Adelaide Literary Magazine No.12, April 2018

Revista Adelaide

It’s big and it’s bright and it’s green. It bobs about About the Author:
the dark streets like some kind of weird florescent
beacon. I watch it turn a corner, and then it is I am an emerging writer from North Andover,
gone. I crane my neck to see where it might be MassachuseƩs. I study WriƟng, EdiƟng, and Pub-
headed, but it’s beyond the vantage point of my lishing at Emmanuel College in Boston. I enjoy
armchair. wriƟng at my kitchen counter in the evenings
where I can put the day’s simple adventures onto
I snap my head down. Who cares where it’s go- paper. In the future I hope to travel and share my
ing? I focus again on the maƩer at hand. I raise own stories and those of others. My short story
the cup to my lips and sip. The taste is the same "Hidden Seams" was recently published in the
as ever. Interwoven sweet and biƩer flavors, the 2017 ediƟon of Kansas City Voices.
cream Ɵckling my mouth as the coffee seeps out
from under it. But there’s something else there I
haven’t noƟced before and I don’t think I like it. I
can’t place it. It’s not the cinnamon or the roast
flavor— that’s all exactly as I remember. It’s
something else. A word pops into my head and I
like it less than the taste that evoked it.

ArƟficial.

I slowly raise my head and peer into my cup as if I
might find an answer somewhere within its paper
walls. But all I see are sinking white ruffles. I’ve
waited too long and the cream has started to
melt.

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Adelaide Magazine

BYRESH

by Virginia Duke

Byresh watched KaƟe scoot quartered hardboiled “Hey, Rob? It’s KaƟe. So I saw the weather report,
egg and cubes of ham to the side of her salad and and it’s preƩy bad. I was wondering if we could
squirt ranch dressing all over the top. She speared close up the store before it was too late to get
dripping olives, croutons, and cheese with her home?” KaƟe chewed on her lip and bounced on
fork. her Ɵptoes as she listened. Byresh could hear a
metallic voice but couldn’t make out the words.
“I really think we should call Rob,” KaƟe said, “Okay. Okay, sure. I’ll let you know. Thanks. Bye.”
looking at her smart phone while she chewed and
pushed leƩuce around. “The storm is gonna be “He said he’s okay with us closing early but it’s up
bad.” to us,” she said. “We can’t leave just one person
here for safety reasons, so we both stay or we
“If he thinks it’s serious enough, he’ll call. And I both close.”
hope he doesn’t.” Byresh watched KaƟe nearly
unhinge her jaw to shove the next bite in her “I can’t believe you just did that.”
mouth. “If we go home early, he won’t pay us for
those hours.” “I want to leave.”

He stared at the egg and ham as acid churned in “I’m the person who calls Rob,” Byresh said. “I’m
his empty stomach. the person in charge.” He worried that Rob would
see KaƟe’s call as insubordinaƟon. If he couldn’t
“If we stay, we could get stuck here.” manage the new part-Ɵme employee, how could
he manage everyone else? Maybe even worse,
A gust of wind pressed the store’s wall of glass Rob probably now thought he wanted to leave
windows inward. Byresh walked to the door. It too.
was only three in the aŌernoon, but the dense,
gray clouds blocked so much sun that the street- “Well you weren’t going to, so I did.” KaƟe put
lights had already turned on. It did look like snow, the lid back on her plasƟc salad container. There
and he hoped it would blizzard. Being stuck here was a lot of leƩuce leŌ, the eggs and ham sƟll
overnight would be a blessing. there, and Byresh assumed she was saving the
rest for later. Or about to offer it to him? He shiŌ-
“So?” KaƟe stood. ed toward her.

“What?” She threw it away.

“So should I call Rob?” Byresh flushed, surprised at the strength of his
impulse to snatch the container out of the gar-
When he turned from the window, KaƟe had her bage. To resist, he pulled out his Econ book. He
phone to her ear. needed to finish reading about forty pages before
the next class, and the assigned chapter
“What are you doing?” he asked. was dense. And irrelevant. When was he going to

She didn’t respond.

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Revista Adelaide

need to know about Public Choice Theory? He same set of clothes around the house all week
was trying to learn how to run a business, not a and then have a different ouƞit for going out.”
government.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m Nepali.”
FiŌeen minutes later, aŌer rereading the same
paragraph three Ɵmes, he put the book down. He “Oh, sorry.” She grimaced and then stared back
needed a break. KaƟe was sƟll playing on her down at her phone. Her nails were different
phone. again, this Ɵme blue and covered with gliƩer.

“How do you never have anything to study?” he KaƟe’s first day on the job, she’d asked Byresh to
asked. spell his name for her so she could remember it.
Spell his name? Maybe you could go with an “i”
“All my classes are super easy this semester.” instead of a “y”, but that was about it. It wasn’t
that hard. But she’d said, and he remembered
“Those were the days.” clearly, “Indian names are hard for me to remem-
ber.”
He walked over to the magazine wall. He was
tempted to bring back a Playboy, just to annoy The second Ɵme they worked together, she’d
KaƟe, but all the X-rated magazines were asked what his name was again.
wrapped in plasƟc and the joke wasn’t worth four
dollars. He grabbed a copy of Newsweek and two “Sorry, I’m just so terrible with names,” she said
bags of salted peanuts before returning to the with a smile.
counter. At two for a dollar, it was the most filling
thing for the cheapest price in the store. “That’s fine,” he said. “And your name was . . .
Sarah? Lindsey? Annie? Sorry. White girl names
“Do you really like Obama?” KaƟe asked, seƫng all sound the same to me.”
her phone down.
#
“Why?”
“Okay,” KaƟe said. “How about we work for an-
“It’s just, he’s on that magazine, and you’ve worn other hour and a half, and then close at five. It
that shirt the last couple Ɵmes we’ve worked to- says that the storm isn’t really going to hit hard
gether,” KaƟe said. “I remember because I meant unƟl six.”
to ask you if you got to vote for him the last Ɵme
we worked together, but I forgot.” When Byresh didn’t respond, KaƟe conƟnued.
“This weather app has a great radar that shows
Byresh tugged the t-shirt down to cover his flabby you exactly what Ɵme the storm will pass over
stomach. All the cheap food he’d been eaƟng you and—“
recently was starƟng to stretch Obama’s cracked
red and blue face. “I know what a radar is.”

“It’s comfortable,” he said. “Well the weather is supposed to be bad, so I
vote we leave at five.”
A faint musk floated up from his armpits and he
took a quick step away from her, hoping she “You don’t get a vote. I’ve been working here way
couldn’t smell it too. He grasped for a distracƟon. longer than you have, so I have seniority and sen-
iority decides.”
“Are you saying you never wear the same thing
twice?” “That’s bullshit.”

“Not really.” “You just want to go to that party,” Byresh said.

Byresh shrugged. “Seems like a weird thing to “What?”
noƟce.”
“You told me about it last week because you were
“But it isn’t, right? My sister went to India for a trying to decide if you should go. The one at the
mission trip, and she said that Indians wear guy’s house with the hot tub.”
the same clothes all the Ɵme. Like, they wear the
KaƟe’s small smile betrayed her. “Oh yeah.”

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Adelaide Magazine

KaƟe had spent almost the enƟre shiŌ they “Um, sure. You’re going to go home, dress up,
shared the week before debaƟng about this par- and then use your fancy four-wheel-drive car to
ty. She liked the guy because he was funny, and blast through the snow and get yourself to the
she was preƩy sure he liked her, because other- party.”
wise why would he have invited her, but she was-
n’t sure if she wanted to date him, and going over She glared at him. “My car is not fancy.”
to his house for a party would send that signal,
right? And was it worth all the effort of trying to “It’s new.”
get her shiŌ covered? For the first half hour or so,
Byresh had listened and even entertained her. He The bell above the door smacked against the glass
remembered what his freshman year was like, as it opened. Byresh turned to see an old man
when things were mostly normal and aside from stumble in, vacant-eyed and dirty.
paying rent and the fees his scholarship didn’t
cover, his biggest worries had been making “Welcome to Go-Mart!” KaƟe called.
friends and geƫng good grades.
The man limped down an aisle toward the back
But then she kept talking about it. without glancing her way.

“Just make a decision already,” he finally said “Shit,” Byresh said. “He’s headed toward the
aŌer another couple hours. bathroom.”

“Easy for you to say. You probably never had this “So? Homeless people need to go to the bath-
problem.” room too. They deserve a toilet like everyone
else.”
“Right. I was too busy focusing on important
things, like my grades.” Byresh gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s your night
to clean the bathrooms.”
“No, I meant that you probably never had to deal
with this, because… Oh, never mind.” She KaƟe glanced toward the closing bathroom door.
brushed her hand in front of her face like she was She conƟnued to watch the door as Ɵme passed,
waving away a pesky fly. her restlessness increasing as the man stayed in
the bathroom longer and longer.
“What’re you saying?”
AŌer almost ten minutes, Byresh started to worry
“Nothing.” too. He stood up. “I’ll go check on him.”

He was so annoyed, he started giving completely He rapped on the bathroom door and then
off-base suggesƟons. leaned his head in. He couldn’t hear anything.

“Show up at his house in zombie face paint. If he He knocked again, louder, and then pressed his
sƟll likes you, he’s a keeper.” ear against the cold metal, feeling his knuckles
smart. SƟll no response.
“Show up to his house a couple hours before the
party starts with a lie detector.” “Hey, man, you goƩa come out of there. You’ve
been in there a while.”
“Make out with three other guys at the party and
watch his reacƟon. That’s how you can really tell He pounded on the door with his flat palm. “Are
if he likes you.” you okay?”

Eventually she stopped talking about it. He spun back toward the counter. But KaƟe was
already halfway down the aisle, striding toward
And now she wanted to leave work early—and him with a large bunch of keys.
force him to leave too—because of a party she
wasn’t even sure she wanted to go to. “Thanks,” he said.

“We aren’t closing down early because of some He flipped through the jangle, shoving a couple
stupid party,” Byresh said. keys in the lock before finding the right one. He
paused an instant before opening the door. Was
“That’s not why I want to leave. I probably would- he just passed out? Or what if the old guy had
n’t even go, because of the storm.” killed himself and there was blood all over the

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Revista Adelaide

place and his limp body was sprawled across the She doesn’t get it, he thought. Homelessness
floor? Byresh moved to shield KaƟe’s view. wasn’t some rare disease only other people
caught.
“Oh shit!”
#
The man was slumped on the floor against the
wall, his head lolling forward as if on a hinge. In July, Byresh had approached Rob while he was
KaƟe screamed quietly behind him, almost a in the office doing payroll and asked him for a
squeak. Byresh rushed forward and squaƩed be- promoƟon.
side the body. How did he check for a pulse? Did
he give CPR? He shuddered as he thought about “I’ve been working here for almost a year now,”
puƫng his lips through the maƩed beard onto Byresh said. “I know how the place works and I’d
the man’s mouth. His nose prickled with the smell make a good manager.”
of stale sweat and urine.
Rob listened with a frown and then shook his
KaƟe squaƩed beside him and let out a gust of head. “I hear you, son. But I don’t need another
air. manager right now. Margie and Clyde are doing a
fine job.”
“He’s sleeping.”
Byresh nodded. “Yes, sir. But I’m hoping that
Her words cut through his panic, and now he you’ll consider me if either of them leave.”
could see the gentle rise and fall of the man’s
chest. “You know something I don’t?”

“Shit. I almost had a heart aƩack.” “No. I just meant that—“

“What do we do?” she asked. “I’ll keep you in mind.”

“I have no idea. But he can’t stay here.” Clyde moved out of state in September and Rob
hired a new guy who Byresh suspected had lied
“Seriously?” on his resume. He’d clearly never worked at a gas
staƟon in his life.
Byresh hesitated for a moment. He thought of the
cuƫng air outside the convenience store. Would Margie leŌ in November and Rob sƟll hadn’t re-
it hurt to let him get in a decent snooze before placed her. The week aŌer Margie leŌ, Byresh
booƟng him back out into the cold? If Rob came called Rob to check when he’d be in the store
by, they could pretend they hadn’t seen the man next.
go in and so they didn’t know how long he’d been
there. “I’d like to discuss the manager role, sir.”

Wouldn’t work. It was their responsibility to know “Sure. We’ll do that the next Ɵme I’m in the
exactly who came in and out of the store, and store.”
they’d lose their jobs for sure with an excuse like
that. Even if they told the truth and said they’d Byresh saw Rob in person once since the call, and
felt sorry for the poor bastard, Rob was far from his stop at the store had been rushed and full of
generous at heart. Anything to damage the repu- direcƟons. At the end, as Rob carried a heavy box
taƟon of the store—especially a homeless man out the door, he told Byresh he’d talk to him the
passed out on the bathroom floor—was unac- next Ɵme he stopped by the store.
ceptable.
At the end of November, the brake line in
“If Rob finds him, we’ll both get fired,” Byresh Byresh’s car blew. To replace it would mean com-
said. ing up short on rent for the third month in a row.
But he needed a running car or he’d lose his job.
“Your fucking job,” KaƟe said under her breath. He drove thirty minutes each way to work, and
She stood and straightened her clothes. “Since all there was no bus route nearby.
you care about is your job, you wake him.” She
turned and leŌ the bathroom, using a paper tow- So he paid to replace the brake line and mailed a
el to touch the door handle. $200 check to his landlord, all he could spare,
along with a note promising that he was about to

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Adelaide Magazine

get a promoƟon, he wouldn’t miss another pay- On New Year’s Eve, Byresh lugged his maƩress to
ment again, and he would pay back for all the the curb, packed his trunk with clothes and
missed months. He included a breakdown of what books, took everything else to Goodwill, and set
he owed. His landlord responded by taping a the apartment key on the kitchen counter. He
leƩer to his door saying that he would have to then drove to work to cover someone’s closing
pay all missed rent plus January’s rent by the first shiŌ. As he drove down the Interstate, he
of the year or he would have no choice but to watched small fireworks pop and flash against the
evict him. neighborhood skyline.

Byresh had expected to be evicted immediately. #
He’d never felt indebted to someone like this be-
fore, and the embarrassment and uncertainty sat Byresh stood and nudged the homeless man in
hollow in his core. Holding the note in his hand, the side with his foot. He didn’t move. Byresh
he almost drove to the bank right then to take nudged harder, adding a liƩle bite to the contact.
out the rest of his savings. It would have covered The old man’s eyelids flickered open and he
rent. raised his head just slightly to stare up past a
heavy forehead.
But he couldn’t. TuiƟon for spring semester was
due the fiŌh of January and he sƟll had more to “Hey man,” Byresh said, “I’m sorry, but you can’t
save for that too. The woman at the Bursar’s sleep here.” He put his hands on his hips and
Office had made it clear, when he’d been late to stood taller, trying to appear more powerful. He
pay for this fall’s classes, that if he missed another opened the bathroom door and held it propped
payment, they’d drop him. She’d talked loudly, with one foot. The man didn’t move.
not caring if other people in the office, including a
couple students, heard about his financial situa- “You can go to the bathroom if you need to, but
Ɵon. you goƩa leave.”

“We’ve already made more deadline extensions KaƟe appeared then in the doorway, a Styrofoam
and excepƟons for you than almost any other cup of coffee held forward in one hand, the other
student I’ve known in the nineteen years I’ve tucked across her stomach. “Hey. Sorry. But
been working here,” she said, pursing her thin lips here’s a cup of coffee, if you want it.”
ridged with deep wrinkles. “You should be grate-
ful we give people like you breaks like this at all.” The man glanced back and forth between Byresh
If he hadn’t been able to graduate in the four and KaƟe, sighed, and then slowly clambered to
years his scholarship covered, it wasn’t the Bur- his feet. He moved heavily. As he shuffled out of
sar’s responsibility to cut him slack. the bathroom, he met Byresh’s eyes for a mo-
ment, then grunted, took the cup from KaƟe, and
So Byresh held on to his tuiƟon and tried hard to trudged to the door. Byresh followed, ready. But
save money throughout December, picking up the man touched nothing and stopped only long
every extra shiŌ he could, especially once classes enough to transfer the coffee cup from one hand
ended and other students went home. to the other before leaning on the door to push it
open and roll out into the cold.
“You’re on holiday now, yes?” his aamaa had
asked him. As Byresh watched the man limp away, KaƟe
pushed past him and opened the door, blasƟng
“Yes.” him with cold air.

“Save all your money for school, babu. No need to “Hey! Do you have anywhere to go?” KaƟe called
fly home to see us.” aŌer him.

He didn’t tell her that he couldn’t have flown The man didn’t stop or turn around, conƟnuing
home even if he wanted to. across the asphalt. KaƟe waited a bit longer and
then shut the door. She shivered. They stood
He worked as many double shiŌs as he could. He there for a moment.
collected overƟme pay for both Christmas Eve
and Christmas. But none of it was enough. “I’m going to go check on the bathroom,” she
said, staring at the floor.

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Byresh stayed at the door, watching the corner Byresh stood at the counter, aimlessly flipping
where the man had turned and disappeared. His through another magazine. His phone rang.
parents would be ashamed if they could see him
now, turning someone away like that. “Hello?

KaƟe came back less than a minute later. “Babu?”

“There wasn’t anything to clean up,” she said. “I Byresh shiŌed the phone to his other ear and
wonder if he even had to go to the bathroom.” glanced across the store toward the bathrooms.
She stood beside him and looked out. “It’s just,
like, where’s he going to go? He’s probably at “Hi Aamaa,” he said.
least four miles from the homeless shelter, and
it’s going to blizzard. It’s already really cold out- “Have you eaten?”
side.”
“No, I haven’t eaten yet. Have you?”
“You know where the homeless shelter is?”
Byresh asked. It surprised him. He didn’t even “Soon, soon.”
know where it was.
The food-oriented greeƟng, a common refrain of
KaƟe didn’t change her expression. “You really his childhood, pierced Byresh in the gut with lone-
like to rile me up, don’t you?” liness. And hunger.

