Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 24, May 2019

MOVIE LIFE

by Ken O’Steen

I remembered the sun and the warmth and while touring Copenhagen during leave. She
the tall palms. I thought about them during had been born in Greenland, and had come
the New Hampshire winters, though I re- to Denmark when she was in her teens.
membered few details from those days in
Los Angeles as a toddler, and before our Now she was returning to Greenland
family moved east. But what I did recall re- with me along, to Nuuk, the only place we
mained vivid. had a rela ve. Her cousin would provide us
with a small house, and whatever its condi-
When my mother told me we were moving
again, thousands of miles away from New on it was be er than any alterna ve avail-
Hampshire, I said, “Leave me here.” able to us.

I was serious. And there was no doubt Dad had been estranged from his own
in my mind she strongly considered it. But I family, who I’d been told lived in some re-
was fi een and she took me with her. mote mountain area of Nevada near the
border with California. But I’d never even
Dad, who hadn’t lived with us for many seen pictures of them, and they were rarely
years mostly paid his child support un l he men oned.
died on his motorcycle wasted. Mother nev-
er worked more than temporary menial jobs, “What are we going to do in Greenland?”
and the child support had kept us going. I asked mother.

Public assistance in New Hampshire was “What does it ma er?” she answered,
s ngy, and confusing when it came to how no longer pu ng up a front to disguise her
much, and the kind of work allowed before resigna on and weary defeat.
a person began to forfeit some, and always
changing with the poli cal winds. I suspected even then that what had
begun to plague her was more than just a
The man from the oil company came one hard life, but some form of psychological
day and pulled the hose around to the side difficulty, though there had never been any
of the house to fill the oil tank and mother acknowledgment of it, and I’d never dared
told him only to put several gallons in be- to broach the subject.
cause that was all she could afford to pay
for. It was around then that we le for good. The old car was sold, most of mother’s
things, and a few of my own, a sled for in-
During his me in the Army Dad was sta- stance, and an old electric train set I parted
oned in Germany, and he’d met my mother with only under protest, despite it all s ll a

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boy. The selling off would pay for our airfare returning to the place she had come from,
and the rest of the money could provide for certainly no warm recogni on seeing famil-
us at first in Greenland. iar surroundings. The squat, rectangular air-
port resembled a bland government building
Despite all of the ridiculous dreariness, or a dreary warehouse. What I saw from the
si ng on a plane for my first me, looking highway was a landscape of lunar rockiness,
out the window at ragged dunes of gray ramshackle buildings and forbidding sea.
cloud below, and brief glimpses of onyx
ocean, I looked forward to the life ahead We didn’t bother stopping at her cousin’s
of me, expec ng all manner of glamor, in- house. He worked on a freezer trawler I was
trigue and excitement. told, and remained at sea for long periods
of me. Our own house was unlocked and
* didn’t have a key. I later learned that like all
houses in Greenland it actually belonged to
Ar sts o en are encouraged to deal in their the government, and ought to have been
art with what they know. It could be argued reported as vacant and offered to another
that Miki and I had taken this instruc on Greenlander to occupy, but hadn’t been.
much too literally to heart. But we had de- As was common prac ce, our rela ve had
cided that our first screenplay would have simply kept the vacancy to himself and the
to be scrupulously autobiographical. While house to use as he saw fit.
we learned the cra we at least would be
confident in our subject ma er. The house was more of a cabin, perched
on the side of a sharply inclined hillside,
We’d been doing the bulk of the wri ng two sparse rooms inside, one of which had
separately, collabora ng through email and a Russian stove used for cooking and heat-
occasionally Dropbox. Now she was on her ing. There was a water closet off the oth-
way over to talk about it, if for no other rea- er room where there also was an ancient
son than we hadn’t spent any me face-to- bathtub. In the back room there was a bed
face in quite a while. She lived in Los Feliz, and a night table, in the front room where I
a short ways away from me in Echo Park. would be there was a cot. The outside was a
She had a boyfriend and a job, and with the patchwork of peeling burgundy paint, clear-
effort she was devo ng to the screenplay ly weathered by the ba ering of storms off
she was always pressed for me. When she the frigid ocean fi y yards away.
arrived, she hugged me and compliment-
ed my haircut, adding that she preferred it We le the house a er we’d put our
when my hair was shorter, the same thing things away, then walked to a market a lit-
she told me every me. We printed out the tle over a kilometer away, where Mother
screenplay and took it with us to the terrace bought mostly cans of soup, some stew,
to talk about. A breeze coming off the Pacif- as well as bread, cookies and deli meats.
ic was rustling through the eucalyptus trees There was no refrigerator in the house, but
snuggled against the building. as mother pointed out, “nothing spoils out-
side here most of the year.”
*
I asked several mes about school, and
Even driving in from the airport a er our each me she sighed and said, “We’ll figure
arrival there had been no sign whatsoever it out.”
that my mother felt any par cular emo on

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It took her only a day to find a job, pack- room and at the main desk. Along with a
aging fish she said, in all likelihood the eas- descrip on of her appearance I noted that
iest job to obtain in Nuuk. With nothing for she was American, though a na ve Green-
me to do I spent the me wandering. On lander of Danish descent.
closer inspec on, I discovered that despite
the mul colored gabled houses and glacial Going to the police would have been the
plains and icy mountains surrounding the normal thing, but I was much too uncertain
place, Nuuk was li le different from oth- of their reac on. Under the circumstance I
er ci es. It had its local idiosyncrasies, but had no idea what they might decide to do
there were clothing shops, and restaurants with me. I assumed there was foster care in
and every other kind of store. Greenland or something like it. There was
no one in New Hampshire to whom they
Each night when mother returned home could simply return me.
she seemed a li le more disconsolate,
more removed and irritable than the night Mother had given me some money,
before. Un l I was ten or so she’d seemed about two hundred and fi y krone, or forty
more or less like a normal mother. She had dollars. Most of the food she had bought re-
struggled economically to be sure, and was mained, and I assumed that unless the rel-
prone to odd behaviors at mes, but noth- a ve came around and told me otherwise
ing it would have occurred to me to regard there was no reason I couldn’t stay in the
as illness. But in recent years her unpredict- house. As alarming as the prospect of sur-
ability had grown more pronounced, alter- viving for the foreseeable future on my own
nately more irascible and distant. Though in Greenland was, I feared the alterna ves
we managed, every li le thing seemed un- even more.
necessarily problema c, requiring more ef-
fort and rigmarole than it ought have. I told myself I could manage un l ei-
ther mother returned or something else
Mother told me a er a week that her changed. I was fi een and I could simply go
days of packaging fish were over, and that out and find a menial job if there weren’t
instead she would be working at “a domes- a lot of ques ons asked. I’d begun applying
for part- me jobs in New Hampshire any-
c cleaning job,” though she didn’t elabo- how. I considered this a reasonable plan.
rate, and even that much she conveyed only
in mumbles. She got into her bed immedi- The first nights in the house alone I
ately a er that and went to sleep. She le didn’t think of myself as being alone, but
for work the following morning and didn’t rather as wai ng for my mother to return.
return. Once it was clear that I was in fact alone,
I o en grew nervous in the middle of the
I stayed up all night wai ng, but in the night, and if I heard something outside that
back of my mind I believe I knew. I spent seemed to emanate from near the house
several days looking everywhere I could I would clench in fear. Some of this had to
think to look, especially around the docks do with my terror of wolves and polar bears
and fisheries. A few mes I described her that wasn’t jus fied at all in Nuuk. In those
to a merchant or a friendly looking stranger moments I would make myself think of the
and asked if they remembered seeing her. I dreaded alterna ves to being on my own
found out where the hospital was, and gave and it would calm me down.
descrip ons there both in the emergency

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

One of the first serious challenges arrived connected by an enclosed walkway above
a week or so a er mother had gone, when the street, and I spent a lot of hours wan-
I realized I would have to restore the dimin- dering there. I would linger in the stores
ishing firewood. I couldn’t go out and chop pretending to browse.
trees down, if for no other reason than there
weren’t any trees to chop. I had no idea what It took about a month before the end
it would cost to buy the wood. There was of the food was in sight. There was soup
no choice but to filch it from neighboring le and the canned meats. But I could look
houses, and though I was terrified of ge ng ahead and see an inevitable choice between
caught that is what I did. There was snow on girding myself to ask for a job, and stealing
the ground and it crunched every step you more than simply firewood.
took. The wood sheds and covered wood-
piles weren’t located far from the houses, *
and my heart pounded every me I crept
near. Realizing eventually that I was much One day when I was exploring a new stretch
too high strung for thievery, I began cu ng of shoreline I struck up a conversa on with
back on the use of firewood and bundled up an Inuit girl who appeared to be doing the
even more in the house. same thing. She was my age, or close to it.
Though I was pale and tall and she was nei-
I missed going to school. I was an excel- ther, we might have been brother and sis-
lent student, and I assumed I would con n- ter, both with broad cheekbones and shiny
ue my schooling eventually, even in Green- black hair that flopped in our faces much of
land, though I hadn’t the faintest idea how the me.
that would come about.
I didn’t know anybody and certainly
I kept the house neat inside, dying up didn’t trust anyone enough to talk about
a er myself, what li le there was to dy, my circumstances, and discovering that she
thinking that should mother return she was friendly and seemed to enjoy talking to
would see again how helpful and self-suffi- me I slowly began to confide. When I told
cient I was. I kept the firewood well protect- her where I’d come from and about my van-
ed, raked the snow off the roof a er every ishing mother and all the rest of it, she was
fresh pile-up, and cleaned the sink and top most astonished by the absence of family.
of the stove daily. “In the WHOLE world, that’s it?” she asked.

Even without mother there I wouldn’t “Far as I know,” I told her. “It’s always
sleep in her bed. It was hers, and sleeping been like that.”
in it might somehow jinx her return. And it
would have felt eerie anyhow. She told me her name was Miki and sug-
gested before she le that we meet there
I con nued roaming during the daylight again around the same me the following
hours, s ll leery of approaching anyone day. She appeared as promised, and I in-
in authority about a job. One good thing vited her back to see the house. When we
about spending me away from the house were inside she said, “I’ve definitely seen
was that I didn’t go through as much fire- be er. But people here have been living in
wood. There was a large shopping center houses like this forever.”
in the middle of Nuuk, two large buildings
She told me the best place to look for
work was at the docks. “There are a lot of

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interna onal people working there, and only place I’d ever lived I could remember
they aren’t very strict about the rules.” well was in New Hampshire. “It’s not quite
as cold as here,” I said, “but it’s definite-
“I could save my money and go back to ly cold. Some of America isn’t so great. It
New Hampshire,” I told her. “But it would wasn’t that great for us. But it’s great for a
be worse for me there I’m almost posi ve. lot of people. It’s complicated.”
I’d end up in some nightmare of a foster
family. Here I can be le alone at least if I “Where did you get your clothes?” she
don’t explain too much to anybody. I can go asked, nodding at my trusty and worn blue
back home when I’m eighteen.” parka I had brought from New Hampshire.

“The legal age here is eighteen too,” she “The parka came from a store called
said. Walmart. Mother used to get other things
at a place called Goodwill. Everything there
A er we’d been there a while she point- is second-hand.”
ed out, “There’s nothing to do in here.”
“I used to wear a lot of my sister’s clothes,”
“Back home I used to read a lot,” I said, she said, “and she’s ten years older than me.
“but even if there were books here I could So a lot of mes I was a serious fashion anach-
understand,” referring to books in English, ronism.”
“I don’t have the money to buy them. ”
Even though prac cally everyone in Green- Anachronism, I repeated to myself. I
land could speak English books in transla- needed to look it up.

on were less abundant. She explained about the rela onship be-
tween the Danes and Inuit, how Greenland
We agreed to meet two days hence at had been a satellite or colony of Denmark
the shore again, but on the following af- for a long me, though recently it was more
ternoon she returned to the house unex- autonomous.
pectedly. She was holding a laundry bag
containing several books, among them “It’s complicated here too,” she said.
translated Scandinavian novels, and some
books about World War Two. There were a The next a ernoon we hiked around
few ns of fish in the bag and some pieces on a par cularly rugged and rocky stretch
of fruit. of shoreline farther away from everything.
When it got dark, which it did extremely
The next me we met at the shore she early there, she came back to the house
suggested that rather than walk, we instead with me again and we sat a long me in
should “go and get ourselves hot choco- front of the stove. I told her to sit on the cot
lates.” and I pulled up the small stool that was in
the house when mother and I had got there.
The place we went looked like a rus c
market inside, a kind of miniature general We talked about a lot of things. I told her
store, though there were tables where you that she didn’t seem to have friends, and
could sit and drink your chocolate or coffee. she said, “I don’t really. I have acquaintanc-
So we sat and talked while we drank our es though.”
chocolate.
“Mine in New Hampshire were few and
She wanted to know what it was really far between,” I said.
like to live in America. I told her that the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

We discovered we had the same favorite through the local ords. Her father worked
writer: Kurt Vonnegut. for the Greenland branch of the Danish
Transporta on Ministry.
“Cat’s Cradle and Player Piano are best,”
she said. During the meal they asked how my
mother and I had come to be in Nuuk, most
“No way,” I protested, “Slaughterhouse of which Miki had told them already, but
Five easily.” they didn’t press me about it or dwell on
my mother’s disappearance. They weren’t
At one point I stoked the fire, demon- familiar with my rela ve living in Nuuk,
stra ng my domes c savvy. I offered to and for my own part I couldn’t even tell
make us soup. them where he lived. When I was leaving
Miki handed me a package that contained
“I’m not going to eat your food,” she said. household items and addi onal food, and
be er scarves and gloves than I had.
“Why not? I’ve got enough,” waving my
arm at the line of cans. From them on Miki would come by my
house nearly every a ernoon when she
But she refused. was finished with school. She began to take
me to her favorite spots in Nuuk, the best
I was aware she didn’t have a crush on high promontories for looking out at the
me. I didn’t have a crush on her either. city, to a place called the Colonial Harbor
But I’d never met anyone like her in New where there was a giant statue of a famous
Hampshire, and I didn’t think she had met Dane, and the sprawling quarries farther
anyone like me in Greenland either. And it from the center of town. Nuuk was a city
had nothing to do with New Hampshire or of contrasts. There were blocks of ugly ce-
Greenland. ment apartment buildings and drab offices
and squalid small industrial areas, but there
She asked whether I slept on the bed or also were striking vistas, and in the Tuapan-
on the cot. She seemed to observe things nguit District and the Qinnqorput Quarter
more than most. I explained my reasons for instance warm cafes and bookstores.
for s cking with the cot. Then she dropped
something of a bombshell. She had told her The next me I had supper with Miki’s
parents about me. I was assured there was parents they presented the idea of coming
nothing to fear, and they had no inten on to live with them. I could stay in the room
of repor ng me to anybody. that belonged to Miki’s older sister who was
on her own now. They would take me to get
“They want you to come to supper to- a resident cer ficate allowing me to legally
morrow night,” she said. “Please do it. I work. Miki’s mother said there was a job in
promise you won’t hate them.” the evenings if I wanted it on the cleaning
crew that cleaned the tour boat where she
The family lived in Myggedalen, a pic- worked. They even had a plan for my edu-
turesque seaside neighborhood of colorful ca on, which would be a form of homes-
spruced up and well kept houses. Their own chooling, with Miki’s sister Sarlik, a teacher
house was filled with wooden rocking chairs herself, coordina ng with a re red teacher
and kni ed afghans and Inuit ar facts and who’d volunteered to do the bulk of the
family memorabilia, the la er of which had
been all but absent in the houses where I
had lived. Miki’s mother worked on a fer-
ryboat that took tourists out for daytrips

