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The Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York (US), and Lisbon (Portugal). Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. Most of our content comes from unsolicited submissions.
We publish print, digital, and online editions of our magazine twelve times a year. Online edition is updated continuously. There are no charges for reading the magazine online.
Through our imprint Adelaide Books, we publish novels, memoirs, and collections of short stories, poems, and essays by contributing authors of our magazine. We believe that in doing so, we best fulfill the mission outlined in Adelaide Magazine.

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Published by ADELAIDE BOOKS, 2019-09-22 16:33:55

Adelaide Literary Magazine No.28, September 2019

The Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York (US), and Lisbon (Portugal). Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. Most of our content comes from unsolicited submissions.
We publish print, digital, and online editions of our magazine twelve times a year. Online edition is updated continuously. There are no charges for reading the magazine online.
Through our imprint Adelaide Books, we publish novels, memoirs, and collections of short stories, poems, and essays by contributing authors of our magazine. We believe that in doing so, we best fulfill the mission outlined in Adelaide Magazine.

Keywords: fiction,nonfiction,poetry

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 28, September 2019 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 28, Setembro 2019
[email protected]
ISBN-10:1-951214-51-X
ISBN-13:978-1-951214-51-7 MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter-
na onal monthly publica on, based in New York GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Adelaide Books LLC, New York
Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish
quality poetry, fic on, nonfic on, artwork, and CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
photography, as well as interviews, ar cles, and book
reviews, wri en in English and Portuguese. We seek to Rebecca Lee, Christopher Marchesano,
publish outstanding literary fic on, nonfic on, and Blake Rose, Paul Perilli, Titus Green,
poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping Kelley Vick, Joe Ponepinto,
both new, emerging, and established authors reach a JAMES P. JOHNSON, Gordon J. S rling,
wider literary audience. Susie Gharib, David Metz,

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men- Monika R. Martyn, Alex de Cruz, Sandra
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Gould Ford, Frank Bequaert, John
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Kaufmann, Robert Gamer,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objec vo da revista
é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia Mark Mulholland, Max Johansson, Alan
de qualidade assim como entrevistas, ar gos e crí Swyer, Rose Quacker,
cas literárias, escritas em inglês e português.
Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia Christopher Johnson, Harry Ricciardi,
excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que Anita Haas, R. W. Haynes, Edward Lee,
publicamos, ajudan-do os autores novos e emergentes
a a ngir uma audiência literária mais vasta. Laura Roberts, Alex R. Encomienda,
Elizabeth Kilcoyne, Kent Jacobson,
(h p://adelaidemagazine.org) Gayle Compton, Michelle Ashley Gurule,
Ann Zuccardy, Nate Tulay, MIlton Montague,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Derek Nast, Therese White, Fabrice Poussin,
244 Fi h Avenue, Suite D27
New York NY, 10001 Jan Li le, Craig Kennedy,
e-mail: [email protected] Dr. Nathanael O’Reilly, Durgesh Verma,
phone: (917) 477 8984
h p://adelaidebooks.org Patrick Hurley, Ted Witham,
Roseanne Morales, Patrick T. Reardon,
Copyright © 2019 by Adelaide Literary Magazine Laura Dunn, Michael Atkinson, Wally Swist,
Chris ne Tabaka, Veryle Rupp, Cyril Wong,
All rights reserved. No part of this publica on may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without wri Brian C. Felder, Ma Stevenson
en permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-
zine Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-
ta ons embodied in cri cal ar cles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS

EDITOR’S NOTES FOUR DAYS OF RAIN by Anita Haas 135
CHRIS CORLEONE’S SECRET THE FASTEST GUN ON 441
By Stevan V. Nikolic 5 by R. W. Haynes 142
RELIEF by Edward Lee 145
FICTION LECHERY by Alex R. Encomienda 153
SLEIGHT OF HAND by Rebecca Lee 11
PALE ASHES OF BAYONNE NONFICTION
by Christopher Marchesano 13 REDEMPTION by Elizabeth Kilcoyne 159
THE KING OF THE BOOT STOMP GHETTO MONKEYING AROUND WITH GENETICS
by Blake Rose 21 by Gayle Compton 162
PHOTOGRAPHER by Paul Perilli 28 MY FATHER’S FEET by Ann Zuccardy 165
IGOR THE CHANGELING by Titus Green 34 FOR KELLY OF THE KELLY PARADOX
NOISE by Kelley Vick 44 by Nate Tulay 170
THE FACE OF NEED by Joe Ponepinto 50 MOONDOG by MIlton Montague 172
EULOGY by James P. Johnson 59 RAW GOD EXPERIENCE by Derek Nast 174
THE PLATE by Susie Gharib 63 PASSAGES by Therese White 179
A PLACE TO BE by David Metz 68
HONY by Monika R. Martyn 78 POETRY
FALLING UP by Sandra Gould Ford 87 DOOR AJAR by Fabrice Poussin 183
DAILY BREAD by Stan Dryer 93 COULD A LOVER LOVE MY MUSE
WENDA by John Kaufmann 100 by Jan Li le 186
THE CAGE by Robert Gamer 104 LAMP LIGHT by Craig Kennedy 190
A TALE OF TWO BIRDS PROFIT by Dr. Nathanael O’Reilly 192
by Max Johansson 107 RAPID MOVEMENT by Patrick Hurley 194
PATRICIDE by Alan Swyer 109 FRANCIS SEAL OF LOVE
A ROMANTIC TIME AT EAST BEACH by Vi oria Colonna,
by Rose Quacker 116 translated by Ted Witham 198
VALENTINE’S DAY LAUDA XV by Jacapone da Todi,
by Christopher Johnson 124 translated by Ted Witham 200
SHAME by Harry Ricciardi 131 LIFE, INTERRUPTED
by Roseanne Morales 202

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

WORD by Patrick T. Reardon 204
DETACHED by Laura Dunn 207
SURVIVAL BALLAD by Michael Atkinson 209
THE BRIDE by Wally Swist 212
WITHOUT YOU by Ann Chris ne Tabaka 218
GOD’S AT THE NEW YORK BOOKSTORE
by Veryle Rupp 220
MY GRANDMOTHER’S BRIEF INVENTORY OF
UNNATURAL DISASTERS IN SINGAPOR
by Cyril Wong 226
IF ONLY by Brian C. Felder 229
HIBLER by Ma Stevenson 231
WORK OF ART by Valerie Patrick 224
COME TO ME AND LET ME HOLD YOU
by Olivia Du Pont 227
OUR OWN by George Payne 228
TODAY I TRAVELED TO THE PAST
by Jose Manuel SÁNCHEZ 230
LEAVING BUCHAREST by Jules Elleo 233
PICTURE NEGATIVE by Gabrielle Amarosa 234
PROPERTY by Monty Jones 237
POSITIVE by Emily Brumme  241
DRIP by Roger Singer 242
THE DOORS by Kevin Cahill 244
FINGER BY FINGER by Ashley Green 246
ANNIVERSARY by Cathryn Essinger 248
SAVIOR by Donald Illich 252
WORDS UNSPOKEN By Kimberly Crocker 255

4

CHRIS CORLEONE’S SECRET

Michael jumped. It was 5:15 p.m. The train He lived in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It was, at
was arriving in Faro at 5:35 p.m. He had to the me, predominantly a poor working-class
take down his luggage from the overhead Polish neighborhood. His wife worked at the
compartment and prepare to get off the counter in a local Polish butcher shop. Chris
train. The last three hours passed so quickly. never worked, or at least, nobody knew if he
The conversa on he had with Carlos made ever worked. Nobody knew his occupa on
him think about their mutual friend Chris or if he ever had one. Nobody knew what
who died ten years ago. He hadn’t thought schools he finished or if he ever finished any.
about him for many years, but he spent the
whole train ride thinking about Chris. It up- But in the world of an que and rare book
set him that Carlos compared him to Chris. collectors in New York, everybody knew
Chris. That is where Michael met him. He
Chris was a peculiar character. He was was one of the most passionate rare book
in his late for es, with strong, but already collectors Michael had ever met. Of course,
completely gray hair and he was always like all rare book collectors he had his special
unshaven. He looked much older than he field of interest. Chris was obsessed with an-
really was. He was of medium height and
build, with a belly s cking over his waist- que and rare books on occult subjects.
line, and a strong eastern European accent.
He always wore a black worn-out suit and Being a rare books collector is a very
white shirt without a e. Upon first sight, expensive hobby. Very few people have
everybody would think that he was an Or- enough money for it. But somehow Chris
thodox Jew who came to New York from was able to come into possession of some
Russia, but he was Polish, from Gdansk. At of the rare and most expensive tles on the
least, that’s what he was telling people. His subject. In his collec on he had over five
full name was Christopher Antonio Corle- hundred books. Many of them were the
one; nothing Polish about his name. But he only remaining copies of books and that
never bothered explaining the origin of his is another thing about him that nobody
name. For him, there was nothing unusual knew; how was he able to do that?
about being Polish with an Italian name.
However, for Michael personally, the
most fascina ng thing about Chris was that

