Adelaide Literary Magazine No.26, July 2019

AMORPHOUS

by Susie Gharib

Immersion sins ge ng washed. On its turbulent surface,
Jesus miraculously walked in the middle of a
I always wonder what it is about water that windstorm. Ablu ons the penetra on of wa-
lulls my nerves. Is it the fact that it is forever ter into many pores. The Red Sea was split by
amorphous and constantly changing colors Moses, who led the people of Israel out of
and hues, mirroring exteriors that are shat- Egypt, Pharaoh pursuing to meet his doom.
tered by only a ripple or two? I feel at home
when I wade into seawater like a baby pad- The sea is not just a blue hymn scribbled
dling in its womb. The foam that encircles by God’s quill; it is also a rippling tale of a
my legs as they whisk the surface dissolves man rowing his boat with two pairs of eyes
into bubbles that I puncture with my lips, an dividing their a en on equally between
act amoun ng to kissing what is impossible the mo on of his arms and a phantasma-
to kiss, such evasive texture whose liquid goria of things that the sea and anchored
so ness enthralls. It always takes me a lot of ships bewitch. The boat that bore my name
effort to drag myself out of its bosom when was built before my eyes in our huge gar-
the sunset is tolling the departure hour, my den. It cemented a lifelong rela onship
skin all shriveled by its cool embrace. with the sea and mermaid-simula on.

My life has abounded with various im- Nobody taught me how to swim. My
mersions in water since infancy to adulthood. father, who rowed us into very deep wa-
When a child, my baths were a series of ter, was always afraid of swimming further
thrills, whose dura on was prolonged with than any depth that exceeded the level of
the aid of a magic bar of soap whose bubbles his chin. Alone, I learnt how to swim by
were hard to rinse. All ac vi es were marked audaciously challenging waves each me a
with rivers, lakes or the sea as backdrop or a further inch, confron ng wild-eyed waves
pla orm. I was the amphibious of the group, and crests that looked like mermaids’ stray
abandoning games and food for the compa- locks of hair. Those aqua c rituals were only
ny of ripples, nymphs and tree-leaf boats. disrupted during my teenage because the
growth of hair on legs posed a dilemma for
In my speech, I tend to imbue water with a a new mid phase. I eventually managed
religious hue. On water was God’s Throne be- to weed out excessive hair and frequented
fore He created the world. Noah’s Ark had a the beach with my schoolmates.
covenant with water in the form of a rainbow.
Water is bap smal, conjuring up an image of Tradi on has it in this conserva ve part
John the Bap st with a laundry of people’s of the world that a decent woman does not

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go to the beach unchaperoned but since my take a taxi to Rodney Court but the rooms
grown-up friends are now sca ered all over are fully booked. I am asked to find another
the globe, I decide that I am en tled to some room un l the end of the summer holiday. I
adventurous act and go to the beach alone. stand rooted in the entrance hall and insist
that I have nowhere to go.
As I am swimming towards the shore, my
eyes bedimmed with salt and much vigor- “You can stay at a hotel for the night,” says
ous swimming, I vaguely see two young men the man in charge.
staring at me. My bikini is totally submerged
in water and the only manifesta on of any “I would not feel safe in a hotel and I am
feminine charm is a tanned face whose half- only a student with very limited means,” I
closed eyes have their shortsightedness fur- answer, obs nately standing with no inten-
ther blurred by sea salt and the sun’s fiery
face, a picture that no one would describe on whatsoever to leave. I am prepared to
as seduc ve. They head towards me on their spend the night on foot rather than venture
whirring jet ski in an abrupt rush. Taken out again. He and other security guards
aback, I ins nc vely seek shelter beneath sense a resolute trait in my character, so af-
water. The blades feel as if they are furrow- ter exchanging some meaningful looks with
ing my head as the furious jet ski proceeds them, he kindly suggests that a room can
above my sunken flesh. When my head be arranged for one single night to which I
emerges from water, I expect the sea to be immediately consent.
dyed red with my shorn skull. The aqua c
hit-and-run crew have their heads turned Behind a bulky security guard, I drag my
backwards to see the result. Another fellow heavy suitcases with resurrected valor. It
on a more remarkable jet ski is nervously is ge ng very late. He opens the door and
ges cula ng to them to immediately move instantly leaves, inadvertently forge ng to
away. As I am shivering with the tremors of hand me the key. I cannot leave my suitcases
the vibra ons of the blades, two swimmers and go downstairs and the phone is not work-
who witnessed the scene anxiously rush to- ing. The room must have been in disuse. I sit
wards me to make sure there are no wounds. disconsolate on the edge of the bed, feeling
The young woman holds me when she real- thoroughly limp. Barring the entrance with a
izes that my feet cannot touch the sea floor. heavy chair, then arranging my suitcases in
I have the comportment of an aqua c bird a train to add to the barricade more force, I
that people cannot tell whether I am stand- head for a much-needed immersion in the
ing or merely floa ng. My aversion to slimy bathroom. As my aching muscles begin to
seaweed strangula ng my feet had me de- lose some of its accumulated s ffness, some-
velop the habit of floa ng the moment I body tries to open the other bathroom door
wade into water. My mari me skills can out- that I share with the adjacent room. The lock
swim any chauvinis c shark but jet skis are a is on my side but perturba on is gathering its
menace about which I did not think. gale force. He tries again with renewed zeal
and the door-handle ra les as Planet Earth
Water Clan does in tremors of high-magnitude.