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teaching. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, about her. I never believed she had some
nor did I want to. to harm, not in Greenland anyhow. I fig-
ured she was probably in Denmark some-
* where or back in the States, or maybe even
Europe. She had always been resourceful.
My high school years then were not exactly She might have ended up in an ins tu on
as they would have been in New Hampshire. anywhere in the world. But I never stopped
For one thing I didn’t go to high school. I believing that she was alive. I’d struggled at
went to Mrs. Okalik’s house. She lived in the
same Myggedalen neighborhood as Miki’s mes because of her, but her own life had
family, about a ten-minute walk away. She been a bi er one. And what I felt for her
was probably seventy, but something of a was love and pity, not blame.
whirlwind. Besides educa ng me she also
donated me to various chari es and vol- I finally tracked down the rela ve I had
unteer programs in Nuuk. She had close- in Nuuk, a sullen man who lived with a
cropped hair that was apparently built for churlish girlfriend, and I never contacted
speed, and o en would size me up over the him ever again.
top of her glasses. I learned Greenlandic
and Danish history along with the normal Miki and I both applied to the free uni-
subjects I’d have taken anywhere. I tried to versity in Copenhagen and that was where
learn Greenlandic but largely failed, though we spent our college years. I rode a bicycle
I did finally get the hang of Danish. everywhere I went, studied English Litera-
ture, worked in a bar and a bowling alley
I was condi oned by life and circumstanc- and an Environmental Science Center on
es, and probably temperament, to spend campus. I loved Copenhagen and easily
much of my me alone. Miki was similar, but could have lived there for the rest of my life.
we ended up spending the bulk of our me
with one another. Our sensibili es were so We spent an enormous amount of me
alike it was hard to imagine it being otherwise. going to movies. On campus there were
constant screenings, movies from France
A lot of what Miki’s family ate I liked, and Germany, from Italy and Iceland and
blueberries and halibut and caribou. Her from every era, from Italian Neorealism to
mother made a fish soup that became my French New Wave, to the glory days of Sev-
favorite dish. But there were some things I en es American cinema.
would never touch. When Miki and I were
first ge ng to know one another I told We began to talk about it seriously during
her once “I can’t believe people really eat our senior year, going to Los Angeles and
WHALE BLUBBER here.“ doing something in the film world. I’d been
born in Los Angeles a er all, not that it
“I don’t like it raw,” she said, “but mat- would make any difference now. We talked it
tak, when it’s all breaded and fried is really over with Miki’s parents, who were support-
good. If you ever eat the fish s cks they sell ive and gave us their complete blessing. I
in the supermarket this wouldn’t seem that would in fact consult with them about major
different to you.” decisions for many years to come.

I o en wondered what had become of Though Miki and I each had several flings
my mother, but I didn’t constantly think during our college years, nothing serious
ever seemed to s ck. So a er saving for a

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

year there was nothing holding us back, and “Be careful,” I said through the rolled
we disembarked from Copenhagen Airport down window before she drove away.
to California.
*
*
I’d spent much of my day off hiking up in the
“Maybe it’s too drab,” Miki said about the foothills, and I was returning home on San
script, as we sat there on the terrace. Fernando Road. As I approached the bridge
crossing the Tujunga Wash I could see a per-
“The houses are colorful at least,” I an- son standing dangerously near the road just
swered. “We’ve put abundant coverage of the in front of the bridge. Fearful the person
neighborhoods in the scene descrip ons.“ might stray, or even lunge into the road in
front of me I slowed down.
“I keep thinking we let the first half get
way, way too grim. Maybe we’ve over-dra- Once I was across the bridge I pulled
ma zed your circumstances, or elevated over to the side of the road and got out.
the degree of peril you were actually in.” I walked back over the bridge, and stood
where the person had stood, looking down
“It felt perilous enough to me,” I said. “Be- into the dried up wash below.
sides, we have to have some license don’t
we?” Descending the hill, I could see as I
neared the bo om the full extent of the
“I know. It’s so weird wri ng a movie homeless encampment there, tents and
about yourself.” lean-tos on the hard, rocky sand under the
bridge, and among the trees and under-
“What else are we going to write about, brush.
cops and murderers, strippers and jewel
thieves? Not that there’s anything wrong I spo ed the woman I had seen before
with any of that. But I don’t think of our at the edge of the road. She was standing
characters as really us. I never went north near, but not with a cluster of people who
to go out with the dog sleds and neither did were milling about and talking there. When
you.” I was close enough I saw that it was true:
she looked remarkably like my mother.
“On the other hand you did stare dumb-
founded at the Northern Lights the first “What do you want?” she asked.

me like you were in a trance.” “I thought we might know each other,”
I said.
“I was a li le scared to tell the truth.”
She stared at me blankly.
“The next thing we write,” she said, “has
to be a hundred and eighty degrees away “Have you ever lived in New Hampshire?
from this. It has to take place here, or in Have you ever lived in Greenland?”
Palm Springs, or maybe Rome, and I’m even
fine with strippers and jewel thieves.” She con nued staring at me blankly. The
face was leathered from exposure and was
When it was me for Miki to leave, head- do ed with age spots. Her hair was long
ing down to Hollywood Boulevard to meet and metal gray, though my mother’s had
her current beau Cliff, the famous Musso been short and auburn.
and Frank mar nis in mind, I walked her to
her car. The script had a lot of work le .

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“Is your name Hannah Lund, or Hannah About the Author:
Cochrane, which was your married name?”
Ken O’Steen‘s “Godsent Vermin,” which
She stared at me more, and finally said, appeared in the Winter 2017 issue of Sleet
“I’m wai ng for Willie but he isn’t coming.” Magazine, has been nominated by the mag-
azine for a Sundress Best of the Net Award.
The voice sounded a li le like her. Could “Dinner at Musso and Frank,” was included
she really have made it all the way back to in the anthology, “The Muse in the Bo le:
Los Angeles? It wasn’t en rely impossible. Great Writers on the Joys of Drinking” ed-
She’d lived here once a er all. When I was ited by Charles Coulombe, published by
born my dad was s ll looking fu lely for Citadel. “Pra legate,” appeared in the June
work in one of the remaining aerospace 2016 issue of New Pop Lit. “Fierce Bombar-
plants. dier of the Vast Imperial Skies,” appeared in
the Fall 2016 issue of Bri sh publica on The
But despite the resemblance, I realized it Wolfian, published by the Wolfian Press. “A
wasn’t her. “It was nice to meet you,” I said. Few Quirks of Surrender,” appeared in the
Fall 2016 issue of Cleaver Magazine. “The
I walked back up the hill, and across the Invisibility of Wealth,” appeared in the Oc-
bridge, and got back into the car. tober 2016 issue of Litbreak. The flash fic-

on piece, “The Thing That Ate Cars and
Avatars,” appeared in the May 2017 issue of
Bri sh publica on Litro. “Dialogue in a Dead
Zone,” appeared in the September 2017 is-
sue of Connota on Press. “Sex Bomb,” ap-
peared in the December 2017 edi on of Lit-
erary Juice. “The Projec onist,” appeared in
the Winter 2017 issue of Whistling Shade.
“Sweeper of the Blue Star,” appeared in the
April 2018 issue of Blue Lake Review. “The
Rains of Abracadabra,” appeared in the
August 2018 issue of Quail Bell Magazine.
“Shelter,” appeared in the October 2018
issue of Scarlet Leaf Review. “Pills vs. De-
capita on,” is forthcoming in Flash Fic on
Magazine.

107

THE LOVE PAINTER

By Larry L. Hamilton

On cold nights Winfred the writer o en A couple of local people who were Tav-
kept a teapot on his table in the Old Tavern ern regulars and who also knew the shrink
- the only name I guess the rambling old persuaded him to visit the Tavern to meet
three-story building ever had, even when with others who knew Winfred and how
it was new more than a century ago. The he worked. The Doctor understood a er a
teapot was covered with a handmade cozy while. Writers are sort of like that. Many
a special friend gave to him years ago. She are sort of manic when they’re wri ng.
admired him and his wri ng. He was known When they’re not wri ng they are sort of
for his passion for trying to write words so depressed or thinking about it so intensely,
alive they could slither off the pages when they may seem depressed.
they wanted. She sadly understood that
he had too much yet to do before he could With the medica on purged, Winfred re-
wrestle more control of his life away from sumed his habit of wri ng late at his special
his so demanding mistress. In the rare mo- table where he started using a special kind
ments when he was not entwined in the of tea he had received recently. The leaves
wanton, demanding, jealous limbs of his were grown somewhere in the far East - per-
personal muse, Winfred missed the wom- haps Burma. He said they were another gi
an who made the cozy and loved her even from the woman who made the cozy. When
more because she understood and forgave. someone asked if it was different, he said, “I
don’t know if it will be different for you, but
Some might say he just had major mood you can try it and see. It gives me modest
swings. He might say it had to do with com- powers that I don’t otherwise seem to have.”
pe ng muses. A few years back a well-inten-
With his habitual gentle smile in place,
oned shrink suggested Winfred might have he said, “I don’t know if it’s the tea or not,
bipolar Disorder and started him on a care- but something is direc ng me to write a
fully controlled medica on regimen. It didn’t story that I don’t have much control over.
work out well. Winfred didn’t write anything I don’t know if I’m conjuring a story out of
for weeks and everyone of us who knew him the teapot, or the tea is conjuring me to get
rather well could tell he was sad and unhap- the story out. It may seem a li le strange.”
py. He carried an aura with him of misery,
pure misery. It tended to affect other peo- When he was wri ng, it some mes
ple, too. Even people who understood what looked like it was coming out in a foreign
he was going through started to avoid him. tongue - maybe it was just gibberish and
he was hallucina ng the whole thing. May-

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be not. He revealed to some of us late one emerged in the pain ng: cobblers, carpen-
night what it was like to be possessed by ters, farmers and shepherds, bakers, moth-
the tea and the tale when he offered to tell ers, shopkeepers and others. The villagers
some of the story. in the crowd eventually could see them-
selves in the pain ngs. They were part of
Trying not to seem too eager, eight of us the dynamic in the picture with their pos-
gathered near the corner fireplace where tures and expressions displaying their a -
we se led in enjoying the fire’s warmth tudes, defining their own transforma on. In
and occasional crackle. He rarely read like one village the crowd surrounded a scene
this. But it was always a privilege because of terrible anguish taking shape on a can-
he pulled you in in and took you far away vas seven feet in height and a li le wider in
to a place far different than where you had width. A pack of wolves in deep winter sur-
expected you might end. rounded a nsmith traveling with his two
daughters. Their donkey already had fall-
“There was a man of mysterious ori- en vic m to the starving wolves. Now, the
gins born in a far land who had been giv- pack leader and his mate stood between
en a special talent to draw and paint. Ev- the father who was holding one daughter in
ery drawing and pain ng he did focused both arms and the other daughter who had
on love in some respect. The story of the fallen. The father’s dilemma was plain: flee
Love Painter traveled across the land and with one daughter to safety, or try to save
among the people in the tale like whispers both daughters and risk losing all. His love
on a summer breeze.” When Winfred read for his daughters and his pain at the dilem-
from his scribbled pages, his listeners could ma and the sense of his own fear grew in
see the colors on the canvas and feel the the gut of each of the observers with every
tension among the characters watching the brush stroke of the painter.
painter. “Some of the characters had come
merely to mock. But the crowd who slowly As the painter’s brush flew, the wolves
gathered to watch quickly s fled them with circled lower to the ground readying to leap
their disapproval. And, as the mockers saw and rip open vulnerable flesh. The father’s
the colors and shapes emerge, they, too, courage inspired the crowd. As the anguish
soon were absorbed in the transforma on. among the crowd of observers grew, so did
The scenes in the pictures varied from place it grow in the pain ng, but no one no ced
to place as he traveled but there was some- these magical brush strokes. Their anguish
thing almost biblical about all of his simple grew unabated for the fate of the man and
pain ngs. his daughters. Their concern transformed
into a love that slowly appeared first as a
Monsieur Blanc, the only name anyone fine mist in the air on the canvas. The mist
ever knew him by, always painted looking slowly thickened to be understood as a pro-
at a local scene in the village square, or in tec ve veil that was held in place only by
some nearby area thick with wild flowers the collec ve power of the father and the
and spring me greenery. No ma er where crowd in the scene - the carpenters, the
he painted, a crowd soon gathered. They cobblers, the ordinary people. At some pre-
stood or sat quietly behind him. Part of the cious moment, the crowd watching Mon-
magic he wielded over them was their in- sieur Blanc had merged into the scene fo-
clusion in the pain ng. Although he seldom cusing their capacity for love so that they
looked back at the crowd, they somehow

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each individually were now one with each About the Author:
other through their mutually shared focus.
Larry L. Hamilton grew up as an Army Brat,
What had happened on the canvas traveling from school to school, state to
somehow for a moment had transpired state, 2 tours in Germany. He then spent a
among the crowd like the blink from a light- few years on ac ve duty himself in Explo-
house’s rota ng eye. An uncanny experi- sive Ordnance Disposal. He earned three
ence for them all, not something they im- degrees in Government and Interna onal
mediately grasp well enough to talk about” Studies from the University of South Caro-
is how Winfred described the crowd from lina many years ago and spent most of his
the village when he finished it off. career in SC state government while also
running over 50 marathons and coaching his
And too uncanny to talk about was the sons’ soccer and chess teams. Now 76, Larry
sudden blinking awareness shared among and his wife are living well with Alzheimer’s
his listeners as the colors from the canvas on the side of a mountain in Asheville, NC.
faded from our minds and we collec vely
wondered anguishing ourselves about the
fate of the man and his daughters. Win-
fred’s story was so oblique - but we knew he
had taken us on a long fascina ng voyage.

It took awhile for it to soak in. Janice, the
late night manager, served me a warm ale.
She was one of the friends who had per-
suaded the Shrink to visit Winfred here in
his wri ng place. She had been one of the
eight listeners tonight. “Men” she said, “are
so strange. Did you understand it?”

I was s ll dazed at the intensity of my re-
ac on to the story. “I’m not really sure, but
it certainly captured me, heart and soul. Tell
me what you heard.”

“It was about our rela onship - him, us,
his friends. He was saying ‘Thanks.’ That
wolf was the Shrink. Love held the wolf at
bay. Get it?”