5

Adelaide Literary Magazine

he never read any of his books. How did Chris put his hand in his pocket, took out a
Michael know that? Well, he was the one roll of hundred-dollar bills bound together
reading them. Chris would o en call him to with a rubber band, counted two thousand
examine books that he wanted. Michael’s and gave it to the dealer.
job was to read through the book and tell
him in short what it was about and why it “It is sold,” he said. He looked at Michael
was significant. Then, Chris would take the saying, “It is yours. Are you happy now?”
book, hold it in his hands, turn it around,
and look at it from all sides, like it was a rare Michael couldn’t believe what Chris just
piece of jewelry. It seemed like he was try- did, but he didn’t refuse it. He really liked
ing to feel the book. Then he would open that book.
it slowly, running his fingers so ly over the
pages, examining illustra ons, some mes, Everybody in the society of bibliophiles
even smelling the paper, and only then in New York knew about the way Chris was
would he decide if he was going to buy it. It examining books. They all believed that he
was a ritual. Michael’s reward was to read had some special ability to sense the au-
books and copy those that he was interest- then city of the books. Occasionally some
ed in. So, it worked well for both of them. really good copies or fake books would be
offered on the market, and dealers, knowing
There were a few mes, Chris gave his ability, would call Chris to give an opin-
books to Michael that he didn’t want, or he ion. Of course, he would always use Michael
would just buy books that Michael wanted to assist him. Chris would take a book in his
for himself. Once, there was this book deal- hands and hold it for a while. If it was fake,
er offering the rare 1881 edi on of Three he would tremble with his hands and some-
Books of Occult Philosophy by Cornelius
Agrippa. They went together to meet the mes with his whole body un l he dropped
dealer. The book, in itself, was insignificant, the book. It was a good enough sign. Re-
if not for the notes in it. Originally, Aleister gardless how many mes experts would try
Crowley owned it and he wrote his notes to prove the opposite, his feeling was always
on the margins of the pages. The dealer right. And nobody knew how he did it.
was offering this book for a very reasonably
price of two thousand dollars. Michael was His unique ability to recognize counter-
really excited about the notes that Crow- feits didn’t stop people from the bibliophil-
ley made in the book. Chris took the book, ic community in New York to make fun of
looked at it for a while and then he said, “I Chris. He was, as they used to say, “rough
don’t want it.” Michael was furious. He told around the edges.” At the regular mee ngs
him, “Chris, these are notes by Crowley. Do in the Grolier club, they were usually dis-
you know how valuable this is?” cussing rare books and the art of bookmak-
ing. Chris was always there, but he would
“I don’t care about Crowley,” Chris said. never say anything. He would just sit in the
He was ready to leave. Michael was holding corner of the room. A er a few hours, he
that book in his hands and he couldn’t be- would look at Michael and say out loud so
lieve what Chris had just said. Then, Chris everybody could hear, “Michael, how can
looked at Michael and asked, “Do you like you listen to these idiots. Let’s go to a bar
it?” He answered, “Yes, of course I like it.” in East Village and find some pussy to fuck.
We’ll learn more from them than from
these mummies.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Michael didn’t know why he liked Chris, “What are you talking about?” Michael
but he did. Chris was nothing like him. asked.
Michael had been researching metaphys-
ics and esoteric teachings for many years. “Michael, it is all here. It is clear. And you
Books that Chris collected were a great are here. You know that you are at the top,
source of knowledge for Michael. For Chris don’t you? You are the King, man. The King!
it was different. Michael didn’t see that as Ha, ha, I knew there was a reason I was
unusual. People collect all kinds of things. hanging out with you.” He was laughing.
There are stamp collectors, coin collectors,
and they don’t spend that much me think- “Chris, I don’t understand a word you
ing about what is behind the things they are saying,” Michael said.
collect. They just like it. So, for Michael, it
was the same with Chris—it was just that “Oh, you know, you know. Listen, I am call-
he collected books. A few mes he asked ing you to tell you I have to go home now. It is
Chris about what it meant for him to have
those books. He knew that Chris wasn’t me for me.”
reading them. Chris would just look at him
and say, “Michael, these books have their “Where are you going? Are you going to
own integrity, their own iden ty. It is not Poland?” Michael asked.
about the words in there. You don’t need
to read these books. Words are there to “No, man, no. I am going home, my true
confuse you. They are just messing around home. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I
with your mind. You have to look beyond am sorry I won’t be with you when you go
words. There is a big secret somewhere in through. But remember, the trick is in the
these books and I am going to find it. And eighth door. It is glass door, the one before
you know that, but you are afraid to admit the last. You will get out on seventh door
it. It is dangerous.”
red and you will see the ninth door through
Well, Michael heard many mes this the glass of the eight. You will think it was
statement from people interested in es- an easy step. But the eighth door is a revolv-
oteric teachings, so he didn’t pay much ing door. If you get there and think about
a en on to these words. In the world of words, you will get caught, and roll around
those searching for a deeper meaning of forever un l your mind gets completely lost.
life, there is always a secret that they are af- Just close your eyes and go straight through.
ter, and it always seems within their reach. Don’t think about words. Remember!”
He thought Chris is just one of those lost
souls trying to find himself. That is to say, he Michael was holding the phone think-
thought that un l one October night nearly ing, ´what just happened?´ Too much polish
ten years ago. vodka, he thought. But he never saw Chris
drunk before. He thought about calling him
* back, but he didn’t. Then he went to sleep.

It was just past midnight when Michael’s *
phone rang. It was Chris. He was very ex-
cited. “Michael, I found it,” he said. “I know Next morning, Michael was in his office al-
the secret.” ready having his second cup of coffee when
the phone rang. It was John Robinson from
the Grolier Club.

“Michael, did you hear about Chris?” he
asked.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“No. What about Chris?” looked at the buzzers. It was supposed to
be apartment 2A, but the name on it wasn’t
“Chris was on the news. He jumped off Corleone. The name was polish: Wojchek.
the roof of his building early this morning.” He pressed the buzzer anyway. The doors
sounded and he pushed them open just
“Chris? You mean Chris Corleone?” Mi- enough to find himself in the dark hallway
chael asked. with just one light bulb working. It was the
kind of building that he would never walk
“Yes, man. Your buddy, he killed himself,” into if he didn’t have to. As he was walking
John said. up the stairs to the second floor, he was
thinking how ironic life was. Chris’s book
Michael couldn’t say anything for a min- collec on was probably worth much more
ute. He was thinking about that phone call than the whole building Chris lived in. He
the night before. walked to the door of the apartment. It was
wide open and he could hear voices.
“Michael, are you there?” John asked.
He walked in. The living room was full
“Yes, I am just shocked. I spoke to him of Polish people whispering. The room was
late last night. He was excited about some- very simple and poorly furnished. The only
thing, but he didn’t sound depressed.” piece of furniture that was s cking out was
a huge wooden book cabinet with ght
“Well, whatever happened, happened. glass doors and the cooling unit next to it
It was unfortunate. He always seemed that was maintaining the temperature and
strange and unstable to me. God knows humidity of the cabinet. Chris’s collec on
what brought him to the edge.” John kept was there.
talking. “But he had a valuable collec on.
Dealers are going to rush there to get what- At the far end of the room four women
ever they can. He was your friend. Maybe were seated on the sofa. The woman seat-
you should help his wife handle it.” ed in the middle was crying while trembling
and talking in Polish to herself. ‘She must
“Yes, yes, of course.” Michael said. But be his wife,’ Michael thought. He felt con-
he was s ll thinking of his words from last fused. He couldn’t say good morning. There
night. He just didn’t know what it was that was nothing good about that morning. He
Chris was talking about. “Yes, I will go to his didn’t know how to start.
home today. I have his address. Thank you
for calling, John.” Then he hung up. “I am a friend of Christopher’s.” Every-
body stopped talking. The woman raised
* her head and looked at him. He will never
forget that look. It was full of hate.
Michael took a cab to Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
He knew where Chris lived, but he had never Then, she screamed at Michael with a
been in Chris’s house. When the cab arrived broken voice, “I know who you are. You are
there, Michael looked at the building with a devil! You came to get my Andrushka’s
surprise. It was not a family house. It was books! Take them! I don’t want them in my
a rundown four-story brownstone building. house! They killed him! They killed my An-
In front of the building on the le side of drushka! You killed him! Get out! Get out!”
the entrance there was s ll yellow police
tape around the spot where Chris fell. That
part of the sidewalk was covered with blue
plas c. Michael walked to the entrance and

8

Revista Literária Adelaide

Michael was standing there not know- that. He always seemed very stable and full
ing what to say. He didn’t know why she of life.”
was calling Chris, “Andrushka.” He didn’t
know why she was referring to him as a “Mister Nicolau, it is kind of you to say
devil. Then, an older man in his six es ap- that, but there is no need. Chris was a trou-
proached Michael. bled man. It is tragic to say this, but maybe
Lena will have some peace now.”
“You are Michael Nicolau, aren’t you?”
he asked. Michael didn’t expect a comment like
this. He didn’t know how to answer. Then
“Yes, I am,” Michael answered. he looked at the book. He recognized it. He
was with Chris when he bought it. It was
“Chris was telling me about you. Come a good buy. It was Gabriel Rolenhagen’s,
with me into the next room.” He pulled Mi- Selectorum Emblematum Centuria Secun-
chael to a bedroom. It was the only other da from 1613. Original edi on, very rare.
room in the apartment. A queen size bed, It was open on the page with one of Mi-
wardrobe closet, two night tables and a chael’s favorite emblems, called “In se sue
chair were the only furniture in the bed- per ves gia volvitur.”
room. A big crucifix hung on the wall over
the bed and a wedding picture on the op- “And you say he was reading this book
posite wall. The bed was s ll not made and all night?” Michael asked.
there was an open book on one side of the
bed. “Reading?” Man asked, surprised. “No,
Sir. He was staring at this picture all night.
“Mister Nicolau, please forgive my sis- Chris didn’t know how to read or write.
ter. Lena is s ll in shock. We all are. We are He was illiterate. He and Lena came from
all trying to understand,” the man said. the small village near Gdansk thirty years
ago. He never went to school. Chris signed
“But what happened? Can you tell me, his ci zenship papers with the print of his
please?” Michael asked. palm. But he never wanted anybody to
know that, especially not your rich friends.
“Well, he was si ng all night in the bed He always wanted to be different. He came
with this book that is s ll here.” He point- here as Andrey Wojchek. At the beginning,
ed at the open book on the bed. “And this things were okay. But then he started with
morning, around six, when Lena woke up to these books. Nobody knew why. Then he
get ready for work, he was s ll in the same legally changed his name. When I asked
posi on, si ng with the book. She went to him why, he yelled at me that it was his
the bathroom and when she came back, he true name. He tried to work different jobs,
wasn’t here. Then she heard screams from but he could never hold to them for more
the street. She looked through the window than a month or two. Most of the me
and she saw him lying on the sidewalk in his they were living of Lena’s paycheck from
pajamas in a pool of blood. Witnesses who week to week. Any money that he would
saw him told police that he just walked off get, he was spending on books. When he
the roof. He didn’t jump. He just walked off. had no money, he was borrowing around
Nobody knows why.” un l he couldn’t borrow anymore. Then
he would sell some of his books, repay a
“I am so sorry,” Michael said. “I never
thought that Chris would do anything like