I arrive at Heathrow Airport on a very foggy “Who is it?” I shout, snatching a towel
day. London is not in its best of moods. I and leaving the only comfort I have, a er a
long day of relentless fa gue.

He u ers something in some dialect di-
luted in the heavy liquor of a Saturday night,

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then curses and threatens, ge ng more vi- inmates. My water thrill comes to an end,
olent, so I abandon my bath and sit wet on so I speed up my return to my ny cell.
the bed, shaking with physical and mental
exhaus on and hoping he would not come The front door of our flat is locked and
to the lock-free, front door that he could everybody seems to be enjoying the sereni-
easily open in his present, intoxicated state. ty of sleep. I so ly call each by name but no
He gives up a er a while, since my feminine answer greets my anxious ears. I pa ently
scent is no longer within his nostrils’ radar. await them to rise for their morning courses
and ask my fellow nymphs whether they acci-
I lie in bed, my money tucked in my dentally tried to open the door while I was in
pouch, and with vigilant eyes I spend what- the middle of slaughtering insomnia at dawn.
ever is le of an unnerving night. In the early The answer is a flat No. I hold an emergency
morning I saunter down the nearby streets conference in the evening and the five of us
to familiarize myself with my new milieu, sit round the rectangular table of our com-
but apart from some smashed bo les and a munal kitchen, looking serious and solemn.
few drunkards staggering on the street, Lon-
don looks completely deserted, so I retreat. “Someone persistently tried to open the
door when I was having a shower and I need
Another water saga is to follow during to l know who it was,” say I in an asser ve
my stay in the students’ hall of residence. tone, determined to solve the riddle before
My serious-looking mates have courses to wrestling with another sleepless night.
a end, the fact that adds impetus to my de-
sire to re-pa ern my days, but insomnia is The four faces are petrified.
not to be easily shirked off, for months fil-
tering into my blood, and since I have grown “There was an intruder last night - I had
quite averse to prescribed sleeping pills, I a real scare and you do not seem to be con-
have to deal with each sleepless night as a cerned at all,” add I.
pa ent with a different disease. Eventually
my sleeping habits improve but there re- More ghastly looks.
main some odd nights, one of which makes
me abandon bed four o’clock in the morn- “Certainly it was not a ghost stalking me
ing, seeking a very early aqua c dose. all the way from the Necropolis,” I pause,
recalling my last night in Glasgow, opposite
As I am in the middle of inducing sleep the City of the Dead, my politeness begin-
by the aid of millions of water drops, the ning to give way to sarcasm.
handle of the shower room turns twice. I
assume that a flat mate has been inspired I try to maintain some eye contact with
by my plan to slaughter insomnia with the them but the four pairs of eyes look nar-
Water Clan, and since there is no toilet in cissis cally preoccupied with their own
the shower room, I call out, apologe cally blurred reflec ons on the glistening sur-
sta ng that I would not be long. Instead of face of the table, newly cleaned in accor-
receiving an answer, the handle does an- dance with the gravity of the occasion.
other acroba c turn, only this me with
more force. I hold my breath and congrat- “I am afraid I have no other choice but to
ulate myself on the habit of using locks be- inform the police and the five of us will un-
cause apparently it is not one of my angelic dergo ques oning and perhaps fingerprints
would be taken,” say I conclusively in a re-
signed tone, watching their faces ge ng
agitated.