110

A HARD CALL TO MAKE

by Kris ne Sarasin

Before she got to the restaurant Shyanne through a bombardment of incoming texts
had thought that a pair of dark wash jeans, and phone calls as she got ready for dinner.
Her mother and sister hadn’t stopped call-
ny black heels, and a white crop top was a ing her the past couple of days. She’d gone
perfectly fine ou it for going out to dinner. home to visit them last week and had found
They were normal fucking clothes. Nothing herself ambushed. They really needed to
outstanding about them. At least, that’s drop the topic as her mind was made up.
what she had assumed a er hurriedly get- And they certainly needed to stop leaving
her voicemails on the subject. She didn’t
ng dressed a er her 8-hour shi at the know how she could make it any clearer
deli and the quickest shower of her life. to them. She didn’t want to tell them to go
fuck themselves, that seemed overly rude,
Her hair was hanging limply around her but she felt like it was nearing that point.
face. She’d been forced to choose between She didn’t want to see the miserable bas-
hair and makeup since she’d already been tard. They should be able to respect that.
running late. So, she’d chosen the most She wasn’t trying to keep them from him,
makeup she could apply in five minutes. That so why did they think it was okay to try and
ended up just being founda on and mascara, force her to see him?
but she felt like it was be er than nothing.
She didn’t want Emily’s parents to see the The ride to the restaurant was miserable.
massive dark circles under her eyes. Plus, this It took her a few tries to get the aux cord
way the two pimples by her nose weren’t vis- in the exact right posi on. The cord was
ible. Despite her shower she wasn’t en re- clearly reaching the end of its life and the
ly sure she was able to escape the smell of wires were exposed, but she con nued to
the deli. She’d scrubbed at her skin and had fiddle with it. When she finally got the cord
quickly shampooed her hair, but the deli just to work, she eagerly pulled up her Spo fy
clung to her. She kept catching whiffs of pas- Weekly playlist. She wanted to have new
trami on her drive to the restaurant. music blas ng so loudly she could forget
about the mess that she was trying to avoid.
Maybe she would have had me to do But the frayed aux cord wasn’t working well
both if she hadn’t wasted so much me and the songs weren’t playing clearly. It also
checking her phone and dele ng voice- didn’t help that every other song was being
mails. She wanted to put her phone on interrupted by incoming phone calls.
airplane mode, but she couldn’t take the
chance of missing a call from Emily. The
consequence of that was that she suffered

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Her hands ghtened around the steering of the buildings were really nice, the roads
wheel when her sister called for the third were paved be er, and the cars passing her
were nicer, and newer, than the cars she’d
me. This was completely inappropriate. seen just 15 minutes back.
And when she finally had the energy for
it, she was going to put a stop to this. She “What?” Emily genuinely sounded con-
was going to let her sister and mother know fused. It would be cute if it didn’t make Shy-
just how absolutely not okay this all was. anne feel so embarrassed. Of course, Emily
The phone was ringing again with one of didn’t realize where she was.
the default tones that she’d never brought
herself to change, and she nearly hung up She tried again. “I just passed that jewel-
on it without even looking at who was call- ry store. You know, the one you got me that
ing. She tried to focus her gaze on the road bracelet at?”
ahead of her.
Two months ago, Shyanne had absent-
She couldn’t help but glance down at mindedly commented on a silver bracelet
the screen as she went to send the call to with a tree of life charm on it, and Emily
voicemail. It was then she realized it was had bought it with seemingly no thought
Emily calling. Fuck. It wasn’t exactly like she whatsoever. She’d said it was an early four-
could ignore this one. With a sigh, she hit month anniversary gi . The bracelet had
the accept bu on. been lovely but the price tag made Shy-
anne’s skin crawl. She could only stare at
“Hey. Look, I’m not trying to rush you or Emily in a dazed confusion as she purchased
anything baby, but we’re at the restaurant it.
already.” Emily’s voice was warm as always,
but there were obvious threads of irrita on. “Ohhh. Yeah, okay. Okay. So you’re only
a few minutes away. Wait, you’re not hold-
Shyanne considered slamming on the ing the phone, are you? We have hands-free
horn in frustra on. It wouldn’t be fair to driving laws. Please don’t get pulled over.” A
the cars in front of her. But it was temp ng moment passed and Emily laughed. “Or you
nonetheless. It wasn’t like she could start know, die? I want you to finally meet my
screaming while she was on the phone with parents. Can’t do that if you’re dead.” She
her girlfriend. “I’m really sorry. Work got sounded amused, but also like she was crav-
out late. And I couldn’t show up without ing a cigare e. She’d spent the whole day
showering first.” with her parents and Shyanne was sure that
Emily didn’t have either the me or space
“It’s fine. I just kind of need to know to smoke. It was her li le, and perhaps only,
where you are? I’ll need to meet you when secret from them.
you get here. It’s a maze in there, you’d nev-
er find our table.” “Don’t worry. My hands are very much
free. You’re on speaker. And um, they could
“Um. Well, I’m passing into like… the rich always come to the funeral?” She wasn’t
area of town now.” She cringed at how the looking forward to mee ng them and there
words tumbled out. Did she sound like a was no way to get around that. She was
hick? She didn’t want to. But also, how else sure that she’d do something wrong at din-
could she describe where she was? She had ner. They’d probably find her “quaint” or
just passed into the richer part of town. The some other condescending thing that rich
buildings were less run down, in fact most

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Revista Literária Adelaide

people always seemed to think about regu- breath and closed her eyes in the silence
lar people. The idea of them a ending her of the parked car. This night would be fine.
funeral was actually preferable to having to She was just overthinking things. Emily was
sit down with them. perfectly nice, and her parents probably
were too. Everything Emily said about them
“Shyanne. Seriously though. It’s been seemed to point to that. They donated a lot,
six months and you s ll haven’t met them. they were involved in their community, and
Please get here soon, okay? I just… I’m real- they voted democrat every elec on.
ly excited about this. They’re going to love
you.” Shyanne looked at the cars surrounding
her and let out a harsh laugh. The cars were
Shyanne found herself wishing that her nice, to say the least. She doubted anyone
girlfriend wasn’t quite so earnest some- in the lot had ever taken a car mudding be-
fore. Mudding was one of the few things
mes. It made le ng her down so much that she found herself missing about her
worse. It also made saying no feel like the father. She’d spent the first ten springs of
worst thing in the world. Besides, Shyanne her life going mudding with her dad as of-
reminded herself, it was just mee ng Emi- ten as possible. Occasionally in high school
ly’s parents. Even if her parents were rich. she had gone with friends, but it was never
It was s ll a normal da ng thing. Totally quite the same. In this parking lot filled with
normal. Just wasn’t something she’d done Mercedes’ and Lexus’ it felt like mudding
before. Well, not since high school, and she was offensive to even think about.
didn’t really count the few guys that she had
dated her junior and senior year. It wasn’t Her pre-owned Saturn stood out in stark
exactly mee ng someone’s parents when contrast to all the other cars. She had no
you’d gone to the same school as their son doubt that it was oldest car in the lot. It was
since preschool and they were already fa- certainly the least sleek and the least styl-
miliar with you from plays and recitals. ish thing compared to the others. She was
alone, but she s ll felt her cheeks redden.
She thought about closing her eyes and She loved her clunky, occasionally unreli-
swerving off the road when her phone able wagon. She really did. It was the first
started vibra ng aggressively with another big thing that she had ever saved up for and
incoming call. She declined the call, exhaled go en for herself. But here it just felt em-
deeply, and brought her a en on back to barrassing. She wondered if that’s what Em-
Emily. “I’ll be there soon. I promise. It will ily thought every me she got into the car.
be great.” She sounded chipper and enthu-
sias c. She almost believed herself and she Her phone rang again. She sighed be-
had no doubts that Emily would too. They fore picking the phone up, only to hesitate
exchanged a quick goodbye before Emily when she saw that it was her grandmother.
hung up. Shyanne found herself heaving Something might be seriously wrong, she
out a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to might’ve slipped in the shower or tripped
disappoint anyone. But everyone seemed over something in the living room. Or may-
to want just a li le too much from her. be she was just pushing an agenda too.
But if something was wrong and she just
She cau ously pulled into a parking lot ignored the call…. well, how was she sup-
near the restaurant, and backed into the posed to forgive herself?
first spot she saw. She took another deep

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Hi, Nana. Is everything okay?” She kept and try to convince Shyanne to forgive him.
her tone as neutral as possible. The me on She couldn’t take that chance.
her phone glared back at her. God, she was
so late. She was already making an awful As she shoved her phone into her pants
impression on Emily’s parents. pocket and walked towards the restaurant,
she saw Emily wai ng at the door for her.
“Hi dear. No need to panic, I’m okay, I She pasted a smile onto her face, waved,
promise. I just wanted to talk to you about and tried to push down her rising anxiety.
your father.” Her grandmother’s voice al- As she got closer, she paused when she
ways reminded her of fur. It was rich and saw how Emily was dressed. Her long, black
so . But right now, she really did not have hair was straightened and her bangs were
the me or pa ence for this. pinned back. She was wearing a black cardi-
gan over a dark green dress that went past
“I’m late to something really important, her knees and nude heels that had to have
so I need to go.” been at least four inches. Typically, she pre-
ferred jeans, tank tops, and combat boots.
“Shyanne.” In that same moment she saw Emily’s smile
falter as her gaze landed on Shyanne. They
“Nana, please-” stood awkwardly in front of each other for
a moment, Emily looking like she was trying
“You’ll regret it if you don’t see him.” Her to think of something to say, and Shyanne
grandmother’s voice was stern. There was ready to slam her head against a wall.
no room for argument. Except for the glar-
ing fact that she was wrong. “I’m glad you were able to find it.” Em-
ily’s smile was back in place but there was
“I don’t think-” a strain in it that was obvious. She shi ed
uncomfortably on her feet. “Look, baby,
“No one is denying his problems. But I promise that I’m not trying to be an ass-
my son doesn’t deserve to die without hole, but do you maybe want my sweater?”
ge ng to say goodbye to his family.” Shy-
anne didn’t appreciate the sharpness of her Shyanne nodded. “I’m sorry. I thought… I
grandmother’s tone. Or the implica on that mean I didn’t think...” She trailed off, unsure
she needed to do something for the man of what exactly to say.
who had constantly let her family down and
hurt her me and me again. She wasn’t It was now obvious that a crop top had
willing to have this conversa on with yet been an inappropriate choice. She should
another person. have known be er. All Emily had said about
tonight was: “We’re ge ng dinner with my
“I have to go. Love you.” She hung up. A parents Friday night. My favorite restaurant
second later she realized that she’d hung up actually. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
on her grandmother and she felt like an ab-
solute monster. It wasn’t like she had me But Shyanne had been an absolute mo-
to call back and apologize. And in her de- ron and hadn’t used any semblance of her
fense, she really didn’t want to talk about cri cal thinking skills. Of course, Emily’s fa-
her father anymore with anyone. As far as vorite restaurant was going to be an incred-
she was concerned, he was already dead. ibly nice one. Why wouldn’t it be? It was
She had wanted to talk to Emily about ev- what she’d grown up with. And of course,
erything going on, but she was terrified that
she would just agree with everyone else

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she wouldn’t think to men on anything how intensely awkward she sounded. Emily
about how to dress. It was just so obvious pulled out Shyanne’s chair for her which Shy-
to Emily. anne thought was equal parts sweet and sil-
ly. Either way, she sat down eagerly.
Shyanne’s favorite restaurant was an
Irish Pub that her father used to take her to “Emily told us that you got out of work
for special occasions. Before he cheated on late. Please don’t apologize for it. These
her mother. Before he drunkenly slapped things happen.” Shyanne was surprised by
Shyanne once, and then a lot more than how genuine Emily’s mother sounded.
once. Before he cried on the kitchen floor,
begging for her to forgive him. Before he Shyanne smiled weakly at her. Emily’s
le them two years ago for some woman parents began talking to Emily about her
he probably met at a bar in a blackout. Be- internship at the Connec cut Museum of
fore he only got in contact with them again Natural History and Shyanne found her-
because he was sick and sorry. Her ou it self tuning out. She tugged down her shirt
was perfectly suited for that Irish Pub. Not repeatedly, but any me she shi ed in her
so much this. seat whatsoever it began to move up her
body again. Her stomach was exposed and
Emily promised Shyanne that it was okay there was no way to get around that. Shy-
and lead her to their seats a er Shyanne anne stared at the napkin in her lap. She
put the cardigan on, but she s ll felt shame wasn’t sure what was whiter, the crisply
coiled at the bo om of her stomach. Shy- folded cloth or her stomach in these early
anne couldn’t believe how beau ful the days of spring.
Italian restaurant was. She thought it might
be the most beau ful restaurant she’d ever “So, Shyanne, what do you do? Emily’s
been to. Not that she’d exactly been to many men oned that you’re an English major.”
nice restaurants like this. Rack upon rack of Charlo e sipped at her glass of water.
imported wines lined the back walls and a
beau ful stone wall was to her le . Emily had “I work at the campus library and at a
been right about the place being maze-like, supermarket.” She tried to sound confident.
but somehow that only added to the appeal.
“How’s that?”
Emily’s parents, Bre and Charlo e,
both offered her wide smiles and shook her “It pays the bills. They both have their
hand. Nothing was said about how she was perks.” She tried to smile again. Her face
dressed, but she saw the look of disdain hurt from all of the smiling at this point. Her
that crossed Charlo e’s face. fingers tapped against her right leg with no
sense of rhythm. She looked down at her
“It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve nails and tried not to frown. Her nails were
been looking forward to this.” Bre had a gnawed at and stubby looking. The ring
voice that didn’t suit him. It was rich and she wore on her le index finger looked
deep, and didn’t look it should come from tarnished. Her grandmother had given it
a balding 5’9 man. to her for her 16th birthday; it was a slim
rose gold band with three ny diamonds. It
“Oh, thank you. It’s really uh great ge ng had been such a special gi . She s ll wasn’t
to meet you guys too. I’m so sorry about be- sure how Nana had afforded it. She knew
ing late.” Shyanne internally kicked herself for that this had been much more than Nana

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

should have go en her from the moment ing an appe zer. This was a common prac-
she saw it. One of the diamonds was miss- ce for her and Shyanne knew that, yet it
ing now. Shyanne was saving up to replace
it but doubted it would be any me soon. s ll took her off guard every single me. It
She knew she could ask Emily for help, but occasionally would happen when Shyanne
that just felt wrong. The ring she wore on was the one paying for a date night and it
her right pointer finger looked cheap. The always managed to fill her with a wild sense
silver hadn’t shined for years and she was of panic. She saw where she’d picked up the
suddenly embarrassed by the turquoise habit, though, as her parents did the same
in the middle of it. Her nails were nothing thing; they each ordered both a drink and
like the finely manicured nails of every oth- an appe zer. They didn’t seem to think any-
er woman in the restaurant. It looked as thing of it.
though every single woman had just gone
and go en their nails done. They were all In fact, it seemed like no one in this
perfectly filled in and had the sheen of fresh restaurant was thinking anything of it. She
shellac. She doubted that their nails were saw people talking and laughing with re-
ever bare or chewed upon. laxed postures as tray a er tray of food
was brought to them. She didn’t see any-
Emily glanced over at her before squeez- one looking at the check and then a flash
ing her hand under the table. Emily looked of panic crossing their face. She didn’t see
completely unbothered by the conversa- anyone taking out their phone to transfer
the precious last dollars from savings into
on, company, or restaurant. In fact, she checkings. She didn’t see any parents whis-
looked like she belonged here. In the so pering to each other and already regre ng
ligh ng of the restaurant she looked ele- their decision to treat themselves.
gant and stunning.
Shyanne crossed her legs and uncrossed
“Yeah, Shyanne works incredibly hard. them nervously. She was pre y sure she
That supermarket would fall apart without was the only person wearing jeans in this
her.” Emily spoke with pride, even though en re place. Her face felt warm. She wished
Shyanne didn’t think she did anything par- it was me to leave already. Charlo e kept
looking at her from the corner of her eye.
cularly impressive. A gleam of curiosity and judgment flickered
behind the rims of her sleek, navy blue de-
Shyanne wanted so badly to check her signer glasses. Shyanne pretended not to
phone. Refraining from doing so was almost no ce.
physically painful. She rested her hand on
the front pocket of her jeans. She could feel Finally, she blurted out: “I need to go to
the shape of her phone. It was calling out the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”
to her. She could technically check it under
the napkin. But that would be incredibly “Do you want me to go with you? The
rude and she was be er than that, or so she bathroom is kinda hard to find.” Emily
hoped. She just wanted to know if Nana had popped an olive from her an pasto salad
called back. Guilt was gnawing at her over into her mouth.
that. Perhaps it wasn’t her finest moment.
“Oh, I got it. But thank you.” She squeezed
Emily had ordered a Manha an and Emily’s shoulder as she slipped behind her
sipped at it absentmindedly before order- chair.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