9

Adelaide Literary Magazine

li le bit of debt and buy more books and There was enough money le for her to put
then he would borrow again. It was a vi- her life together.
cious circle, a nightmare. If I could only tell
you how many mes they were evicted A year later, Michael stopped by the
from apartments from not paying rent, or butcher shop she was working in to say hel-
how many mes the electricity or phone lo, but she didn’t want to talk to him. She
was cut off, you wouldn’t believe it, Sir. just turned her face. Michael walked out.
And now, Lena doesn’t have money even He never saw her again.
for a funeral and he le her with so much
debt.” Soon a er, Michael got divorced. To set-
tle with his ex-wife, he sold his own book
Michael looked at him trying to under- collec on to a book collector in Iceland. In
stand if they were talking about the same turn, the buyer donated his collec on to
man. But again, many things about Chris the local library under the condi on that
were becoming clearer to him, many de- all of the books always stay together cata-
tails that he didn’t pay a en on to before. logued under the name “Michael Nicolau
But the fact that one of the most passion- Library.” The buyer was a man who respect-
ate rare book collectors in New York was ed Michael’s work in the field of esoteric
actually illiterate was mindboggling to him. sciences and he wanted to honor Michael
How could he not see that in all those years with this gesture. On other hand, Michael
he spent with Chris? was pleased that his work would be re-
membered and preserved somewhere.
In the following days, Michael helped That was the end of Michael’s an que book
Lena’s brother sell Chris’s book collec on collec ng career. He never went back to the
to a Madison Avenue Rare Book Dealer. Grolier Club.
He even included books that Chris gave to
him—even the one with Crowley’s notes. He forgot about Chris almost all togeth-
er. Life went on. He worked in publishing
Lena got enough money to pay for the with ups and downs, but at least, he was
funeral and pay back all of Chris’s debts. working with books.

10

SLEIGHT OF HAND

by Rebecca Lee

In the light between blinds, my eyes stare a bed with Star Wars sheets despite the fact
into the neighbor’s window. All I see is my he is also 15. There is no art. There are no
reflec on. Blue eyes, thin face, blond hair posters of bikini-clad women. Instead, he
to my chest. I am wai ng for the me when sits at his desk and draws.
it is dark enough to turn off the lights so I
can see into the other house. This is a boy with one eyebrow, a mis-
matched jaw and acne. He is quiet, but his
He is the boy with brown eyes. I catch him presence is known. He doesn’t chase a er
staring at me from his garden, but he never the pre y girls and I’ve never seen him lin-
says hello. God told him he was ugly and I gering by my locker.
wouldn’t want him watching. Now he’s ob-
sessed with beauty. The 10th grade female Boys tell me they want me, but they tell
teaching assistant with the li le girl voice. my friends the same thing. I watch them try
Anime characters half human/half cat. Flut- to put down other girls so that they can be
ists with ny, nimble fingers. These are the the deciders. I hate those boys, but I don’t
things that all boys want. Whether they want say anything. I’m lucky to be considered
them or to be them, I can never figure it out. beau ful.

My fingers have small silver rings that On the bus, I watch as my neighbor sits
have been lodged there since I was 8. If I down. He carries his drawing pad separate
wanted to take them off, I’m not sure I from his backpack. In profile, his pants hov-
could. Instead, I tap them against a glass er just above his sneakers. His shirts are
surface whenever I’m annoyed. Their irrita- bizarrely pastel. When the other boys sit
at the back of the bus, they throw things
on seems quaint. in hopes of hi ng him. He stares out the
window, le ng his drawing book slip and I
I like the ugly. The long noses and the always think about taking it.
obese flesh that stands out farther than it
should. It’s imposing and hard to look away. Drawings of beasts with mul ple heads
or three toed animals, I imagined. Maybe a
The boy next door looks away all the half decomposed bird or a hand with vari-
me. He hides in his house, not talking to cose veins was sketched in detail for hours.
anyone, but at night he will turn on his light. I was certain he was fascina ng in a way
Illuminated by a golden space, his room that others weren’t. I was sure his drawings
s cks out as stark. There are a few ac on would show me.
figures on a shelf behind his desk. There is

11

Adelaide Literary Magazine

One a ernoon on the bus ride home, the bus, ripped along jagged lines. The per-
the boy was pushed out of his seat. Clum- fectly round head of the spoon was severed
sily grasping for whatever he could, there completely from its body. Only the length
was nothing for him to hold on to. His back- of a spoon, skinny, but headless, remained
pack collapsed against the seat opposite inside his book.
him while his sketchbook fell to the floor.
I shoved the book back toward his back-
On the very first page was a drawing of pack and folded the spoon head into small-
a spoon. Its shape was bulbous, yet slender. er and smaller squares.
The boy tried to stand up, but fell down
again. This me he landed in someone’s From the light between my bedroom
lap. I took the page and without even think- blinds, I wonder if he’s sketching my reflec-
ing, ripped it off the coil.
on or just another piece of silverware. The
Except it didn’t come out. Not all the headless spoon, deformed and slighted,
way. The page, now my loudest sound on seems as useless as it is shiny.

About the Author:

Rebecca Lee has published in a variety of journals and magazines. Some of her publica ons
include: Able Muse, Cleaver Magazine and Existere Journal. Her essay, The Rules of
Engagement, was listed under notable essays in the latest version of The Best American
Essays anthology.

12

PALE ASHES OF
BAYONNE

by Christopher Marchesano

The last casino I was booted from didn’t “You told me.”
even bother asking about my father. No
one seemed to no ce the other rundown “The best version of the play the Bay-
creature slinking beside me either, who onne Community Theater ever seen. That’s
held a be ng slip that’d been exchanged fact. It was in the paper back then.”
for every cent of my ny inheritance. When
I asked the security officer to hold my fa- “But it sounds like Hamlet. Like a re-
ther as I zipped my jacket, he coughed up venge tale.”
a bit in his mouth. He had no desire to deal
with — what did he call me, again? — okay, “I don’t know.” I waved him off. “I can’t
yes, a deluded creep. Just like all the oth- understand Shakespeare. So much dumb
ers supposedly, with a rehearsed rant and Bri sh talk, absolutely no explosions. I
a joke of a des ny. Everything would be heard he just made up words.”
belly-up by morning, he yelled at a safe
distance — my des ny and delusions and I could’ve easily slapped the drunk for
high-flying buzz. the look on his face, but I needed him at
the moment. “All I know,” I said, “is that my
A erwards, I bought the shambling man father made Macbeth come alive in New
his vodka. He handed me the cket, which Jersey. Ask my mother. My guess — he was
I put with the others in my breast pocket. probably a be er Macbeth than the old Jer-
sey in England ever cranked out too. Cried
“So this is like a revenge thing?” at all the right moments. He even got naked
one scene, weeping naked and giving a fa-
“No,” I said. mous speech.”

“Sounds like Hamlet.” He shrugged, “Very bold,” the man said in his crotch-
clutched his stomach briefly, then emp ed ety way.
the clear liquid into himself with no resis-
tance. “I don’t think nudity is in the original
play. He was just an understudy first. Can
“I don’t know that one. But my father you believe that? The Bayonne Bugler called
played Macbeth.” him a ‘man possessed,’ and ‘transcendent.’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

That means goosebumps, y’know? He was The drunk gave me a look. “You don’t
special, and he should have a memorial. have a fireplace, do you?”
That’s my goal. One of those bronze heads
on a pla orm.” “A er I cash in these ckets, I’ll have
plenty of money for a fireplace. And a
“A bust, you mean. Like Caesar. Hey, personal trainer. And an ac ng coach. An
now that’s a revenge tale.” agent.”

“My father didn’t deserve to spend his The man watched the moth bounce
whole life on Berth 52.” against the brightness, swaying slightly, his
lips wet. His own strange calmness pulled
“Place you work now?” We watched a me and as he shuffled away, I followed,
moth ba er the lamppost outside the li- down drowsy streets li ered with scurrying
quor store. things. It all felt a whole galaxy away from
the gli ering casinos s ll somehow above
“Not forever,” I said. “I’m going to finish us.
what he started.”
I called a er him and asked, “You want
“How is this not a revenge thing?” to go to the Superbowl tomorrow?”

I placed my hand on his boneless shoul- “No.” He didn’t even turn around. “Plus,
der. “I’m going to be an actor. Just like him, the game is 600 miles from New Jersey. It’s
but without the methadone obviously.” too late to hitch.”

“But you don’t even know Hamlet.” “I have a car.”