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The pre est of all, Rosie Thornin, apol- Ronald spends hours talking about his
oge cally confesses that it must have been dead wife, his rewarding job, and his high
her boyfriend on his way out. She was lifestyle when I am a en vely listening all
afraid I would object to his presence, so the me and wondering what induced me
she kept his intrusion secre ve. I fail to un- to accept this narcissis c odyssey of a man
derstand how Rosie’s boyfriend mistakenly who passionately fell in love with himself
tried to show himself out when the door of on the very same day he was born.
the shower room had no keyhole at all.
“You are a great listener,” says Roland, as a
The mysterious visitant of the night teacher commends a du ful student. “Usual-
turns out to be a merchant who flies a lot ly people are be er at talking than listening.”
and Rosie is probably one of his many stops
since he hops from one airport to another “Thank you,” I answer, with no further
seaport with exquisite and expensive trin- comments.
kets. I tell Rosie that she can receive him
on weekends and there is no need for clan- “Do you know that you are des ned to
des ne mee ngs. They plaster the incident have a very lonely life,” says Ronald, now
with birthday celebra ons and ny surprise prophesying my future by simply viewing
presents which we exchange in the most his large glass of dwindling beer.
amicable spirit, but the door to my trust re-
mains bolted like that of the shower room I instantly hear the bells of the word for-
when I am in a bap smal mood. lorn chime in my ears. I refrain from asking
what merits this inauspicious omen.
Menses
“I understand that your sister Adele is
An old friend of my father suddenly makes doing very well,” Donald states with an ab-
himself visible on my eventless arena. Ronald horrent grin on his face.
Addeross migrated to the States when I was
only a toddler. I do not know how he found “It depends what you mean by well,” I
my whereabouts or why, instead of my dis- answer with some reluctance, an cipa ng
a lengthy conversa on.
nguished sister, he sought me out, the poor
twin whose hospitality is meager and mod- “She has achieved quite a lot,” he observes,
est. He is triple my age, very arrogant about cunningly searching for a response on my
his good looks, which he has retained despite placid face.
the inevitable erosions on his handsome face.
“Financially?” I ask, trying to reduce my ver-
He invites me to a classy Chinese restau- bal responses to mere adjec ves and adverbs.
rant, where he expresses his gra tude for
the past generosity of my dad and begs to “Yes financially, but also in other ways,”
be allowed some recompense. He dwells he affirms with a twisted face.
on his nostalgia for London and insists that
I should accompany him on some of his “Such as?” I inquire.
tours. I accept the invita on with a jus fied
sense of apprehension: it pours upon us “Personal fulfillment,” he answers.
the whole day; I shiver with cold all the way
and feel so lonesome and bored. “From strip-teasing?” I ask.

“You disapprove morally of your sister’s
way of earning her money when the poor
thing was abandoned by her parents,” he
remonstrates.

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“I do not have a judgmental disposi on. “I beg your pardon!” say I, pretending that
May we change the subject, Donald?” I say I did not hear his insul ng words, giving him
a er a spell of for fying silence. a chance to retrieve what his lust had gored.

“You must think seriously about this He forms a circle with two vulgar fin-
vague future of yours. You definitely need fi- gers and into the circle he inserts his other
nancial stability. Hopping from one place to hand’s forcible middle finger, demonstrat-
another will get you nowhere,” he says with ing his blatant ques on in a public place,
contrived concern. teeming with tourists and na ves.

So deeply concerned for my welfare, “I don’t know what married people do
Ronald invites me to live with him in the during the red season. Sexual ma ers are
U.S.A. He extends his services to an offer not my exper se,” I bluntly answer, hop-
of marriage of convenience accompanied ing to convey the idea to him that sexual
with a pledge not to have any physical con- intercourse for me is only a rite of hallowed
tact with me – he must have felt my sexual marriage and thus dampen his ardent zeal.
aversion to him. He wants to strip me of my
iden ty, turn me into a fraud, and entrap When we arrive in the city center, Ronald
me in an abhorrent marriage that only suits invites me to a second sumptuous dinner. I
a whore, thinking his offer is the humble have always been averse to accep ng invi-
condescension of a childless demigod. ta ons to eat. Some men expect a reward
a er such a feast, and this mature compan-
He orders a bowl of soup but I decline ion is apparently not different from any oth-
to have something to eat because I had be- er opportunist. I decline his invita on and
gun to feel quite nauseous. I have my hand apologe cally inform him that I have to rise
placed beneath the table on my abdomen, early for courses. Olympian wrath twists his
a mannerism bred by my very excrucia ng, contorted face and I feel it takes him a lot of
monthly period. effort to control his enraged feet, which usu-
ally serve as punching fists. The next morn-
“Do you refrain from having sexual inter- ing I see a single note in my mailbox, a suc-
course when you have your monthly flow?” cinct message of goodbye. He has abruptly
asks he, a er an unusual spell of silence, le London to cut his expenditure short.
looking extremely anxious and disappointed.

About the Author:

Dr. Susie Gharib is a graduate of the University of Strathclyde.
Her poetry and fic on have appeared in various magazines
such as Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Curlew, The Ink Pan-
try, A New Ulster, Down in the Dirt, the Pennsylvania Literary
Journal, Mad Swirl, and The Opiate.