It turned out that she was wrong about “I know. But you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
being able to find the bathroom on her own. That was her “mother knows best” tone.
She looped around the restaurant twice Shyanne fucking hated that voice.
without finding any trace of a bathroom,
and she couldn’t bring herself to ask any “I won’t.”
of the waiters. It was bad enough that she
looked so out of place. She didn’t want to “Shyanne Marie.”
sound dumb on top of that. She gave up on
the bathroom and instead slipped outside. Shyanne felt her temper flare. She didn’t
want to be full named. She wanted her feel-
The nigh me air was cool and she shiv- ings to be fucking respected. “I’m serious.
ered without her coat. She touched her What role has he played in my life? He’s
front pocket again and paused. She pulled just a drunk that freeloaded off of you for
out her phone and looked at it with a frown. years. And you know, liked to hit me when
Nana had tried calling back twice, her moth- he got too drunk. Does no one else remem-
er had le another voicemail and she had 3 ber that? Is it just me?” Her voice wavered
texts from her sister. She rolled her shoul- with anger.
ders backward and the loud cracking that
accompanied it was almost comfor ng. Her mother didn’t respond for a mo-
ment. “He’s dying. No one is saying that he
She looked at the phone for a long mo- was the father of the year. But he is dying
ment. She needed to go back inside soon. Shyanne.”
It was rude to be late and then missing for
so long. “So?” She could feel herself ge ng
more agitated. She paced in front of the
With a deep breath that was meant to doors and ran a hand through her hair. She
calm her, but only made her feel nearly diz- felt tempted to rip a clump of it out.
zy, she called her mother back. The phone
only rang once before it was picked up. It “So, you should see him. Before he passes.”
seemed like her mother had been wai ng
for this call for days. There was a firmness in her mother’s
words that only further angered Shyanne.
“Thank you for calling back.” “You should be relieved he’s dying.”

“Mom. I love you.” “Don’t talk that way. That’s a disgus ng
thing to say.” A flicker of irrita on was more
“But?” than obvious now.

“But what you’re asking of me isn’t fair.” “What? Am I wrong?”
She tried to leave no room for argument in
her tone. “I’m not asking you to do this for him. Or
for me. I’m asking you to do it for yourself.”
Her mother sighed deeply. Her irrita on It sounded like she believed the words she
with Shyanne was obvious. “I’m asking you was saying.
to do this for yourself, Shyanne.”
“No. You’re really not. I have made it
Shyanne snorted. When her moth- more than clear that I don’t want to say
er didn’t say anything more, she spoke: “I goodbye. He’s not in my life and I like it that
don’t want to though.” way.” She wished she had a cigare e. Or an
en re bo le of wine. Either would do.

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“I hope your children are more forgiving a cigare e. I think I might be a li le addict-
than you are.” The words stung. ed.” She let the words linger, smiling over
at Shyanne who rolled her eyes. “I told my
Her nose flared. She shook her head parents I was going to check on you though,
in frustra on. “I won’t give them so many so I guess I didn’t end up lying to them like
things to forgive me for.” I thought I did.”

“You’re be er than this.” Shyanne let out a huff of laughter at that.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. See. Him.” She kept “You gonna tell me why you’re out here?
her words measured and a empted to keep Because I saw you hang up the phone.” Em-
her volume low. She wanted to scream. She ily took out a pack of Marlboro Reds from
wanted to cry. She wanted someone to be her clutch and lit one up. She took a deep
on her side about this. inhale, her eyes closing in pleasure.

“He’s been asking about you.” She said “Family stuff. That’s all.” Shyanne hoped
it so ly. Shyanne couldn’t believe that her that would be enough.
mother had been visi ng him. There was
no reason for her to, except the fact that no “Your dad?” Emily glanced over at Shy-
ma er what, she s ll loved him. It disgusted anne before turning her head away to blow
Shyanne. out smoke.

“Cool. My therapist asks me a lot about Shyanne froze. It took her a minute to
him. So, I guess it evens out.” think straight again. “What makes you ask
that?”
“Why are you being so damn difficult.”
“You were talking about him the other
“Because you won’t listen to me.” night. When we went out with Kara.” Emily
offered Shyanne a cigare e.
“Call me tomorrow, okay? We can talk
about it more then.” Shyanne snatched it away before Em-
ily could change her mind. She fumbled
“There’s nothing more to talk-” She with the lighter for the moment, unsure of
blinked and looked down at her phone. Her what to say. She usually avoided alcohol,
mother had hung up on her. She shook her the daughter of an alcoholic knew bet-
head again and shoved her phone into her ter than to play that game. But the other
back pocket. She stared at the ground for a night they’d all gone out and Shyanne had
moment, not en rely sure of what had just a few too many shots. She didn’t remem-
happened. ber most of the night, but she’d been un-
der the impression that nothing wild had
“This doesn’t look like the bathroom.” happened.

Shyanne whirled around, feeling panic “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you?”
spread throughout her body. She opened Emily’s voice dripped with concern as she
her mouth to say something, but closed it turned to look at Shyanne.
a er a second. She didn’t know where to
begin. She shrugged and asked, “Why are “No, no, it isn’t that. I just didn’t know I
you out here?” told you about all that stuff.”

Emily leisurely crossed over to where Emily snorted in response.
Shyanne was standing. “I really fucking need

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“Not like in a bad way.” She took a long “Ready to go back in? It’s okay if not.”
drag and avoided Emily’s gaze. “I think I’m ready. But dear god, I hope
your parents don’t ask about my family.”
“I mean, you only told me because you Shyanne smiled, though she was serious.
were drunk.” Emily laughed and held open the door of
the restaurant. Shyanne stepped inside only
“I don’t want to see him, Em.” She hated a er pu ng her phone on airplane mode.
how small her voice sounded.
About the Author:
“I know.” Kristen Sarasin was born and raised in New
Hampshire. She is currently a student at
Shyanne looked over to Emily. There was the University of Maine at Farmington. Her
no judgement in her voice, or any sort of work has previously appeared in Ripple, and
disappointment. “Like at all. Even though her work was produced in the 2019 New-
he’s sick.” buryport Firehouse Center’s Fes val of New
Works.
“Yeah, I know, baby.” Emily switched her
cigare e to her other hand. “It’s okay.”

“What?” Shyanne cocked her head to
the side.

“It’s okay that you don’t want to see him.
No one should be trying to bully you into it.”

Shyanne stared at Emily. She could bare-
ly process the words.

“You really think that?” Her heart was
racing and she wasn’t really sure why.

“Of course. It’s a decision you need to
make for yourself. And it’s really okay if you
don’t want to see someone who hurt you
that much.”

Shyanne reached out to grab Emily’s hand.
Her throat felt ght and even if she wanted
to say something, she didn’t know what she
could possibly say. Instead, she squeezed
Emily’s hand ghtly. Emily squeezed it back
before pu ng out her cigare e. Shyanne
shook her head before taking a final drag of
her cigare e. She let it drop to the ground
and squashed her heel over it. The red
sparks faded away. She glanced over at Emily,
self-conscious again, it wasn’t exactly classy
to use her one good pair of heels to put out
a cigare e. Emily didn’t appear phased in the
slightest.

119

THE NIGHT WE MET

by Aimee Hardy

I opened my eyes, and it was snowing. heard your voice again, so happy to finally
know that I was enough, that I didn’t even
I was all alone. worry about disappearing forever when I let
out my final breath in the snow, with my heart
I lay there wrapped up in a blanket, look- so full and warm among the frozen ground.
ing out at the snow. The TV was playing
so ly in the corner, but my a en on was I was almost seventy when I was all but
cap vated by the white outside. disappeared for what looked to be the last

I don’t remember how old I was, but me. Every me someone walked past my
when I tried to move my bones ached. It room they couldn’t see me. I was just a shad-
was like ny pieces of glass were ground ow. When I felt like I was invisible, I would
into each muscle and joint. But the snow squeeze my husband’s hand that was twist-
called. It sang to me. ed with arthri s. My hand was so small that
I wasn’t sure if he could even feel my hand.
Slowly, I put one foot down in front of But I would hang on to the hope of Sundays,
the other and I made my way outside. of visitors. And that last Sunday happened to
be on Christmas. My daughter and son came
The snow looked like diamonds raining with their families. They brought presents
down in slow mo on around me, and it felt like and treats. The kids laughed and I showed
bu erflies kissing my skin. The smell of saw- them how to draw Christmas scenes and
dust and sunshine filled my nose. Tears flood- make snowflake chains out of ssue paper
ed my eyes. An indescribable pain gripped my and napkins. The smiles on their faces made
chest, closing in on my throat. And then it was me glow for weeks. That glow spread into
as if you were all around me, swirling in the air the hallway and everyone who walked the
with the snow. Hugging me. Pu ng your arms hall couldn’t help but turn their heads and
around me. Saying all the things you couldn’t look at me when they passed.
say, or wouldn’t say, I was never quite sure. All
I could do was close my eyes and hope it was At fi y-five, I woke in the middle of the
real a er all this me. All I could do was think night, and I knew that the world had changed.
back to the night we met.
I ran to my phone. I knew it was my son-
I stayed outside for so long that night that in-law before I even answered.
my feet and hands turned blue. Their color
never quite returned. And neither did I. My “Is it me?” I asked without seeing who
heart was so full that night, so happy to have it was.

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“Yes, we’re headed to the hospital now.” I opened my mouth but nothing came
My son-in-law replied. out. I had even lost my voice.

I rushed to the hospital, ge ng there well “Hey, mom! I’m talking to you,” he gig-
before my daughter. My husband told me to gled. “I see you, you know.”
calm down, that everything would be fine,
but I just couldn’t wait. I was there to hold my I looked down at my hands, doub ul.
daughter’s hand, just as my mother had held
my own hand. And I felt complete as I held my “Where?” I asked.
first grandchild, a li le girl, in my arms.
“Right there,” he said, poin ng.
“She has your eyes, you know, mom.”
My daughter said to me. I didn’t know my “I can’t see it. Where?”
daughter was s ll awake and looked up,
surprised. My son giggled and came towards me,
and without pausing, touched my heart. It
“I’m serious,” my daughter said. “It’s all took my breath away.
you.” She smiled.
“You see me?” I asked.
“That can’t be,” I said looking down. I
looked up at my daughter again and smiled “Uh-huh,” he giggled again. “I always see
sadly. “Everyone always told me that I got you, mommy.”
my eyes from my dad.”
I wrapped him in a ght hug and I could
My daughter reached out her hand and feel it, then, deep inside. I was s ll there.
grabbed my shoulder.
I was nervous.
“No, not the color. I mean the sparkle.”
I hadn’t seen him in at least ten years
I smiled and began to hum so ly to my and we hadn’t parted on the best of terms,
granddaughter. When my granddaugh- to say the least.
ter would get older, some mes she would
hum that tune over and over without quite But now he was coming back.
knowing where it had come from.
The visit was tense but my father looked
One day I woke up and discovered that I proud. His chest swelled when he toasted
had disappeared long ago. Or so I thought. to me, his only daughter, and the wonderful
I was thirty-three. I was a decent wife and thanksgiving dinner.
mother, but somewhere along the way I had
disappeared. I was going through the mo- Then he downed the glass.

ons so thoroughly that I hadn’t stopped to And then another.
realize that I was a ghost.
And then a few shots.
I had even forgo en my own name.
Soon, his voice began to boom and I could
I folded piece a er piece of laundry and hear him slam beer bo les in the trash. I
would have gone on folding forever if not could s ll hear the crunching slams even af-
for my son. ter he had replaced his beer with shots.

“Mom?” He asked, peering into the room. Talk shi ed from Thanksgiving to food
to a disagreement about stuffing to a full
blown argument. I knew what was hap-
pening before it even started. The room

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began to spin. I saw it all in slow mo on, And so this con nued, working for awhile,
how my father grabbed his girlfriend, how un l it didn’t anymore. My friends didn’t un-
he slapped her once, then twice, across the derstand. My boyfriend had broken my heart.
face, how my husband stepped in and how My mom was gone. My dad never called. I
my father rounded on him in anger with was all alone.
those eyes, those black eyes. They were the
ones from my childhood, from my night- I sat there that night, watching myself
mares. They were the same eyes that s ll disappear in the mirror inch by inch, wish-
haunted me even though I was whole again. ing all the pain and the noise would stop. I
tried to hold on to my reflec on in the mir-
My father le and his girlfriend begged ror. I looked so much like my mother. But
un l he came back, un l she could leave I couldn’t make out my face from all the
with him. I felt sorry for her but I knew just darkness. What a relief it would be for it all
how she felt. I knew how good it felt for him to just stop.
to look at her and tell her how sorry he was
and how much he loved her. I knew how So I took the rest of my sleeping pills in
nice it felt when he pulled you into him with my hand and swallowed them one by one
that sawdusty smell and told you that ev- on the cold floor of the bathroom. I laid
erything would be fine. down, my cheek res ng on the cool le and
there it was.
I cried myself to sleep that night in my
husband’s arms and thought of snow and Peace.
that tune that I couldn’t get out of my head.
And I wish I could go back to when things I could almost feel the release when I felt
were simple. I wish we could go back to the a strange pull from my stomach. It heaved
night we met. beneath me, and the earth lted.

The first me it happened was when I I struggled to sit up just in me for the
was twenty-one. I ran my hand across the contents of my stomach to find their way
smooth handles of the kitchen knives. They into the toilet. My stomach heaved again
were cold to the touch but they felt good. and again, each me painfully reminding
Heavy. Substan al. me that I was here, here, s ll here.

I took the knife into the living room and A er several hours, I got into my car and
sat, praying that the loudness would go headed to the only place I could think of
away but it wouldn’t. I put the knife to my that would take me: home.
skin. And then I heard it. Silence.
I tried my key but the chain stubbornly
But then it blared again. It blared so loud held the door closed. Reluctantly, I pushed
that I couldn’t take it. So I cut. And I cut again. the doorbell.