“My father didn’t know Macbeth.” I grabbed the man before he could dis-
appear inside a crumbling tavern blinking
“Right, something about sa sfying pro- neon signs. In the doorway, a woman carry-
ba on requirements, community service…” ing a city map of deep wrinkles on her face
greeted the drunk as Ordell. They shared a
“I’m more of an ac on star anyway. cigare e and then some jab at me or my
Gym, six days a week. Four percent body father’s expense.
fat. Perfect symmetry.” I placed my father
down and flexed both biceps to prove my “I have a plan,” I said, entering their
point. He spit between his feet and nod- shared umbrella of light beneath the met-
ded. “Talent is there, it’s just about ge ng al awning. “I already promised you money,
no ced. I need to put eyes on me. But first, didn’t I? I’m not crazy.”
my father deserves—”
The drunk sniffled and grabbed the
“Just put him on the mantle above the woman’s wrist when she pawed at my fa-
fireplace,” the man reached out to toe the ther as a nasty counterpoint.
urn before deciding against it.
“Easy, Sheila,” Ordell sighed. He dug into
I laughed and waited for him to join in. his pockets for poker chips, which set Shei-
He didn’t. “You think Arnold Schwarzeneg- la’s blistered cheeks gleefully twitching. “I
ger or Vin Diesel will spend eternity on skimmed them off a waitress’ tray during
some shelf?” your scene. You don’t get a cut.”

“What?” “What scene?”

“Fine. Who’s a big Shakespeare person?”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

His laugh was crunching gravel. “The full story of his life. And some of those peo-
one where the chef had to explain why he ple got famous too. They became saints,
wouldn’t serve the dustbin a bone-in rib- which are like religious celebri es. They got
eye.” painted and put into stained glass, which
were like magazines in those days.
“That’s my father you’re insul ng.” I
forced eye contact. “All those idiots were martyred,” Ordell
said. “Stoned, beheaded, Peter was cruci-
“Your pop is the inside of a vacuum fied upside down.”
cleaner.”
“But we’re s ll talking about them,” I said.
“Go on and laugh. But I didn’t get a
chance to have a nice dinner with him. No “Your father was a longshoreman. He’s
goodbyes. I didn’t even know he died un l not Jesus.”
the county called me to pick-up his ashes.
He’d been sick so long, I missed that he was “My dad was Macbeth, who was a king
really sick.” too,” I corrected him.

“Life’ll kill you,” Ordell said like a church Inside the bar, Ordell brought highball
preacher, cigare e dangling from his lips. glasses of vodka to his face with two trem-
bling hands. I paid for his drinks and my
“What killed him was hiding. Hidden ginger ale. The bartender made me keep
away in all the bad luck that made him my father by my feet. Vintage pornography
seem like he was always dying. But he de- played muted on the lone television, and
served be er than what life gave him. I’m for a long while, the bar was silent outside
doing what I can to get him some posthu- of Sheila’s mumbling about old smells and
merous dignity.” grooming habits.

The drunk started to count the stars “So, you bought your dead father Super
above us. He shushed me. I waited, my Bowl ckets?” Ordell asked.
throat burning. I needed to talk. Mostly
because I didn’t feel ashamed when I was “I won ckets from ‘The Possum.’”
in the middle of talking about my father.
Sharing those fragments of his life I knew, Ordell turned, “that your dealer?”
I didn’t feel guilty or embarrassed of those
large chunks of his life that I didn’t know on “New Jersey’s only golden oldie trip
purpose. Moments I was only familiar with down memory lane,” I used the same bari-
because other people whispered them. tone as the promo guy. “I call in every day
There were a lot of gaps in Jesus’ life too. for a chance to win a grand. Never got
I think I said this out loud because Ordell through once. When I called that morning
showed me all his top teeth in neither a and won, I didn’t even know my father was
smile or frown. So I said it again, and it’s dead yet. You know what they call that?”
true — it didn’t stop Jesus’ friends from
hitchhiking around Rome and going to Chi- “Divine interven on?”
na and cha ng him up to strangers. They
knew he was special, even if most other I snorted in agreement despite my con-
people didn’t, even if they didn’t have the fusion. “He’s up there pulling strings.”

“These prop bets are you seizing your
des ny then,” Ordell said with certain tone.
He tapped the lip of his glass for a refill and

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

didn’t drink un l I laid down a bill on the rals and deltoids, as well as make it difficult
bartop. to be wrestled down. A er last summer’s
mess at that karaoke bar in Wildwood, I had
“I’m not going to unload cargo ships for- no fear of being tasered by police.
ever.”
No one was going to catch me un l I was
Ordell rubbed his face, mumbling, look- ready to be caught. I would be arrested.
ing like he was searching back to some The next morning, they would talk about
moment long ago when he didn’t have a me on sports radio. People would search
permanent headache. He whispered, “ten for my name. They would forget the score
thousand dollars spread out over seven of the game before they forgot my chase
casinos, all on a damn fi een to one bet. scene. Maybe, I’d be cast in ac on roles
Whether a streaker will interrupt the Su- right away. Perhaps, I’d do stunt work first.
perbowl...” That would be up to my agent. I had also
trained the muscles in my face, prepared
“It’s the only bet I know I’ll win.” for my mug shot in the mirror. I perfected
how to smile confidently, not showing an
“Pay a stranger to place the bets. You’ll ounce of bad emo on. I would always be
need someone to cash them out too. You’re handsome and in control. Worst case, I’d
an idiot but not as slow as I figured.” He start on a reality show.
smacked the bartop with a palm. “A streaker.”
We drove out that night, with Ordell
“It’s me. I’m the streaker.” snoring against the passenger window. I
asked if he wanted to borrow my phone to
“Yeah, no shit.” call any family before leaving. He said he
only wanted $15,000 to cash in the ckets.
“My first performance. That’s how I’m He didn’t thank me when I agreed. He only
thinking of it. An homage — that’s French cried into his hands for a long me. I knew I
— in front of all those people. The lights only needed a few thousand for the bust and
and cameras. Eat your heart out Shake- a nice stand and a dona on to the Bayonne
speare, eh?” Community Theater to grease some palms.

He coughed bile while I smiled and Lights smeared against the darkness. Ev-
kissed my fingers and transferred my love erything was quiet except for my head. My
to the lid’s metal finial between my feet. father was in there s ll — not with words
or feelings or even memories. He was just
The plan was simple. One hundred mil- there, like a railroad switchman, rerou ng
lion people would see me naked — sprint- all thoughts back to him. I wish he’d stop.
ing across midfield in the exact cape my He was making me feel guilty and lousy. I
father wore on stage decades ago. It was hoped he’d stop when his face became per-
a reddish color called scarlet and it s ll manent in shiny gold, when he would re-
smelled like him. I would donate it once I turn to the theater and got the recogni on
got famous. I was lean and shaved with no he deserved.
tan lines. I was currently in a sweet spot
between Anadrol cycles with perfect vascu- By the end, he didn’t even know his
larity. My chest would be greased, just like name. He forgot my name too, even though
Arnold’s final fight scene in Conan the Bar-
barian. This would serve two purposes: to
accentuate the musculature of my pecto-

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Revista Literária Adelaide

it was his name. He remembered Raymond I know that when they finally got my fa-
Duluth’s name though. Even a er his ‘de- ther down from the crane, the blood from
mons’ took his body and good looks and under the crate had dried and turned dirty
ate away his teeth and turned his hands so brown. For some reason, the sight of it
ji ery that his seniority was stripped and made my dad want to get naked. Just strip
he was kicked out of the cranes. Forced off his vest and helmet and pants and do
to work the crappy cruise ships with the God-knows-what. Probably jump off the
handicapped and parolees. Even a er he docks because a lot of guys had to stop him
couldn’t remember being Macbeth; looking from doing just that. He was screaming, but
blankly at old clippings and photographs not saying many words.
singing his praises; reading over a le er
cheering his performance wri en by a Bay- The disability was bad for him. He had
onne na ve named Frank Langella, an actor me to get arrested. I was a baby and taken
himself, who would later play Skeletor and away by my mother at that point. That was
Richard Nixon. Squin ng, my father would bad too, I imagine. But Shakespeare was
say, “who’s this about?” And when his lungs good for him. A er a few collars, instead
went, and the facility in Poughkeepsie re- of si ng in jail, a judge let my father work
fused another clean-up a empt despite his in the theater. Fix it up like construc on
good insurance, then he forgot everything work. That’s how he first learned about
but Raymond Duluth. And he said his name Macbeth. I was told he only audi oned in
so much, I silenced every call from him for the hopes of sleeping with the lady play-
the last two years. He probably died whis- ing Witch #3. I don’t know if he succeeded
pering about Raymond Duluth. I know for a though.
fact he was signing Raymond’s name for his
own UPS packages at the end. He had so much talent, but he went
back to the port when the union called.
Awake and staring at me, Ordell asks, You always hear of actors going to places
“who’s Raymond Duluth?” like London or Los Angeles. Why did he stay
in Bayonne? He turned down more parts
And I tell him. Tell the story I heard at in plays in Hoboken and New Brunswick.
least. Declined some fancy ac ng school in Mid-
town. If he wasn’t my father, I’d be furious
That Raymond wasn’t even 20, just like with him. That’s the truth.
my father. And that he shouldn’t have been
standing there — even if he was s ll train- It’s a sin, an actual sin, to waste away on
ing and green. Just common sense. I don’t Berth 52 knowing he had all this talent just
want to hear about how loud it gets down filling him up. He didn’t believe in himself.
there. A blind man wouldn’t have stood A er Raymond, he wanted to hide. To dis-
where Raymond stood. I’ve been to that appear. But Raymond shouldn’t have been
exact spot. It’s s ll stained brown. It’s faded there. My father never got that fact. And
but you can see it. It won’t wash away even life is as meaningless as only you can make
using the power-washers. And I know the it. My father se led on going from cranes
crate was thirty feet somewhere between to forkli s to carrying luggage off cruise
my father and Raymond and filled with cos- ships like a nobody because his hands nev-
me cs and jewelry from France. It was sup- er got steady and eventually, he couldn’t
posed to go onto the back of a truck. even pass a piss test.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“There are places out there. Genade “No,” I shook my head with hesita on.
huizen.” Ordell said the words like a witch’s “If you could really talk with dead people,
spell. I didn’t like him changing the subject. you’d be rich and famous.”
“That’s what they’re called in areas where
I’m s ll considered a ci zen through my Ordell ignored me. Tiny gray specks
own father’s bloodline.” were being swept up into the wind. I tried
grabbing them. Ordell pivoted around me,
He mo oned into the far darkness be- out of reach, holding my father like a bull-
yond the dashboard before I could ask a fighter’s cape. He retreated into the knee-
ques on. “Clean places where they allow deep water.
creatures like your father to hide away.
Don’t neglect them but don’t string them “He doesn’t want a Bayonne statue.
along neither. No good Samaritans al- Don’t want this clueless spectacle. He es-
lowed.” He rapped the window. “And no pecially don’t desire to be dragged into the
whatever the hell this nonsense roadshow news cycle by some hangdog idiot who’s
is. You just need to money to get over there keen on becoming a celebrity through
and disappear. Simple dignity, you under- sheer stupidity.”
stand?”
“Liar.” I pelted a mud pie that flew wide.
I didn’t understand. “He’s the one I’m honoring here!”