103

THE PLEASURE OF SPRING
AND OTHER STORIES

by Leonard Klossner

One wades through currents of prose like beauty falls from its withering form in the
one knee-high in the shallows of a stream velvet of every petal.
whose waters flow like whispers in the
wind, whose shimmering body reflects the This is the disease of knowledge; to un-
beauty of the surrounding landscape. Its derstand something is to murder its marvel.
serenity enraptures, its marvel edifies, and
one may delight in the effortlessness with The reader reclines, tucked beneath
which the narra ve waters flow without sheets, where the author hunches over
understanding its exhaus ve efforts to- their aged desk, seized by the spirit of cre-
wards simplicity. a on, fevered, with arthri c fingers of the
laboring hand tensed and clenched over the
There is a natural pleasure in relish- tool which grants language an orthographic
ing that which one has not labored for, a form. Tens of thousands of words fall from
pleasure the reader well understands. The the womb of crea on. Only some few thou-
seeming effortlessness with which the au- sand will survive abor on.
thor has wri en belies unfathomable suf-
fering - a suffering induced by mania, ob- The wanderer sees nothing but the
session, an inclina on toward perfec on becalmed tread of the stream. They note
of form despite the imperfec on of their nothing but the simplicity of its voluminous
means and facul es, and by solitude which flow. They do not see the s llness of the
allows these forces to run amok. waters in the depth of winter. The reader
does not behold the author laboring to the
Beneath the bloom of a wild chrysanthe- utmost limits of the body, chipping away at
mum spreads the ugly tendrils of its roots the boundless shape of the frozen stream
- reaching as near to the underworld as for seasons on end un l the current at last
the blossom aspires toward Heaven - bur- begins to flow through the solidity of the
rowed deep in the muck and the mess of glacial mass once the winter of crea on
the world. One may pluck the flower from reaches its end.
the base of the stem to admire its figure,
and while one might thereby intuit a great- Only the author understands the suffer-
er understanding of the floral specimen, its ing induced by their crea on and perhaps
even that is not true. The reader cannot

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intuit, nor could they comprehend the ex- ward; there is only the pretense of the base
tent of an author’s labor, and this is as it material, of glass so easily stained, so easily
should be - the author suffers the isola on sha ered. One might look inside, but what
and harrowing chill of winter so the reader would they see? Nothing worth sharing,
may feel nothing but the warm, unbridled she tells herself, then averts her gaze from
pleasure of spring. the bathroom mirror through which she
gazed upon her reflec on like a visitor to a
Body: Image museum glances at a pain ng among hun-
dreds of others. The visitor’s shi ing eyes,
She observes her reflected double as exhausted from poring over a profusion
though its body were not her own. The of images for hours, has passed over too
vases in her room, the candles, the Persian many gilded frames to bother gleaning the
rug; they are no different than her body - essence of the image. This is the xxx,xxx-
they are possessions; they exist outside of ,xxxth me that she has viewed her body,
herself. Oh, but what is this accursed self? and though its reflec on exists as a dynam-
Years of searching has neared her no closer ic image, though the body and its mirrored
towards discovery. The self: The carrot on double move across space and me, the
the string, as within her reach as it is invari- listless gaze considers the reflec on as it
ably distant. Whatever this self is, she says, would an image suspended in aeternum, a
it has nothing to do with her body. pain ng perpetually unmoving.

It is neither hers, this body, in solitude or At best, she thinks, even the most sub-
in public. She no ces the glares of wom- lime pain ng is des ned to deteriorate into
en, the gazes of men. Her body is beau - a meager image, a pre y picture printed in
ful - she knows this, but refrains from en- calendars to be hung up in some old wom-
tangling the body in the self; resists the an’s kitchen or on a fridge magnet on sale
thought that she *herself* is beau ful. She in a gi shop; a possession which retains
understands the alchemy of desire, that the nothing of the essence of its original, an
solvent of the gaze reduces the body to its image bere of its essence, which signifies
basest features, and so she cannot detest nothing but material, an object that means
the women whose migratory eyes crowned absolutely nothing, an object so similar to
by furrowed brow betrays their envy, nor the body.
can she despise the men who gaze upon
her body as though it were something they All Flowers Will Die
might like to own. How could she think ill
of a man for seeing her exactly as she sees Our youth, vanishing, like spots of dew
herself? and are not these men, too, mere trickling down the blemished window of
bodies in mo on, simple objects shuffled our past. The forlorn gaze watches the wa-
around the city square like commodi es in ter cascade in zig-zag streams down the
the supermarket? spo ed glass, wondering where all the

From nowhere - not from the mouth, the me went, marveling at the speed with
flesh, or any orifice - does the self emerge which it has passed us by as we stood more
from the body. Like a lantern without a or less fixed to one determinate point. The
candle, there is nothing within to shine out- window of memory, all befogged; stages of
our life misted over, in a haze. We lose our