“No, I mean… never mind.” “Buwaa spoke to his manager at the store today.
They might have a job for you when you are
“What all do we need to do before we close?” done.”

“You need to clean the bathrooms. And the floors “Really? Doing what?”
need to be mopped and the pop machines
cleaned.” “I don’t know, but it is a good job. Don’t you finish
school soon?”
“Cool. I’m going to go clean the bathrooms.”
“In May.”
“Go ahead. But you’re gonna have to do it again,
because we’re sƟll not closing early,” Byresh “Not sooner?”
called aŌer her. She ignored him.
“This is my last semester.”
Byresh strolled the aisles and straightened the
candy and bags on the shelves. He pulled a couple “Well hurry, babu. A good job doesn’t wait forev-
cases of tall boys from the back and re-stocked er.”
the fridge. He wiped down the counters in front
of the coffee and pop machines. Without custom- “I’m working hard,” Byresh said. He scratched at
ers in the store, it was loudly quiet, the white the peeling paint along the edge of the counter.
noise of machines whirring and buzzing in the “What are you doing right now?”
background. The constant hum made Byresh
drowsy, and he wished he could flip on that “Cooking.”
sound when he actually needed to fall sleep. He
wished he could bring the warmth of the store Byresh looked at the clock above the hallway to
with him too. Since moving into the hatchback, he the storage room. If it was almost four here, it
had been having a hard Ɵme falling asleep, and would be almost five there. His mother’s daily
then once asleep, staying that way, especially rouƟne hadn’t changed since he was old enough
now that it was painfully cold most nights. to walk home from school on his own. This Ɵme
of evening, she would have started peeling or
At least he had a car. Though he wondered, again, dicing a pile of vegetables for the evening meal,
if he’d made the right choice. the pressure cooker full of rice already on the
stove.
#
“How are you eaƟng?” she asked. “Okay.”

“Because you were very thin when you were
home last Ɵme.”

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“Not anymore.” “How come you don’t have a smart phone?”

His stomach behaved like a true Nepali stomach, “I have more important things to spend my mon-
always eager to put on weight from a good meal. ey on.”
But this weight wasn’t healthy. It didn’t come
from dhal bhat. He wondered if his mother would Byresh wondered if she heard him. She was lean-
noƟce when he got home. ing forward onto the counter and resƟng her
body weight heavily on her arms, staring out the
“Good. Do you need anything?” She sniffed deep- window.
ly. He pictured his mother’s flushed face leaning
over a pot of stewing spices, her sense of smell “I can’t stop thinking about that homeless guy.”
almost as good as her sense of taste when sea-
soning her dhal. He didn’t answer.

“Can I send you some rice?” she asked. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to be home-
less?” she asked aŌer a moment. Caught off
Byresh chuckled. “Aaama, I can buy rice at the guard, he didn’t respond. His tongue was salty
store here.” and heavy.

“Yes, but thuli bauju gave me this rice when she “Like, how close we all are from being like that
visited. It’s beƩer.” poor man, out in the cold without anywhere to
go.”
“I’m fine.”
Byresh watched KaƟe, her gaze soŌly fixed on
“I’ll send you some.” some middle distance. He prickled in irritaƟon. He
didn’t believe for a second that she’d ever
“No, it’s fine, really. My, um, my address doesn’t thought about being homeless before. Why
work anymore anyway.” would she?

“Why not?” Then she looked at him, waiƟng.

He wondered what would happen if he told her. He shrugged, choosing his words carefully. “Sure
Would she send him money or demand he come I’ve thought about it. It’s hard not to, with so
home? He wanted both so badly. But they were- many of them hanging around downtown. I don’t
n’t possible. His family didn’t have money to see them much in this part of town though.”
send, and she wouldn’t want him to come home.
Not when he was so close to achieving their “That’s ‘cause there’s not much for them here,”
dream. Telling her he lived in his car would only KaƟe said. “Rich people have no empathy. They
give her an impossible choice and months of use- don’t give money.”
less worry.
Byresh raised his eyebrows.
He needed to get off the phone before he blurted
out more. “I mean, they do,” she said. “Obviously. But I’ll
betcha anything that you go sit on the corner of
“I need to get off the phone now,” he said. “I’m at East and Duncan, and you’re going to get more
work and there’s a customer here.” money there, from hardworking people who
barely have enough of their own, than you’d ever
“Of course. La, la.” get out here on Riverdell. Bet you anything.”

“La.” Byresh hadn’t needed to beg yet, though on bad
days he’d scoped out corners just in case. He’d
Byresh flipped his phone closed and stared at it. already decided that same thing.

“Who were you talking to?” KaƟe asked as she “Like, rich people think they’re so generous,”
returned to the counter, rubbing hand saniƟzer KaƟe said, “giving to these big foundaƟons and
into the crevices between her fingers. shit. But they get huge tax write-offs for that. Try
geƫng them to give money to a homeless guy
“My mom.” Byresh palmed his phone and slipped and they’ll be all like, ‘The Lord helps those who
it into his pocket.

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Revista Adelaide

help themselves.’ If they can’t get a receipt, “Not all homeless people are crazy or on drugs.”
they’re not interested.”
“Why else would they be homeless?”
Byresh chuckled. “The other day, I was walking on
Sixth, and ahead of me, this old guy and his wife He was stunned, immediately thankful he hadn’t
stopped and asked this panhandler for direcƟons. told her anything. “That might be the stupidest
The guy didn’t know the place so he couldn’t help thing I’ve ever heard.”
them, but then he asked them for a dollar. And
you know what that old guy said? ‘How about you KaƟe sƟffened. “Why would you say that?”
tell me where to find the restaurant, and I’ll tell
you where to get a job.’” “Because you can’t say ignorant shit like that,”
Byresh said.
“He didn’t.”
He tried so hard to a responsible worker, a good
“I’ve never wanted to punch someone so much in student, a decent person. But all the sacrifices
my life.” he’d made hadn’t been enough, and now he had
to stand across from this privileged White girl
“What’d you do?” picking at her manicured nails and listen to her
talk like she knew anything about life.
“I told the panhandler that I was sorry he had to
deal with that kind of bullshit and that it wasn’t “I’m not ignorant,” KaƟe said, drawing herself up.
right,” Byresh said. He didn’t say that the man
had asked him for a dollar too, and he’d lied and Byresh shook his head. “I’m not going to have this
said he had no cash either. He’d felt such over- conversaƟon with you.”
whelming shame aŌerward that he’d withdrawn
twenty dollars from the ATM the next day and “Because I’m right?”
gone back downtown to find the man. He went
back on two separate occasions, but he never The anger flooded out of him, leaving him shaking
found him. and exhausted. “You’re so sheltered, you couldn’t
even begin to understand. Go live a few years
“And what’d he say?” KaƟe asked. She leaned without Mommy and Daddy fooƟng the bill, and
forward. He wondered what she would do if he then we’ll talk.”
said he was living out of his car. Maybe she’d be
willing to stay at the store with him overnight. “You don’t know anything about me,” KaƟe said.

“Nothing. He just shrugged and kept asking peo- “And you don’t know anything about me. Or any-
ple for money.” thing else.”

“See, that’s so sad,” KaƟe said. “You’d think he’d KaƟe shoved her phone in her pocket. “You know
thank you or something.” what, I’m out of here.”

“Why would he thank me? I didn’t do anything.” “Where are you going?”

“You showed him kindness. And instead he just “Home. I don’t have to put up with this.” She
ignores you and keeps asking people for money. stormed down the candy aisle toward the office.
Maybe that’s why he’s homeless.”
“But the snow,” Byresh called aŌer her.
“Why?”
“Yeah. I refuse to get stuck with you here over-
“Maybe he can’t interact with people well, so he’s night,” KaƟe said over her shoulder.
alienated everyone around him.”
Byresh stared down the aisle aŌer her. His ears
Byresh leaned back. “That’s a liƩle simplisƟc, rang and he sucked air into his lungs, felt the
don’t you think?” he said. breath expand his ribcage, and then pushed the
air out in a gust through his pursed lips. He didn’t
“Not really,” she said. “Mental illness is a huge move when she stalked back toward the door
problem among homeless people, you know. So is with her coat.
substance abuse.”
“Hey,” he said. KaƟe stopped at the door, her
hands on the push bar, keys banging against the

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Adelaide Magazine

metal. Her eyes were bright. When he didn’t fin- About the Author:
ish his sentence, she leŌ.

The only noise in the store was the drone of ma-
chines. Byresh stood immobile for a moment.
Small flakes had begun to flurry, creaƟng a thin
layer of white dust on the pavement. If he leŌ
now, he might make it somewhere before the
brunt of the storm hit. Or he’d be found three
days later, aŌer he didn’t show up for his next
shiŌ, frozen against his steering wheel, the faint
smell of stale sweat and urine on his clothing. He
turned and looked back at the stockroom door.

Virginia Duke is a writer and educator. Born and
raised in Montana, she graduated from the Uni-
versity of Oklahoma with a B.A. in Film and Video
Studies, then taught math in rural Alabama as a
Teach for America corps member and English in
Nepal through a Fulbright English Teaching Assis-
tant fellowship. She currently lives in AusƟn, Tex-
as and writes grants while working on her second
novel.

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Revista Adelaide

CANDY IN THE

VOID

by Russ Bickerstaff

Candy was slipping around at odd angles. It was that there might not actually be all that much
difficult for her to find her fooƟng in and midst all missing. Granted, there wasn’t much form to any
of the gravity that was going on. And there was so of it. But certainly there is quite a lot actually
much of it coming in from so many different di- there. She just had to come up with some way of
recƟons that she wasn’t ever all that certain understanding what it was and how to assemble
where to put the next foot. It didn’t help that she and understand it in her head. TradiƟonally she
was wearing heels. She didn’t want to wear heels. hadn’t had to spend a whole lot of Ɵme working
But it was a dressy event. Or at least it had been out specifics on that sort of thing. Even when she
before everything disintegrated the way it did. had an exactly been in the best frame of mind.
She was fond of disintegraƟon in general. As a Even when she had been chemically altered in
concept. But not as a reality. Not that she never someway due to a desire to stave off boredom or
really had to deal with it as a reality before. And depression or whatever.
probably that’s why she was so charmed with the
idea of things boiling away into nothingness. She And perhaps it had been a very long Ɵme since
never actually had to deal with it before. Not in the last Ɵme that happened. Decades maybe
any kind of a concrete sense. And, come to think even. Although, it was difficult to discern precisely
of it, she hadn’t actually spent much Ɵme thinking how long. As it was very difficult to tell what Ɵme
about this integraƟon. That would have been was doing at that moment. And what with that
weird. But it’s not like she had been forced to being the case it was difficult to tell exactly where
deal with it before. So she was kind of new to the Ɵme has been any more distant distant past. Not
enƟre idea of dealing with the concept of every- that any of that seem to maƩer in any real sense
thing suddenly vanishing. Although, it did make at that moment.
sense that if everything was going to boil away
into nothing that’s the way it did that would have Clearly there had to be some form in the form-
a strange effect on gravity. lessness otherwise she wouldn’t have received
any kind of gravity at all. So she consider the pos-
Candy sighed. And her sigh echoed out into infini- sibility of possibly doing something drasƟc. Like
ty. But there was something strange about the standing up or something like that.
echo. And there was something strange about the
infinity as well. For one thing it wasn’t as formless Standing up was, aŌer all, a very insƟnctual acƟvi-
as she was trying to perceive it as being. Certainly ty. She had been standing up for decades. Her
there are shadows and shapes and things that the ancestors had been presumably standing up for
sound echoed off of. Furthermore there was an thousands and thousands of years prior to her
error or otherwise she would’ve had great diffi- even being born. It only made sense that it would
culty breathing. So that was apparent as well. be the simplest way of interacƟng with her sur-
When she got down to actually thinking about roundings and understanding what was going on.
what might actually be missing, it occurred to her There really wasn’t any quesƟoning that.

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Adelaide Magazine

Of course, standing up kind of required Candy to She had considered many opƟons as to why it
figure out where “up” was. Looking around, that might have been that things were the way they
was very rather difficult to understand. I had were. And how it had been that things had goƩen
seemed like there might be any number of places to be where they were where she was not actual-
were up could be. All of the different candidates ly certain what was going on. And she know that
for different direcƟons as far as where would up there was a very definite series of events in the
would be and where would be down in relaƟon- past which led her to be where she was but she
ship to that. And that was really going to be tricky really didn’t now. Because she couldn’t afford to
if you wanted to be objecƟve about it. If you think that far back. Because to do so would be to
wanted to discern exactly where it was that up invite the same kind of nebulosity that had played
was in relaƟonship to her and the outside world. her in the first place.
Call she really had to do was make a choice. Pick a
direcƟon and decided it was up. But the gravity seem to be pulling really strongly
in One DirecƟon. And it was enƟrely possible that
And when candy had decided which direcƟon was it was pulling in other direcƟons as well. But she
off, she found herself standing. And not just chose to ignore that. As she moves forward. On
standing but standing in a very specific space Cen- an enƟrely different kind of gravity that was en-
ter very specific place that a very specific Ɵme. Ɵrely apart from the physical world but no less
The sun was sort of overhead. And there were compelling. Really it was just a maƩer of puƫng 1
people. There were other people walking by. Oth- foot in front of the other. The rest would come as
er people passing by. There were people who the rest the dead. As it always did. One moment
were doing other things as well. And she had be- at a Ɵme. 1 fooƞall at a Ɵme. One thought. One
gun to wonder exactly what it was that might breath one delicate respiraƟon on the other side
have been going on. of everything.

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Revista Adelaide

ON THE STAIRS

by Alex Lobera

I met him on the stairs. I had never seen him be- About the Author:
fore, and never saw him again. It was unusual to
meet him there, because I never met anybody on Alex Lobera is a graduate student of CreaƟve
the stairs, probably because my work hours were WriƟng at the University of Texas at El Paso, and
the opposite of my normal neighbors’, whatever of Film DirecƟng at the Academy of Art University
that might mean. Before I saw him and passed School of MoƟon Pictures and Television in San
him on the stairs, I heard his footsteps, and be- Francisco, California. He has had short stories
fore that, I smelled him. I guess you could say I published in Ascent PublicaƟons and Border Sens-
smelled him on the stairs. He reeked, of stale es and a poem accepted for publicaƟon in the
urine, and stale booze, and something else, March 2018 issue of Azahares Literary Maga-
vaguely familiar by smell, but which I could only zine and a short story in the coming June 2018
idenƟfy with certainty as we passed each other. ediƟon of Riggwelter Literary Journal.
He carried the cardboard box, the one I had bur-
ied the night before in the parking lot. Apparently When not wriƟng, he works as a physician in El
he had just dug it out, because it was sƟll covered Paso, Texas.
in dirt, some of which spilled on the steps, out-
side dirt mixing with the dirt already there so the
only way to tell that dirt was falling was to see it
fall. Once it landed, it fit right in.

As we passed each other, he glared at me,
and I averted my gaze, first to the wall, then to
my feet. I stood there, and he kept on moving,
and did not glance at me again. I finally looked up
and saw him open an apartment door and disap-
pear inside, and the smell of urine and whiskey
eventually faded, but not the other smell. As al-
ways, that smell stays, as if splaƩered on the
walls, and at that moment I thought that if I had
my Luminol kit, but instead of blood the Luminol
was designed to test for the smell, and I sprayed
it around and then lit it with the UV light, the
fresh dirt on the steps and the walls of the stair-
case and even the air would phosphoresce.

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Adelaide Magazine

GOOGLE MAPS

by Harry Groome

The Gardiners, along with Roger Anderson and “Nope, a Kia hybrid.”
Dorothy Vaux, had goƩen hopelessly lost on their
way to the party and swore that on the way home “You went Jap?” Roger says.
they’d use the GPS like everyone else in the twen-
ty-first century. “And take note,” Anne Gardiner “Korean, actually,” Jim says.
had added, “If only one of you men had admiƩed
that you didn’t know where we were going we Anne says that Jim’s going to have a hard Ɵme
wouldn’t be in this fix. We’re going to be almost geƫng parts if The Donald pisses off the LiƩle
an hour late for God’s sake. It’s morƟfying.” Rocket man much more.

Roger Anderson pulled himself forward to the gap “Naughty, naughty,” Roger says. “I thought we’d
between the front seats. “Sorry. I thought I could called a truce on poliƟcs.”
do it from memory. We used to come here a lot.”
“That’s not exactly poliƟcal,” Dorothy says.
“Did you hear that Jim?” Anne said to her hus- “Besides, it was funny. Really funny.”
band. “A lame apology, but an apology nonethe-
less.” “F.Y.I.,” Jim says, “they’re made in Georgia.” He
turns to look at his old friend in the back seat.
Roger said, “Anne, I was talking about when Hel- “Google maps all set?”
en was sƟll—“
“All fired up,” Roger says. “We’ll be home at
“Let’s just drop it everybody,” Dorothy Vaux said. 11:19.”
“For Helen’s sake. Besides, here we are. BeƩer
late than never.” Proceed to the route. In six hundred feet turn right
onto Shepherds Lane.
“Who are you, Dorothy?” Anne asked. “Mary Pop-
pins?” Jim rests a hand on Anne’s thigh and squeezes it
gently. “Driving in this rain is a bitch.”
Heavy rain mixed with thunder and lightning
greet the partygoers as they hurry to their car. “If you’d only listen to me and get your cataracts
None had brought an umbrella or a raincoat and fixed—”
all are soaked to the skin. “Jesus, this night’s go-
ing from bad to worse,” Anne says. “What more “Anne’s right, Jimbo,” Roger says. “It’s been a
could go wrong?” game changer for me.”