Off the highway, we slept in our reclined He laughed in a cruel way that made my
seats. Morning turned everything an angry ribs pinch inwards and squeeze my heart. I
red. Wasn’t much to see when I woke. Flat, realized why he was a drunk. It was an act of
empty land that looked and smelled noth- earthly goodwill. Being sober brought out a
ing like New Jersey. Ordell stood in a far- nas ness and born anger that wasn’t possi-
away field like a scarecrow, releasing steam ble when he was drowning in vodka. “May-
into the sky. He was pissing like an animal, be you do got your pop’s ac ng chops.”
just out in the open. My father was tucked
under his arm. “Stop, please, you’re losing him.”

I charged. Sprin ng and falling and pin- “Exactly the point.” Ordell was high-step-
wheeling my arms. He took off with his ping down the creek. His jeans were droop-
pants unbu oned. I caught up with him at ing towards his knees. There was some-
a small creek, where he was gasping and thing both eager and distressed in the way
struggling with the lid. He held my father he moved, like a fran c dog just released
over the water as a warning. from a crate. “Pop says, ‘me and my new
lowdown buddy Ordell, we’ll visit a nice,
“Talked to your father this morning,” clean facility across the pond to erase our-
Ordell shouted at a safe distance. He was selves from memories everywhere.”
sober and shivering and miserable. “Your
old man says, ‘hands off my cape, muscle “What do you want?” I splashed into the
boy.” creek, holding out the be or’s slips like a
peace offering.
“That’s not how my father spoke.
“Not those ckets,” he shouted. “I
“I’ll be honest — he fancies this a real changed my mind now. I realized you chose
bad idea.” me for this exact reason. We just got to play
out these roles.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“What?” ther puffed into the morning and smudged
my finger ps. The open urn slipped from
“Like a ritual. Or a script. It’s so obvious. our grip as Ordell spun around. It hit the
Out of everyone in that casino to trust, you water just as I punched him squarely in
chose the guy with vomit on his socks. A the face. The water clouded for just a mo-
damn near replica of your father. So, let’s ment, washing over the submerged drunk
do this. You yell. I forgive you. We grab a before the urn and my father slipped
s ff drink.” downstream.

“No,” I said. I heard my voice crack. “I only Only Ordell remained underwater with
chose you because you listened to me talk.” blood leaking from his nose and his pants
around his ankles, his greasy hair floa ng
“Let’s have a nice elegy right here in Iowa.” like seaweed. I felt a strange nothingness
as I lost sight of the urn. Like the great
“We aren’t in Iowa, you old bum,” I said loud silence in a church when no mass is
with enough meanness for him to pause going on. No anxiety about streaking, no
and look around confused. “My father nev- worry about finding a talent agent. I told
er even been to where we are.” myself to run a er my father, but some
part of me wasn’t taking orders. I just
“Indiana? No, hold on,” the hand hold- stood there. My hands were shaking bad.
ing my father was beginning to tremble. His It was the first me in a long me I wasn’t
voice was ge ng hoarse. “Wherever we thinking 20 steps ahead like a chess whiz.
are, it’s a perfect place to rise above the A big blank.
beasts. How about a few words? A prayer?
Allow your old man a bit of dignity now, no? I fished Ordell out of the river. He came
It wasn’t his fault, son. He, well, no, I — we out gasping and huffing like a newborn ex-
both forgive you for being a dunce.” cept he was ugly as sin and smelled. Light
smudges of my father were s ll visible in-
“You’re ruining our shot.” I was sudden- side the folds of his ears. He didn’t seem to
ly aware of me, the minutes stacking up no ce or care about his nudity. The pi ful
against me. My en re life was scheduled to ass. I stood him upright and got his pants
begin three hundred miles west of here and back around his waist.
now it was being threatened by a nobody,
a hijacker, a delusional man with no des - “Superbowl?” he asked, sniffling and
ny or upside. Of course, my father rerouted wiping away blood.
my thoughts to his li le stage and his own
lost opportunity. Gone is gone once it’s The stream seemed to disappear at a
gone, I knew. I thought of Berth 52 and the ny point right where it met the morning
cargo freighters that would dock there for- sky. “Where does this end up?”
ever. I inched closer to the drunk. Over his
shoulder, he was watching me sniffle with a “How long was I underwater for?” He
curious look. He was mumbling about how was calm again. “I think a bunch of neurons
Ordell translates into Angel of Mercy in in my brain exploded. The good ones I was
some dead language. “Liar,” I shouted, and saving for death.”
he didn’t bother correc ng me.
“Does this stream empty into an ocean,
He was losing steam. From behind him, you think?”
I curled my wet hand into the urn. My fa-

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
He shrugged and gave me a look that
could’ve passed as an apology. He mut-
tered, “It’s nicer send-off than most people
get.” I started back towards the car. I s ll
had the be or’s slips in my breast pocket.
When I turned around, Ordell was hobbling
behind, grinning for the first me and s ll
leaking dark blood onto his shirt.

About the Author:
Chris Marchesano is an aspiring writer and a orney based out of Jersey City, New Jersey. He
is a graduate of Rutgers University and Rutgers School of Law, currently working as assistant
counsel for a law enforcement agency tasked with comba ng organized crime on the New
York waterfront.

20

THE KING OF THE
BOOT STOMP GHETTO

by Blake Rose

The mousy girl at the front desk gave Alec a he was going to need most of the day just
room pre y high up, not a penthouse, but to find Ben.
s ll high enough that, if he stood on the
balcony, he could see the whole north side Then there was the whole business of
of downtown. That’s where all the banks ge ng his mom’s necklace back. He knew
and other businesses are. Even farther be- for a fact Ben would not want to part with
yond that he could see the shore. There are it. The necklace was worthless, a plas c
stalls all along the west side selling fresh fake pearl affair, but it meant the world to
caught fish, mostly trout and snapper he his mom. His dad had given it to her as a gi
imagined. The shore stretches east to the a week before he passed for their fi ieth
Boot-stomp Ghe o, Boot-stomp for short. anniversary.
It’s basically a glorified camping ground for
homeless people. The homeless shelter is Alec sat a glass of scotch on the bed-
just a converted Catholic church across the side table next to his copy of “The Brothers
street facing the shore. Karamazov” and a Gideon bible. He sat in
the bed and started reading the book, stop-
Alec found it easier just to get a room ping occasionally to take a sip of the liquor;
for the night, than to drive forty-five min- his hopes for the impending confronta on
utes from West Haven at eight in the morn- with his brother began to wane as he read.
ing then have to find somewhere to park
that didn’t charge him the same price as About a chapter and a half later, and
the room. Besides, he really needed to Alec found that he had read the same para-
get away. The bills would s ll be there, in graph three mes.
a haphazard tower, threatening more than
just the integrity of his desk when he re- The phone began to ring, the room be-
turned. gan to brighten; Alec picked up the phone
and croaked, “Hello?”
Alec’s brother, Ben, had just taken up
residency among the riffraff down in the The voice that was too jovial for this ear-
Boot-stomp Ghe o. The way Alec figured it, ly in the morning said, “Hello! This is Agam-
emnon from the front desk with your eight
A.M. wake-up call!”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Thanks,” Alec said, shielding his eyes spilled the milk!” Her voice trailed off at the
from the window. end of the statement, like she had forgot-
ten that she was just chas sing him. As the
The closet door slid silently on its tracks woman made her way toward him, he no-
and Alec stared longingly at his suit. He
couldn’t remember the last me he had ced that she had “666” ta ooed across her
worn a t-shirt and jeans, discoun ng when forehead.
he wore them for yard work.
Alec actually thought his heart stopped
In the bathroom, while slathering shav- for a moment. She stormed right passed
ing cream on his jaws, Alec looked non- him and con nued yelling at nobody. She
plussed at the mirror, and said, “Did that held her finger at a slight upward angle and
guy just say his name was Agamemnon?” jabbed it repeatedly at the same spot. A
sharp breath of cool air filled his lungs. He
He received no answer. had not realized that he had been holding
his breath.
On second thought, he washed off the
shaving cream. Clean-shaven wasn’t really As Alec traversed the next couple of
fi ng for a jaunt through the Boot-stomp. blocks, deeper into the heart of the Boot-
He removed his wallet, took out a twen- stomp, he caught the hordes of unwaver-
ty-dollar bill to slip in his sock, and put it ing stares. Despite his a empts to blend
in the hotel safe with his watch and cell- in, it seemed to him that he s ll looked like
phone. he did not belong in this veritable hoover-
ville. Alec admired the human ability to
As Alec le his room, the door shut with adapt in the form of several abandoned
an ominous click behind him. It was then buildings turned shelters for the forsaken,
that he realized the room key was s ll in his when a man carrying a dog much to large
wallet. In the safe. In the room. for that sort of treatment approached him
with squinted eyes shou ng, “Excuse me!
On the way to the Boot-stomp, he saw Sir!” During what appeared to be an on-
a Greek diner that now occupied the space going struggle to keep his grip on the dog,
where an ice-cream parlor once was. His the man asked, “Do you have a cigare e?
parents took the family there every Satur- I’ll buy one from you. I found a dollar and
day a er the cinema. He wished things were if you’re selling cigare es at a quarter a
s ll that simple. He wished his biggest wor- piece that’s four cigare es. And if you
ries were whether he should choose choc- don’t have change, sir you’ll have to do
olate pecan or rainbow sherbet. The sense four of ‘em. How’s that sound? Four cig-
of nostalgia, like curling smoke, invaded his are es?” The man’s gaze promptly shot
thoughts. He recalled a scene wherein Ben down to the dog which just stared out ap-
and he, were arguing about something, the athe cally at Alec.
specifics of which eluded him, and hurling
gummy bears across the booths at each Alec said, “Uh, I don’t smoke. I’m sorry.”
other. He remembered thinking that all he
could do was to a empt not to hit anyone “I see you looking at Furlong. I’ll let you
in the crossfire. pet him if I can have a cigare e.”