I knew I shouldn’t. It wasn’t ra onal. It Although I knew mom wasn’t home,
wasn’t right. But the sound stopped and it would never shuffle to the door in her bath-
didn’t come back un l later that a ernoon, robe, sleepy-eyed and half smiling again, I
and by then, I could just take one of my couldn’t help but old my breath and listen.
sleeping pills and go to sleep. A sleep so si- I heard my father’s heavy steps before I
lent and so deep that I didn’t have to think. could see him. He came to the door grog-
gy with sleep, alcohol s ll on his breath.
But he asked no ques ons. He could see it

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in my eyes, at least the shame, anyway. He, A er dinner, I got a shower. Even from
who could take unwanted things, and make down the hall I heard my father slam anoth-
them beau ful again. er beer bo le in the trash. The clangs were
louder this me, as there were more bo les
And we never spoke of that night, al- in the bo om. I pretended that the warm
though it would haunt me for years. The water was a magical rain. I pretended that
as it rained down on my skin I was being
me I was so alone I wanted to take my transformed into a magical princess.
own life. The me I was so alone and the
only person there for me was my father. But soon the water ran cold. I looked
The me I was so alone that I almost disap- down, and I was not transformed. I was not
peared forever. special. I quickly turned the knob on the
shower and knew that I would soon be in
At fi een, I stood in front of the mirror, trouble for using up all the hot water.
and I felt different. The change was so small
that I barely no ced. I shook my head, my “Finally,” my dad slurred. I could smell
dreams s ll clinging to the ends of my hair, him from the other side of the room. It
other worlds s ll clouding my eyes. They oozed from his pores. “What were you do-
were puffy from crying the night before, but I ing in there? Staring at the mirror?” I felt
pushed those thoughts away like I always did. my face go red. His eyes slid down my body
and made me feel self-conscious. I immedi-
That night I joined my mother in the ately sucked in my small tummy and wait-
kitchen. It was pizza night and the yeasty ed. “Those thighs though.” Suddenly he
smells of dough rising from the back of the grabbed one of my thighs and squeezed.
stove filled the house like a warm balloon. “You’re gonna have problems with those
My mother hummed so ly to herself as she thighs. If you don’t watch out, you’ll be the
grated cheese. Always that same song. My fat girl, and then nobody will look at you.
dad bounded up the stairs, winked at me, You’ll be invisible.”
and kissed me on the head on his way to
grab a beer from the fridge. I watched dad I tried to smile, tried not to cry, but my
walk back downstairs and wondered what father was way too past drunk to even no-
he was working on today.
ce the tears streaming down my face. He
His favorite ac vity was collec ng scrap always knew how to shred my heart into
material from work. He would save all the pieces without even trying.
pieces of wood or marble or le that would
otherwise be thrown away. He would take I went to the kitchen to get some water
them all home and create something beau- but my mouth was too dry to swallow. I set
the glass down on the counter and looked up.
ful out of all those unwanted pieces.
Knives. Shiny knives.
Mom let me decorate the top of the piz-
zas with cheese and pepperoni, before she I wiped the tears from my cheeks and
put them in the oven. I never went near the wished I could go back to the night we met.
oven. Once, at four years old, I burned my
finger on one of the hot coils in the oven At twelve, my mother tucked me in. We
and had never opened the oven door since. played with light shadows from the street
light outside. I made a bunny, and my mom
The mer rang, and the pizza was ready. made a dove. We laughed, my mom kissed

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my forehead, arranged the too many teddy I woke up on my seventh birthday. It
bears around me, and said good night. would be the first birthday with both my
mother and my father. All my friends came
That night I woke the house with screams. over and I wore my new birthday dress from
I fled to my mother’s side of the bed and fell my grandmother. We cut the cake and sang
into my mom’s arms. I was swea ng and and had presents. Everyone got ready for
shaking and my mom held me so ght. dress up. My mother invited the girls to pick
anything from her closet and we all strut-
It was a dream, just a dream. My mom ted down the hall as if it were a real runway.
got me some water but both of us were We fell into a big heap on the floor laughing
afraid to let go. and I almost didn’t no ce that somewhere
in the laughter my father had le and he
“Do you want to talk about it?” My moth- didn’t come home that night at all.
er asked.
I woke up and stared at the ceiling. I was
I just stared off into the distance. only three days old. Someone was picking
me up, someone who smelled like fresh
“What was it about?” She asked again. cut wood and sunshine. He held me in his
arms and he promised me the world, his
I took a breath. “There was a man. A bad only daughter. It never occurred to me why
man.” he hadn’t been there at first. I didn’t pro-
test when he le that a ernoon and didn’t
My mom waited pa ently for me to con- come back for days, for years. I didn’t no-
nue.
ce.
“He… he tried to get me. He kept coming
for me. It was like I would try to run and he I thought back to the night we met in-
just kept coming. There was nothing I could stead.
do. He was going to catch me no ma er
what I did. And in the end… he did.” My mother.

I looked up into my mother’s eyes and She held me so close. She traced every
trembled again. vein on my translucent skin. My mother,
who would erase every hurt he caused,
“Aw, honey. It’s okay. You’re safe here. I’ll every drunken scene, every nightmare,
keep you safe.” every absence, every I love he le unsaid.
My mother who was so and warm and
My mom wrapped her arms around me hummed me songs every night. My mother,
and squeezed me ght. I wrapped my arms who made shadow doves in the windows.
around her in return and we sat there hold- My mother, who tucked me in with teddy
ing each other for hours listening to my fa- bears. My mother, who kept me safe. I was
ther’s snores across the hall. nestled safely in her arms, and my gaze
shi ed to look out the window.
I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t close
my eyes. It was snowing.

A few weeks later it happened again. And
then again. And then again. It was always
the same. The man with those eyes, those
black eyes, and with a voice that sounded
like beer bo les smashing in the trash can.

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About the Author:

Aimee Hardy is a writer and educator from
Atlanta, GA. She is married, has two chil-
dren, and currently lives just outside of Bir-
mingham, AL. She studied literature in col-
lege and has spent the last five years wri ng
and teaching students how to develop their
own voice. For more informa on on Aimee
Hardy, please visit www.aimeehardy.com.

125

GPS

by Day McKnight

Ernest stood in the driveway of his friend’s seconds, he decided to put the key in the
house, looking at a light gray car that was igni on and started the car.
missing all four of its wheels. The axles of
the car were strapped onto slabs of con- He looked back at Tyson who was now
crete. Ernest’s friend, Tyson, walked out of holding a GPS.
the front door of his two-story suburban
house, carrying two bo les of water. “IHOP or Waffle House?” asked Tyson.

“Ty, c’mon man,” said Ernest. Ernest mo oned his hand toward the
handle of the door but was stopped by the
“What?” hand of Tyson.

“I’m not buying this.” “Okay. Okay. Okay. Just look. Let’s do
IHOP,” said Tyson.
“Nah, see, don’t get caught up with the
looks or none of that. This baby’s something Tyson lted the screen of the GPS to-
else.” Tyson handed Ernest a bo le of wa- ward Ernest. He typed the le ers IHOP into
ter. He then pulled out a pair of keys from the search bar and selected the one closest
his front pocket and manually unlocked the to their current loca on. He then pressed a
door from the passenger side. “You got to at green bu on that read - Let’s Go!
least sit in it before making a judgment call.”
The interior of the car emi ed a neon
Ernest closed his eyes and rubbed the blue light as the vehicle rose half a foot off
bridge of his nose. “Ty, I’m not doing this the ground. Everything outside of the car
today.” went pitch black for less than half a second
before the outside world was once again
“Just for a few seconds. In and Out.” visible.

Ernest walked over to the driver side, The car was now si ng in a parking lot
opened the door, and sat down. in front of the Interna onal House Of Pan-
cakes.
Tyson handed over the keys to Ernest
before opening the glove compartment and Ernest swung open his door, chipping
rummaging through it. “Well, go ahead. the paint of the car door that was parked
Start it up,” said Tyson. next to him. He stepped out of the car, leav-
ing the door open. “What the fuck was that
Ernest held the keys in his hands. Tyson shit?” he asked.
searched through a pile of junk. A er a few

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A woman that was walking out of the About the Author:
restaurant covered the ears of her child as
she glared at Ernest from the side of her eye. Day Vaughn McKnight is a writer from the
DC metropolitan area. He has works that
Tyson laughed hysterically while si ng have previously appeared in Ursa Major Lit-
in his seat. “Dude, the look on your face.” erary Magazine. You can find him on Twi er
@DayVaughnTweets.
Ernest slammed the door of the car. “I
told you- I don’t mess with all that telepor-
ta on shit.” Ernest walked in the front of
the car and kicked at the headlights. “Keep
fucking around like that and you’re gonna
get yourself killed.”

“Aye man, c’mon,” Tyson said, s ll laugh-
ing in between his words.

“Fuck you,” said Ernest as he walked away.

“How about this, I’ll cut the price in half,
just for you.”

Ernest con nued to walk away.

Tyson’s laughter had now dialed down to
a mild chuckle. As he watched his old friend
walk further away, he poked his head out of
the window. “What about this? Free of charge.
Act now and I’ll even through in the GPS.”

Ernest raised his middle finger above his
shoulder as he stormed away from the car
and off of the property of IHOP.

127

AFTERMATH

by Libby Belle

She walked barefoot along the boardwalk, pier. A sense of wildness filled the air and
as she had done many mes as a child, and creatures that hid while it was light slowly
now an adult, she saw things much clearer. moved closer into shore. Maggie slipped on
The roughness of the planks beneath her her shoes and watched the sun worshipers
feet had become that way naturally from the drag their burnt and sweat-soaked bodies
sun’s constant heat but remained dry and back to where they came from; leaving the
bri le from neglect. The ugly debris hud- beach to the thinkers, the poets, the phi-
dling around the base of the pier knocking losophers – those who wanted to visit with
against the ba ered and beaten wood made the ocean and all its inhabitants. Maggie
her feel sad. No longer white, the sand was was one of them; knowing that if she re-
stained from the spills of alcohol and other mained a er dark, she would hear myste-
man-made products that carelessly loos- rious and private conversa ons echoing off
ened from the fingers of those disregarding the waves, many from her own past. When
the future and the others who would inherit she was younger, the voices followed her
the a ermath of their thoughtlessness. to bed. They were familiar, but rarely un-
derstood. They brought a sense of hope or
Although Maggie was disenchanted re- despair, depending on her mood, and al-
turning to her childhood neighborhood in ways there was the final voice, the voice of
such a state of disrepair, the incredible body reason that guided her to sleep. It’ll be nice
of water that lay before her was s ll as mes- sleeping with the window open tonight.
merizing as ever. Seven years away may have
taken her heart and mind cap ve, as places She inhaled the last draw from a ciga-
like Paris and Ireland will do, but her soul re e, a habit she had picked up in Amster-
remained with the Texas Gulf Coast and its dam, and as she carefully ex nguished it in
endless shoreline. Traveling as a profession- the water, her thoughts turned to Monte.
al cello player brought many new friends and Ah, Monte, steadfast Monte. The man she
lovers her way and in the most beau ful Euro- might have married if she hadn’t been lured
pean se ngs. Yet, in all its magnificence, she overseas. Unlike her, he had no desire for
missed the simpler life – a fishing pole in one adventure and remained loyal to the Coast,
hand, a book in the other – an unpreten ous s ll teaching Crea ve Wri ng in the same
life with a family that she adored. I’m home. khaki pants, same plaid vest and sneakers,
wide-eyed students under his spell. He was
As the night approached, the water be- the perfect mixture of old-world charm and
gan to lap more aggressively against the

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an overload of cuteness. Yet, she never re- but before the night was through the impet-
gre ed leaving him, un l now. But soon it uous twenty-two-year-old would soon be
would get too dark to see, and since the landing at their door, full of bizarre stories
bulb in the overhead lamp appeared to be that would age her parents instantly. Brace
broken, she thought be er of staying much yourself family, a storm is on thehorizon!
longer. There would be plenty of me to
think about the a ermath of earlier choices Back at the house, Maggie stood at the
and Monte. I wonder if he’ll want to see me gate before entering and listened to the
again. hustle and bustle within the walls of her
childhood home. Someone, most likely her
Maggie’s family had gathered in the brother, had put on a Van Morrison album,
house only a few blocks away, cooking up and she could hear her aunt barking orders
something marvelous for their family re- from the kitchen. It sounded like the cousins
union. Aunt Chelsea came early to prepare were a emp ng to keep up with Van on the
some of the fancy dishes she had learned piano, and she pictured her brother si ng
to cook a er the many culinary classes near the speakers with his hand over one
she had taken at Le Cordon Bleu. Maggie’s ear, trying to drown them out. She heard
mother loved surrendering the kitchen to her father yell, “Where is Maggie? It’s get-
the capable hands of her sister and humbly
offered to serve as the dish washer. ng dark. One of you boys go out and find
her!”
The twin cousins along with their wives
had arrived that morning, while every- Maggie stalled before entering – wai ng
one waited as usual for her brother Ryan’s for him to say that famous line he used to
“fashionably late” debut. His divorce had yell when they were kids. Go ahead, dad,
been finalized and according to the family, say it. “She’ll get taken by the Beasley broth-
he was seen o en with a new girl in tow. ers’ whale if she doesn’t get back soon!”
Maggie hoped that he’d come alone.
Laughter filled the living room as every-
Then there was Emily, the baby sister; one recalled the story of the two old fish-
the ‘uh-oh’ they called it, when a couple ermen, Horace and Harold Beasley who for
goes through their mid-life crisis and think- many years had spread a whopper of a tale
ing they can turn back the hands of me, about nearly being eaten alive by a whale
accidentally conceive in a wild night of that popped up near the pier where they
passion. As it o en happens, the parents, were fishing one early morning before sun-
growing older and less mo vated, were rise. They claimed that on the back of the
more lenient with the headstrong daugh- whale was a man with a trident, like Neptune,
ter, and when Maggie and Ryan gradual- the Greek god of the sea. He spared their
ly moved out, the unruly teen spent her lives, making them promise to never spit or
adolescence without the wisdom of the pee in the ocean or pollute it in any way, to
older siblings. Shortly a er barely graduat- never kill a fish bigger than they were, and
ing from high school, Emily ran off with a to spread the word to the residents to do the
band called Louie’s Lump, later changed to same. To remind them, the ocean god gave
Scum of the Earth, and finally se ling on both brothers a whale’s tooth and a scar on
the name, Toasted.Since that abrupt career the back of their legs from his trident, which
move, she had hardly spoken to the family, they proudly showed to everyone, including
the vaca oners and anyone who would lis-

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

ten therea er. I wonder if they’re s ll alive, same me swiped a sample of the sauce with
or did they become Moby Dick’s last meal? It her finger. As usual, it tasted divine. So divine,
was a fond memory and she enjoyed listen- she gave Aunt Chelsea another kiss, this me
ing to her family talking over each other and on the cheek and without being told to. The
adding more lively descrip ons to the story kitchen smelled heavenly, and any feelings
to make it even more exci ng. of dread that she had felt earlier were put in
the oven, along with the rolls. She caught her
She decided it was probably me to mother smiling at her, her hands coated in
make her entrance before her dad really soap suds. She knew her mother sensed her
started believing the Beasley brother’s tale delight. Oh, mom, it’s so good to be home!
and called the Coast Guard to search for the
remains of his oldest child. Savoring every bite, the dinner was a
huge success, and while the men had sec-
“Maggie, my dear,” her father bellowed onds, the ladies re red to the living room
across the room, followed by cheers from with tall glasses of Long Island Tea. Just
the rest of the family who were watching when they all sat down, the front door flew
her mely entry through the front door. She open and Emily boldly entered. The room
surveyed the room, like one would study a was silent for the first me that evening.
Norman Rockwell pain ng, acknowledging
each character before she responded to the “Well, I’m here! Is everybody glad to see
headmaster, himself. “Dad, I told you I’d be me?” Emily dropped her duffle bag onto the
back before dark,” and an cipa ng his next
ques on, she said, “and no, I did not see a floor and stood s ffly, her ta ooed arms
whale orNeptune!” held ghtly to her sides.