Jim asks if everybody’s buckled up. In one point seven miles take a slight leŌ onto
Blake Boulevard.
Roger struggles to loosen the wet knot on his Ɵe
and says, “Boy, how I love the smell of a new car. “Actually,” Dorothy says, “it’s the only operaƟon
What is this, Jimbo? A Chevy?” that makes you beƩer than you were before.” She
giggles. “It even made my ex a beƩer dresser.”

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Revista Adelaide

“Another country heard from,” Anne says. “What’s the arrival Ɵme now?” Anne asks. “I’ve
got to pee.”
“Okay, everybody, thanks for sharing,” Jim says.
“I’m trying to concentrate right now.” “Twenty-one aŌer,” Roger says. “Okay, three
twenty-six coming up.”
They ride in silence while Jim thinks how much he
dreads driving at night and always having to be Jim puts on his turn signal and slows the car as he
the designated driver. It’s one hell of a price to exits Blake Boulevard.
pay for being sober. And driving in this downpour
and reacƟng to signs that he’s not familiar with “Jesus, no,” Anne screams. “You want 326 south,
Ɵes his stomach in knots. And he used to be such not north.”
a good driver, but it seems that ever since he
turned seventy-five his self-confidence has been “But Roger said it was the first exit,” Jim says.
shot to hell; that he’s struggled to get so many “And the township commissioner should know.”
things right. He sighs. Maybe Anne’s right; maybe
he is becoming a shell of his former self. “I said I thought it was, Jimbo. You’ve got to do
what the Maps lady says, not me.”
Anne interrupts his thoughts. “Whoa Jim, pay
aƩenƟon. You’re way over to the right.” Dorothy giggles. “My ex used to call her Our Lady
of the Dashboard.”
“I’m fine,” Jim says.
In six tenths of a mile make a U-turn on route 73.
“Well you’re not siƫng where I am and you’re
making me nervous.” “Okay everybody, okay,” Jim says. “We’ve only
wasted four or five minutes.”
In a half a mile turn right onto Route 326 south.
“That’s an eternity for me,” Anne says.
“I think south’s the first exit,” Roger says.
“Sorry, I thought Roger said—”

Turn leŌ onto Blake Boulevard. In half a mile turn
right onto 326 south.

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Adelaide Magazine

“See, Jimbo. It’s so simple if you do what she About the Author:
says,” Roger says.
Harry Groome’s short stories, poems and arƟcles
Jim says that’s the story of his life. have appearedin dozens of magazines and anthol-
ogies and have won numerous awards including a
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jim, stop feeling sorry for nominaƟon for a Pushcart Prize. Harry is the au-
yourself and step on it,” Anne says. thor of three novels: Wing Walking, Thirty Be-
low and The Best of Families as well as the SƟeg
Once on 326 south they pass under a lighted sign Larsson parody The Girl Who Fished with a
warning of deer crossings. Worm. Learn more at www.harrygroome.com.

“All good,” Roger says. “Home in twelve
minutes.”

The rain falls more heavily. Up ahead a car has
pulled to the side of the road, its hazards blinking.
Jim sets his wipers at full speed when someone—
or everyone—yells, “Jim!” and there is a loud
crunching sound and his car veers to the leŌ.

“Oh, my God,” Anne says.

“What the hell was that?” Jim asks.

“A deer,” Roger says. “They’re a real issue—”

“It wasn’t a deer,” Dorothy says. “It was a man.
He was waving—”

“I’ve got to stop,” Jim says.

“In this weather?” Anne says. “No way. Besides,
some Good Samaritan is sure to stop for him.”

Roger says that he’s with Anne; and besides it
wasn’t Jimbo’s fault; and what’s more, he can’t
afford to get involved with something like this.

“But what if he’s badly injured?” Dorothy says.
“What if he’s—?”

“Please, Dorothy, stay out of this,” Anne says.

In a half-mile turn right onto Crestwood Lane. The
desƟnaƟon is on the leŌ.

“Drive, Jim,” Anne says. “Please, just drive.”

Jim thinks that Anne is right and for a moment
takes his foot from the accelerator.

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Revista Adelaide

DEADLY LONELY
QUIET WILDERNESS

by Lazar Trubman

A glade on the hill; on the glade – an old hut. Cou- again. He thought that someone glanced into the
ple of windows, dilapidated roof, crooked porch small window. He put aside the pipe, stood up.
crying for a fix. And wilderness for miles on end. Someone knocked on the door.
No one remembers who built it more than half a
century ago. Old villagers talk about some men “Anybody home?” A young voice, hoarse be-
who showed up in the fall of 1960, knocked down cause of the cold and a long silence – a man can’t
a few pine-trees, sliced off the bark and within a really talk to himself. “Not a hunter,” Willie
week, using four-five axes, put up a living space thought. “A hunter wouldn’t knock – just walk in
for anyone to use. You walk into a hut like this – without asking.”
it’s cold, no feel of a human spirit. On the walls, in
the corners – mold as thick as a fist, dank smell of “Come in!” said.
a stagnated smoke. Then someone shows up and
starts the fireplace, and half an hour later it’s The stranger behind the door unfastened the
warm and homey. You can take off your coat, add skis, placed them against the wall. The door
more logs into the fire. Walls get warmer, your opened slightly, and in the white cloud of exhala-
soul thaws out, and you feel happy. Soon drowsi- Ɵon Willie barely discerned a tall young man in a
ness envelopes you, and there is no strength to quilted jacket and a black military hiking cap.
do anything. You light up a cigareƩe and think. “Who are you?” he asked.
It’s good to think when you’re alone. Dark al-
ready; just the bright-red pile of logs playing a “A human,” Willie replied.
shadow game on the walls and on the ceiling. And
you remember things from the past. Ancient For some Ɵme they just looked at one another
things. How you for the first Ɵme saw a girl to her in silence.
door. Walked next to her, silent like an idiot…
“Are you by yourself?” asked the young man.
… This Ɵme it was an old man, Willie, siƫng in
front of the fireplace, sucking on his pipe while his “Sure am.”
cigareƩes were geƫng dry. Felt at ease this even-
ing. Since a very young age he roamed around the The young man walked to the fireplace, placed
wilderness, hunƟng. Squirrels mostly, foxes, rare- the wet gloves under his armpit and stretched his
ly a bear. For that occasion he always carried a hands as close to the burning logs as possible.
few cartridges with a case-shot charge in the “It’s cold as hell!” said.
pocket of his knee-length sheepskin coat. Loved
the wilderness. Especially in winterƟme. It’s so “It is,” Willie agreed and noƟced that the
quiet that your head hurts! young man didn’t have a rifle. So not a hunter
obviously. Not by his face or clothes either. “It’s
So, old Willie was siƫng there, smoking. Sud- going to get colder though before it gets warm-
denly some shuffling of skis outside; then quiet er… You’re dressed lightly for this Ɵme of the
year,” wanted to ask about the rifle, but decided
not to.

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Adelaide Magazine

“That’s alright,” said the young man. “Are you Willie placed some sliced cheese and ham on a
alone?” paper plate, filled both glasses to the half point.
“Someone should teach you guys how to survive
“I am. You asked already… Have a seat,” Willie alone in the wilderness,” said. “Last year I found
offered. “Want some tea?” one – thawed out in spring. Was young like you,
with a beard, too. Covered himself with a blanket
“I’m not a tea drinker, father,” the young and fell asleep. End of story.”
man’s accent wasn’t local, a big city’s rather. He
lit a cigareƩe, and Willie had a chance to see his The young man took off his quilted jacket,
face beƩer – handsome, pale face with fluffy eye- walked around the hut. Wide-shouldered, stately.
lashes. He inhaled hungrily, opened his mouth He looked rested already, warm; glad obviously
slightly – and two golden front teeth flashed in that he found this old hut with a living soul. He lit
the barely lit hut. Obviously a city fella. Had a another cigareƩe.
week’s old beard, looked emaciated. The young
man intercepted Willie’s gaze, stroke a match and “So, what are you looking for?” asked Willie
looked at him intently. Willie memorized his look: enjoying the smell of the smoke.
straight, brave. And somewhat frozen. “Women
love men like him,” thought inopportunely. “Where?”

“Have a seat,” said again. “Why are you sƟll “In the wilderness – where else?”
standing?”
“Fate.”
“Alright, I will… Anyone else is coming?”
‘Fate…” Willie grinned to himself. “Fate is like
“Right now? Nah, it’s too late…” Willie moved a lingcod – slippery: you sort of got her, and here
to the end of the bench, looked at the young she is, in your hands – and then pff! – gone!” he
man’s hands again: not working hands, but the disposed himself to a long talk. “Or city people:
young man was evidently strong, and Willie liked they come in bunches and start shooƟng leŌ and
his smile – simple, restrained. And those golden right: male, female – just to kill something. I
teeth… Handsome man. “Are you a geologist?” would’ve cut off their hands for this kind of
asked. hunƟng! You kill a she-bear – but what if she’s got
a couple of liƩle ones? They’ll die! You’ve got
“Who?” your fur, right, but if you wait a bit longer, you
would’ve goƩen three! It’s a muddle-headed
“You know: men and women running around thing – to entertain your soul upon wild animals…
the wilderness, looking for something?” Is that the fate you were talking about?”

“Oh! Yes, I am.” The young man didn’t answer, walked to the
window, peered into the darkness for a while.
“Without a rifle though…risky.” Said as though awakened suddenly, “Spring’s
soon.”
“I fell behind my people,” the young man ex-
plained casually. “How far is the town?” “No way around it,” Willie agreed. “Why don’t
you have some ham and cheese: you can’t just
“Forty miles…maybe more.” keep drinking?”

The young man closed his eyes and for a short The young man made himself a sandwich and
while sat sƟll, enjoying the warmth. “Tired,” said. went back to the window; breathing slowly, he
warmed a Ɵny round spot on the glass and for a
“How long have you been walking alone?” while kept looking into the night.
asked Willie.
“What are you trying to see there?” asked Wil-
“For a while… Got something to drink?” lie. He sƟll wanted to talk.

“Beside tea? Vodka – can’t survive without “Freedom,” said the young man. And exhaled,
alcohol out here.” but not sadly, not sorrowfully. And reeled back

The young man livened up. “Great,” said. ”My
soul’s been shaking for a while now: you can fuck-
ing freeze in this cold!”

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Revista Adelaide

from the window. “Let’s have another drink, fa- The young man sat down and refilled the glass-
ther: my soul’s demanding!” es; looked Ɵred suddenly.

“How about some more food aŌer that? It’ll “I’m on the run, father,” admiƩed without any
wear you out.” expression and raised his glass. “Cheers?”

“No, it won’t… I don’t get drunk,” he gently but Willie raised his glass, too, waited for the
firmly embraced Willie by his neck; his eyes young man to finish his drink.
shined brightly and joyously. “Here you go!
Cheers, my good man!” “They’ll get you,” said.

“I guess you got bored being alone,” said Willie It wasn’t that he felt sorry for his night visitor;
with a smile. He liked his night companion more he imagined suddenly how he is escorted out of
and more: for being young, strong and handsome. the hut by two depuƟes, tall, strong, handsome,
“It’s not safe without a rifle in the wilderness,” and all his youth, handsomeness and strength
reminded again. “A good chance you won’t sur- won’t be able to save his precious life. “It’s all for
vive without it.” nothing,” added, completely sober now.

“I’ll survive, father, don’t worry!” the young The young man kept silent, looking thoughƞul-
man finished his drink in one long gulp, shook his ly at the fire.
head and began pacing up and down the hut. “I
have this great desire to live, father!” “Should’ve done your Ɵme,” said Willie. “It’s
really to no purpose…”
“Everybody does,” Willie agreed. “Even a wrin-
kled pickle like me.” “Don’t tell me how to live my life!” the young
man interrupted sharply. “I’ve got my own head
“Great desire, father!” stubbornly, with some on my shoulders.”
cheerful anger repeated the young man. “You
don’t know what real life is,” he clenched his “Of course, you do,” Willie agreed. “How far
teeth. “It’s soŌ and sweet! Like fucking choco- you plan to go?”
late!”
“It’s not your fucking business, OK?”
Tipsy Willie giggled loudly. “You’re talking
about life as though it’s a woman,” said. “Parents are probably waiƟng,” thought Willie
looking at the back of the young man’s neck.
“Women are cheap, worthless!” the young “He’ll show up – they’ll be happy. And then…
man objected with the same stubbornness. What a son-of-a-bitch!”

“It seems that a woman really shook your For a few minutes no one spoke. Willie
world once or twice…” knocked the ashes out of his pipe, refilled with
fresh tobacco. The young man kept staring at the
“She did…and the woman’s name is freedom. fire. “I’ll stay here for a couple of days,” said, did-
You don’t know what that is either. You’re an n’t ask. “Need to get my strength back.”
animal, father, you love this fucking wilderness;
you haven’t seen the bright lights of a big city. “Alright,” Willie couldn’t really argue. “Why did
They aƩract you; they’re like music to your ears! you run though? Had a lot of years leŌ?”
And I must be there, but I’m here… I am here,
understand?” “A lot, father.”

“But not forever though, right?” “What did you do?”

“You don’t understand,” the young man was “Never ask me that quesƟon again!”
suddenly serious. “I must be there, because I’m
the only one who is not afraid of anything or any- Willie puffed at his pipe, said through cough-
body! Because I’m not afraid to die, understand?” ing: “I don’t care… Pity though: they’ll catch you.”

“I don’t think I do, buddy,” said Willie shaking “We’ll see,” the young man looked really Ɵred.
his head. “What are you trying to tell me again?” “Let’s sleep.”

“Go ahead,” said Willie. “I’ll wait Ɵll all the logs
are burned through.”

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Adelaide Magazine

The young man spread his quilted jacket on the “Enough of that barking!” Willie interrupted
plank-bed, fluffed up the pillow. SpoƩed a rifle on suddenly. “I let you in – and now you’re barking
the wall, observed it slowly. “A preƩy old one,” like a dog. Are you mad that they locked you up?
said. Then you deserved it, and no one is guilty.”

“SƟll does the job.” The young man squeaked his teeth, but kept
silent.
The young man stretched his feet, exhaled
loudly. “You’re not afraid of me, father?” asked. “I’m not a priest, and this is not a church that
you can spit your anger around,” now Willie
“Of you?” Willie seemed astounded. “Why couldn’t stop. “This is wilderness, everyone’s
would I?” equal. Remember that, or you’ll never make it to
your fucking freedom. There’s always a man out
“Well, I am a prisoner…maybe convicted of there to break your spine, always.”
murder?”
“Don’t be angry, father,” the young man said
“God will punish you for murder, not people. peacefully. “I hate when someone teaches me
You can run from people – not so much from how to live my life. My soul is boiling every Ɵme!
God.” Hate it!” he restrained himself from yelling again.
“There are no saints or kind people on earth, I
“So, you believe in God then?” haven’t seen one yet. Why invent them?” the
young man rose upon his elbow, waiƟng for an
“What else is leŌ to believe in?” answer.

“Who knows…” the young man paused for a “Cool down a bit, and you’ll understand,” Wil-
moment. “But I’m Ɵred of this shit about God lie replied moralisƟcally. “If not for the kind peo-
though. If I’ll meet your fucking Jesus someday, ple, life would’ve stopped long ago. Everyone
I’ll cut his guts out in an instant!” would’ve killed everyone else. And it wasn’t Jesus
who taught me that; I learned it myself. Regard-
“Why?” ing saints though you’re right: they don’t exist.
I’m not a bad man, but not a saint either. When I
“Why? Because of all the lies that came out of was as young as you are now, there was a family
his mouth! There is no such thing as good, kind not far from my village, a man and a woman and
people. Isn’t that what he always taught: people their daughter of twenty-five or so. A religious
are kind, just be paƟent? Liar!” the young man’s family, yes…” Willie paused to make sure that he
voice became angry. “Who’s kind? You? Me?” was listened to. “So once, when she was alone in
the house, I enƟced her into the birch-wood and…
“Well, I, for example, never caused a big prob- you know what, right? She was a strong, healthy
lem for anyone in my life.” woman, a virgin, too… Got pregnant, but I was
married then…”
“What about animals? How many have you
killed? Did he teach you that?” “Didn’t you say that you never harmed any-
one?” the young man was obviously listening.
“You don’t compare a dick to a finger!” Willie
objected. “An animal is not a human.” “I also told you that I’m not a saint! I didn’t
rape her though, wearied her with kindness, but
“SƟll a breathing creature – according to your all the same – another child without a father. A
fucking Jesus!” grown man by now, maybe a hunter like his
dad…”
Willie couldn’t see the young man’s face any
longer, but his voice scared him a bit. “Why are “You gave him life – didn’t kill him,” the young
you suddenly mad at me” asked aŌer a while. man was suddenly on Willie’s side. “And probably
saved the mother: if not for you, she could’ve
“Don’t lie! All of you sancƟmonious people! never known a man, never had a child. So if you
Your fucking Jesus taught you to be paƟent? Well, ask me – you did a good thing back then.”
be paƟent. Don’t drop your pants and jump on
your woman as soon as you’re done with your
prayer,” he paused to catch his breath. “If it was
up to me, I would create a new Jesus: you lie –
you die…”

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Revista Adelaide

“Well, good or bad – it’s all in the past now… “Listen, father…” the young man couldn’t fin-
more bad than good though…” ish: someone stepped onto the porch and pushed
the door. “Ah!” said in a deep voice. “I knew
“Anything leŌ in the boƩle?” interrupted the someone was in here. Come on in, guys: it’s
young man. warm!”

“Vodka you mean? Some… You can have it – “Shut the door,” Willie said angrily, “or it soon
I’m done for tonight.” won’t be.”