Alec snapped out of the haze when a “I’m not lying, I don’t have a cigare e.”
woman started screaming at him, “You

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Of course, you have a cigare e, I can The man leaned to one side, nearly drop-
tell. You look like a smoker.” ping Furlong in the process, and looked sus-
piciously behind Alec. “Are you sure about
Alec was beginning to lose his pa ence. the cigare es, I really will give you money
He couldn’t tell if he was ge ng upset at for them.”
the man’s persistence or the fact that he
had just been told he looked like a smok- “I don’t doubt that but I’m sorry, I don’t
er. For the life of him, Alec couldn’t imag- have any cigare es. Do you know—”
ine what a smoker looked like when they
weren’t holding a cigare e. He kept imagin- “Is this man bothering you Jamie?” A
ing regular people holding a cigare e. A er hand fell on Alec’s le shoulder and a man’s
all isn’t that what a smoker is, a person with voice boomed authorita vely in his ear.
a cigare e. Then he realized that it was this
line of thought that he was losing pa ence Startled, Alec spun around to face a man
with. In a desperate a empt to shi the spor ng not a Hemingway beard, not a
man’s, and his, focus away from cigare es, Verne beard, but a Whitman beard. His hair
Alec asked, “Did you say his name was Fur- was long too. This man’s small eyes and
long?” nose were all that remained at the bo om
of the vortex of scraggly wisps.
“Yup, he’s called Furlong on account
of his long white fur. Clever, isn’t it? But I Jamie glanced at the new man, then
didn’t name him, that was Smiley.” shi ed his gaze to Alec and back to the
man. “Hey Smiley! Will you tell this man to
“Is he, uh, Smiley’s dog then?” sell me some cigare es? He’s holding out
on me.”
“No, he’s everyone’s dog. It’s just my
turn to take care of him today. Everybody “Holding out? I’m not holding out on
has to; it’s like a … what did he call it. A ro- anyone. Listen, if I had cigare es, I’d sell
ta on, yeah, a rota on. Smiley says, ‘you you some. Hell, I’d just give them to you,
guys need to learn some responsibility.’ but I don’t smoke.” The exchange had be-
With his help we’ll back on our feet in no come en rely too exhaus ng.

me.” He glanced down, placed his cheek Smiley made his way over to Jamie and
on the top of Furlong’s head, struggled to rubbed Furlong behind his ear. Furlong’s
readjust him, then added, “Isn’t that right leg began twitch in a mock scratch mo on.
Furlong.” “Jamie, this poor man sounds like he’s told
you that he doesn’t smoke a few too many
Alec had trouble discerning how the dog
felt about the situa on. Judging by the look mes already. Don’t you have something
in its eyes, the creature was either simply be er to do than harass him?”
ambivalent or had accepted this fate long
ago. “Well anyway,” Alec said, retrac ng Jamie looked slightly offended. “I guess
the hand that he had proffered to pet the I’ll go see if anyone else will sell me some
dog, and rubbing the back of his neck in- cigare es. See, I found this dollar, but I
stead. The prospect of fleas forced him to don’t have change. If they sell them to me
think be er of the idea. “I’m looking for for a quarter a piece, I’ll get four cigare es.”
someone, his name’s, uh, Ben.”
“Well, you’ve got to find someone that
has cigare es first.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Jamie walked back the way that Alec “Yeah, alright. I guess it would be nice to
had come. As he went, he con nued catch up. It’s been a long me since we’ve
mumbling to himself. “Unless they gave actually seen each other.”
me change first. Yeah! Then maybe I could
get three cigare es, or two, or even just Alec paid for their food —two gyro
one. I’d like four that would last me longer meals that came with fries and a drink—
than —” and handed Ben his cup. He stood watching
as the man behind the counter sliced strips
Presently, Smiley turned back to Alec. “So, from an uniden fiable upright spindle of
how the hell have you been big brother?” meat and plopped them on the pita.

“Ben, is that you under there? I didn’t Ben had already found a table that
recognize you with all the, uh, facial hair.” looked out onto the street. Alec sat the
plas c tray, atop which two greasy bags
“That’s it? That’s why you came? To were perched, on the table as he slid into
insult this work of art?” He ran his fingers the booth. He said, “So, Ben, it seems like
through his beard. “And to think you hav- you made some friends.”
en’t even offered to buy your li le brother
lunch yet. What manners!” “Friends? I don’t know,” Ben said, un-
wrapping his gyro.
They both looked at each other, and
immediately began laughing. “Work of art, “Well, that guy I talked to— you know,
that’s a good one. It’s a work of something with the dog — he acted like he really
alright, a piece of work. Yeah, sure, I’ll buy looked up to you.”
lunch. I think I saw a Greek place on the way
over, Hermes’ Deli or something like that.” “Jamie doesn’t look up to me. You have
to understand most of the people out here
“It’s just Hermes’, no deli. The fries there need help.”
are pre y good, but that’s all I’ve had.
Sounds good to me.” “So, are you saying that this is just a
cry?” Alec pointed at Ben with a fry.
They began walking back toward the
restaurant, staying on the opposite side “A cry? For help? Oh Lord no,” Ben said,
of the street that Jamie was on, lest they laughing. “It just makes me feel import-
convince him once more that Alec had no ant. Like I actually ma er, you know. I live
cigare es. here to help these people. God knows they
won’t help themselves.”
“Ben,” said Alec. “I didn’t come all the
way out here just to chit-chat. I actually “Ben, I’m sorry but I hope you know how
need to talk to you about something im- ridiculous you sound right now,” He said,
portant.” raising his eyebrows and threatening Ben
with the French fry once again. It felt like
“I know why you came to see me. Alec, Ben was being a li le harsh which made it
it might seem like I’m not playing with a all the odder that he somewhat understood
full deck but I’m not stupid. Can’t we sit where he was coming from.
down as brothers and have a meal togeth-
er. I’d like to catch up before we start talking “How so?” Ben said as a genuine look of
about why you’re here.” concern fell across his eyes.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“You’re telling me that you inten onally “All Mom and I want is to know how you
became homeless and found somewhere to are. We want the truth. Both of us know,
sleep in the Boot-stomp because you wanted without you admi ng it I might add, that
to do charity work?” Alec began raising his it can get rough out here,” Alec said. He
voice and by doing this gaining the unwant- watched Ben slowly set his nearly finished
ed a en on of the nearby tables and one gyro down on the tray. “Every me I look at
employee taking out the trash. He quickly the temperature on my phone or in my car,
lowered his voice to the appropriate level of every me I turn on the weather channel
the common restaurant conversa on. in the morning, every me I see the panes
on the windows frosted over, I worry about
“Holy shit! What is this sauce? It is deli- you. We both worry.”
cious, and what kind of meat is this?” Ben
said, changing the subject; he obviously felt The conversa on lulled for a moment
the tension rise in the restaurant too. May- while Ben gathered his thoughts. He picked
be this was his way of cu ng it. up the gyro and finished it. Alec saw him
gaze out the window where Jamie strolled
“And what’s this nonsense you’re spout- by holding a cigare e and a dollar in one
ing about actually ma ering?” Ben warily hand, all the while struggling with Furlong
spared a sidelong glance at the table next with his other arm. His chest was puffed out
to theirs. with pride. Somewhere under Ben’s Beard,
Alec thought he saw a smile.
“So, this is a gyro. This is what I have
been missing my whole life.” The statement His eyes travelled back to Alec. “Well. I
sounded so full of excitement that Alec do enjoy helping these people. And I sin-
would not have been surprised if Ben had cerely believe they like helping me too.
said that he wanted to have the last bite That part is true. But it wasn’t my inten on
bronzed. to come here. Nobody comes to the Boot-
stomp on purpose. You know, I’ve thought
“Ben,” he said. He was happy that his about coming home. I have. But everyone
brother liked the food, but Alec was not here is just as much my family as you and
about to be ignored. Mom are. And many of them look up to
me. I know that. By the way if you aren’t
“I think this might be my new favorite going to eat your food, I’m wide open,” Ben
food.” said gesturing at Alec’s s ll unopened bag.
Drops of tzatziki sauce populated his beard
“Ben!” s ll from the first gyro.