Upon hearing the commo on, her moth- “Oh, my baby girl!” her mother cried,
er came rushing in, drying her hands on her rushing toward her prodigal child with arms
apron with the most wonderful fresh-baked opened wide. The cousin’s wives shrank
smile on her face. “Oh dear, I thought you deeper into the sofa. Aunt Chelsea hid be-
were Emily. Well, I’m glad you’re back. I need hind her glass of tea, while Maggie stood
you in the kitchen,” she said, taking Maggie by wai ng to greet her sister. What the hell has
the arm and leading her past the rest of the she done with herhair?
family. Leaning in, she whispered, “It’s your
turn with Aunt Chelsea. I’m exhausted. You’d Avoiding everyone else in the room,
think we were cooking for the wholeisland!” Emily expressed her dire need for food and
barged into the kitchen, brushing past her
The kitchen looked like one in a movie father and the others that had filed into the
restaurant scene. Her mother had taken out living room. A few eyes rolled, and an offi-
every piece of cooking and baking kitchen- cial deep sigh was heard from someone an-
ware that she owned. Aunt Chelsea was bus-
ily using all of them. “Kiss your favorite aunt cipa ng what was coming next.
and then throw those rolls in the oven,” she
ordered, while feverishly s rring the sauce “I’ll help her, mom,” Maggie said, pat-
that she had just painstakinglyconcocted. ng her mother’s back. “Sit down and enjoy
yourself.” Relieved, she nodded meekly and
Maggie did the perfunctory kiss thing did as she was told.
on her aunt’s glistening forehead and at the
When Maggie entered the kitchen, Emi-
ly was digging into the refrigerator, pushing

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items to the side and grumbling to herself. She “Here, drink my Long Island. I’ll make an-
looked over her shoulder and asked, “Don’t other one later.”
you have any beer in this stale, old house?”
Emily stared at her sister’s hand reaching
“Hi li le sister,” Maggie said sweetly. out to offer her the glass. “Man, you’re get-
“It’s been awhile. How about a hug?”
ng old, Mags. I can see the veins through
Emily turned and leaned against the re- your skin. What are you, about fi y now?”
frigerator door. “I didn’t recognize you with-
out your dummy by your side. Is he here?” “Not quite,” Maggie groaned, thrus ng the
glass toward her. Although, some mes I feel
“You know darn well Monte and I broke like it. “And honey, if you insist on being rude,
up years ago.” please just prac ce on me. The others don’t
deserve it, especially mom and dad. OK?”
“Oh, I guess I forgot that. What happened?
Couldn’t compete with that big-ass cello of “OK,” Emily relented, “I’ll try. Now, ar-
yours?” en’t you going to fix me a plate?”

“That’s enough of that nonsense. Now, The sisters sat mostly in silence. Emily ate
get over here and hug your sister,” she urged, fiercely, as if she had just finished a three-day
mo oning with her hands, worried that Emi- fast. Maggie studied her face – the black lip-
ly would reject her, as she did the rest of the s ck matching her black-chipped fingernail
family. “I haven’t seen you in so long.” polish, the ny rhinestone pierced in her small
upturned nose, and the gorgeous long eye-
For a second, Emily’s cold eyes so ened. lashes coated in thick mascara. The hair, well,
She took one step forward and stopped it could be salvaged, she told herself. She al-
in her tracks, li ing both arms robo cally. lowed her eyes to only glance at the ta oos.
“Hurry up, I have a low threshold for mush- Thank God they’re simple music notes and not
iness these days, and hugging has been off skulls or snakes. She thought if only she could
my list for a long me.” cradle Emily in her arms, the innocent smile
she knew so well would return. Now was not
“Oh stop, you goof!” Maggie pushed for- the me, and any ques ons would be saved
ward and wrapped her arms ghtly around for later a er the family had gone to sleep.
the annoyed sibling. “It’s so good to see you,
kiddo.” She felt Emily go limp; her cheek The conversa on in the living room
pressing against her neck. came to a hush when the sisters entered.
It seemed as though everyone was afraid
“Yeah, you, too,” she mu ered, quickly to engage the tyrannical offspring, except
pulling away and turning back to the refrig- Ryan. His role as the peace-loving broth-
erator. er who loved listening to music more than
people helped him avoid the family ex-
“Now where’s the beer in this house?” changes. It was amazing how a pair of ear
buds could keep him out of unnecessary ar-
Maggie sighed. Well, that’s a start. “Don’t guments. He pulled one out and said, “Hey,
think dad has any le . But there’s plenty of sis.How’s that’s singing career going?”
food.
Emily drained the glass of tea before an-
Let me fix you a plate.” swering and reported in rapid succession,

“Crap! What else is there to drink?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Let’s see…I got kicked out of the band, I night had been forbidden when she was a
wrecked my car, I’m without a job, I’m out child. The stories of lives swept away came
of hair dye, I’m broke, I’ve got cancer…and, back to her, and there was her father’s voice
I have a P.I.” again, ‘The sea creatures lie pa ently wait-
ing for their next vic m.’
Everyone sat frozen, as if they were hold-
ing their breath, including Maggie. Emily’s Inching ahead Maggie hesitated with
father looked up from the magazine he was each step. Between the billowing clouds the
scanning and pulled his readers down to the moon was waxing nearly full, sporadically
ligh ng the way just long enough for her to
p of his nose, “What did you say?” see a small figure huddling a few feet from the
end of the pier, uniden fied un l she heard a
“Yes, what did you say?” her mother re- familiar burst of wailing. Emily had learned
peated, her eyes opened so wide you could on a camping retreat the art of chan ng and
see the whites all the way around. whenever she felt overwhelmed, she’d sit
cross-legged, close her eyes and repeat loud-
Ryan followed up with, “What’s a PI?” ly, “Eeeooowah, eeeooowah, eeeooowah.”

“Oh my God! You’re all a bunch of imbe- Maggie slowly approached her and stood
ciles!” Emily threw the empty glass into the quietly behind, listening to the sacred song
fireplace and fled the scene. being li ed into the thickening moist air. An
overwhelming urge to join in coaxed her to
Emily’s mother pleaded through the sit down beside Emily. Without acknowl-
wide-open front door, “Please honey, don’t edging each other they li ed their faces to-
go. We’re here for you. Talk to your family!” ward the moon, and what had started out
with chan ng turned into a familiar tune
Maggie gently moved her mother to the about the old man and the sea. When the
side, “Let me handle it, mom.” And to her singing stopped, Maggie put her arm round
father who was perched on the edge of his her sister and pulled herclose.
chair, she ordered, “Dad, stay here. I’ll bring
her back.” Avoiding the rest of the family’s Emily dropped her head onto Maggie’s
faces and her brother who was ques on- shoulder and cried. She cried hard and long,
ing a cousin about the meaning of PI, she not moving her head once to either wipe her
turned quickly to chase her sister down. Oh, eyes or say something derogatory. Finally,
good Lord, is this why I came back? with a frail whisper, she said, “I’m done.”

Scanning the yard, adjus ng her eyes to “Em, it’s ge ng pre y rough out here. The
the dark, Maggie ins nc vely headed for the waves will be over the pier soon. We must go
pier. Like her, Emily had spent hours fishing back to shore. Let’s talk about it at home.”
in that area when she was a child. Maggie
could hear the restless waves bea ng down “I don’t want to go back. I want the
hard on the shore. Above, the clouds gath- ocean to take me.” Emily sat up abruptly,
ered and darkened, along with gusts of wind facing the water. “This cancer thing, well,
that weren’t there earlier. Wrapping the they’re not sure it’s curable. They told me I
sweater ghtly around her, she reached the may not have long.”
foot of the pier and looked for signs oflife.
Uncertain how to respond to the disturb-
Only one lamp was le to light the en re ing news, and assuaging Emily’s fears would
area, and she couldn’t see more than ten
feet ahead. Walking to the end of the pier at

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Revista Literária Adelaide

only aggravate her even more, Maggie chose About the Author:
a more direct and honest approach.
Libby Belle: I came from a one-bathroom
“OK, so you’re going to die. Well, I under- family, and there were seven of us! Take
stand that. But don’t you think it would be that and raising six children of my own,
great to spend the rest of your life happy? I and it’s not hard to understand my quirky
mean, happy with us, your family who loves imagina on. You won’t find words like vicis-
you?” “And make everyone miserable like I situde, legume or oeuvre in my stories (oh
have the past few years? I doubt they want wait, I did get a kick out of using the word
that.” “Of course, they don’t want the angry logorrhea). But you will find charming, cap-
you, but I know they want the Emily they
raised, the lovely girl who came at the most va ng and entertaining tales of human
unexpected me and brought such joy to interac on with lovable, incorrigible, com-
our lives. It was boring before you came. Can plex characters that exist in all of us. I have
you imagine growing up with just Ryan?” published works in Woman’s Weekly UK,
Beyond Art and More TX, and Adelaide NY.
Emily managed a chuckle, giving Maggie Four books of Libby Belle’s shorts are on the
a sense of hope. “Look, I know we’re year’s horizon.
apart, li le sister, but the me I had with you
was wonderful. And when I started traveling I have the fortune of living in Aus n, Tex-
and being away for so long, I missed youter- as, a city that thrives on weirdness – a per-
ribly.” fect place to nurture my wri ng and my big
Texas family. Visit me at LibbyBelle.com
A long silence hovered over them before
Maggie con nued, “Listen, I won’t go back
to Europe. Truth is, I need to be home for a
while, too. And besides, we’ve got a lot of
catching up to do.” I can’t believe I’m about
to say this. “We can both move in with mom
and dad. It’ll be fun.”

The bold words surfed across the waves
and back into Maggie’s ears. She could only
guess what Emily was thinking and thought
be er of saying more.

“I’ll tell you what,” Emily said shakily,
“while we’re si ng here, if that whale the
Beasley boys bragged about shows up, I
promise I’ll stay with you.” “And, if not?”

“Just leave me here and let me be. It’s
my life, not yours.”

As the waves lapped harder against
the creaky old pier, Maggie held her sister

ghter and prayed fervently for the Beasley
brother’s whale to be real.

133

HOME

By Sarah Beth Moore

“Ma’am, I just need you to sign here,” said leaning down to drop the dead dog at the
the FedEx guy. A notepad poked out from edge of the grass.
beneath the carcass of the wolf-dog-crea-
ture-thing in his arms. Fists clenched, Angela stormed a er him.
“I told you not to set it down anywhere,” she
Angela stared down at the body, a emp ng said. “Take your dead dog and get out of my
to decipher the situa on with visible dis- yard.”
gust. “Is this a joke?” she asked.
The delivery guy’s expression fell at her
The delivery guy shi ed his weight onto approach as he speed-walked for his truck.
the other foot, his shoe scraping against the
gravel. “The address is printed here on the “Hey, get back here,” Angela yelled. “Take
package.” His gaze fell down toward the slip your dog!”
of paper stuck to the body. “And it has the
name Angela Hughes. Is that—” The truck roared to life, and it was al-
ready rumbling out from the cul de sac,
“Yes, that’s me. Do you think this is funny?” leaving puffs of smoke in its wake.

The delivery man shrugged. “I don’t un- Angela kneeled down by the body and
derstand.” inspected the crude address. Where the
sender’s informa on should have been was
“This, the dead fucking dog, or whatever her own, copy and pasted.
it is, in your arms right now? You think this
is funny?” “What the hell...” she said. If the sight of
the ravaged thing wasn’t enough, it was the
He looked down at the cadaver as if he s nging stench stronger than ten skunks that
weren’t holding a dead animal. “Look, I’m nearly made Angela gag. And it certainly didn’t
just here to do my job. If you want the send- help that the sun was bea ng down on its rot-
er’s informa on it’s here on the package.”
The delivery guy li ed his gaze back to her. ng form. She had to get rid of this thing.
“Should I set this down…?”
Donning gloves and a surgical mask, An-
“No, don’t set it down,” Angela said. gela pulled the dead dog creature by the
“Don’t set it down anywhere.” back paw into a trash bag. She made it diffi-
cult on herself, but that was only because she
He fidgeted before taking several steps didn’t want to touch the thing for longer than
back. “I’ll just set it over here,” he said, five seconds. It wasn’t un l flies swarmed the
body that Angela picked up the pace.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Finally with the body stowed away in Se ng the body down on the couch, An-
the bag, she walked into the empty garage, gela con nued to stare down at it in a con-
popped open the trash bin, and dropped fused but almost zombified state. Why on
the thing in. Angela pulled off her gloves earth was this happening?
before walking to the door, ready to make
some very angry phone calls. “Angela, could you read me a story?” the
body asked.
“Angela,” a so voice called.
And that she did. Angela read him the
She stopped. whole stack of dusty children’s books. The
oddity of the ugly dead-dog-wolf-thing car-
“Angela,” it said again. Was that a child? cass talking flew from her mind as she en-
gaged in li le ac vi es with it, a long de-
Angela turned on her heel to face the sired joy sparking inside.
trash bin.
Eventually night fell, and Angela was
“Angela, don’t leave me in here. Please carrying the body up into the nursery and
come back.” upon the crib. She pulled a small star speck-
led blanket over the cadaver, smiling as she
She stepped back to the bin and li ed up did so. “Sweet dreams,” Angela said before
the lid. There amongst the unused diapers leaning down to plant a small kiss on the
the body s ll lay, but Angela swore she saw mangey forehead.
the eye move.
“I love you, mommy,” the body whis-
“Why did you throw me away?” the pered in reply.
voice emanated from the body. “Why?”
Tears welled up in Angela’s eyes. She
“I...I didn’t…” She tried to come up with never thought she’d hear those words ever.
a response, but she was le speechless at
the anomaly. The nursery door swung open, light
crashing into the room and onto Angela. A
“It’s lonely here. I don’t want to be tall figure stood there, clutching a plas c
alone,” the dead dog said. “Angela, I can’t bag in his free hand. “Angela?” he said.
move. Why can’t I move?”
She looked back at him, tears streaking
“You’re...you’re dead,” Angela said. down her cheeks. “I...I didn’t know…” An-
gela said, “I didn’t know you were going to
“But I’m not,” the body replied. Its voice come home…”
cracked as it went on. “I’m not dead, I’m s ll
here. Angela, please, take me out.”

This was wrong, this was terribly wrong.
Dead animals shouldn’t talk, hell they
shouldn’t talk at all, dead or alive. But the
fear and terror in the voice was like that of a
lost child looking for his family.

“I’ll...get you out,” she said.

“It’s so quiet,” the body commented as
the passed through the vacant halls, kitch-
en, and into the living room.

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About the Author:

Sarah Beth Moore is a freelance ar st, sto-
ryteller, and writer who can cra ar s c
works that match a client’s needs. She is
currently working on a webcomic, Of Ash
and Stars, that will soon be released on Line
Webtoons and Tapas. Sarah knows how to
write effec ve stories and create artwork
that perfectly reflects and sa sfies the de-
sires of both consumers and employers. She
has been awarded first place three mes
in the Tennessee magazine Ar st’s Pale e
contest. Sarah is also cer fied in Final Dra
and knows how to write proper scripts
for film, gaming, and television. With four
years’ experience with prac cing art, Sarah
is self-taught in Photoshop, Adobe Illustra-
tor, and Clip Studio Paint. Sarah is currently
a ending Full Sail University for a BA in Cre-
a ve Wri ng for Entertainment.