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faith in recollec on. We lose the ability to And, son, you say your soil has gone dry, yet
observe images of our passed life in any de- your flowers grow to this day, and, you, my
tail. Interroga ons of our memory furnish grandson, you are blindest of all; the boun-
doub ul tes mony.
ful moisture of your soil goes to waste. You
Enter: Into Mnemosyne’s garden. Lose are s ll so incredibly young and ignorant be-
yourself within the hedge maze, stumble yond belief. This I can assure you: You are
through the door of the mausoleum of mem- far less learned than you quite confidently
ories, covered over as it was by a la cework feel yourself to be, and have yet to experi-
of faint and withering flowers. See the skulls ence the sensa on of drought for yourself.
of the dead everywhere, skeletal remains But there you are, confident as ever, having
li ering the floor, stuffed into the alcoves; no doubt read of drought in those books of
the ashes of the deceased overflowed from yours, or seen its defini on spelled out in
cracked and fractured urns. To whom do they so many lectures and lessons. You mistake
belong? What is le for their bones to signify? your reading and educa on for experience.
Twenty-seven years, and s ll a life me of
The child, so eager to mature, rushes showers to look forward to - showers your
headlong into a life of remorse. He is twen- ignorance will no doubt squander - and s ll
ty-seven now; what of his youth remains? so many buds that have yet to blossom.
He tests the soil, penetra ng the surface
with probing digit, and senses that the last Relieved of the last of his teachings, the
of its moisture has gone. His father, doing grandfather experiences the fatal drought
the same, thinks his son a fool - the soil is at last. No longer could his soil nourish what
s ll humid. See, he says, the pressure of once grew within it, so it is disposed of, like
his thumb coaxes water from the soil. It is everything that is obsolete, like all that has
mine that has dried, says the father. become useless. The withered flowers dec-
orate nothing; signify nothing; serve noth-
Both of you are mad, the grandfather ing. All that survives is the memory of what
shouts. Here mine is bone dry, and, see, once flourished for as long as the consump-
there are cracks in the terra co a. It is soon
to break apart - any day could be the day. ve blight of life allowed, a memory which,
like mortality, is sure to decay.

About the Author:

Leonard Klossner has had short fic on published in
The Birds We Piled Loosely, Queen Anne’s Revenge,
and Corvus Review. His novella, The Dominance Bond,
was published in December 2017 through Zeit|Haus.
Leonard Klossner lives in Chicago, IL.

106

SMOKEY THE

THERAPY CAT

by Andrew Miller

Last week Jeff Streeter drove me to the ets, a cup of cold coffee at my side, staring
clam flats in his Ford Model T to sca er Pa- at the gray-green spruce thicket beyond
tricia’s ashes. We went before sunrise, her the clearing. Gloom sustained me. It gave
favorite me of day. Jeff stayed with the me an excuse to turn down dinner invita-
car, one foot on the running board, while
I trudged along the shore toward the Deer ons, to skip get-togethers with friends at
Isle Bridge. Patricia’s ashes, light gray, grit- the coffee shop. I even ignored the garden,
ty like coarse sand, slid through my fingers. stood by while the zucchini turned woody,
She and I had strolled this coastline o en: green beans dried on the vine. The less I
slogging through mud, knee deep in pools, did, the worse I felt.
over coarse gravel, rockweed popping un-
der our feet. Never in a hurry, plenty of Now it was just me and Smokey, our
male Maine Coon cat. Three years ago,
me to poke under flat rocks, watch crabs Patricia and I adopted him from the Ark
scoot to safety, marvel at the numbers of Animal Shelter near Cherryfield. He was a
periwinkles. The air thick with the aroma of so , light-gray ball of fluff. A er a year his
mud, sunbaked seaweed, and dried fish. fur had darkened and now it was about the
shade of a weathered granite rock. We al-
This is where her ashes were meant to ways owned cats; Smokey replaced our 12-
sleep, to become the stuff of so -shelled year old black and white short-hair that had
clams and inter dal worms. It had been died a few months earlier.
quick: three weeks from cancer diagnosis
to a double handful of Patricia’s ashes in a Jeff reappeared a few days a er Patri-
silver-colored cardboard box. We had been cia’s memorial service. Usually he calls first,
together 36 years. but this me he just showed up. Patricia
and I met Jeff at a library func on 20 years
* ago. She fell in love with his energy and
voluble personality, I with his love of an-
A er that morning, life in my house in the
spruce forest se led into a dreary dullness, ques and his 100-year-old car. The three
leaden and gray. I spent much of the day of us went for rides in the T at least once
on the front deck, hands deep in my pock- a month. We’d visit old friends, cruise into

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Blue Hill, stop for a picnic lunch or a lobster And so on. It was obvious that Randy was
roll at a drive-in restaurant. more comfortable talking to Smokey than to
adults.
Today he drove the Volvo, which meant
he had something on his mind. I brewed a Jeff con nued, “Take Smokey to the hos-
fresh pot of coffee and we sat out on the pital and do your act with kids. Tell jokes,
deck. We cha ed and watched Smokey sing songs, read stories. Get them talking.
stalk a grasshopper. Like you did with Randy.”