The young man empƟed the boƩle, wheezed Two more men walked in; Willie knew one of
again. “This is not the way a man should have his them – the county Sheriff. Every hunter had to
drinks. It has to be a beauƟful thing, nice music, deal with him, especially during the hunƟng sea-
expensive cigars, champagne, gorgeous women… son.
Quiet around, cultured…”
“Willie, right?” said the Sheriff, a tall, over-
“What did you do before prison?” asked Willie weight man of fiŌy.
– wasn’t interested in a bright city life.
“Right.”
“I was an ambassador in a foreign country…
kidding!” the young man fell silent; then informed “Well, why don’t you meet and greet a few late
sleepily, “That’s it for me, father, I’m gone.” And guests?”
fell asleep momentarily.
“Do I look like a greeter to you?”
The logs in the fireplace burned out; Willie
waited Ɵll the last sparks died in the ashes, shut All three began taking off their coats.
the chimney-flue and laid down next to the young
man. The wind outside the hut dropped, the “Missing hunƟng?” asked Willie not without
world around seemed quiet and at ease, and irony.
minutes later he was asleep, too.
“A liƩle… And who is that?”
… Voices of two or three men outside the hut
awoke Willie aŌer midnight; he remained sƟll for “A geologist… fell behind his group.”
a while, not sleepy any longer, but somewhat
unsure of the surroundings. The young man was “Got lost, then?”
already siƫng down – as if he never slept. “Who
might that be?” asked. “That’s right.”

“How the hell do I know,” Willie replied angrily “I haven’t heard about any geological groups in
for some reason. the county… Where was he going?”

The young man walked to the door, listened to “Couldn’t talk – almost froze to death. I made
the voices for a short while; then shuffled over to him drink half a boƩle of vodka – now he sleeps
the wall looking for the rifle. like a corpse.”

“Don’t even think!” warned Willie. “You’re Sheriff lit a match, brought it to the young
dead meat if you try.” man’s face. Not a muscle moved, and the breath-
ing seemed to be even and quiet. “You pumped
“Who are they?” the young man asked again. him up preƩy good,” said as soon as the match
went out. “How come we don’t know anything
“I already told you: I don’t know.” about the group though?”

“Let’s lock the door: we don’t have to let them “Maybe it’s a new one?”
in, right?”
“Nah… Looks like he wondered around for a
“Man, you’re a fool! There are no locks on the while,” Sheriff thought about something, added,
hut… You beƩer go back to sleep and don’t move: “Well, let him sleep – we’ll find out in the morn-
I’ll do the talking.” ing… It’s Ɵme for us to have a nap, too, right?”

“Right,” agreed the other two. “A lot of walking
tomorrow.”

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Adelaide Magazine

Moments later everyone was asleep. smelled of rifle oil. “Law people should’ve known
that one doesn’t go hunƟng with a smelly rifle or
… Willie awoke as soon as the day broke strong tobacco,” thought shaking his head. “My
around six o’clock. The young man was gone. Eve- daddy even taught me to gargle with fresh tea to
rybody else sƟll slept. Willie got off the plank-bed kill the bad breath and wear washed clothes!” He
and found the matches. Hadn’t thought about interrupted his own thinking: the young man just
anything bad yet. Struck a match: his rifle was crossed the cuƫng in the forest, stopped and
gone, too. Without wasƟng any more Ɵme, he put looked around – and right there and then Willie
on his coat, took one of the three rifles stored in appeared in front of him, rifle at the ready.
the corner, made sure that the cartridges were
sƟll in his pocket. “Hands up!” ordered loudly in order to strike
dumb the thief.
Early dawn was just coming into its own; it got
warmer during the night. A wide fog patch cov- The young man threw up his head, and unhid-
ered the daybreak’s weak colors. Willie put on his den horror reverberated in his slightly slanƟng
skis, stepped into the young man’s ski-track and eyes. “Father?” said hoarsely. “You almost gave
went on. “You son-of-a-bitch,” swore under his me a heart aƩack!”
breath. “Decided to go – go, but don’t steal the
man’s rifle!” “I thought you weren’t afraid of anyone?” said
Willie adjusƟng the rifle to the middle of the
It was geƫng lighter by the minute, the day young man’s chest. “Alright then,” ordered in a
promised to be warm and cloudy. For a while he business-like tone of voice, “bring the rifle in front
went in silence. Wasn’t really mad, hurt – yes, but of you without taking it off, break it and throw
not mad. A mile later it was already light enough out the cartridges. Then empty your pockets: I
to see the ski-track way ahead of him. At some want to see sixteen cartridges – don’t make me
point, the young man stopped for a minute: Willie count them twice…”
could see a cigareƩe-buƩ and a burned match.
“Just look at that: he even stole my cigareƩes!” “Listen, father…”

He quickened his pace and half an hour later “Then step aside and don’t move – or I’ll make
saw the young man a couple hundred yards your chest look like a sieve.”
ahead of him, down in the shallow gully. He
walked in efficient, even steps, not hurriedly, but “Didn’t you tell me that I won’t survive in the
purposefully, rifle behind his back. wilderness without a rifle?” said the young man
stepping away from the cartridges.
“Not bad for a city boy,” Willie had to admit.
He abandoned the ski-track and went around the “And that gives you the right to steal?” asked
young man, using a mound on the leŌ hand side Willie counƟng the cartridges. “Now throw me
to cover his maneuver. He guessed that their the rifle and don’t move!”
paths will intercept each other at the cuƫng in
the forest and had no doubt that he would be the The young man did what he was told.
first one to reach that point.
“Now sit down where you stand and throw me
“I just want to see your lying eyes, you un- my cigareƩes.”
grateful thief,” he muƩered not without malicious
pleasure, bearing down on the poles. At the same “I’ll have one, too, alright?” said the young
Ɵme, as strange as that might seem, he really man.
wanted to see the young man’s handsome face.
Something very appealing was in that face. For a while they smoked in silence.
“Maybe it’s not really surprising that he is trying
so badly to get to his city life,” Willie reasoned, “Did they leave, the three men?” asked the
wiping the sweat off his forehead. He reached the young man.
cuƫng in the forest and stopped behind a thick
pine tree: the young man wasn’t there “SƟll sleeping,” Willie answered. “They’re good
yet. Checked the cartridge. The rifle was new, sƟll at sleeping – not so much at hunƟng. Came here
to get away from the boredom of a small town,”
he exhaled a huge stream of smoke to the side.
“Bored with their wives, too, I bet.”

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Revista Adelaide

“Who are they, father?” their rifles is missing! Don’t you think they’ll start
looking for us, probably call the authoriƟes?”
“Managers of some kind… Did you really think
that I wouldn’t catch you?” “They won’t,” interrupted Willie. “Not Ɵll the
sun is way up.”
“I hadn’t thought about that at all,” the young
man hesitated before asking, “One of them you “How do you know?”
know, right? He even called you by name once…
Who is he? Didn’t look like a manager to me.” “I just know. They were preƩy wasted yester-
day.”
“Oh, that one… He’s from the Social Security
office, met him a few Ɵmes when I applied.” The young man fell silent, as if he finally ran
out of quesƟons. Suddenly snow began falling on
The young man looked at Willie inquisiƟvely. the ground, warm, heavy, and soon everything
“You’re lying to me, old man,” said. “Do you really was covered with thick, huge flakes.
want me back in prison because of the rifle?”
“That’s to your advantage,” said Willie. “It’ll
“Back in prison? Are you crazy?” hide all your tracks.”

“Sell me the rifle then. I’ve got money.” The young man watched the snow melƟng in
his palm. “Spring’s soon,” menƟoned again.
“No,” Willie replied firmly. “Should’ve asked
me yesterday – I probably would’ve.” “Not that soon,” Willie looked at the young
man and imagined how he walks alone through
“I wanted to, but then those men showed the wilderness, no food, no smokes, no rifle.
up…” “Why didn’t you escape in summer,” asked,
“plenty of berries, wild apples, easy to cover your
“So you decided to steal it,” Willie dropped the tracks?”
cigareƩe buƩ in the snow. “Where I’m from, we
cut off arms for stealing.” “You can’t choose the Ɵme, father,” the young
man grinned shortly. “Alright then, thanks for the
The young man wanted to object, but said in- food, booze and lodging… Go now: wasted or not,
stead: “Thanks for not giving me away yesterday.” they’re surely about to awake soon.”

“It doesn’t maƩer: you won’t make it to your Willie was hesitaƟng.
freedom anyway.”
“There might be a way out of it,” said finally.
“Why?” “I’ll give you the rifle. Around midnight, you’ll be
passing my village; stop at the last house on the
“Forty miles through the wilderness? Not in right. The man’s name is ScoƩ Nelson. You can
your shape.” spend a night there. Tell him that, while hunƟng
around the Sleepy Mountain, I ran out of cartridg-
“I’m in preƩy good shape, father, but without a es, and my old rifle became a burden so I asked
rifle…” you to drop it at his house. Tell him that I’ll be
home next week… Memorized?”
“Don’t even try!”
“Piece of cake, father! God’s my witness: I
“I’m ready to start a new life, an honest one…” won’t forget…”

“What about champagne, women and bright “Alright, alright,” Willie paused for a moment.
lights then?” “Don’t miss my village though, always keep the
sun on your leŌ hand side during the day and the
“Too much booze, I guess, wasn’t really seri- moon on the right side at night… ScoƩ’s house is
ous…” the only one surrounded by a white fence…”

“You weren’t drunk – I would’ve noƟced.” said “Don’t worry, father.”
Willie spiƫng yellow saliva in the snow. “People
make mistakes, I’ve made a few, but stealing is a “Well, then, young fella,” Willie began walking
conscious thing, fella – not an accident.” away, but stopped and turned around, “Listen,”

“Enough of that, father!” begged the young
man. “They’re about to wake up – and one of

121

Adelaide Magazine

said, “something I need to tell you: the Social Se- About the Author:
curity man is really the county Sheriff. It’s a good
thing he didn’t wake you – a shrewd son-of-a- Lazarus J. Trubman came to America as a poliƟcal
bitch, wouldn’t let you go,” a quick pause, “I bet refugee from a small town in the ancient land of
you a silver dollar: as soon as I’m back, he’ll get Transylvania, which for years had been forcefully
glued to me like a bath’s leaf, “Where did he go, aƩached to the Soviet Empire, aŌer experiencing
who is he really…” firsthand the hospitality of the CommiƩee of
State Security, KGB in common parlance. AŌer
The young man didn’t interrupt, just listened in obtaining degree in philology and linguisƟcs, he
silence. worked as a criƟc for a literary magazine and later
taught literature and wriƟng at a local college. In
“Enough talking, stay safe, OK?” advised Willie, 1990, aŌer three unsuccessful aƩempts, he finally
tossed the sheriff’s rifle up his shoulder and took boarded the shiny Boeing-747 bounded for New
the cuƫng in the forest in order to get back to York. He seƩled in Tucson, Arizona, where for 25
the hut. He almost made it to the turn, then years he taught languages and Russian literature.
heard some noise, as though a bough snapped In 2016, aŌer reƟring from teaching, he moved to
deafeningly above his ear. And at the same mo- North Carolina to dedicate the rest of his Ɵme to
ment he felt as if he was pushed by a few fists in wriƟng.
the back, neck and the back of his head. He fell Lazar J. Trubman has been wriƟng professionally
straight forward, face in snow. And didn’t hear or since 1983, publishing – when allowed by the
feel anything any longer. Didn’t hear how he was censorship - two collecƟons of short stories and a
covered hurriedly with snow, how the young man novel “It Won’t Hurt”. Another novel, “AdaptaƟon
said firmly, “That’s beƩer, father, safer.” to the Past”, had been published in 2012.
Married, three grown children.
… When the sun came up, the young man was
already far away from the cuƫng in the forest. He
never looked back. Thick pleasant snow quietly
rustled in the air. The wilderness was waking up.
Dense vernal smell of the forest stupefied and
spun his head.

He felt at ease and quite happy.

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Revista Adelaide

STRANGERS NO
MORE

by Tara Lynn Marta

Stacey didn’t want much out of life. Just happi- The relaƟonship came to head when her father
ness and stability. It wasn’t a lot for a young was caught in bed with another woman. Stacey
woman of seventeen to ask for. But living in a two clutched her stuffed elephant as a lamp smashed
-bedroom apartment with her newly divorced off the living room wall and angry words hovered
mother was far from bliss. in the air. The judge awarded custody to her
mother, not that it made much difference. Nei-
“Take the garbage out, Stacey,” her mother bel- ther parent was capable of raising a dog much
lowed from the couch. Ashtrays piled the coffee less a child.
table while remnants of breakfast liƩered the
floor. Teaspoon, the family’s orange Tabby, ran AŌer her parents divorced, Stacey’s mother made
for a crust of bread imbedded in the rug. “Get this a habit of daƟng any man she could find. She mar-
filthy beast out of my sight,” her mother conƟn- ried two more Ɵmes, each husband worse than
ued, kicking at the cat as he made a mad dash for the one before.
the other side of the room.
“Ma, do you have money for a new notebook,”
Stacey sighed. “I already took the garbage out, Stacey asked as her mother stretched her plump
Ma, remember?” leg over the arm of the couch.

“Yeah, well, I have to keep on you about these “What the hell do I look like an ATM? Call your
things. You’re so lazy.” father and ask him. He owes you for all the child
support he never paid.”
But Stacey wasn’t lazy. It was just another sadisƟc
remark from a mother who couldn’t care less Stacey hardly saw her father much less talked to
about the daughter she hardly knew. him by phone. His drunkenness made him inco-
herent, and during one call he thought Stacey was
“You’re just like that good for nothing father of his dead grandmother.
yours,” her mother yelled, which of course wasn’t
true. But her mother didn’t care about truth. “Please, Ma, I need a new notebook.”

Stacey’s parents divorced when she was five. “For school?”
When they were sƟll together, her father worked
on and off, mostly off, and drank what money he Stacey paused. “No, for my wriƟng.”
made. It was a contenƟous marriage. The argu-
ments were vulgar and deafening, oŌen resulƟng “Oh, for God’s sake, Stacey. Just throw my damn
in neighbors calling the cops. money out the window, why don’t you! You think
it’s easy cleaning offices at night to pay rent on
“Keep the noise down,” an officer said on one this dump and keep food in your mouth? No, it’s
such visit, indifferent to the black eye her mother never enough, is it? Ungrateful brat.”
donned and the scratches running down her fa-
ther’s leŌ cheek.

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Adelaide Magazine

“I have to keep wriƟng, Ma, if I ever want to be a. “Third Ɵme this week,” Stacey exclaimed.
. .”
A musty aroma permeated the atmosphere. The
“I know, a writer.” Her mother sat up and banged woman pinched the Ɵp of her nose to ward off
the remote off the end table when it failed to the unwelcomed stench. Then she took out her
change the channel. “A writer. Just who in the cell phone, but there was no recepƟon.
hell do you think you are?”
“Don’t panic now,” she said to Stacey, who re-
Stacey didn’t know who she was other than the mained calm. And using the flashlight on her cell
daughter of a father who’d abandoned her, and a to illuminate the elevator, the woman seized the
mother who swore that she’d never amount to emergency phone fastened to the wall. “Yeah, the
anything. elevator stalled,” she said when a technician an-
swered. “Well, see that you hurry, huh?”
“I’m going to college one day, Ma! You wait.”
Stacey slid out of her backpack and nervously
“You dream big,” her mother answered. “College tapped her foot. Being encased in Ɵght quarters
isn’t part of your future. You need a job. I see the didn’t bother her. But sharing it with a stranger
crap you bring home from school, Shakespeare was another story.
and poetry. You’re good for nothing just like your
father.” “By the way, the name’s Jennie,” said the woman
as she rummaged through her purse for a piece of
“If I was good for nothing like my father I would- hard candy, and upon locaƟng a pack of LifeSav-
n’t even want to go to college,” Stacey retorted ers, offered one to her young acquaintance.
with discipline, causing her mother to twirl
around. “I’m Stacey. Thanks for the candy.”