136

HUNG JURY

by Alan Berger

The depressing envelope in Penny Bankey’s Having a great cat certainly much more
mailbox was surrounded by other depress- than helped.
ing envelopes that went by the name of Bill
now due. Penny Bankey was no virgin but close to
ex nc on.
But this envelope out depressed them
all as it was a fate worse than death. So, jury duty? Who knows what may
come of it? Might be an adventure!
Jury duty.
But then, like a ba ered ba ery, a lot of
And Penny Bankey had the misfortune of things start out posi ve and end up nega-
not having ever had a felony convic on.
ve.
They got her and she knew they got her.
Or some mes the way around.
Penny Bankey was a good person and
was a model ci zen but at this juncture of We shall see she said to the cat.
her debt-ridden life, and north of the for-
ty-year mark, with things heading south the On her way to went downtown Manhat-
model could use a re-glue. tan she and was approved by both sides.

But duty calls and if anyone in the world Damn.
was going to be fair with someone else’s
fate, that it would be her. Even a er Penny told The American Judi-
cial System that she could not afford to lose
Duty was calling and she would take the work and The American Judicial System said
call. tough shit and when Penny told the compa-
ny she worked for she would be back when
Love never knocked nor spoke nor whis- she was done, they said don’t just show up,
pered on that door of hers. call first.

She would have answered if it did but as Oh, well, Penny Bankey addressed her-
I said, but no one rang her bell loud enough. self, I could always get a job as a waitress,
she declared to herself. I’m good at it, she
Oh well or not well what really is the the told herself, a er all I’ve been wai ng all my
difference? life for something or another.

Loneliness also comes with being with The case was going to be not in the excit-
others. ing arena of murder, drugs or violence kind,
but of the money laundering kind.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

The only thing she might learn from it She liked his style and style will never go
she joked to herself was maybe she would out of style she poemed.
get some knowledge of a be er laundry de-
tergent. He reminded her, the defendant did, of a
young Leonardo Di Caprio, but let’s be clear,
Yawn. a good- looking young Leonardo Di Caprio.

Oh well, she had no choice in the non-hang- In her plain brown eyes, his fate was
ing ma er. sealed, and she wanted to lick the envelope.

Just the way she liked it. A er all, it’s only money he was accused
of, and you can’t cheat an honest man.
In all her life Penny Bankey always sat in
the back. What rent, what job, what pet cat at
home due to die of old age and diabetes
At the plays she went to, at the poetry without her there to comfort him?
readings she sat thru, at the lectures she
slept thru, in the back she always was. When she closed her plain peepers, she
was on a tropical island paradise vaca on with
Not this me. Mr. Defendant. Him and all the accessories,
which were his eyes, his hair, nails that would
When the powers that be brought the be running up and down her tanned back.
jury in to face to face good and evil, Penny
was placed front row center. This did not go unno ced by the lead de-
fense a orney who put into a mo on in the
She felt she was on trial. defendant’s ear to start to not only no ce it
too, but to take it and run with it.
She felt she would finally, “Have her day
in court”. And run with it he did.

As in every dog has it’s whatever. They flirted shamelessly, unashamedly,
and endlessly ll his lawyer said enough for
Now it was her turn and her turn felt now.
nice.
It ended with a wink. First him, then her.
What does anybody really want out of
life anyway? But a en on and she was now Our Miss Penny slept beau fully that
in the spotlight of it all. night a er giving her pet cat his medicine,
a er giving herself some dinner, a er hav-
Then, when she was seated, she saw ing a sweet nice hot bath where she got
was the defendant. herself in and off.

He was having his spotlight too. She would take her cat off at the vet
soon, maybe one day on her way to the
Everything else was a instantly deathly heavenly courthouse on account he was
boring blur. drinking so much water and pissing on the
couch again. He most likely just needed a
Except him. one of his diabe c touch up shots and ev-
erything for around two hundred dollars
The defendant was her blueprint of beauty. she didn’t have would be alright.

She thought no ma er his personality or
bad habits she would want to be with him
forever and then some.

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The next morning. on account of all the excitement lately she
had been ea ng less and knocked off a few
The defendant looked even be er on pounds.
this pre y, cloudy A.M.
She figured who the Hell can’t lose a
Maybe he had a hot bath bath too and couple of pounds and look be er anyway?
bathed his senses in his memory of Penny
like she did of him, for this was how it works She wondered if “Her man” would no ce.
and meant to be.
Penny had a lot of free coffee with the
She would see that he would go free and others in The Jury Room down the hall from
one day in Manha an they would walk, shuf- The Court.
fle, or run, or fly into each others arms and
all the pieces would be clear and more than The others at this point of the trial were
fit together He will know she set him free ge ng along fine and everyone at this point
and they will be together forever and ever. in the trial liked each other.

On the subway, on the way home, Pen- The ac on helped take away the non-ac-
ny thought maybe dreams do come true, as on of her precious pet.
well as some nightmares.
Not all, but you take what you can get.
When Penny got to her door, she went
thru the ritual of tapping the doorknob be- Nothing new there.
fore pu ng the key in so her pet cat could
meow her in, but this me there was no Soon they were all herded down the hall.
meow.
As she was seated, she of course lovingly
A er tapping some more and wai ng gazed over to the defendant and something
some more, she went in and her precious was different. Way different.
was dead.
Si ng right behind him was the most
She had been thru this, three other beau ful, most young girl in the world with
mes before with other pets and like all black hair and green eyes that would make
those mes, before, she cried like there was traffic go lights jealous.
no tomorrow.
And it was too plain and too much pain
But this me there was a tomorrow. A to see that she was the defendants and that
big tomorrow. the defendant was hers.

A er a thousand or so more tears she She realized this was now an arena she
put her past love into the so blanket he could never compete in.
always slept on, wrapped it nice with pre y
Christmas paper and took him to the East Court is now in session she was told
River for a burial at sea. from her s ll very front row seat.

She didn’t sleep that night for fear drown- Everything went black for a bit, went
ing in her own out to sea of tears. blind for a spell.

In the morning she got dressed and had And this was a bad , bad, spell that was cast.
to use a different notch on her skirt belt
Again, during the proceedings, she heard
nothing un l the sound of the judge’s gavel
called for a “Short recess”.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
On her way back to The Jury Room, with
the others, she asked the bailiff if she could
use the ladies’ room and of course she was
told of course.
Soon the jury was called back in and
Penny Bankey was s ll in the ladies’ room.
The bailiff knocked on the door and like
Penny the night before wai ng to hear from
her pet, the bailiff heard not a thing.
He soon went in because he had to, and
she was hanging from an old downtown
Manha an ceiling pipe courtesy of her new
notch skirt belt.
The sensi ve and whit filled headline in
The New York Post read “Hung jury”.
And once again the case was closed.

140

WEST AFRICA: MANY TRUTHS
WITHIN THE BACKGROUND

NOISE

by Joram Pia gorsky

Traveling on vaca on, temporarily escaping my imagina on and propensity for sto-
the monotony of the familiar, easing the bur- ry-telling. I doubt that many of us from the
den of responsibili es, riding air currents far highly developed United States, including
above traffic jams and local poli cs is intox- scholars and collectors of African art, have
ica ng. Thus, a five-week boat tour up the much first-hand knowledge of this vast con-
west coast of Africa adver sed in a Na on-
al Geographic/Linblad Expedi ons catalog nent. Most tourists of sub-Saharan Africa
caught my a en on a few years ago. The target safaris, thinking of Africa more as a
tour began in Cape Town, South Africa, where vaca onland than the socially and poli cal-
we would board the Explorer, and ended in ly complex, diverse con nent that it is. The
Morocco. The journey encompassed 6,500 adver sed Na onal Geographic trip was
nau cal miles. Much too long, I thought, but about the culture of West Africa and includ-
yet . . . the west coast of Africa? Intriguing. I ed sixteen different countries (seventeen if
toured Egypt and Morocco a few years ago one considered Western Sahara separate
– fascina ng countries – but I had never visit- from Morocco); Nigeria, Democra c Repub-
ed sub-Saharan Africa, and I had never even lic of Congo, Ivory Coast, Guinea and Mau-
heard of Togo or the ny countries of São ritania were skipped for safety, poli cal or
Tomé and Príncipe that were on the i nerary. other reasons that were not revealed.
Apart from its intrinsic interest and novelty
– I generally prefer a fresh meal rather than I asked my wife Lona what she thought
yesterday’s warmed-up dinner – here was an of going on this trip.
opportunity to visit the origins of some of my
collected African tribal art comprising staffs, “Africa?” Her tone said it all. “Isn’t it dan-
figures, metal works and tex les. gerous? The newspapers are full of reports
about pirates and kidnapping. The Arab
No less important, the mys que of Af- Spring. Al-Qaeda. I can’t keep it straight!
rica – the evolu onary birthplace of Homo What if we get sick?”
sapiens – had a roman c flavor lla ng
“The pirates are mainly along the east
coast, especially Somalia,” I countered, ig-

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noring everything else. However, I shared enormous advantages of being born in the
her concerns, but s ll I wanted to go. I re- right place and the child of the right par-
membered visi ng Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem, ents. Lucky me! How about much of the rest
bustling with normal daily life although the of the world?
Pales nians were sending rockets into Is-
rael along the border and terrorists were A few weeks later Na onal Geographic
sporadically bombing buses and cafes and called to say that they had a cancella on
marketplaces. Two years ago, we went to for one of the larger cabins. It was expen-
Jermaa el-Fnaa Square in the center of Mar- sive, but I said yes. Lona was ge ng excited
rakech in Morocco, a month a er a bomb now too. Let’s be comfortable, we thought,
a ack, yet it was crowded with peaceful ac- five weeks is a long s nt. Interes ng how
a chance mailing, an impulsive reserva on
vity. What to believe? What do the African and a cancella on can affect one’s life.
newspapers report about the numerous
shoo ngs in the United States, such as the We were scheduled to explore the At-
Sandy Hook school in Connec cut or in the lan c coast of Africa, an area of the world
theater in Aurora, Colorado? Would those I could only imagine. We got the required
massacres prevent an African from visi ng Yellow Fever inocula ons, malaria pills, and
the United States? an bio cs (just in case) as well as extras of
our daily medica ons (cholesterol-lower-
“I’ll try to find out more about the trip,” ing pills, blood pressure pills, vitamins) and
I said, sensing Lona’s fears more than lack everything else we could think of. It was as
of interest. I called Na onal Geographic and if we were heading to a different planet. It
they told me that the be er cabins were al- was Africa, a er all, the distant land of wild
ready booked although it was almost a year animals and tribal cultures.
in advance. The popularity of the trip whet-
ted my appe te and I figured that I’d be er When the me came, we overstuffed
sign up immediately before I missed the op- our duffel bags with enough clothes for
portunity. The lure of the hard-to-get! I felt months, if not years, and loaded our “car-
confident that Lona would come around. In ry-ons” with our passports, Euros and dol-
any case, it wasn’t an irreversible commit- lars, cameras, cell phones, laptop comput-
ment. We had five months le to withdraw ers, books and nooks and what-nots, and
without penalty. I reserved one of the avail- embarked into the great unknown.
able cabins on the Explorer and added our
names to the wai ng list for be er accom- At first glimpse Cape Town looked like
moda ons, just in case one came free. any modern city with shopping malls, res-
iden al areas, restaurants, hotels – the
Having reserva ons elevated the African usual; however, wai ng for the baboons to
trip from an abstrac on to a plan, and the cross the street when driving to the Cape
more I thought about it, the plan boosted of Good Hope or stopping to gaze at the
another notch to an adventure. It was then wild ostriches strolling along the beach or
that I realized that this wouldn’t be just an- at penguins nes ng by the roadside were
other ordinary holiday but a personal chal- outside of my ordinary experiences. My
lenge to re-examine my lifestyle, the values camera clicked away as if I could take the
of my privileged life, and the luxury accord- atmosphere home with me simply by cap-
ed by freedom and money. I have had the turing visual images, or perhaps I was eager

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to prove that I had really been there in or- neither of which we visited. Today Mande-
der to add another notch to my collec on la’s imposing statue marks the entrance to
of countries that I had visited. the Victor Verster prison, a paradoxical sign
of honor. A er it was known that he was
No, my cynicism is skin-deep and short- des ned to be the future President of South
sighted. I recognize the difference between Africa, he was moved to a furnished house
a first-hand experience – witnessing – and on the premises of the prison. Imagine the
a second-hand experience of reading or be- irony of a prisoner idolized as a symbol of
ing told. Witnessing, in a sense, cracks open hope for a be er future, probably living
scenes just enough to let the observer slip more comfortably than the guards, and
in, if only for a few moments, and sets the dra ing the future poli cal founda ons of
imagina on in mo on enhancing the im- South Africa with President F. W. de Klerk.
pact. Witnessing is analogous to showing Even so, he was monitored con nually and
instead of telling in a novel. Furthermore, denied having even a family member as an
associa ng what one sees with previous ex- overnight guest. What strange history!
periences gives it personal meaning, mak-
ing the trip add to the overall structure of Our prison guide, a long- me guard,
one’s life. One might say that going on a trip glowed with pride as he told us how he had
is the difference between making a movie, shaken Mandela’s hand on more than one
or at least thinking about making a movie, occasion when he was a prisoner. Those
instead of watching one. Recall for example handshakes and few remarks that trans-
an event that you have witnessed, such as pired between them remained a center-
perhaps a car accident that resulted in a piece of the guard’s life even twenty-three
serious injury. Now consider an earthquake years a er Mandela’s release. The universal
or an act of terrorism that killed mul tudes need for a hero such as Mandela or Einstein
in another country that you heard about in whether in good mes or bad, never ends.
the media. Terrible atroci es. Catastrophes Regre ully, however, that need also con-
and human suffering that reach us sec- tributes to the rise of heinous dictators such
ond-hand affect us, but more intellectually as Hitler or Stalin.
than emo onally. They shrink to passing
flags in the parade of life, but they do not Listening to the guard talk about his ex-
stamp indelible, lingering impressions. The periences with Mandela, si ng in Mande-
power of sight – witnessing – blends one’s la’s chairs in his prison house, imagining the
soul with the scene. It sucks the outside in. intangible transfer of humanity from Man-
dela to me through the guard’s words, gave
I felt the impact of being there when vis- me chills and awoke an emo onal response
i ng Victor Verster prison in Cape Town, a that I never would have felt if I hadn’t been
minimum-security farm prison where Nel- there. This spark of lingering hope begging
son Mandela, the great liberator and states- to be fanned in war-torn Africa, a con nent
man, spent the last three of his twenty-sev- s ll bleeding from its many wounds that
en years of imprisonment. Before that he heal slowly at best, impressed me deeply.
was in the maximum-security prisons on
Robben Island in Table Bay near our ho- And then there is the history of slavery
tel for eighteen years and subsequently in when countless innocent souls, many mere
Pollsmoor Prison in Cape Town for six years, children, were kidnapped and shipped like
cargo to Brazil, the Caribbean islands, the

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West Indies and the United States. There or blame is not always earned to the same
were many sites that turned into experienc- extent in different instances.
es that I won’t forget: Cape Coast Castle in
Takoradi, Ghana (where President Obama It remains difficult to witness with objec-
unveiled a plaque on July 11, 2009) and vity not tainted by prejudice that sneaks
the “House of Slaves” on Gorée Island in up without warning, such as, for example,
Dakar, Senegal, both World Heritage Sites; when Lona and I explored a sec on of Cape
the dungeons where the captured Africans Town selling local carvings, tex les, jewelry
were squeezed like sardines in a can be- and various handicra s sprawled out on the
fore being shipped out; the signs specifying sides of the street. Since this was our first
which dungeons were for men and which exposure to aggressive salesmanship by the
for women and children (there were sepa- locals (which was slight compared to our
rate cells for women, jeunes filles, and chil- experiences a few years ago in Egypt), we
dren, enfants, in Gorée Island). The stories had no idea how tempered it was compared
of slavery became palpable when I felt the to what was to come in the more impover-
heat, saw the ny, lightless spaces hardly ished countries. Many items were temp ng
fit for an animal much less a human being to buy, but we tried to refrain since we had
where cap ves were punished for weeks a long trip ahead of us with many more op-
and months for virtually nothing, and when portuni es. We con nually said, “No, thank
I traveled the same road that the slaves you, yes, the mask is very nice, but no, not
trudged and circled a tree meant to “erase” now please,” and so on as we made our way
their memory of home as they made their along the street, taking pictures as tourists
way to the Door of No Return. do. Always taking pictures.