“What, Alec! What! Do you want me to “Here, you can have it. The way you talk
tell you that yes, I came here to help peo- about the Boot-stomp, I wouldn’t be sur-
ple, or no and I’m miserable?” Ben asked prised if you had won an elec on.”
in a tone somewhere between a pleading
child’s and full-grown man washed with “There was no elec on but if anything,
defeat. “You can’t put me in traps like that. it was a fairly democra c process. Not that
On one hand, I look silly for making what is I’m president of the place or anything. Peo-
plainly put, a bad decision. And if I admit ple do ask me for advice though.”
to you how hard it can be out here you and
Mom will just say, ‘I told you so.’ So, what “What kind of advice?”
do you want me to say?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Honestly, you never know what some- “She took it like a champ though.”
one will ask. Jamie asks me if I know any-
body with cigare es every day,” he said “She did. I guess she wants this back,
unwrapping his second gyro. “He’s not the doesn’t she?” Ben said with a sigh. He
only one either. I had someone this morn- reached to the back of his neck, then pulled
ing asking for help with Veteran’s Affairs. the pearls out from under his beard. “I just
Alec, I don’t know the first thing about the knew she wasn’t going to be around forev-
VA, but it makes me feel so glad that some- er. I was afraid I wouldn’t have anything to
one trusts me enough to ask. You know.” remember her.”

Alec began to understand something Alec took the pearls. “Thank you, Ben. I
that he hadn’t for a long me. Listening to promise I will personally bring this back to
Ben talk made him think about what a los- you. She was just devastated that they had
er his li le brother was in high-school, and been taken. By the way, I don’t have the
how people treated him a er he dropped slightest clue how you got them, but I’m
out. They treated him like an outcast, and not sure I want to know.”
he had finally found a home where people
had respected him. He looked up at Ben “Don’t you take Mom to church every
and couldn’t help but smile. “Mom will be Sunday?”
ecsta c when she hears how happy you
are,” he said. “And I’ll make sure she knows “That’s when you did it?” Alec said, un-
that you s ll have an appe te. I can’t stop able to hold in his laughter. “You are one
her from worrying though.” sneaky bastard. How did you even get out
to her house? Actually, please don’t tell me.
Ben stopped ea ng and affected a grave Hey, I think we should get going; all these
tone. “How is she?” he said. people staring is creeping me out.”

“The doctor said that with the radia on “Yeah, I can show you my place.”
she might last another year. But in my opin-
ion, the doctor also seemed doub ul about Ben went to refill his drink while Alec
the radia on therapy.” threw the trash away. While he sat the tray
above the trash can he began to grow con-
“People have pulled through before cerned about what exactly Ben’s defini on
though.” of living quarters had become.

“Yes but—” They le the restaurant, but this me
Ben held the door for Alec. The sun was
“But what, Alec?” beginning to set; its light cast their shad-
ows for miles in the opposite direc on. Ben
“Mom’s not a spring chicken anymore. turned to Alec and said, “so how’s Dad’s
She turns 79 in a couple of weeks.” book shop doing?”

“Yeah, I know. I guess— Dad was just hard
enough, you know.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author:

Blake V. Rose is 26 and is currently in pursuit of a bachelor’s degree in English at East
Carolina University. He moved to Greenville, North Carolina with his wife, dog, and two
cats at the beginning of 2019. His goal is to a end graduate school for a master’s degree
in linguis cs a er he finishes his undergraduate studies. Blake currently has a short story,
‘The Colossi and the House of Nhan,’ published in the Alban Lake Publishing Company’s
Lovecra ian anthology ‘The Mad Visions of Al-hazred’ and Poetry in the anthology ‘Under
the Cherry Tree: 20 Great Poets in Their 20s’edited by W.B. Cornwall and A.N. Williams. His
main interests lie in wri ng, whether it be poetry, short stories, or that novel that he will
finish someday, hopefully soon.

27

PHOTOGRAPHER

by Paul Perilli

Last month, back from Portugal two days, I the request of its owner and was asked to
went to see a client and a er that I hailed a decide what to do with the possessions of
taxi on lower Broadway to take me back to its missing occupant. “He hasn’t been here
Brooklyn. My driver, I saw from the back- for a while,” I was told. “Maybe he’s not
seat, was near my age. His thinning hair coming back?” A er that I was le alone
was silver and black. He was unshaven. with the old furniture, the rank odor, the
Through the thick protec ve glass I gave color photos clipped to a wire strung along
him my address and once the traffic cleared a wall. With the dirt and grime I don’t
we were on our way. All that morning my think Jonathan Bliss ever saw. “Excuse
mind might s ll have been in Lisbon stroll- me,” I leaned forward, “is your name Jon-
ing on tree-lined Avenue da Liberdade. It athan? Did you once live in Cambridge?”
might have been taking in the view of Coim- Without saying a word the driver pointed
bra’s hilly medieval city lit up at night from to the Medallion Driver License a ached
the roo op bar of my hotel. In any case, to the dashboard. It hadn’t occurred to me
all that was erased as my taxi approached to look for it. I glanced at the picture, then
the Williamsburg Bridge and I began to at the name: Thomas Weston. In those
feel an unusual connec on to a me thirty past days Jonathan Bliss had other names
years earlier. Maybe I thought it was one too. It wasn’t a secret. Jonathan Bliss was
of those sudden flashbacks I’d been having a contrivance. Was Thomas Weston the
more o en now that I was in my fi ies. But name he’d made up for this latest role? Or
soon I recognized it was more than that. I was it his real one? Across the bridge we
closed my eyes. I opened them to the reali- were on the onramp to the BQE and then
za on a mystery was resolving itself. In the in a race to get ahead of the traffic coming
mirror I looked at the driver and I was sure from the right. That was the only way to
it was Jonathan Bliss even if it was hard to make it to the McGuiness Boulevard exit
make out the younger man. He had gained from the le lane entry. “I’m sorry,” I said,
weight. His eyes were darker. Where once “I thought you were someone I knew from
he was the absolute ruler over a vast em- a previous life.” But I was just saying that.
pire of enthusiasm he seemed subdued. Or I was sure I was talking to Jonathan Bliss.
that was my percep on of him in the mo- I was just as sure he was aware who his
ment. But I was sure that person was s ll passenger was. That like me he was trans-
in there and it brought forward a Saturday ported back to that year in Cambridge we
a ernoon when I went to an apartment at knew each other.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Cambridge in those days wasn’t the Cam- where he’d lived off the grid and read a
bridge I’d walked through a few years ago. book a day and sustained himself on brown
It had a funk to it then. A down-to-earth rice, len ls and root vegetables. That was
vibe. There were s ll plenty of hippies and a er he finished a degree in Philosophy out
buskers. It was possible to live for cheap if in Albuquerque. Which was before he lived
that was what you were looking for. There in Mexico where he and an ex took part
were a dozen top quality bookstores and in an unspecified poli cal uprising. Some-
lots more art galleries. The old bars, clubs where between those he’d lived in Chicago
and ea ng joints were s ll around: Plough where he supported himself working as a
& Stars, The Tasty, Casablanca, Passim, Le photo journalist. From wherever and how-
Pa sserie. It was at another of those long- ever. It didn’t ma er to us, our main group
gone establishments I hung out in that I that included Eugene, Lilly, Samuel, James,
met Jonathan Bliss. Mai and Sarah. Jonathan Bliss showed up
one day. He was a photographer. He did
Petrushka was a popular spot two photo work to support himself. He brought
blocks from Harvard Square, named a er a new energy and outlook we welcomed
the Stravinsky ballet by its immigrant Ger- without judgement.
man owners. They, the owners, had want-
ed it to be a place for cultural types to feel Thudding down the ramp to McGuinnes
comfortable in. Where they would talk and Boulevard my inward gaze reached back to
read and buzz out on espresso. Where they the first me I met him at Petrushka. I was
would eat a meat-and-cheese sandwich, a reading and drinking a cup of French roast.
Greek salad or slice of Black Forest cake. I At the next table Jonathan Bliss sketched in
was among the ar sts, writers, professors a spiral pad. A camera was strapped over
and students who spent me in the big the back of his chair. He had the wide-eyed
open space talking and reading and mak- look of a recent convert and I tended to
ing the acquaintance of like-minded folks shy away from those types. But Jonathan
with similar interests and ambi ons. During Bliss was difficult to ignore. At some point
the day classical music played: Beetho- I felt him staring. Something was building,
ven, Wagner, Handel. In the evenings John I knew. And what followed was the conver-
Coltrane, Miles Davis and Muddy Waters sa on I’d wanted to avoid. He said, “That’s
mixed it up with Mozart and Debussy. We a great novel.” I li ed my head and caught
were young then, although not that young. his eyes, but only for a moment. I didn’t
The world around us was moving along as want to encourage him. He said, “A huge,
always while some of us were s ll hoping huge book.” I caught his eyes again, and
to find that one thing we could do to save said, “You read it?” “No, but I know some-
us from a life me of mediocrity. Petrushka thing about the author and know it’s great.”
was a good spot to spend me in while that “How can you say that? I’m s ll forming an
process was in progress. Or un l it came opinion. You see I’m only halfway through.”
“I know it took her years. Every day she
me to commit to something for the long put her best effort into it. Thought about
haul ahead. it. Wrote and wrote some more. You try
doing that. Just go home and type all the
How Jonathan Bliss arrived at that place pages and see how long that takes. And
and me was somewhat unclear. It was while you’re doing that put yourself in her
said, by him, he’d come down from Maine