“Watch that tone, young lady. You’re not the big Silence followed the brief introducƟons. Stacey’s
shot you pretend to be.” discomfort made it difficult to relax in the pres-
ence of someone she’d known a total of five
Stacey grabbed her backpack and flung open the minutes, and she worried about the red streak
door. “I’m beƩer than you. That’s why you hate that ran across her face. She hoped Jennie would-
me so much.” n’t noƟce. Stacey would have no explanaƟon for
the dysfuncƟon emblazoned on her flesh.
Her mother rose from the couch and bounded
across the floor, and with one slap, Stacey bore “How long have you been living in this building?”
an imprint of her mother’s hand. Jennie queried, siƫng with her legs crossed on
the dirty floor.
She wouldn’t give her mother the saƟsfacƟon of
seeing her cry, so Stacey walked out and slammed “I been here my whole life. You live here too?”
the door but not before her mother’s voice rever-
berated through the building, “GOOD FOR NOTH- “Not a chance. Just visiƟng my father in 12D.”
ING!”
Stacey thought momentarily about apartment
Stacey ran down the corridor to the elevator and 12D. “That’s right around the corner from where
noƟced someone inside. “Hold those doors, she me and my mother live. Who’s your father?”
cried out.”
“Carl Matheson,” Jennie added with a sigh. “I’m
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” a woman in her sure you’ve heard his mouth.”
mid-fiŌies dressed in a pair of tan slacks with a
burgundy blouse said. Her black curly hair relaxed Stacey could hardly remember anyone yelling
on her shoulders. “You’re going to the first floor I except her mother. But thinking on it, she did
assume?” recall the sound of elderly man’s voice occasional-
ly carrying through the halls, spewing wrath on an
Stacey nodded. undeserving vicƟm. And that vicƟm, it turned out,
was Jennie.
Just as the doors to the elevator closed the power
went out. “You’ve got to be kidding,” the woman “Wait, yeah, I know your dad, not personally, but
groaned. I’ve. . .” Stacey stopped mid-sentence. It wasn’t

124

Revista Adelaide

easy having a vocal parent, and she didn’t want to Shaking her leŌ leg back to life, Jennie said,
embarrass Jennie. “You’re not only one with a parent who doesn’t
choose their words wisely.”
“It’s OK,” Jennie said. “Everyone in the building
knows my father’s mouth by now. You learn to But Stacey had convinced herself that she was the
live with it aŌer a while.” only one, and her paranoia led her to live a soli-
tary existence, unable to befriend other girls at
Maybe it was her youth, but Stacey had never school because they might find out about the
grown accustomed to hearing people yell, some- dark secret waiƟng for her at home.
thing her mother did daily. She didn’t have a pic-
ture-perfect family like the ones in the old TV “My old man never had a kind word to say about
shows, where fathers returned from work at the me. SƟll doesn’t, that’s why you hear him yell
end of the day with a bag of gumdrops for the someƟmes. I’m a loser like my mother, according
children, and mothers wore preƩy dresses with a to him. He never even celebrated my birthday,
strand of pearls. And what’s worse, she feared and all because he was punishing me for being
that one day she’d end up like her mother. Di- born.”
sheveled and cranky. Men coming and going.
MulƟple divorces. A job that hardly paid the bills. “That must have been horrible.”
Or like her father - a good for nothing.
“My mother died when I was three and the old
Jennie observed the anguish etched on Stacey’s man got stuck raising me, a kid he never asked
face. Or maybe it was the red blotch leŌ by her for. ‘You’re only here because your mother
mother. tricked me,’ he used to say. They weren’t mar-
ried, and I guess he thought only a cerƟficate
“Don’t worry about it, honey. Things will get brought forth children.”
beƩer,” Jennie said as she pushed her bangs to
the other side of her forehead. “That’s rough,” Stacey admiƩed. “Why do you
even visit him?”
“Excuse me?” Stacey asked smiling, trying to hide
her humiliaƟon. Jennie stood to allow the blood to circulate to her
legs. “He’s old and doesn’t have anyone else.”
“I know what you’re going through,” Jennie add-
ed, sƟll fiddling with the bangs that kept falling Let him rot, Stacey thought.
over her eyes. “Things are bad home, aren’t they?
You’re not alone, kiddo.” “I know what you’re thinking. But I escape my
father’s shadow by being the bigger person. Any-
But Stacey felt alone much of the Ɵme, rumi- way, nothing will change the truth about me.”
naƟng on what others would think if they could
see inside her apartment or hear the biƩer words Confused Stacey asked, “What truth is that?”
coming from a mother whose sense of nurture
consisted of four leƩer expleƟves. “I’m nothing like him. He could tear me down
with his words and strike me with his fists. But I
SƟll conscious of her cheek, Stacey rubbed at it as refuse to walk in his footsteps.”
if she could somehow make the mark disappear.
“My mother doesn’t usually hit me. Today was “SomeƟmes it just happens though, don’t you
the first because I answered her back.” think?”

“Let me guess, her usual abuse is in the form of Jennie opened her purse and took out a tube of
words?” lipsƟck, then dazzled her lips with a light shade of
pink.
Again, Stacey nodded.
“Let me ask you something. Do you want a beƩer
Jennie gave up on her bangs and tampered with life than the one you’ve been given by your par-
the clasp on her purse instead. “Don’t let it get to ents?”
you, honey. You’ll get through it.”
Without hesitaƟon Stacey bowed her head to-
“How can you be so sure?” ward the floor.

“I take that as a yes. So, who’s stopping you?”

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Adelaide Magazine

“But my mother…” Outside drivers blared their horns at pedestrians
trying to cross the busy street. A young mother
“Your mother has nothing to do with it. Do we shouted at her son as she dragged him by the
someƟmes have characterisƟcs of our parents? shirtsleeve, his face contorted with disgrace.
Absolutely. But we are not them, they are not Although Stacey felt more at ease, she couldn’t
us.” contain a burning quesƟon. “How come some
people don’t make it out?”
“I wish I believed that, Stacey muƩered under her “Because someƟmes words have a sharp edge
breath.” and they know where to cut. When that happens,
it can shaƩer our confidence. Our only weapon is
A slight chortle echoed. “My father used to tell choice.”
me I’d be exactly like him one day. He was a part- “Choice?”
Ɵme custodian, full-Ɵme gambler. Always trying “Yes. We can choose to retaliate by acƟng like our
to reach for an imaginary fortune he thought he aggressor, or we can choose the road less trav-
was enƟtled to. But I had dreams, big ones of eled.”
going to college. And you know what my father “Oh, I get it,” Stacey responded. “We choose to
told me? That women weren’t created to use be beƩer than our parents.”
their brains. Only their bodies.” Jennie placed her purse over her right shoulder
and once again swept at her bangs.
“Didn’t you hate him for that?” “No, we choose to beƩer ourselves.”

“Sure. Took me a long Ɵme to realize that he was About the Author:
nothing but a broken man, irritated because his
daughter was a reminder of a mistake he made in Tara Lynn Marta is a writer of ficƟon and nonfic-
the backseat of a beat-up Chevy.” Ɵon. Her work has been published by Aaduna,
Inc., The Humor Times, The Gorge, PoetrySoup,
“Did you end up going to college?” Stacey in- Heartaches to Healing, and Thirty-Third Wheel.
quired, her enthusiasm building. Tara is a graduate of Wilkes University where she
earned an M.A. in CreaƟve WriƟng.
“I did. Then I went to graduate school and got my
M.A., which I turned into a PhD. Now I run the
English department at Caldwell University. So
much for my father’s theory about a woman’s
intelligence.”

“My mother tells me college isn’t in my future.”

“Don’t pay her any mind. Your mother’s a broken
woman. Probably sees the potenƟal in you that
she never had the courage to see in herself.”

The lights in the elevator returned along with
movement. Jennie and Stacey were headed to the
first floor. AŌer only twenty minutes these
strangers - one who was well into the world, the
other who was on her way – were strangers no
more. They were kindred spirits linked by a simi-
lar narraƟve. And for the first Ɵme, Stacey felt
understood, no longer shackled by shame.

“Here’s my card,” Jennie said, handing it to
Stacey. The sun greeted them as the doors to the
elevator opened and an enƟre world of possibility
awaited. “Call me anyƟme.”

“You mean when I’m ready to apply for college?”

“Yes, and any other Ɵme you need to talk.”

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Revista Adelaide

THE BLUE HAT

by Linda Juliano

Allison dragged fear and exhausƟon behind her An elderly couple strolled past the lake, the sound
like a steer straining against a yoke as she fol- of errant pebbles crunching beneath their feet,
lowed the dirt path around one of several man- echoing across the water. The man looked up
made lakes in Golden Gate Park. Thick, cold briefly, but didn’t seem to noƟce Allison.
morning fog wrapped around the tall pines, ab-
sorbing the noise of the surrounding city. The Alone again, Allison relaxed against the hard
only discernable sounds came from the geese as bench, the solitude welcome. Between her devot-
they honked and splashed, aggressively pursuing ed husband, well-meaning, worried family and
one another across the water. friends as well constant interacƟons with a mulƟ-
tude of nurses and doctors, she hadn’t enjoyed
She gripped the back of one of the two side-by- much alone Ɵme since the cancer diagnosis.
side forest-green benches for balance, lowering
herself with the care of someone far older than She sank comfortably into the melodic, distant
her thirty-two years. Pulling her wool coat Ɵghter drone of the fog horn, her lips curved upward.
across her chest, she released a Ɵred breath in TilƟng her face skyward, something caught in her
one long exhale. The chemo treatments had end- peripheral vision.
ed a few days earlier, but the physical effects of
the poison sƟll lingered, as did the emoƟonal tur- A beauƟful, royal-blue, velour, vintage-style hat
moil of having been faced with her mortality. sat at the far end of the adjacent bench. Judging
Keeping her head above water was a daily strug- by the condiƟon it was in, it hadn’t been there for
gle, the reality of fighƟng for her life an anchor long. How had she not seen it when she first ap-
around her waist. proached the benches? Her head swiveled on her
neck in search of the hat’s owner. With no one in
Allison shivered as the cold, bony hand of fear sight, Allison bit down on her lower lip and scoot-
gripped the back of her neck and squeezed. When ed to the end of the bench, stretching unƟl the
had fear become a constant companion, always Ɵps of her fingers reached the hat.
at her back, lurking around every corner, keeping
her from experiencing joy on any level? She sat She removed her leather gloves and ran bare fin-
up straight, yanking her coat Ɵght around her gers over the smooth, luxurious texture of the
shoulders, scowling at the geese, the water, the velour, then raised it to her cheek, drawing in the
trees. faint scent of lavender. Lowering it to her lap, she
closed her thumb and index finger around the
The paved service road was closed to through blue, saƟn ribbon that encircled the hat and
traffic on weekdays, keeping it from the general crossed in the back before trailing down half a
public like a jewel hidden in the open. Foot traffic foot. It reminded her of her once-long, silky hair
was rarely heavy at this parƟcular lake, but it was and how she used to twist it between her fingers
especially light on foggy mornings. when nervous or concentraƟng.

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Adelaide Magazine

With another quick glance around and only a mo- Allison glanced at the outline of bent, crooked
ment’s hesitaƟon, Allison removed the knit stock- fingers beneath the women’s glove before shak-
ing cap from her bald head and replaced it with ing her hand. “I’m Allison. It’s nice to meet you,
the velour hat. The warming effect was instant, Mrs. Graves.”
but what followed was unexpected. She sat up
tall, shoulders back, chin juƫng out. With closed “Please call me Sadie.” The cadence of her speech
eyes, she drew in a long breath. Was it possible reminded Allison of the unique accent actresses
she looked as glamorous as she felt? used to portray highly educated, wealthy, Ameri-
can women in old movies. An American accent
For one glorious moment, Allison forgot about with an odd BriƟsh-sounding flair.
being bald and the dark circles around her sunken
eyes, the sharp angles of a far-too-skinny frame “It’s a beauƟful name,” Allison said, before shiŌ-
and the haunted expression reflected in every ing her gaze to the lake again.
mirror.
When a fish leaped out of the water, Sadie
“I recognize that feeling,” came an elderly, female gasped then snorted before her hand covered her
voice over Allison’s shoulder. mouth. The two women looked at each other
then broke into a giggle at the same Ɵme. Allison
Allison startled, releasing a sound embarrassingly couldn’t remember the last Ɵme she’d laughed.
similar to the yelp of a small dog. “You scared She wasn’t melancholy or morose, exactly, but
me,” she said, breathless, pressing both hands someƟme over the past few months, without
against her pounding heart. realizing it, she’d stopped laughing.

The woman stepped into Allison’s view, bringing a Sadie turned her body to face Allison, running a
faint scent of lavender with her. Her thin, mauve- brief hand over the French twist of her white hair.
colored lips curved into an apologeƟc smile. “Cancer?” she asked, her expression neutral as
her eyes roamed over Allison’s face, pausing
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I came back for where there should have been eyebrows and
my,”—her milky, cornflower-blue eyes shiŌed to lashes. She tried drawing brows on and wearing
Allison’s head—“hat.” fake lashes once, but the lashes wouldn’t stay put
and the brows looked clownish and obvious.
Heat filled Allison’s cheeks. “This is your hat? I’m
so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” she trailed off, her “Yes,” Allison said, her throat suddenly dry. Most
hands rising to her head. people didn’t ask. In fact, people oŌen appeared
uncomfortable, or even fearful at the idea of
The woman touched Allison’s arm with gloved speaking about cancer as if acknowledgment of
fingers, applying a gentle pressure. “Please keep the disease might lead to them acquiring it. “I just
it on. It suits you. And I can see how it makes you finished my last round of chemo a few weeks
feel.” She dropped her hand to her side. “It does ago.” She glanced at her wedding band, twisƟng it
the same for me.” around her cold finger a few Ɵmes before pulling
her gloves back on.
Allison paused before shaking her head again. “I
can’t, it’s yours.” “Are you cancer free now?”

“Please,” she pleaded again. “I want you to.” The “I’ll know in three months when I have the CA 125
woman lowered herself onto the bench beside test done.” She blew out a breath, a liƩle sur-
Allison in the same careful way Allison had earlier. prised she was sharing so much informaƟon. “It’s
“It’s Ɵme that hat finds a new home.” She smiled. a long wait.”
“And it’s beauƟful against your fair skin.”
Sadie nodded as understanding flashed in her
Allison acquiesced for the moment, lowering her eyes. “Ovarian cancer.” Her tone was sympa-
hands to her lap. “I’ll keep it on for now, but I theƟc, but not pitying.
can’t keep your hat.”
“That’s right. You’re familiar with the test?”
“We’ll discuss it later,” the woman said, with a
quick, agreeable nod before extending a hand
toward Allison. “I’m Sadie Graves.”

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Revista Adelaide

“I had breast cancer many years ago,” Sadie said, “I know I sound like some kind of Mary Poppins,
buƩoning her coat up to her neck. “But a few but I mean every word.” Sadie pointed a crooked
friends have faced ovarian cancer.” finger at the hat on Allison’s head. “That hat
saved me more than once from being swallowed
“You’re a cancer survivor,” Allison said, her voice by despair.”
pitched high with both reverence and the odd
excitement that came with meeƟng a survivor. Allison Ɵlted her head to one side, furrowing her
Every survivor’s story was like medicine, providing bare brow line.
hope only the ones who’ve been there can give. It
reminded her that no maƩer how close she came “My late husband, Tobias, gave me that hat many
to death’s door, she didn’t necessarily have to years ago. He was in the Air Force, so moving
step over the threshold. around was part of the deal, but it was tough. I
was only twenty-two years old when we married,
The apples of Sadie’s cheeks liŌed with her smile, and close to my parents and my sisters. I cried for
deepening the wrinkles that framed her eyes. “I weeks aŌer we leŌ the country.” She stared
am. And so are you.” across the water as she spoke.

The convicƟon in Sadie’s voice went straight to “The hat was Tobias’s way of trying to make me
Allison’s core. If only she felt as confident about feel beƩer. It could have been new shoes or a
her odds of survival as this stranger did. preƩy dress for all he was trying to do. Over Ɵme,
though, the hat became more than an accessory. I
“I hope so,” Allison whispered, cringing at the wore it whenever he was away. At first, it remind-
anxiety in her voice. Where had that confident, ed me of him, gave me comfort.” She shrugged,
opƟmisƟc side of her gone? She hated being in a her smile tremulous. “I wore it aŌer all three mis-
constant state of fear and doubt, but she couldn’t carriages, every Ɵme Tobias went away for long
seem to shake it. She’d come out swinging aŌer periods, when melancholy clouded my thoughts
her diagnosis, ready and determined to take on and when I learned there would never be any
the challenge and win. But somewhere along the babies.” Sadie’s voice fell to almost a whisper.
way, fear grabbed hold of her and hadn’t let go. Allison struggled to hear her. “Somewhere along
the way, the hat became a reminder to hold on to
“I know so,” Sadie said with a sharp nod. “I see hope and opƟmism.”
the fear in your eyes, Allison, but beyond it, the
light of hope is sƟll shining. And hope is a power- Allison nodded, a stray tear rolling unchecked
ful weapon. Remember that.” down her cheekbone before absorbing into her
skin.
IrritaƟon rushed over Allison’s skin like a hot rash
as it always did when someone carelessly dangled “It carried me through the fight against breast
hope in front of her. Her lips parted, words of cancer and the death of Tobias,” Sadie conƟnued.
rebuke hot on her tongue, but she remained si- “But in truth, I graduated from training wheels a
lent. She wasn’t angry with Sadie; she was afraid long Ɵme ago. I don’t need the hat. I wore it to-
to hope. day out of nostalgia aŌer I found it packed away
in a box with some other long-forgoƩen treas-
“I’m not blowing smoke up your ass, as the saying ures.”
goes,” Sadie said with a crooked smile. “I would
not treat your situaƟon with such irreverence. Sadie placed one hand over Allison’s folded hands
I’ve been a vicƟm of fear more than once in my and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I’d like to give
eighty-two years. I’m familiar with the defeaƟng you the hat.”
power of fear as well as the strength of hope.
Everyone needs hope. When you lose hope, you Allison shook her head. “I can’t keep it, it’s special
lose everything.” to you.”

Allison shivered and raised the collar of her coat Sadie smiled. “That’s exactly why I want you to
against the back of her neck. How many Ɵmes have it. It will be special to you, too. And when
had her husband and mother said the same you wear this hat, I want you to remember one
thing? thing.”

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Adelaide Magazine

Allison looked down at Sadie’s hand sƟll resƟng same thing with the ear of a worn, stuffed bunny
on her own before saying, “Hope.” when she was a child.

“Yes. Hope.” “Allison Walker,” a nurse announced, holding a
clipboard as her eyes searched the waiƟng room.
Allison didn’t know she was crying unƟl the tears
landed on the back of Sadie’s beige gloves. Allison met Jacob’s gaze. “Here we go,” she whis-
pered, squeezing Jacob’s hand.
“Keep the hat,” Sadie whispered.
With every step, Allison’s heart raced, her palms
Allison swiped her fingers across her cheeks and began to sweat, her stomach fluƩered and the
raised her eyes to meet Sadie’s gaze. “Okay.” nerves in her fingers Ɵngled. Just like that, her
resolve to be posiƟve and strong melted away.
“Good.” Sadie pulled a piece of paper and pen But by the Ɵme they were seated in the doctor’s
from her clutch and wrote down her number then office, Allison realized it wasn’t all fear she was
handed it to Allison. “As fellow warriors against feeling. There was excitement and hope mixed in
cancer, we’re bonded now. Call me when you feel the tangle of emoƟons.
up to joining me for some tea and scones. I make
sinfully delicious apple-cinnamon scones.” She Jacob and Allison sat in the chairs facing the doc-
stood slowly, her joints cracking and popping on tor’s desk, holding hands as they waited for Dr.
the ascent. “I have an appointment and my driver Zhen to come in. Jacob gave Allison’s hand a reas-
has probably fallen asleep in the car. But I’ll ex- suring squeeze at the sound of the quick knock on
pect to hear from you soon, Allison.” the door before the doctor entered the room.