Eyes on the cat, Jeff set his cup down. When my grandfather was a kid, he saw
“Alex…have you ever thought of enrolling a ventriloquist act with a dog instead of a
Smokey in the Pet Therapy Program?” dummy. That gave him the idea of pu ng
on comedy shows using live animals. From
“Therapy—for my cat? Since when do then on, his pets always talked. I picked up
cats need therapy?” the idea from him.

“It not for him, it’s for kids. You take A er Patricia and I got together, she
Smokey to the hospital—visit children wait- joined in.
ing for surgery, recovering from an accident,
ge ng cancer treatment…” One of our cats: “Who’s going to feed me?”

Smokey crept toward the grasshopper. Patricia: “There’s food in your dish, go
His belly fur scraped the grass. look.”

“Isn’t that for dogs?” I pictured a Pomer- One of our cats: “I’m sick of that old
anian or Welsh Corgi racing up to a kid, lick- Turkey Fixin’s in Giblet Gravy; it’s cold and
ing his hand, anxious to be pe ed, begging crusty. Open up a can of Salmon Floren ne
for a treat. But a cat? with Garden Greens in a Delicate Sauce.”

Jeff shook his head. “You’ve forgo en that Patricia: “Since when do cats know
Smokey is the only cat in Maine that talks.” about fancy salmon dishes?”

“Talks?” I’d hear her scrape his old food into the
garbage and open a new can.
“Sure, like that me you and Patricia put
on the ventriloquist act for Randy.” Patricia: “There, Salmon Floren ne and
Garden Greens in a Delicate Sauce—hope
Last summer Jeff brought his ten-year your sa sfied.”
old nephew over for a visit. Randy had just
broken his leg and was in a deep funk be- A er ea ng: “I’m not being well-cared for.”
cause he couldn’t sail or play baseball. Pa-
tricia and I entertained Randy by making Patricia: “Oh, come on.”
Smokey talk.
We did this o en, taking turns being
Smokey: “Randy, how come you’re walk- Smokey’s voice. But Smokey quit talking
ing around with those s cks?” when Patricia was diagnosed with pancre-
a c cancer.
Randy: “I fell out of an apple tree and
broke my leg.” Jeff broke into my thoughts. “Want to give
it a try?”
Smokey: “How were the apples—any
good?” Smokey pounced on the grasshopper.
He had it pinned, then in a flurry of bea ng

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wings, the grasshopper buzzed into the tall “All right, all right.”
grass. Smokey reared up on hind legs and
gave chase. Watching the cat gave me me He jumped on the couch.
to think.
“Maybe…” he licked his right forepaw
Finally, I said, “I hate to jump into things. twice, “maybe that therapy stuff wouldn’t
Give me some me to think.” so bad a er all.”

Jeff didn’t press the issue. A er he le , Later that a ernoon, Jeff called, asked if
I did a li le research on pet therapy pro- I had thought more about the Pet Therapy
grams. The animals had to be healthy and Program.
up-to-date on all their shots. No problem
there. Most were dogs, but they did take “Yes,” I said. “Smokey said he’d try it. How
cats. They all had to wear a vest and walk do we get started?”
on a leash—Jeff hadn’t men oned that de-
tail. Smokey didn’t have a leash and had “You have to take him to the Blue Hill
never walked on one. But he was a smart Veterinary Clinic and sign him up.”
ki y. I was sure he could learn.
“Can’t we do this over the phone? Smokey
“Smokey, what do you think about get- doesn’t like travel.”
ng into the therapy business?”
“A vet has to check him out. They’ll need
Smokey broke his silence. to review his medical records.”

“Therapy for kids?” he said. “Sounds like “There’s nothing the ma er with this cat.”
dog’s work to me.”
“It’s just a formality.” I could hear him
“They take cats.” drumming his fingers on the table. “I’ll
drive you in the Model T. A erwards, we’ll
“Me—in a hospital? What if I catch a dis- have a picnic at Mariners Park.”
ease?”
His words clutched at my throat. This
“You can’t catch human diseases. Be- would be my first ou ng with Jeff in the
sides, some of the kids might be recover- Model T since we sca ered Patricia’s ashes.
ing from an accident, ge ng ready for an It would be just Jeff and me. No Patricia.
opera on.”
He gave me no me to unpeel old mem-
He rolled over on his back, stretched out ories. “Bring a bo le of wine and I’ll take
his fore and hind legs. I rubbed his belly, lis- care of the rest. Your appointment is at
tened to him purr. eleven o’clock next Monday.”