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

mind so you can see how brilliant her effort room that smelled of weed and unwashed
was.” “It’s an excellent point. I’m not a very dishes. He went into the bedroom and
good typist so that would take a while. But shut the door. From behind it the sounds
I’m en tled to my personal cri cal analysis of shuffling and a woman’s voice started
of what I read.” “If you want to like it you up in a whisper that was audible but indis-
will. You’re more likely to see it for what it
is. Nothing can penetrate a closed mind. nguishable. I put the beer in the fridge
Not even love. And that’s what crea vity is, and looked around. Clothes were strewn
love. The achievement of truth.” about the furniture and floor. Two styro-
foam food containers with ketchup stains
I was too much of skep c to accept his and uneaten le uce and empty beer bot-
pop psychology. If a woman or man wrote tles covered a table. Unopened mail was
a book did I have to feel something for it piled on a desk. An abstract pain ng cen-
that might be false? “What if I tell you I like tered on a wall suggested the turmoil of
it but really don’t? That would be a lie. Is a large city and was signed Peach in the
that love too?” “You’re missing my point, lower right corner. I was scru nizing that
and proving it at the same me.” The smile when from behind the door the thump of
I thought had swelled his face as much as it box springs started up and ascended to a
could grew some more. He went back to his faster, more insistent pace. My only other
spiral pad and didn’t say another word to distrac ons were the photos on the wire
me un l the next me I talked to him and hanging across the wall. In one, a strang-
realized I had nothing to fear. Jonathan Bliss er in profile was reflected in the window
was different. He was upbeat. Intense. He of Harvard Bookstore. In another a flat-
had his own point of view based on his own tened rat lay in a pool of light in the mid-
experiences. A point of view I would see dle of a street. Next to that a woman in
more of a few weeks later when he invited blue jeans and a tank top sat on the edge
me to his place to check out his photos. of an unmade bed. The images were clear
and sharp. They had an intensity that drew
I got there at noon with the six-pack I’d your focus. I turned my eyes to the next
promised to bring. Noon was our arranged one as labored sighs finished off what had
been going on in the bedroom. I waited
me but it took Jonathan Bliss a few min- them out without moving, an ero c mo-
utes to respond to the bell. He greeted ment even if I didn’t get any sa sfac on
me at the door with a towel wrapped from it. Minutes later a woman in tan
around his waist and a smile on his lips. He pants and a white blouse came out of the
looked hungover. “I’m sorry,” I said, “did bedroom. Her brown hair was tousled. She
I wake you up?” “You did no such thing.” was the woman in the tank top in the pho-
He scratched his chest, turned to look be- to on the wire. She was smiling, but not at
hind him and in a high voice, he said, “It’s me. In blue jeans, a filtered cigare e be-
a friend with some beer so I’m le ng him tween his lips in need of a flame, Jonathan
in.” If someone was with him, I didn’t want Bliss said, “Paula, Bobby, Bobby, Paula.”
to interrupt. I told him, “Take this, I’ll come
back another me.” He said, “No need to That was Jonathan Bliss. I never knew
do that. I’ll be out in a while. Make yourself what to expect when I was with him. He
at home.” It was against my be er judg- might read a few pages from Pedro Para-
ment but I followed him into an unkempt mo or show me a pamphlet of sculptures

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Revista Literária Adelaide

of a new ar st he was into. Or he might tell and had thick legs. His name was Carl and I
me an improbable story about someone followed him inside and down the hallway
he’d met at one of the places he frequent- to the door with the No ce of Evic on post-
ed on a regular basis. Or he might set me ed on it. In the apartment the rooms were
up with a date and later on at his place he semi dark. A warm, ro ng odor mixed with
would want to take photos of us having sex. the smell of bug spray. “I like him,” he said,
It wasn’t just me he was like that with. Eu- “but I need to get someone in here who
gene, Sarah and those others I knew had pays rent and keeps it clean.” “Can’t you
their own likewise involvements with Jon- give him more me? Even a week? Doesn’t
athan Bliss. He could be outrageous and he he have a lease?” “There’s no lease. No de-
was unapologe c about it. posit. I don’t have anything from him that
will cover moving all this.” He swept an arm
When he stopped showing up at Petrush- out away from us. I tried to look at it as he
ka we took it to mean he was bored and off did, as a landlord concerned for his proper-
on a new adventure, maybe with someone ty. I couldn’t blame him and I didn’t put up
as inspired and wild as he was. Then we much of a fight when he refused my asking
thought he might be out West on the inde- for extra me to make plans. A er that his
pendent photo project he’d talked about mood changed. He was a man relieved of
going on. Wherever he was for whatever a burden that wouldn’t cost him too much
reason wasn’t any concern of mine un l his more. “God,” he said in a more conversa-
landlord started calling me.
onal tone, “I didn’t know he was this bad
He was gone six weeks the first me off? What goes on inside that makes him
I talked to him. “What do you want?” I want to live like this?” I followed his gaze
asked. “He said if anything goes wrong I to the photos on the wire. That was when I
am to call you. This is something wrong. remembered Jonathan Bliss had referred to
You answered. I need you to tell me when his work as “The Big Project.” In most cases
he’s coming back? I have to take care of my I would have a ributed the descrip on to
property.” “How would I know where he is? some inane ambi on but I had no doubt his
Why wouldn’t he come back? You think he inten on was genuine. “What can you do
le without taking his things with him?” with all of it? He has no one else, I know.
“It’s not for me to decide that. I don’t have That I know of. Do you?” I shook my head.
rent and he already owes me two months.” “No, I don’t.” “There has to be someone he
“What do you want to hear? How do you stays in touch with.” “I’ll find a cheap stor-
think I can help you? I haven’t known him age unit.” “You’re a good man take care of
that long. We’re friends, that’s all. Not best this. I know he loves taking photos.” He was
friends. Not family.” His next call brought s ll looking across the room. “Those are
word of a health code viola on in Jonathan nice ones.”
Bliss’ apartment he had to take care of. The
call a er that came with an ul matum. “I I offered to get everything out by Mon-
will get rid of it all if you don’t do some- day night. Then I said: “Can you give me a
thing.” few more days?” He agreed without having
to. I’d hoped by then Jonathan Bliss would
That Saturday I had a to-go cup of coffee be back to claim his place and possessions.
in my hand when I met him on the steps of He said, “I’ll pay a hundred dollars. That’s
his building. He was heavy around the torso all.” He gave me two keys and a business

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

card with a number and address for Cantab different ways. There were three of Mai
Plumbing. It was his way of se ling with and me naked on the couch with my head
himself on evic ng a tenant, something between her legs. I set those and others I
that seemed so distasteful to him I was sure was in off to the side. All the rest I put in
he’d never done it before. boxes I taped shut. At the end of that I had
no doubt Jonathan Bliss would be back to
He le me alone in the silence. With the finish what he’d started. I didn’t think he’d
foul odors. With the photos clipped to the abandon his project.
wire. With the old furniture Jonathan Bliss
had dragged in from the street. With the re- “You’re almost done.” The door had
sponsibility to do something with the con- been ajar and Carl stood in the entrance.
tents of the rooms that always made me “See, I knew he le for a long me.” I knew
uncomfortable. Much of the furniture and that too, I told him and didn’t know why I
other worthless things could be thrown said it. Carl thanked me. He was sa sfied, I
away and when I realized that I felt be er. could tell. I le him moving the boxes and
I’d hold the pain ng by Peach of a city in bags closer to the door. Eugene and I would
turmoil. There was a Yellow Pages in the be in over the weekend to fill my car and
kitchen. I located the number of a nearby take everything to the small space I’d re-
warehouse and that was when I made the served for twenty-five dollars a month. I’d
discovery the black rotary wall phone was give Carl’s name as the contact. What hap-
dead. Not even sta c came through the pened a er that would be up to him. I’d
line. Maybe it had been like that a while? done enough.
I was sure of one thing, Jonathan Bliss and
public u li es would always be at odds On the street the night air was warm.
over the cost of service. I was in no hurry to get back to my apart-
ment and I walked to Davis Square to get a
Back there Wednesday evening I bagged beer. On the way there all the big and small
clothes and boxed books and photo equip- details of Cambridge street life appeared
ment. I stuffed other worthless odds and just as Jonathan Bliss had photographed
ends into the two metal barrels Carl had le them. When we came to the end of my
inside the door. I gathered the hundreds of block I wanted to tell the driver how im-
photos stuffed in drawers and envelopes pressed I’d been with his work in hopes it
and musty albums in the closets. Alto- might start a conversa on. I didn’t think it
gether they took up a sizable area of floor would be wrong to do that even if by then I
space. Looking through them I recognized was less sure he was Jonathan Bliss. “Right
the milieu and mul tudes of Cambridge. here is good,” I said. He came to a stop as
Every corner and crack, every storefront I slipped thirty dollars in the slot. When he
and sidewalk, every face and façade, every turned back to take it I stared into his eyes
visible characteris c of the local habitat and saw him wondering what else I want-
we shared. I saw Jonathan Bliss trying out ed? I gave my head the slightest shake to
various themes. There might be a stack of let him know. “Keep the change,” I said. I
portraits taken in Petrushka. He took many opened the door and got out. There was no
rolls along the Charles River. In a series of need to pressure him. No need to men on
shots Lily was in her bra and pan es and the pain ng by Peach had a current value
used a banana to suggest intercourse five of $200,000.

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