Allison stayed seated, not quite ready to leave. “Good morning. How are you two doing?” Dr.
She reached for Sadie’s hand. “Thank you. For Zhen asked, her voice as upbeat and confident as
everything. I’m glad we met. I needed this more usual. She took a seat in the high-backed, leather
than you know.” chair behind her desk, her eyes on the papers in
front of her.
Sadie smiled before turning, waving goodbye over
her shoulder as she walked away. “I’ll look for- Allison watched the perfectly coiffed, peƟte wom-
ward to hearing from you.” en whose care she’d been under for many
months, with respect. Dr. Zhen was kind, smart
*** and honest. If anyone could save her life, free her
from the destrucƟon of cancer, it was Dr. Zhen.
Three months later, with the blue hat covering
her short, spiked hair, Allison slid her cold hand Allison released the breath she hadn’t realized
into her husband’s warm palm as they made their she was holding and glanced sideways at Jacob,
way down the hallway at UCSF to Dr. Zhen’s who turned to her and winked.
office, Allison’s oncologist from the beginning.
“Well,” Dr. Zhen said, looking from Jacob to Alli-
They sat near the wall that was almost enƟrely son. Her slow smile liŌed her cheeks and shone in
glass and gazed at the view of the bay, neither of her dark, almond-shaped eyes. “All clear. You did
them speaking. Allison closed her eyes and took it.”
in slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves. She was
about to learn the CA 125 test results. In spite of Jacob raised his face to the ceiling, pressing his
having recovered most of her opƟmisƟc personal- palms against his eyes.
ity and tendency to lean into hope, being inside
the hospital was proving to be more of a chal- “All clear,” Allison whispered, siƫng up straight
lenge to her resolve than she’d anƟcipated. as a board. “I’m clear,” she said louder, looking
into Jacob’s wet eyes.
When she opened her eyes, she smiled at the
reflecƟon in the window of the velour hat Jacob stood, laughing, “Yes, I heard.” He pulled
perched on her head. It was like having Sadie with Allison up into his embrace. “You’re clear, baby.
her, whispering reminders of the power of hope. You’re clear,” he whispered into her ear, pressing
Allison stroked the side of the hat, her fingers his wet cheek against hers.
relishing the soŌ material. She used to do the

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Revista Adelaide

*** About the Author:

As soon as they leŌ the office, Allison pulled out Linda Juliano is the debut author of Cadence
her cell and called Sadie. Over the past few Beach, a romanƟc suspense novel. She also writes
months since she’d met Sadie in the park, the two flash ficƟon and short stories. Her first short fic-
of them had shared several lunches and teas at Ɵon piece, Over The Edge, is available at Literary
Sadie’s beauƟful home in the Sea Cliff neighbor- Juice online magazine. She resides in San Francis-
hood. Their friendship grew quickly, fueled by co, CA, a locaƟon rich with diverse individuals and
what they had in common as well as what they ripe with endless story prompts. You can connect
didn’t. with her on Facebook, TwiƩer, Goodreads and at
LindaJuliano.com.
Sadie had barely finished saying hello when Alli-
son cut in. “I’m clear, Sadie. No more cancer.” Her
voice quivered.

“Oh, darling, of course you are,” Sadie said with-
out missing a beat. “I’m puƫng the keƩle on, so
come on over. Both of you.” Sadie’s voice was
strong, but watery with emoƟon.

“Thank you, Sadie.”

“For what, dear?”

“For the blue hat and everything that came with
it.”

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Adelaide Magazine

THE INTERVIEW

by Ken Puddicombe

As I ate my fried rice, I wondered if I should en- working long hours in sub-zero temperature,
gage him in conversaƟon. Or, would he think I heaving heavy sides of meat. He had to be made
was intruding? of sturdier stuff than his appearance suggested.

I tried breaking the ice. “Are you on lunch?” “Yeah, but I don’t mind. I like the cold.” His face
brightened up when he said this, and it made me
He wore no coat and from what I saw above the think he really meant it.
table, he was dressed in a white long-sleeve shirt,
a small black Ɵe hanging loosely around his neck. He lapsed into silence again, twirling the straw
around, peering through the opening of the Coke
“No,” he said, without looking up. can to see if there was anything leŌ to drink.
Then, he said, as if it were something he desper-
His had been the only table outside the mall with ately wanted to get off his chest, “I need this job
a vacant seat and even aŌer I had received his badly. Lost my last job yesterday.”
permission to sit I wondered whether he would
rather be leŌ alone. I said nothing, hoping he would conƟnue.

His French fries languished in a sea of gravy at the He leaned back in the chair and extracted a pack
boƩom of a paper container and he was of Players and a card of matches from his pocket.
aƩempƟng the delicate job of spearing them with He tore a match off the card and paused with it in
a miniature plasƟc fork no larger than a tooth- mid-air. “You don’ mind if I smoke, do you?”
pick. One aŌer the other, he impaled each mem-
ber of the now sodden porƟon and placed it deli- I told him Not at all. He lit the cigareƩe, fanned
cately in his mouth. the match unƟl the flame was out, and then
dropped it into the Coke can. I heard the sizzle as
He had the preoccupied look of someone who it hit the boƩom.
had just witnessed a terrible accident and could-
n’t get it off his mind. I was curious. “Do you work “What happened on your last job?”
around here?”
He took an extended drag from the cigareƩe and
He looked up from the Coke—he’d just finished said, “It’s a long story.”
the fries, and said, “No, Sir. I’m here for an inter-
view at Food City. Do you work in the mall?” I prompted, “What happened?”

This was encouraging. “Yes, I do, actually. What “It’s hard to explain. Something to do with
do you hope to do at Food City?” starƟng off on the wrong foot and working in the
wrong place with the wrong people?” It sounded
“I’m applying for work in the Meat Department.” like one of those statements teens make in the
form of a quesƟon.
“It can really get cold in there,” I said. Somehow, I
couldn’t picture him with his small, lean frame, I took a closer look at him while he stared at the

132

Revista Adelaide

glow of his cigareƩe. He was young, about seven- “Did you take them on?”
teen or eighteen, and diminuƟve. I was impressed
that he had been considerate enough to ask my “Naw man. Those guys are BIG. One of them try-
permission to smoke. Now, as further evidence of ing Karate on us.” He jerked his head back and
his good manners, he was ƟlƟng his head up, an- forth and made slashing movements with his
gling it to blow the smoke away from me. hands.

“The supermarkets pay well, don’t they?” I said, “That don’ mean nothing, man,” Dino said.
trying to pursue the conversaƟon from another
angle, wanƟng to find out the reason for his de- “These guys are for real, man. You shoudda seen
parture from the last job. them moving around.”

“Yes sir, a lot beƩer than working in one of the “Yeah, but you get them on the ground and all
mall stores, like SƟtches.” that Karate shit don’ mean nothing.” But, before
Carlo could digest this and respond, Dino said,
“Have you ever worked in one of those stores “Hey, you sƟll seeing Angela?” As if the very idea
before?” of having a rumble on the ground invoked some
distant memory of her.
“No…” he shook his head, tapped the ashes into
the paper container, watching them coalesce with “Angela!” Carlo repeated, with a roll of his eyes,
the gravy. But, before he could conƟnue, he shaking his wrist and rotaƟng his head at the
spoƩed someone passing just outside the side same Ɵme. Dino grinned, a wide grin that showed
entrance, and he shouted, “Hey Dino.” a dimple starƟng from the high cheekbone on the
right side of his face and carving its way down to
Dino saw him and came over. “Carlo, what are his jaw. The thought of Angela seemed to sum-
you doing here?” he said, as they gave each other mon an image of indescribable pleasure they had
a high-five. “Are you working, or what?” both shared.

Now, they were both seated at the table, facing “Man, that Angela is something else,” Carlo said.
me. The newcomer appeared to be a few years “I’m geƫng wheels soon. My dad’s loaning me
older. He wore a long overcoat—black with small two thousand dollars to buy it.” I found this
white dots and narrow pin stripes, Italian fashion. amusing. Had the thought of Angela provoked a
And like Carlo, he too had his hair combed back in spontaneous parallel with his desire to buy his
a high muff, fiŌies style: black and slick, almost as own car?
if he had dunked his head in hair gel.
“Yeah?” Dino said. “What are you geƫng?” As he
“Nah man. Got an interview at Food City. Lost my talked, he kept taking covert glances at his reflec-
last job yesterday,” he blurted out, blowing circles Ɵon in the mall door to our right, no doubt look-
into the air through pursed lips. “Do you know ing at his long oval face, trying to perfect the cir-
Tony? He works at A and P too.” cles as he blew smoke into the air. He was good
looking, a young ValenƟno, sharp, well chiselled
“Yeah, your friend, the one you’re always hanging features, the skin of his face a smooth texture, as
around with?” if he had not experienced his first shave.

“Well, we wuz horsing around, spraying one an- “Dunno yet. Have my eyes on a Ford, Tempo or
other with the hose—you know, the one you use something like that. Did you hear what happened
to clean the floor with. Well, the boss caught us, to Tony at school?”
canned both of us, on the spot. Man, was I ever
sorry.” A pause, flick of the ashes into the con- “You mean about the dope? Yeah man, the whole
tainer. “Did you hear ‘bout the rumble at school?” school knows that.”

“You mean the one with the gang from Notre “He and another guy wuz smoking a joint in the
Dame?” john. In walks the Principal. Man, did they ever
ditch it in a hurry. He almost messed his pants
“Yeah man. Bunch of guys come over in cars, pick- that Ɵme.”
ing on us.”

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Adelaide Magazine

Carlo shiŌed in his chair. He was constantly doing “Here,” Blackjacket said, pulling out a bill from his
this to survey the crowd passing by, a relentless hip pocket to overcome the threat to his reputa-
search of faces, as if he were forever trying to Ɵon. “A hundred is all I have.” He waved the note
make a connecƟon. Just a few minutes prior, he in the face of the other two.
and Dino had looked across at the other table
with the four girls, and then they had nodded Dino came to Carlo’s rescue. He fished out two
their heads in mutual appreciaƟon. It was another dimes from his pocket and turned them over to
expression of the silent language they spoke—no Blackjacket who leŌ to pick up the drink in the
words needed, a liŌ of the eyebrows, a smirk, food court.
eyeballs dancing in their sockets, just enough to
communicate the message to each other. All through the conversaƟon, I’d been siƫng
there, sipping my milk, following the discussion
“Have you ever tried it?” Dino said. and trying not to look like an intruder. But, I need
not have worried. From the moment Dino came
“What? You mean smoke dope?” over, to Blackjacket’s arrival, the three of them
had never as much as given me a glance, except
“Yeah.” when Carlo was about to swear at his friend’s
Ɵghƞistedness.
“Man you crazy. My father would kill me if I ever
did. Not that I want to.” I looked at my watch. It was Ɵme for me to get
back. As I silently slipped out of my seat, Carlo
Carlo conƟnued his surveillance. Suddenly, he sat and Blackjacket were sƟll there, talking, eyeing
bolt upright on the bench, his eyes following the the girls, scruƟnizing the crowd flowing in and out
movement of someone heading for the entrance. of the mall. I thought of how boys hadn’t changed
In the rush of the busy entranceway, something much from the Ɵme I was growing up. Back in my
was triggered. The guy turned around and recog- day, we did the same things, pursued the same
nized him instantly. It was uncanny. It made me interests, and longed desperately for the same
wonder: does some supernatural force guide outlets our ever-acƟve hormones demanded.
teens? Do they transmit signals to one another,
something that says: I’m here, come on over and As I headed back to work, I chuckled. In another
join me. fiŌeen minutes, perhaps later, depending on how
prompt he was, I would be meeƟng Carlo, again.
The new guy sauntered over to the table, a ciga-
reƩe held casually in his hand. He wore a black
bomber jacket, his light brown hair hanging loose-
ly around his shoulders.

Carlo greeted the newcomer. “Hey man, buy me a
drink.”

“Gimme the money,” Blackjacket said.

“Eff you man. You can’t buy me a drink?”

Blackjacket pushed his leŌ hand deep into the
pocket of his jeans, pulled out some change,
counted it and placed a quarter and some dimes
on the table. “Gimme twenty cents—this is all I
got.”

Carlo said, “Mother…” and took a hasty glance in
my direcƟon. “…Sucker,” he blurted out. “Where
is the rest of the money?”

“I got a big one, man. Don’ want to break it.”

“Eff you man.”

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Revista Adelaide

About the Author:

Ken Puddicombe is a reƟred CPA who has re-
turned to his love of wriƟng. He’s had arƟcles
published in newspapers along with short stories
in literary magazines. His first novel Racing With
The Rain, published in 2012, was set in pre and
post independent Guyana. It was followed up
by Junta in 2014, set in the Caribbean. His collec-
Ɵon of short stories Down Independence Boule-
vard And Other Stories was published in 2017.

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Adelaide Magazine

ALWAYS LOVE

by Brandon AbboƩ

The old man sat alone and watched the family and fears. These were the lines on the face of
from a distance. If they noƟced, they didn't seem humanity. This was why he came here, for the
to care. Four of them picnicked in the center of stories. Like words on a page, people wove to-
the park, beneath a massive oak near a play- gether into sentences and paragraphs around
ground and a pond. The father’s Ɵe hung loosely picnic tables and pavilions. Together they told
around his neck, his leather loafers and dress tales as real and as true as if he'd lived them him-
socks discarded on a nearby quilt. A shirƩail es- self. The park was beƩer than television, and
caped the back of his slacks as he ran barefoot without commercials.
through the grass and tackled a boy holding a
football. A toddler in a princess dress cheered Despite the overcast condiƟons, the day was
them on, her red curls bouncing as she jumped up warm. The old man was thankful. He was usually
and down. cold. Even now, the brim of his hat sat low to pro-
tect his ears in case the day brought more than a
Clouds were coming. Maybe rain. The old man light breeze. An excited Labrador retriever chased
could feel it in his hands and knees. But across a young runner along a brick path. As the two
the lawn, the father chased his children, unaware outlined the park’s perimeter, the old man out-
of the weather ahead. In the shadows of the oak, lined their narraƟve in his mind. He pictured a
the mother looked on and laughed, at least on puppy bouncing through a suburban backyard, a
the outside. But the old man could imagine her birthday present chasing the birthday boy. Now,
hidden tears as she silently wondered how on years later, the chase conƟnued. But thanks to
earth she would tell them about the tumor and that exceedingly unfair raƟo humans referred to
the treatment and the Ɵme she might have leŌ. as “dog years,” the Labrador was winning the
wrong race. The dog knew that eventually the boy
Pure ficƟon, of course. But weren't most stories? and life would both outrun him. But not today,
In all the seminars, all the interviews, it was the the old man championed. Not today.
one thing everyone always asked him. Where did
he get the ideas for all those stories? The simplici- The breeze kicked up a liƩle. He had forgoƩen his
ty of the answer usually disappointed them. His blanket. He pulled the frayed edges of his cardi-
best ideas came from reality. People were always gan together and looked up at the restless leaves,
trying to rewrite their own lives. SomeƟmes, they considering his own story. SƟll hanging on, he
even believed what they wrote. But reality re- thought. Soon, the leaves would fall, leaving limbs
mained the principle author of our existence. It to ride out the coldest part of the year like skele-
wrote the true stories, the ones we try to change, tons laid bare by the changing seasons. But not
the ones we don’t remember, and the ones we yet. For now, the leaves held fast. Bronze and
can’t forget. crimson, ochre and tan. Days from death, and
they were the height of God’s arƟstry, the true
The emoƟonal evidence of this reality was story of their beauty saved for the final chapter of
all around him. He saw hopes, dreams, struggles,

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Revista Adelaide

life. Was it hard to just let go and driŌ away like None of these stories fit. He considered the task a
that? moment longer. But he suspected she might be a
character he could not write. She simply defied
The clouds, just as his joints had predicted, were invenƟon, which only leŌ one possibility. She was
starƟng to roll in. Between them, rays of light an angel. Not fallen, but sent. Sent to earth to
shoved through the closing curtain, reluctant to light the way and show poor souls like him the
relinquish the stage before their Ɵme was up. The path to Heaven. This must mean he was closer
man closed his eyes and let their remaining than he thought. The picnic basket was a clever
warmth seƩle on his skin. He smiled. He wasn’t subterfuge. It almost threw him. He laughed in
sure how long he had been here. But he knew he spite of himself. Of course, he was being melodra-
didn’t want to leave anyƟme soon. It seemed to maƟc. But he was an old man. He had the right to
the man that the last few hours of daylight cast be melodramaƟc. He simply could not remember
the real truth upon the world, a bronze reality seeing someone so lovely, ever. He wanted to
that the frenzy and harsh light of mid-day man- know her story, her true story. Whoever she was,
aged to obscure. Here, in the cool colors of the wherever she was going, he would follow. But she
sunset, he remembered how beauƟful life could might have to help him off this bench.
be. Then he saw the woman.
Love at first sight was a cliché he'd learned to
She appeared from a line of trees that separated avoid during his freshman year in college, the
the park from the rows of cars beyond. She glided same year he had experienced that very cliché
across the garden with an elegant grace that sug- first hand. Since then, he'd felt love many Ɵmes,
gested some higher status. She did not possess he was certain. SomeƟmes it hurt. SomeƟmes it
the coqueƫsh youthfulness of a college coed or healed. But it was always love. Was this the same
even the aƩracƟve confidence of an ambiƟous thing? Somehow, this felt like more. This feeling
professional. Instead, this woman reinvented floated all by itself. It came in waves and crashed
beauty with a rare refinement that could only into his soul. He sat on his bench, stunned, in-
come with Ɵme. Her hair was silver silk, pinned trigued, and smiƩen. When she began walking
up at the sides and flowing free across her back toward him, his breath leŌ him.
and shoulders. Grey hair is the crown of glory.
Where had he read that? He couldn’t remember. He told himself not to say anything stupid. Re-
Her slender frame was feminine, yet strong. Her member to smile, and try not to make any
sundress, casual by design, fit like a formal gown strange noises. His hands sƟll ached, but he re-
at an evening gala. The words of Lord Byron ech- fused to fidget.
oed down the halls of his ancient memory. She
walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes “Hello,” she said. Her arms held the wicker bas-
and starry skies. ket, but her eyes held the man’s aƩenƟon. They
were hazel, with flecks of green. She was a vision.
He watched her, trying on story aŌer story in his
mind. In one version, she traveled as a member of “Hello, yourself,” he answered. Be calm. Be
the Royal Family, lesser-known, but equally regal. charming.
On holiday across the pond and desperate for a
few minutes of bloody solitude, she abandoned “Would you mind if I sat down?”
her security detail by the Rolls and worked to
blend in among the unsuspecƟng yanks. No, too “Please.” He tried to stand, but his knees would-
pretenƟous. In his second draŌ, he saw her as an n’t work.
heiress to some great American fortune. Banking?
Or industrial manufacturing –- aircraŌ for military “No. Don’t get up,” she pleaded. He was immedi-
contracts, perhaps. A walk in the park was a risky ately infatuated with her soŌ voice and the small
but rewarding way of seeking refuge from the lines in the corners of her eyes when she smiled.
pervasive paparazzi and the burdens of an inherit- The height of God’s arƟstry. His heart rose to his
ed empire for which she had liƩle interest. All she throat.
wanted was to enjoy a quiet day at the park
among normal people. No. Too predictable. “What’s in the basket?” he blurted, then instantly
regreƩed it. That was exactly the kind of stupid
thing he did not want to say. But her laugh was