“I miss Patricia,” he said. “I wish she was “You made an appointment for us?”
here.”
“I figured you’d say ‘yes.’”
I took a deep breath. “So do I, Big Boy. It
was so sudden.” I picked him up and squeezed. “Why do we need an appointment?”
He squirmed out of my arms, dropped to the
floor. “You can’t just walk into a pet screening
unannounced.”
“Quit squishing me. I hate to be force-
purred.” “This is star ng to sound like a big deal.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten. Tell Mr. Smokes to
be on his best behavior.”

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Smokey dropped off the couch, ambled “Come on, Smokey, you’re supposed to
toward the front door and yowled. I held walk beside me.”
it open. He stepped part way through the
threshold, then stopped, sniffed the mat. “I am not a dog.”

“Hurry up—going out or not?” He refused to move un l he spo ed a
grasshopper. Then he dragged me over to
Not just one sniff, but many long sniffs inves gate. A er that, he started leading
along the en re edge. What is it about me around the yard. A er 30 minutes of
cats? They rush into the house but must be zig-zagging here and there, I decided that
coaxed out. Lesson Number One was a par al success.

He glared up at me. “What happened to We worked with the leash over the next
the frog I brought in last night?” few days. He began to follow me, rather
than the other way around. He s ll tended
“You told me those things were no good— to wrap around tree trunks or dash under
cold and clammy.” bushes. But he only had to be on the leash
for a few minutes with the vet. This might
“I never said that.” work a er all.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all day.” Late Sunday a ernoon, a thick shelf of
black clouds rolled in from the southeast.
“Don’t rush me—I’m sniffing.” Wind ripped over the island, poplar leaves
cha ered and snapped, paper birch and
I nudged him with my foot. He stepped spruce saplings dipped and swayed. Heavy
out on the deck. rain pummeled the roof. Water cascaded off
the cedar siding and rushed onto the deck.
“What do you want for dinner—some When the wind let up Monday morning,
fancy salmon dish?” the yard was strewn with broken branches,
fla ened bracken ferns, and shallow pud-
“Let’s go simple: Beef with Gravy.” dles. Right a er breakfast, a light breeze
picked up and the clouds began to disperse.
If Smokey was going to be a therapist, he A perfect day for a picnic. A li le soggy, but
needed a vest and a leash. The nearest pet that wouldn’t bother us.
store was in Ellsworth, almost an hour away.
I heard a muffled yowl from the deck.
* When I opened the door, Smokey looked up
at me, a deer mouse dangled from his jaws.
Several hours later, I returned with Smokey’s
new vest. Black as ebony, sprinkled with “You can’t bring that in here!”
mul colored stars, it was the fanciest one
in the store. It was tough ge ng him into it. “Why not?”
First, I stuffed his legs into a couple of holes
in the front. Then I held him steady while “Is it dead?”
snapping two flaps over his back. It was
hate at first feel. But no ma er how much “Of course.”
he walked backwards, writhed on the floor
or scrapped against door jams, he couldn’t He crouched down, turned his head side-
shuck it. When he calmed down, I a ached ways and began to chew. Bones cracked and
the leash and carried him outside. crunched; it sounded like someone stepped

Once on the ground, he refused to follow;
just sat back on his haunches and sulked.

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on a wooden strawberry box. When he Smokey turned to watch birds. I set his
stopped to swallow, I kicked the remains off carrier out on the deck and then printed off
the deck and nudged him through the door. an ar cle on childhood diseases.

“Hey—I just go en started.” At ten o’clock we heard a rhythmic
chug-chug-chug from the Perez Crossroad.
“Forget that mouse, your breakfast is Smokey stood up and stretched, fixed his
ready.” eyes on the driveway. When the Model T
burst through the spruce trees, I stepped
He dashed over to his food dish. A er out on the deck. Jeff waved, stopped with
filling up on Roasted Chicken and Gravy, he a metallic screech. He set the emergency
jumped on the window sill and began to brake, popped out of the Model T.
wash his face.
“Hey Alex—you and Smokey ready for
He stopped in mid lick when he spo ed the big day?”
the carrier. “Are we going somewhere?”
He bounded up on the deck and gave
“This is Pet Therapy Screening Day— me a quick hug. I told Jeff that we were
don’t you remember? ready, went inside and slipped the amateur
therapist into his vest. He struggled when I
“Oh…that.” He went back to licking. pushed him into the carrier.