I’m reminded of when I visited Alcatraz What pests, these sales people, I
prison in San Francisco and volunteered to thought, yet there was something heart-
stay alone for less than a minute in a win- breaking about them. They seemed so
dowless cell used for solitary confinement earnest; their eyes were so imploring. The
that was much larger than the pi ful holes difficulty for them to earn a living with all
used for the African slaves. Oh, my good- the “shops” offering similar items seemed
ness! When the door clanged shut and en- unimaginable to me. “Please, I haven’t
closed me in such blackness, I had no sense sold anything today. Only one dollar. How
of whether I was in a coffin or outer space. much will you pay? I give you good price!”
The silence was thick and heavy. What a A hard-core realist may not be moved by
terrible experience! How long would I have such manipula on, but I’m a so touch. I
survived as an African slave stuffed into one bought tex les, a stone soap dish, a bead-
of their prison pits? I fear not long, but I ed necklace, a wooden salad bowl, and a
have never been tested. Once again: lucky few other souvenirs. I shook hands with the
me! But some of the slaves did survive as successful merchant a er each sale, and he
nameless heroes that dri ed into the mass never failed to smile radiantly for his pho-
of humanity known only as “them,” those tograph. Was this a genuine connec on or
that were not born in the right place at contrived? What was his economic or so-
the right me as I was. They endured great cial status? Had I made a difference? Did
hardships and displayed enormous cour- he have a family or children? What were
age. Choice in life has its limita ons. Praise his thoughts about me, a white American

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tourist presumably with more money than However, a surge of anger took command
he could imagine? Never mind. I had it all of my senses, and I said, “That’s a ridiculous
digi zed in my camera! ques on – idio c – and doesn’t deserve an
answer!” Childish, I know. I may have been
The trouble began when I returned to a tourist in a foreign country taking in the
the hotel carrying my purchases in sever- sights, but I was also the same person I was
al bags and sat down next to a fellow pas- at home and trapped in the same brain. He
senger and his wife in their late six es or didn’t say another word as I cha ed with
early seven es cooling off with beers in the his friendly wife, who seemed unaffected
air-condi oned lobby. I had not met either by the exchange.
of them yet. Suddenly I felt self-conscious
– embarrassed – that I’d bought too much, When I related the story to Lona she
that I lacked discipline and had done some- said, “Good for you.” I guess the person
thing foolish that I needed to jus fy. I looked who tells a story gives it its flavor. I wonder
at my bags of souvenirs and volunteered, “I what she would have said if G had given her
wanted to help these guys; they have so lit- his take on it.
tle.” Did they? How would I know? What’s
li le or much for the na ves of South Af- The next day, our first at sea, G ap-
rica? proached me on the deck of the Explorer
and asked, “How’s chemistry?” He was pick-
A er a moment the gentleman, call him ing up on the brief discussion about science
G for Gentleman, said in what I discerned a I had with his wife. “Fine,” I said, slightly per-
judgmental voice, “You’re rich; you can af- plexed. He then laid into me saying how of-
ford it.” Harmless, certainly, and true too, as fensive I’d been and looking self-righteous,
it must have been for him as well. No pau- said, “You were a smart-ass. I just wanted
per would be on the same trip. Perhaps it you to know that.” Then he went on his way.
was his tone, or at least how I interpreted Nice start to a trip together!
his tone, but I found his unexpected com-
ment strange, uncalled for and provoking. Lona encouraged me to make peace
I should have brushed the comment aside with him. Good advice. When I found G
with a silly response such as, “I wanted alone in the lounge, I told him that I’d
to buy a yacht, but they were sold out,” meant no harm and had foolishly overre-
or some other meaningless remark. But acted. “Why?” he asked. I stalled for a mo-
G’s comment resonated with my age-old ment. I had no easy answer. How to explain
self-consciousness of wealth, having more to a stranger, especially to G a er our un-
than most, having more than I need. Irri- fortunate encounters, that South Africa had
tated, I retorted, “How rich do you think I triggered a guilt feeling that I needed to
am?” give to those with less than me, not only for
charitable reasons, but to avoid cri cism, to
G answered my ques on with another jus fy having been born lucky, to be accept-
ques on: “Oh, something like Rockefeller ed. The knee-jerk rage that conquered my
maybe?” common sense had resulted from witness-
ing events through a lens stained with my
Why didn’t I smile at my fellow tourist, own colors. Traveling was a caged freedom
who was certainly not a bad man? He knew that insulated me from what I saw. “Being
nothing about me, or I anything about him. there” was a qualified “there.”

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G reluctantly shook my outstretched traveling in buses and peer groups and a
hand, but he did not speak to me or look luxurious ship. Does a spectator learn much
me in the eye throughout our five weeks about the animals in the zoo or experience
together on the ship. I suppose he was in crime watching a movie about the Mafia?
his own “there,” as we all are, and which
strains our efforts to truly understand and Stop! I commanded myself, knowing
empathize. This ridiculously minor event that my wave of nega vity was paper-thin
with G, inconsequen al, so poten ally easy and porous. For every argument there was
to have moved beyond, persisted like drop- a counter-argument. I resigned myself to
lets of poison in the tropical air we both in- absorbing what I could. And there was
haled in the comfortable ship. much to absorb: a variety of urban and nat-
ural landscapes in the different countries
Consider now the history of the Afri- (deserts, savannahs, rain forests, jungles); a
cans and the hardships endured. They were sidewinder snake burrowing in the Namib-
suppressed by European colonists, sold as ian desert sand; a chameleon moving one
slaves and massacred in brutal civil wars. eye at a me scru nizing the surroundings;
Now fast-forward to the present-day coun- flamingoes feeding by the seashore; goats
tries we visited, where they are striving to climbing trees (really! in Morocco); differ-
forgive one another to forge a peaceful fu- ent European architectures le in place by
ture by pu ng the atroci es behind them. colonists; houses in brilliant shades of pri-
They socialize with the very people who had mary colors; striking braided hairstyles on
raped and slaughtered members of their infants and children and young girls; wom-
families. Meanwhile, G and I, tourists from en draped in dresses and men in shirts with
the developed United States, living in free- exo c pa erns in dazzling color (Africa is
dom and luxury, nurtured our grudges and color!); modern sport stadiums built by the
struggled to even acknowledge each other. Chinese (in contrast to the limited presence
How rela ve it all is, and how difficult to of the United States); opulence and pover-
puncture the ny bubble in which we float. ty side by side (more of the la er than the
former); open markets; trash heaped upon
Most of our shipmates had traveled ex- trash; Africans and their families on Chinese
tensively throughout Africa and were reg- motorcycles swarming everywhere; groups
ulars on the Explorer touring other places. of unemployed people si ng around,
Few failed to ask us how many trips we had drinking, speaking on cell phones, wai ng
taken on that ship. “This is our first,” we an- (for what?); lines of empty taxis in crowded
swered. “Oh, you’ll love it. We’ve been on ci es with not a tourist in sight (who goes
seven (o en more) trips,” was the typical on these taxis?); endless rows of shops in
response. Professional tourists, I thought, the open air selling trinkets, res, used fur-
awakening a prejudice, thinking that they niture (you name it); the fe sh market in
must be bored to death collec ng des na- Ouidah, Benin selling shriveled, dead an-
imals, skulls, bones and other magical ob-
ons, exclaiming how fascina ng it is, how jects of the na ve animist voodoo religion;
broadening and the like. Was it necessary to hair “salons” in dilapidated shacks; signs of
roam the world seeking interes ng things, God and Chris anity and AIDS on billboards
I wondered? And then I asked myself how and houses along streets needing repair and
much experience can one truly gain by be- li ered with potholes and gravel; rhythmic
ing spoon fed – entertained – by such tours,

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drumbeats and dancers on s lts gree ng rural villages of yesteryear exist a few miles
our ship at the docks and in public places; beyond. We visited a Ewe village in Lomé,
Ganvié, a fishing village built on s lts in the Togo that put on a spectacular durbar (an
center of Lake Nokoué in Benin; a short English word derived from an Indo-Persian
trip on a pirogue (dugout canoe) up the term for “ruler’s court”) for us as they might
Lobé river near Kribi, Cameroon, to see tall have genera ons ago. This hierarchical cel-
Bagyeli “pygmies” pretending to live in the ebra on with na ve music and dancing
forest for the benefit of tourists; uniformed had the village Chief and his Queen in the
officials boarding our ship at each port for center of ac vi es surrounded by under-
a passport face check and eager to accept lings and the Chief’s spokesman carrying a
gi s; police escorts for our buses (why?). gold-plated staff. Royal paraphernalia re-
Four of our own security guards armed with flec ng wealth and status was showcased.
rifles patrolled the ship day and night insist- This Chief, so important and revered in his
ing there was no danger as we traveled up tribe, no doubt had an ordinary posi on in
the coast. These are highlights. the nearby city, perhaps in a store or as a lo-
cal official of some kind. Similarly, many Af-
Our voyage was as much an intensive ricans prac ce an official Chris an or Mos-
college course as a vaca on. In addi on to lem religion in town, but then turn to their
sightseeing, we listened for hours to lec- ancient na ve animist, voodoo religion for
tures on the Explorer given by hired profes- their private, deeper beliefs. These parallel
sors and guides specializing in African his- lives with one foot in “official” customs and
tory, economy, sociology and linguis cs. We language (English, French or Portuguese,
learned about the hundreds of languages depending on their previous years of colo-
spoken in each country, many going ex nct. niza on) and one foot in their ancient, trib-
There were also lectures by the curator of al tradi ons and na ve dialects add to the
African art in the Sea le museum, a geolo- complexity of African society. The original,
gist, a birder, a botanist, a biologist and an na ve languages of the par cular cultures
ethnomusicologist. Ambassadors to African overlap the arbitrarily chosen borders made
countries, and even the former president by colonists, crea ng conflict between na-
of Ghana, J. J. Rawlings, were invited to ad-
dress us on the Explorer, and we danced to onal and tribal loyal es.
African music with a strong South American
flavour derived from slaves who returned Visi ng the origins of African art was
from the Caribbean. Africa defines diversity, one of my mo va ons for going on this trip.
complexity and upheaval. It’s easier to think Tribal African art – incorrectly considered
of the stereotypical lions and giraffes graz- primi ve by some – exists in museums and
ing in fairy tale se ngs, and the tribes with collec ons throughout the United States
their Chiefs and hierarchy con nuing their and Europe as extraordinary examples of
ancient customs. Those roman c aspects of ar s c excellence, crea ve abstrac on,
Africa exist as well, adding to the scenes we high technical achievement and originali-
observed as we tried to untangle their lay- ty. African art has influenced ar sts world-
ered nature. wide, with Picasso being one of the most
famous. Ethnic African art is mesmerizing.
While the urban areas bustle with ac- Disappoin ngly, however, except for some
vity and cars and motorcycles and shops, tex les, the torrent of art I saw in Africa was
ordinary and stamped out for tourists, a

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stark contradic on to the paucity of tourists if photographed. On occasion they threw
in the loca ons we visited. Reproduc ons rocks or s cks, protes ng the invasion of
(some very nice) abounded in shops and their space, refusing to be treated like ani-
the streets. One gallery in Dakar, Senegal – mals in a safari and protec ng the integrity
La Galerie Antenna operated by a French- of their souls from being stolen by the cam-
man (Claude Éverlé) – did have a number era. I found it hard not to sympathize with
of excellent art pieces, but this stood alone. them, for who wants to be a spectacle for
I bought a Nigerian stool, an Angolan stool amusement? Yet, conflicted, I con nued to
and a Duala Cameroon staff. It seems that photograph as discreetly as I could (I had a
li le of the outstanding art of sub-Saharan very small camera), and made an effort to
Africa remains in its place of origin. What communicate with them before taking their
sad exploita on. However, current ar sts photograph or pay them to pose, although
con nuing the tradi on of imagina ve and a posed image is seldom as interes ng as a
skillful expression are sca ered here and candid one.
there in the countries we visited, even in
the impoverished townships. Regardless of the country or the spe-
cific ac vity in which the children were
Amidst all this variety and complexity, engaged, I can’t remember a child whin-
there are masses of children with smiling ing or appearing disgruntled. I remember
faces and bright eyes sparkling with life and only one or two instances of a baby crying.
energy. Lines of kids waved excitedly as we How different from the scenes I am famil-
rode by on the train (built by the Chinese, of iar with at home, and our expecta ons of
course) in Angola from Lobito to Benguela, children in general. Expecta ons are cri cal
as they did in the other countries. Children to accomplishments as well as to what we
from a few months-old to young teenag- think we ought to see. I noted myself tak-
ers were in the streets, on the beach, on ing an abundance of photos of townships,
fences, playing with each other, being car- sca ered trash, poverty, women balanc-
ried on the backs of their mothers or older ing heavy loads on their heads, and tribal
sisters (occasionally fathers and brothers). affairs. Was that what I expected to see?
Kids that seemed no more than eight or What did I miss that was hiding before my
ten years old were fishing on their own in eyes, the unexpected? What would a na ve
rickety boats (ge ng the evening meal?), African choose to photograph in the Unit-
sweeping floors or doing some other task if ed States: skyscrapers, parking lots packed
they were not just hanging out in groups. with expensive cars, grocery stores?
The children loved to be photographed and
showed off for the camera. They were eager As I strived to digest all this, I had to re-
to see their images on the digital display, mind myself that comparing cultures, es-
especially the young ones. The children are pecially by a naïve tourist such as myself, is
clearly a valuable resource for the future, analogous to interpre ng what two people
however the sparse schools with few ame- speaking a foreign language are telling each
ni es and high expense for educa on cre- other by looking at shadows of their body
ate formidable obstacles. language. For example, these very same
children that charmed me had other sides
In contrast to the children, the adults of- sugges ng a very different story. There was
ten hid from the camera or became angry an instance when I was strolling on the

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