed as the car
swirls, watery blue eyes begging Edna, for fishtailed across both lanes and finally stopped
what, she couldn’t suss. next to the shaƩered elm.

“Tide’s running high,” the waterwoman said, “I Edna took a big breath. She’d have cursed if
think I’m gonna head on home. You’re wel- she could have thought of the right god to
come to come with. Haven’t had a friend over curse. It had been a confusing day, and the
in a long while.” bolt had leŌ her raƩled.

Thunder clapped in the distance, a storm on its Wisps of smoke rose from the ashen heap, the
way inland. tree split straight down the center. Edna rolled
her window down to get a beƩer look. She
The goddess waded out into the chop, her hair heard the soŌ hiss of rain drops on the glowing
buoyed by knoƩed kelp strands, spreading out embers. From between the cleaved tree
like sinuous digits. A snapper splashed about, stepped a hulking man. Cartoonish muscles
caught in the hirsute web. Venus kept her bulged every which way, his genitals flopping in
course, stepping deeper and deeper into the
unwelcome sea.

Edna heard a slurp behind her. The clamshell

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the wind. He waved his hand and the storm
calmed. A maƩed, white beard framed his
gnarled face. Glowing white eyes scanned the
dented pickup. “I am Jupiter. King of Olympus.
Father of the Gods…”
Edna stomped on the gas pedal and slammed
her chassis into the naked deity. His body bent
limply over the hood before it disappeared
beneath the undercarriage.
She was halfway home before she looked back.
The sun dipped below the horizon, dyeing the
sky a bubblegum pink. Dinner sounded good
right about now. She had some leŌover oyster
stew from the day before last. Hopefully it had
kept. Edna never took away Dwight’s place
seƫng, even aŌer they’d put him in the
ground. She knew he wasn’t coming back, but
it had made her feel just a bit brighter, eaƟng
by herself. But she didn’t need it tonight. She
wasn’t alone anymore.

97

A GUEST AT THE
CLUB

by Henry Simpson

“That was a delighƞul performance, counse- “An air rifle?” He chuckled. “Listen, Joe . . .”
lor,” said a man with a voice that easily pierced
the sound and fury of the courthouse hallway. I put my hand on his chest. “You don’t know
me. Don’t call me Joe. Please get the hell out of
I opened my eyes. Standing before me was a my face.”
tall, imposing man about sixty in a perfectly
tailored suit. He had the look of Ivy League and He backed away, straightening his Yale neckƟe
aplomb of a Rockefeller. and smoothing back his thinning dyed black
hair. “Douglas is a blockhead, not a murderer.
“Do I know you?” I said. The only things he has ever shown any talents
for are football and close order drill. I am sorry
“Doug Evans,” he said. about your dog, but my son has feared all dogs
since he was biƩen as a small child. He is cyno-
“What do you want?” phobic. He was protecƟng himself against
aƩack when he killed your dog. It is unfortu-
He smiled, cool and unoffended by my rude- nate, but I am sure a court would interpret his
ness. “We have mutual friends, Mr. Costa. I acƟons as jusƟfied. As for the air rifle incident,
wonder if you’d mind talking with me. Won’t it is hard to take seriously. Now, if he had
take long.” pointed a loaded firearm at you, it would be
enƟrely different.”
“Mutual friends?”
I walked away from him to the exit. Moments
“The Gentry family. It’s about that suicide over later, I was on State, thinking about lunch. “My
at Macarthur. The police have arrested my son club’s in the next block,” Evans said from be-
and Steve Gentry. The arraignment hearing is hind. Catching up, he was soon beside me.
at two o’clock today. I am their defense lawyer. “Come on, shipmate. Be my guest at the Uni-
I would like to know everything possible about versity Club.”
the evidence before I go to court.”
“I’m not a member.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. I can’t help you
much. I’m not involved in that case at all. I “I will vouch for you, Mr. Costa. Does my calling
don’t know anything.” you that help? Loosen up a scoche.” He surged
ahead, then turned to face me, standing oppo-
He smiled. “Ah, those familiar words. Do you site the elegant Ɵle and wrought iron doorway
mind if I call you Joe? I believe you are being of his club, poinƟng at it like a shill.
disingenuous, Joe. My sources tell me you are
directly involved. You know Dougie and Steve. I had never entered it before, never been invit-
Do you seriously think they would murder one ed. It was for millionaires, bluebloods, Ivy
of their best friends?” Leaguers, and their ilk, not commoners. The
doorman greeted Evans with a broad smile and
I got to my feet. “I witnessed your son kill my ushered us inside, where he handed us off like
dog and skewer her with a bayonet. He also a relay runner to a maitre d’ who led us to a
threatened me with an air rifle. Does that an-
swer your quesƟon?”

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