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Adelaide Magazine

gentle and without judgment. This made him feel read. When the conversaƟon waned, they turned
a liƩle beƩer. their aƩenƟon to the few people sƟll leŌ in the
park. As they watched, they took turns telling the
“Well, it’s my dinner. But I’m afraid it’s more than stories that played out in front of them. The old
I can eat. Would you like some?” man was not at all surprised to learn that she told
great stories.
He certainly was hungry. But, “No, I couldn’t.”
Eventually, the aŌernoon breeze turned into an
“Please. There’s so much here. I’d be happy to evening chill. The woman asked if he was cold. He
share. But I hope you like turkey.” was. She took out a blanket from the basket and
wrapped him in the warmth of her kindness and
His stomach growled. He couldn't remember the the light scent of her perfume.
last Ɵme he had turkey. “Do you have cheese?”
Did he really just ask that? How embarrassing. “You’re so thoughƞul,” he observed, not for the
first Ɵme. He wanted to keep the conversaƟon
“Yes,” she laughed again. “But only swiss.” She going, to keep her with him a liƩle longer. “So,
held out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. He you’re married?” he asked.
took it without another word. His stomach de-
manded it. AŌer a few challenging moments, he She looked down, taciturn and fixed upon the
managed to unwrap the sandwich and take a bite, napkin in her hands.
which was probably too large. The crunch of ro-
maine leƩuce released hints of black pepper and “I’m sorry,” he offered immediately. “That was
Dijon mustard. This was a great sandwich. forward of me. I apologize.”

As he chewed, he watched the woman unwrap “No. It’s okay,” she said, sƟll working the napkin.
the other items in the basket. He noted the nim- “I don’t mind. Yes, I’m married.”
ble efficiency of her hands. Quick and light, as if
this was something she did every day. Her skin “Would you tell me about your husband?”
bore the badges of age and hard work but also
conveyed an uncommon care for appearance. Her “Well,” the woman sighed. “He is a truly great
nails, not long, were polished and uniform. Her man.”
jewelry was simple, a small watch, a charm brace-
let, and a solitary diamond banded in gold on her “He must be.”
leŌ hand. As the ring glistened in the aŌernoon
sun, that prolific author called Reality summoned She laughed. “Oh, he was great long before I
clouds of defeat and rained on the old man’s pa- came along.” She watched the family of four pack
rade. Disappointment washed over him. What a up toys and quilts. “It was always just us. We nev-
fool he had been. Certainly, a woman like this er had children,” she admiƩed. “But I never felt
would be spoken for. He replayed the last few alone.” She looked at him then, as if making a
minutes, hoping he had not offended her in any point. “Forty-three years, and he was always
way. there for me." She paused for a moment, absently
rubbing a faint scar below the crease of her neck.
Pushing away embarrassment, the man resigned "We've been through so much. Even when all he
himself to seƩle for nothing more than her pleas- could do was hold my hand, he did.”
ant company and a tasty sandwich. As he swal-
lowed his turkey and his pride, he couldn’t help The man felt the impulse to reach out and take
but think about her husband. What was his story? her hand then, but he didn’t. She conƟnued. “He
One thing was for certain, he must be the luckiest is kind and funny. He loves to make up stories
man alive. about people he doesn’t even know.” She
laughed. “He's a writer. Well, he’s reƟred now, of
As the first hint of darkness crept along the edges course. We come here together, you know? To
of the park, the two sat on the bench and fell into watch the people.”
easy conversaƟon, like lifelong friends. They
talked about favorite foods and changing seasons, “Is that right?”
about good books and authors they had both
“Yes. Almost every day.” She put down the napkin

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Revista Adelaide

and stopped talking. He knew he shouldn’t ask his with them. Alone now in the park, the man and
next quesƟon. But he truly wanted to know. the woman watched as glorious colors fell from
the sky, leaves like the final pages of the most
“Where is he now?” beauƟful story ever wriƩen. As the man watched
them driŌ down, he was glad they finally found
The woman looked away as a tear rolled along the courage to let go. As the sun seƩled beyond
the contour of her perfect cheekbone. He knew the horizon, he held his wife and marveled aloud.
he shouldn’t have asked. “What a great story.” He couldn't have wriƩen it
beƩer himself.
“He is not well,” she almost whispered.
About the Author:
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. Then he added, “Listen, I
hope he gets beƩer.” Brandon AbboƩ works as a minister in Nashville,
TN where he lives with his wife and three chil-
For a moment, she didn’t respond. “I'm sorry. This dren. Raised in rural Alabama, Brandon enjoys
is a difficult season. It’s just hard to watch him go exploring the complexiƟes of the South's "simple"
through it.” people. His works have appeared recently in Fron-
Ɵer Tales and The Eunoia Review.
“But, he will get beƩer?”

She bit her lip and shook her head back and forth.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She broke down then. May-
be he understood what she meant. It was hurƟng
him to watch her go through this, too. Without
thinking, he took his arm from under the blanket
and pulled her close to him. Then, realizing what
he'd done, he tensed. But she didn't protest. In-
stead, she laid her head on his shoulder and
sobbed.

Minutes passed like that, him holding her. Even-
tually, the blanket fell away. Only then did he
noƟce the ring on his own hand. A cloud of confu-
sion covered him. It was a familiar feeling, a haze
that followed him constantly. But when he looked
at her, a sudden ray of clarity broke through his
clouded memory. He drew a sharp breath. His lip
quivered and his own eyes filled with tears. He
was a child then. Scared to ask, but scared not to
ask.

“Is it -- me? Am I your husband?”

The woman placed her hand, the one with the
ring, on his wet face and caressed his cheek. Her
forehead touching his, she nodded up and down.
Yes.

“Oh, I was hoping it was me.” How he loved this
woman.

For a few minutes longer, the two sat together on
the park bench, like two words punctuated by the
reality of hopes, dreams, struggles, and fears.
Trees in transiƟon lined the horizon in silhoueƩe
against a backdrop of pinks, violets, and blues.
The rain, it seemed, was all talk, which was fine

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Adelaide Magazine

WILD THINGS

by ChrisƟna Kapp

Nana’s body had been outside for upwards of “We can take care of you there,” my mother
fiŌeen hours and was parƟally frozen before any- begged.
one found her. Her discovery might have taken
even longer, but one of her ponies pushed tho- “Screw that,” Nana said.
rugh a cracked top rail in the fence and jumped to
freedom in search of his expected dinner. Howev- My mother wanted me to fly up right away
er, when he discovered the barn was closed, he to help with the arrangements so I jammed jeans,
made his way out to the main road where he be- pajamas, and every piece of black clothing I
came something of a horse-in-the-headlights and owned into one bag, my laptop and all my work
was hit by a teenager in a minivan on his way files into another, and booked a flight to Buffalo.
back from a high school basketball game. The
pony, named Chipmunk, suffered a fractured can- Despite the frozen temperatures up north,
non bone. When the local police arrived at the New York City was having a late winter warm
scene, they thought the best thing to do was put spell. I was wearing my winter coat when I leŌ my
the poor creature out of his misery right then and apartment, but by the Ɵme I hobbled to Third
there. It wasn’t unƟl the officer tasked with the Avenue with my bags, sweat was dripping down
pony-killing job went to my grandmother’s farm my back into my underwear. I took my coat off
tell her that she was in some serious trouble for and felt the chill on my damp skin. Had Nana
mismanagement of her animals that he discov- been cold? Could someone have saved her if she
ered that Nana was already on the Rainbow hadn’t been alone? These quesƟons haunted me
Bridge. like ghosts.

My mother called at 5:30 in the morning to The cab that picked me up had seats with no
tell me the whole miserable tale. “They say it springs and I sank into a hole that made my view
looks like a heart aƩack,” she said, sniffling into so low all I could see were the tops of buildings.
the phone. “I knew something like this would Once we got on the FDR, the window was an
happen. It was ridiculous for her to try manage empty square of blue.
everything by herself.”
As I stared at the sky, I imagined that the news of
We all said as much. With Pop gone there her death had been an error. Just a big mistake.
was too much land and too many animals for one Nana had actually run off with the farrier and was
woman to manage. Everyone agreed that the vacaƟoning in a cabin on the Finger Lakes. She
right thing to do was sell the farm and buy her a was taking a trip to Italy. She was visiƟng an
condo in the “55+” community near my mother. friend in California. Any of these things would
The units had vaulted ceilings and gas fireplaces. have been reasonable retribuƟon for having en-
There was a pool. dured Pop’s funeral eighteen months ago. Pop,
her husband of over half a century, had skidded
on some ice coming home from his girlfriend’s

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Revista Adelaide

house and slammed his truck into a tree. Of “No you wouldn’t. Every creature does what is
course we didn’t know Pop had a girlfriend unƟl necessary to survive.”
aŌer he died, but Nana seemed unsurprised when
a middle aged woman with short, maroonish hair “I’d be a herbovore. Flight, not fight.”
and big hoop earrings stood in the back of the
room at the wake and tried to look like she wasn’t She laughed, “You only think so.”
as distraught as she was.
The one Ɵme Nana came to New York, it was to
Maybe Nana had a boyfriend who would show up look for her favorite avian predator, the bald ea-
at her funeral, too. Maybe that’s why she would- gle.
n’t even consider moving to a place more appro-
priate for a septuagenarian widow. It didn’t seem “They’ve been reintroduced in ManhaƩan,” she
likely, but it was possible. claimed. “I read a whole arƟcle about it in Au-
dobon magazine. The Parks Commission says the
My mother refused to entertain these quesƟons DDT and pollutants that used to contaminate the
and occupied herself with excavaƟng the mounds area are preƩy much gone so it’s safe for them
of Nana’s unsorted paperwork and raking togeth- now.”
er an assortment of people to help keep the farm
running. Nana didn’t have much money per se, “Nana, this is New York City. They might have
but the farm and adjoining property was home to some kind of experiement going on somewhere,
five horses (now four with the demise of Chip- but you don’t just see eagles flying around.”
munk) that Nana used to give riding lessons to
local children (who would be devastated to learn She didn’t care. She wanted to look.
of Chipmunk’s fate). She also had two dogs, sev-
eral chickens, an aging donkey named Bruce Lee, I asked around to see if anyone knew anything
and an uncatalogued assortment of cats that no- about eagles in the city, but no one did.
body liked to talk about, all of which were in need
of immediate care. Beyond the barn, immediate “Oh my god,” my friend Krishna said. “Can you
pastures, and main house, there was also a clus- imagine? Eagles swooping down over Central
ter of cabins and outbuildings that consƟtuted Park, plucking liƩle babies out of their strollers
the Tomahawk Hills Summer Camp, which once and flying away?” She curled her fingers into
upon a Ɵme Nana and Pop had founded and run. something resembling talons and bared her teeth.
For the last several years the camp had ben
leased to another family who only came in for the “I think that’s a Ɵger,” I said.
season. They managed the winter operaƟons
from somewhere else. She shrugged. “Whatever. You know there are
zoos for this sort of thing, right?”
This arrangement had given Nana and Pop
enough income to maintain the farm and reƟre At the airport I checked in and juggled my belong-
comfortably. However, with Pop’s death, it also ings through security, puƫng my coat back on
leŌ Nana very much alone. just to have one less thing to carry. Walking down
the concourse, I called my mom to let her know I
We hit some traffic in Queens and from my low was on my way. She didn’t answer, but as I put
seat I watched a bird driŌing in the high thermals. my phone in my pocket, I heard someone call,
I leaned toward the window to get a beƩer look “Hello!” from behind me, and for a second every-
and guessed it was a hawk, but it was hard to tell. thing seemed to Ɵp sideways. I felt a liƩle dizzy.
As I slowed down to get my bearings, I heard the
Nana would have pointed out that the bird was voice again.
circling because it was looking for a kill—
something to eat. She found this kind of thing “Hello! Excuse me! Can you help me?”
reassuring, the natural progression of life.
I started to turn toward the voice, but caught
I told her I’d starve to death if I had to kill my myself and kept moving foward, picking up my
food. pace.

It wasn’t that I was being cold. Or mean-spirited.
It was only that at that moment, in a crowd-
ed airport full of people, I desperately wanted

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Adelaide Magazine

solitude. The person calling me was clearly a sky above the concourse, praying for the universe
stranger, and I was grieving and in no posiƟon to to release me, throw me back into my life like a
help anyone, or at least that’s what I told myself fish caught for sport.
as I acƟvely ignored the voice sƟll calling out for
me. Despite Nana’s claim that we’re all predators, “Where are we?” she asked, jowls raƩling, the
I have always been a flight rather than a fight ani- whites orbs of her eyes exposed.
mal. I’m a horse rather than a dog. A chipmunk as
opposed to a snake. A definite scrurrier. So I scur- No immediate answer came to mind, which threw
ried faster. me as much as the quesƟon. I had no idea what
she meant. What gate? What terminal? What side
Then I heard a scream, and like a yo-yo hiƫng the of security? I didn’t answer her, however, be-
boƩom of a string, I whipped around to face the cause my phone rang. It was my mother. She
other direcƟon and locked eyes with a woman on sounded exasperated.
the ground.
“When does your flight get in? I need you! The
She was old. That was my first and most intense PETA people are here. Bruce Lee has a gash on his
impression of the woman I was now facing, who knee and they’re saying Nana abused these ani-
had fallen and sat sideways on her hip with one mals because they went without food. But she
hand on the ground propping her up, and the died, for Christ’s sake. She can’t feed the animals
other reaching out toward me. I will freely admit if she’s dead. There’s no reasoning with these
that the sight of her dented halo of grey hair and people!”
thin white lips, which were parted in a dramaƟc
freeze, repulsed me. I wanted to turn and run, I started sweaƟng under my coat again and the
but in an instant two kind, concerned men helped woman’s grip on my wrist grew Ɵghter. With the
her back on her feet. A third man picked up her weight of my bags and the woman on my arm, I
cane, a medical-grade thing with four small feet. was starƟng to hunch.
Then the three of them gently and efficiently as-
sisted her in shuffling across the few feet be- “Mom, I’m coming. My flight’s in half an hour. I’ll
tween us. There was nothing to do but watch her be there soon.”
approach, wide and oppressive as a summer
thunderstorm, and pray that the diversion would I slid the phone into my pocket, trying to dispel
not last. the images of frenzied hippies crawling like
dreadlocked rats through the Nana’s barnyard. It
When the men locked her outstretched hand wasn’t necessarily bad that PETA was there. The
around my wrist, they smiled at each other, their animals did need to be cared for, and if PETA peo-
good deed for the day done. Then they wandered ple were going to show up and complain, they
away. might as well get on with the barn work. I
stretched my body upright, trying to break free of
The woman looked up at me and said, “Oh, thank the woman weighing me down. My work bag
god.” slipped from my shoulder and hit the ground
hard. I looked down, worried about my laptop.
She wore an ashen suit and grey shoes with laces
so worn they were fraying at the ends. A red scarf “Where are we?” the woman said again, more
was Ɵed into a lopsided bow around her neck, but slowly this Ɵme, as if I had been ignoring her.
it felt less like a fashion statement than an idenƟ-
fying mark, the way people Ɵe red ribbons on “This is the Delta terminal,” I said.
suitcases in an effort to spot theirs more easily.
With this in mind I searched the faces on the con- She laughed. “Well of course it is, dear. I mean
course for someone looking for a lost person— what city is this? Is this New York?”
she must belong to someone.
I nodded and scanned the concourse again for
“Oh my Goodness,” she said, gripping my wrist. some sign that this woman was aƩached to some-
“Thank you.” one. However, everything looked normal. She
seemed to be alone.
I nodded and again I found myself looking up-
ward, this Ɵme through the skylights at the blue “Oh good,” she said, grinning up at me, adoring as
a cut flower. “Isn’t it exciƟng! New York City!”
Then she pulled me closer and in a hot, composty

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Revista Adelaide

breath she whispered, “I think I may have had a that number was now fixed, finite? It was too
bit of an accident.” soon. There should have been more.

“What?” I heard a shuffling noise behind me. When I
turned around, worried that the woman was tak-
“Can you take me to the ladies’?” ing too long, I saw the red scarf creeping out from
under the stall door.
I have heard that closing your eyes for thirty sec-
onds can relieve stress and anxiety by removing “Oh my God.” I cried, falling to my knees, bags
the need for your brain to process vision. Like in crashing to the floor. “Are you all right?”
summer, when you keep the lights out so you
won’t lose power and the air condiƟoning will There was no sound. The woman didn’t seem to
conƟnue to work. SomeƟmes it works for me. But be moving. I pulled the scarf and it came away
today when I closed my eyes all I saw was Nana in without resistance.
her overalls and camp sweatshirt, old work gloves
on her hands, long grey braids falling over her “Ma’am!”
shoulders. What would she think of all this? I im-
agined her hiding her face behind a People maga- She didn’t respond. There were other women
zine in the Hudson News, laughing at me. I imag- coming and going, using the toilets, washing their
ined the PETA people cradling her chickens like hands. “I need to go get someone,” I said through
babies, clucking at them. the stall door, franƟc. A couple of women looked
at me, nodded, and headed for the exit as though
“Are you all right?” the old woman asked. going to get help. I crouched down reached under
the door for the woman’s hand. It was limp, but
“I can’t,” I said. seemed to be moving; I realized I didn’t know her
name.
“I really need to go!” she said, tugging harder. I
opened my eyes. She was clawing at the hem of “Can you get up?”
her skirt.
“Oh, dear,” she said.
“Okay, fast,” I said. “I’ve got a flight.”
“You have to open the door. Can you open the
When we got to the ladies’ room, She handed me door?”
her purse and cane. I juggled them in my arms.
Silence.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, and closed the stall
door. “Ma’am, my name is Abigail. What’s your name?
Someone is coming to help.”
I turned around to look in the mirror. There were
bags under my eyes—my mother would comment The woman squeezed my hand. “No,” she said.
on these. Again, I felt myself starƟng to sweat and “No help.”
considered puƫng everything down, but I didn’t
want my bags to touch anything. I tried to reimag- Her feet began moving as she tried to push her-
ine the weight as water buckets pulling on my self up inside the stall. Another woman asked if
shoulders. Tried to twist the smell of airport bath- she could get someone to help us, and I said
rooms into the smell of box stalls, turn the pink “please.”
handsoap into the liƩle pots of saddle soap that
lined the windowsills of Nana’s tack room. All I “You have to try to get up,” I said through the
wanted was to remember Nana properly: among door.
hay bales and boƩles of fly spray and bridles
hanging from the wall. I wanted to hear the sound The woman shuffled her feet again, straightening
of her voice echoing through the raŌers above her legs so they extended into the stall to her leŌ.
the stalls. I wanted to watch her rub her hands
with Bag Balm from the green Ɵn. How many “I don’t know what to do,” I said.
Ɵmes had she done this? How was it possible that
“Help me,” she replied.

The sweat was soaking through my shirt, so I took
off my coat and lay it over my bags. My heart was
pounding so hard it hurt. I stood up and pressed

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my hands flat against the door, wishing I had the water. At the edge, children were throwing bits of
will to walk away. Someone would find her. bread to a cluster of ducks. In the nature center,
Someone would help her. I was no hero. I didn’t Nana found a park ranger.
do this sort of thing.
“We want to see an eagle,” she said.
“Help me,” she said again, and it was as though
someone else took over my body. I took both our The ranger chuckled. “Well, you’re welcome to go
purses and shoved them under the parƟƟon into look. There are a few of them around, but they
the stall. I woudn’t fit under, but I thought I could can be hard to spot.”
make it over, so I went into the empty stall next
door, grabbed the top, and lurched myself up, He gave us a map and sent us on a trail that
hoping I wouldn’t kill either of us in the process. wound up a hill through the woods.
“I’m coming.”
“Look for them out over the river,” he advised.
Even before Pop died, Nana slept in a chair in the
living room. It was one of those things no one We hiked through the woods, Nana finding a long
ever talked about. Nana claimed she slept lightly, branch that she used as a walking sƟck. Not that
like the horses, and she was happy there, so we she needed help walking. I think she just liked the
let her be. When she came to visit me to see the feel of the bark in her hands, the swing of its
eagles, she insisted that she do the same and weight as she moved. We searched the trees and
slept in the chair next to my bed. sky, but couldn’t find an eagle. As the sun moved
across the sky, I grew bored, Ɵred, and frustrated
“We need to get up early anyway,” she said. that on Nana’s only trip to New York we were
going to spend the day traipsing around in the
The next morning we took A train to the end of woods in the fringes of a park no one had ever
the line at 206th Street. I’d never been that far heard of.
north before so the city was unfamilar and I was
nervous, as if I were the stranger to the city. Nana “We could go to Soho aŌer this,” I suggested. “I’ll
shamelessly read her Audobon guide and consult- take you out to lunch and we can go to the Earth
ed her map on the subway, ploƫng our course. Room. You’ll love it.”

“The park has a salt marsh,” she said, and alt- “What’s the earth room?”
hough I glanced nervously at the homeless man
with an old shopping bag between his feet siƫng “It’s an art installment. A whole apartment full of
across from us, she conƟnued her lesson. “It’s a earth. It’s really cool.”
Ɵdal basin that fills with salt water, then drains
again. The ecosystems around it are incredible. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed to deepen
You find species that you would never expect in a like she was going to laugh, but she didn’t. She
city like this.” looked sad.

The homeless man tore open a packet of ketchup “Why would a person do that?”
and sucked on it. “I thought we were going to see
the eagles,” I said. I had no idea.

“Well of course that is the big prize, but it looks On the way back down the hill, she stopped and
like there are lots of other interesƟng things to held her walking sƟck across the path in front of
see. We could see an egret, or maybe a falcon. So me. She put a finger to her lips.
many possibiliƟes.”
“Look,” she whispered, and pointed up.
I was worried that we might get lost when we got
off the train, but Inwood Hill Park wasn’t hard to I didn’t see what she was looking at right away.
find. It looked a lot like Central Park, with the usu- The bird blended into the spoƩy light coming
al playgrounds, paths and baseball fields. Nana through the leaves on the trees, but as my eyes
followed her map around the salt marsh, which adjusted I saw a white and grey bird with patches
was a large, muddy expanse parƟally filled with of rust in its wings. Not an eagle, but a hawk
roughtly the size of a football. It sat on a branch
stretching across the path looking at us, twitch-
ing slightly. I had to admit that it was beauƟful,

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Revista Adelaide

majesƟc really, and conceded that I would have barked, and accusaƟons cast. With her pinned
walked right under it had Nana not pointed it out. between me and the parƟƟon, I got the door
Then she giggled. Something had dropped onto open and the the woman and I spilled out, hiƫng
the path. I thought the bird had relieved itself, the floor together as voices hammered like bul-
but Nana said, “Ouch,” and snickered. Clearly I lets against the walls around me.
had missed something. She pointed again. “Bird’s
goƩa eat.” As far as I knew, Nana never knew the the rest of
the story about the eagles because I never told
That’s when I saw it: pinned to the branch with her. I thought it was too sad. Of the original batch
one talon the hawk had a creature—a mouse or a of birds that were brought to Inwood Hill Park,
small rat—and he was dismembering it piece by one got hit by an Amtrak train, breaking a leg. A
piece, dropping the bloody bits he didn’t want on couple of the others took off for the Palisades
the path below. across the river and disappeared. One died. The
rest I had no idea about, although, as the ranger
As I swung my hips across the parƟƟon between said, they were probably around. For all I knew
the stalls and passed the point of no return, I they could have been circling the airport as I sat
thought of the hawk and his lunch. The woman in the security office staring out the window,
sprawled on the floor below looked looked wide- wondering what the officers would decide to do
eyed and terrified, and I felt strangely predatory, with me.
even though I was only trying to help. My arms
trembled from the exerƟon of holding on, but I had missed my flight. Apparently aƩacking an
good or ill, I was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar old lady in a locked toilet stall makes you look
sense of determinaƟon. I had had enough. All I suspicious. It also doesn’t help your case if the
knew was that I had to get this woman up, out of lady starts going on about how you were trying to
this stall, and out of my life one way or another. steal her purse.

“No!” the woman screamed at me as I low- My mother, for one, didn’t understand. It was
ered myself down. As my feet hit the toilet seat, impossible to explain.
she began to move wildly, banging on the stall
doors and making a terrible racket. Her yelling The whole situaƟon got sorted out once a nursing
seemed to aƩract women from everywhere, and home aide claimed her. Apparently the aide had
they knocked on the stall, asking if she was okay, lost her in the shuffle when they disembarked
wanƟng to know what was going on. I stepped off from a flight from Columbus.
the toilet seat and managed to turn around and
straddle her. Then I hooked my arms under hers “I just turned my back for a second. I was talking
and liŌed. She screamed again, leƫng her arms to the aƩendant,” he said, sƟcking his chin out
go limp like an infant. I lost my balance and defensively.
Ɵpped forward. She smacked her head on the
parƟƟon and slipped back down to the floor. I Delta customer service had been about as slow to
was a fury of adrenaline, sweaƟng failure, but re-book me on a new flight as the security officers
there was no choice other than to try again. This were in determining whether I was fit to re-enter
Ɵme I succeeded in hauling her to her feet, where the general populaƟon. While I waited, a man
she started swinging her arms at me, hiƫng me in wearing a rumpled Coors t-shirt and a thick shad-
the chest, in the face, and howling that she was ow of beard approached me.
being aƩacked.
“You’re the woman from the bathroom?” he
“Get out!” she roared. I reached down and picked asked, standing back, as if he wasn’t sure it was
up her purse, thinking that would calm her down, wise to come too close. “I’m Louise’s nephew.
but that only made her more hysterical. She’s been asking where you are. She wants to
see you.” Before he had finished speaking, he was
“Thief! Thief!” she bellowed, and I felt her spit on already starƟng to walk away, and it was clear
my face as her hands drummed my body. that he expected me to stand up and follow him.
When I didn’t, he added, “She’s in the next
When airport security arrived, it was like an room.”
explosion, with fists on metal doors, orders

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Adelaide Magazine

I imagined her siƫng in a chair, her head hanging, About the Author:
hands folded in her lap. I could see her eyelashes
twitching, her lips damp. The color in her cheeks ChrisƟna Kapp's short ficƟon, poetry, and essays
would be faded. The scarf around her neck would have appeared in numerous publicaƟons includ-
be replaced, but unƟed. I would suspect she had ing Limestone, Passages North, Gargoyle,
been sedated and worry about her, telling the DOGZPLOT, Storyscape Journal, PANK, Ander-
man in the Coors t-shirt that she’d hit her head, bo .com, and apt. She teaches at The Writers Cir-
asking if someone had taken a look at it. I would cle Workshops in Summit, NJ. Follow her on
want someone to make sure she was all right. TwiƩer @ChrisƟnaKapp.

The nephew would nod and shrug at the same
Ɵme. He would say, “She’s a tough old bird. A real
fighter.”

And then I would lean in to Louise, poor Louise,
and say, “I have a secret. There are eagles. In the
sky. Bald eagles, with wingspans as long as dining
room tables and nests you could park a Volkswag-
on in. When they take you out, look for them,
because if you keep your eyes up, you just might
see one.”

But I only imagined all of this, because when I
stood up and gathered my things, I turned the
other way down the concourse, heading for my
flight.

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Revista Adelaide

THE ELEVENTH

INCIDENT

by Bruce A. Heap

Writers as we know are an odd lot. Rarely are My session was not the only sparsely populated
they saƟsfied with a work and when they are, place. The hotel was virtually empty this final
they are at the whim of the reader who may or evening. Perhaps I should have taken a late flight,
may not purchase the work. Even when pur- but I actually enjoy staying an extra night and the
chased the reader may or may not enjoy a work prospect of an near empty hotel was quite exhila-
just because the Ɵming is right or wrong. Worse raƟng.
yet they may not understand it or their intellect
may get in the way of enjoying a simple, uncom- I decided to take myself down to the bar and fol-
plicated story. low my long standing, final evening tradiƟon of
treaƟng myself to a very dry marƟni with olives.
W.S Merwin probably summed it up best in his Basil, the bartender was on duty. He made the
poem, Berryman. In revisiƟng his teacher and best marƟnis. On a busy night Basil, pronounced
mentor, John Berryman, Merwin asks him how with a short ‘a’, was too busy to engage in con-
one can be sure that what one writes is any good. versaƟon, but on a night like this he could be very
Berryman, replied that you can’t and if you have chaƩy. I always thought that it should be the
to, don’t write. other way around, but in Basil’s case we engaged
in role reversal as he poured out his sorrows. The
So my advice is to tell plenty of good yarns and subject varied, but on this evening I was listening
hope that a few land. Be true to your own style, to his complicated relaƟonship with his mother in
don’t get hung up on form, and please don’t take law.
a wriƟng class that will do more harm than good.
Always remember that the best criƟc is the read- SomeƟmes I miss not being able to light a ciga-
er who buys your book, not the criƟc who pans reƩe at the bar. A cigareƩe and marƟni always
your book. hit the spot and there was no denying that there
was something sophisƟcated about opening my
And so ended my speech to a less than aƩenƟve gold case, extracƟng an imported turkish blend,
audience. The hotel conference room could easi- and using my lighter embossed with the family
ly sit five hundred. Even with several parƟƟons crest. It has been many years since I smoked and
drawn the less than twenty five aƩendants made frankly I only miss it on rare occasions. Truth be
the room look very empty. Oh, how I miss those told, the smell today would sicken me and the
packed houses. The applause at the end was thought of dining out with smoke in the air is ra-
brief and I received my usual polite laughter aŌer ther repulsive.
delivering my line about not taking a wriƟng class.
The queue for my book signing was much shorter With that thought, I asked Basil for a second mar-
than usual and the sales were way down. Perhaps Ɵni and, aŌer a quick perusal of the menu, or-
it is Ɵme to rethink the lecture circuit, take my dered the Guinness Burger. Cooked medium rare
own advice, and write some good yarns. and eaten with Irish mustard, this burger is the

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Adelaide Magazine

best. A liƩle bit of food lightened the buzz just people that went in to produce the tobacco.
enough to help me clarify my thoughts and roll Were their lives exploited so that I could fantasize
some phrases in my mind for my next short story. an heir of sophisƟcaƟon? For that maƩer, what
about my Guinness Burger and the poor cow that
I never minded listening to people like Basil. lived solely so that I could salivate and enjoy the
Many of my contemporaries find such people red meet with Irish mustard? My point here is
boorish, but I am willing to suffer the boor gra- that the smallest of acƟons may have more of an
ciously in pursuit of new material for my stories. effect than we would typically think. Our simplest
Basil was a nice enough chap and as he praƩled acƟons can, and oŌen do, have a profound effect
on I found that his mother in law may very well on people we may not even know. The story that
serve as a minor character in one of my yarns. I am about to tell never would have come about
had I not stepped off my bar stool and made eye
When Basil took a break, I decided to peruse the contact with my gentleman friend one more Ɵme.
few remaining patrons. I oŌen pracƟced this ex-
ercise in pursuit of a character descripƟon. I But first let’s get back to Basil’s mother in law. I
would survey the area looking for interesƟng fac- came to learn that her name was HarrieƩ. Harri-
es and then describe everything about the person eƩ claimed to be very sickly. Basil felt that it was
in my head. It was just another technique, similar all a ruse as she always seemed to have the ener-
to bore listening, that provided wriƟng inspiraƟon gy to do what she wanted to do, but if she was
and an occasionally interesƟng character. bored then she would feign sickness and reƟre
early. I asked Basil why it maƩered to him how
One gentleman siƫng at a table across the way she behaved and he went on to tell me about her
proved to be interesƟng enough for further explo- deceased husband. Harold, yes Harriot and Harry
raƟon. He was tall and somewhat lanky. He wore (how weird), was nothing short of an athlete. He
a sport jacket over an open necked shirt with kha- competed in all sports in high school, focused on
ki pants. So far nothing unusual, but his fidgety baseball in college, and nearly signed with a New
right hand led me to believe that he was a smok- York Mets farm team. That is why many thought
er. Upon closer inspecƟon, I detected slight wrin- it odd when Harry fell in love with Harriet and
kles around the mouth, perhaps from too many asked her to marry him. Even Harriet’s parents,
puffs. I would say that he was in his forƟes, but and perhaps the problem, were reƟcent to see
looked older than his years. He had a pleasant Harriet married as they were concerned that she
demeanor, but was a liƩle nervous and seemed would not be properly cared for with her weak
more outwardly focused than the meal in front of consƟtuƟon. Harry assured them that he would
him should warrant. dote on Harriet and do everything to make her
happy.
Then the unforgivable happened. My gentleman
friend made eye contact with me as I was observ- To Harry’s credit he kept his word. While he did
ing him and followed with what I interpreted to stay acƟve in sports, Harriet was his absolute pri-
be a curt liƩle nod. I could feel my cheeks flush ority and her condiƟon ruled the household with
red with embarrassment as I returned his nod. never a complaint from Harry. They had one
He then went back to his meal and I decided to daughter, named Sylvia, who would be their only
table my acƟons for the evening. It may have child as Harriet had no intenƟon of going through
been over thinking on my part, but I couldn’t what she called, “that ghastly experience”, again.
help, but wonder if I may have detected the Suffice it to say, that Basil’s wife grew up living
slightest bit of recogniƟon on his part which fur- with a constant reminder that her birth nearly
ther led me to think that maybe I should know killed her mother.
him.
Well, as ironic fate would have it, Harold ever the
I thought about my smoking days again. I had no physical specimen, died of a heart aƩack at the
desire for the nicoƟne, but I did miss the cigareƩe young age of 52 while the sickly Harriet lived on.
in my hand. I missed the cool sophisƟcaƟon of it
all, but as an author I liked to look deep into the Just as an aside, because it really doesn’t maƩer
mundane. What of the many laborers and farm from a character development perspecƟve, Basil’s

148