“Jeff will be here at ten.” “How come I go a wear the straight jack-
et and ride in this li le jail?”
“Are we s ll going on a picnic?”
I tossed a couple of yummies into the
“Yes,” I said, “But you have to be screened carrier. “Here, and don’t mouth off like that
first.” when we get to the clinic.”

“I don’t want to be screened. I don’t like Jeff dropped to his knees and peered in
vets.” at Smokey. “He doesn’t look very happy.”

“This is not a big deal. They need to check “He’ll be okay.”
your records. Remember—you’re going to
be a therapist.” “That’s a spiffy ou it he has on.”

“Did you pack my Roast Chicken Flavored I maneuvered the carrier into the back
Yummies?” seat. The T shook with an cipa on. Jeff re-
leased the emergency brake, advanced the
“Of course.” hand thro le, and put us in low gear. We
leaped forward. He shi ed into high gear
“And my water dish? I might get thirsty.” and we careened onto the Perez Crossroad.

“Yes. Don’t I take good care of you?” Jeff slowed the T as we approached a
stop sign. “Is he OK—not too noisy, is it?”
Smokey yawned. “Not as good as Patri-
cia. She used to warm my food in the micro- “He’s fine.”
wave. Salmon in a Rich Creamy Sauce is no
good straight from the fridge.” “We don’t want him to be nervous and
fail his screen test.”
Smokey se led into the bread loaf po-
si on, all four paws and tail tucked under.

“Is Jeff driving us in that funny old car?”

“That’s the plan.”

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Once on the Pressy Village Road, we wai ng area and led us into her office. She
edged into the le lane to pass a black peeked in at Smokey.
pickup parked on the shoulder. In the bed
were coils of yellow rope, a stack of worn “Maine Coon cats are so handsome.”
pine boards, a roll of hardware cloth, and
half a dozen five-gallon buckets. Back in She glanced at his medical records,
the right lane, we swept by a muddy cove handed them to an assistant to copy, then
strewn with clumps of rockweed, a row of said, “Everything looks fine. Let’s go and
Cape Cod houses surrounded by blocks of get him screened.”
lichen-encrusted granite, a sma ering of
scraggly apple trees. Then I realized there would be more to
this than just marching around her office
A er we crept out of Deer Isle Village, I on the leash. We followed her down a dark
began to think about our appointment at hallway and into a large room. Inside were
the clinic. I needed to prepare. more than a dozen chairs arranged in a cir-
cle, with an adult or child in each. When we
I turned to the back seat. “Smokey, how entered, every head turned. The director
do you plan to entertain the children?” mo oned toward the chairs.

Smokey’s ears were back, his claws deep “Lead him around, let him greet the chil-
into a faded beach towel in the bo om of dren.”
the carrier.
Walk around a strange room and greet
“I’ll tell them about all the mice that live people? We were not expec ng this.
in our garden—how tasty they are.”
I got down on my knees and opened
I remembered the sound of bones the door. Smokey was scrunched in the
crunching. “Don’t be too graphic; that back, ears fla ened. I dragged him out,
might frighten the kiddos.” towel clinging to his claws and clicked on
his leash. It was obvious he was not about
“I’ll tell them about the wood pussy we to walk, so I picked him up and set him in
saw last night.” front of two girls. Did he purr, rub against
their ankles, beg to be picked up? No. He
“What?” Jeff turned to me. “What did he ignored them, strained on the leash, eyes
say?” fixed on the exit. When I picked him up, he
buried his head under my arm. There was
“He means a skunk.” nothing else to do but carry him around
the room, stopping in front of each chair.
Jeff frowned. “Mr. Smokes, you be er I could feel him quiver, trying to burrow
clean up your language. That kind of talk deeper into my arms. The adults, who were
won’t sit well with parents.” probably seasoned pet therapists, smiled.
They were thinking: nice guy, a rac ve cat,
Smokey said, “Make that, ‘wood puddy.’” but no therapy team.

The fur on the back of his neck stood up; “He seems a li le shy,” the Director said
his eyes were wide. a er we circled the room.

* “He wasn’t expec ng so many people.”

Jeff stayed in the car while I picked up the “Has he ever been around children?”
carrier and hustled into the clinic. The Pet
Therapy Program Director met us in the

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“Only once.” When we passed the clam flats where
Patricia’s ashes lay, my eyes wandered over
She nodded, flashed a quick smile. “Try the dal pools and clumps of rockweed. I
again next year.” Her eyes narrowed. “He could feel Jeff’s eyes on me. A few miles
needs to get used to children if he is going later, just outside Deer Isle Village, he li ed
to be in this program.” his fist to the bump posi on. “As my father
used to say, ‘we’re not retrea ng, we’re
Smokey slunk into his carrier, dug his charging in a new direc on.’ It’s me for
claws into the towel. I grabbed his records Plan B.”
from the office and toted him back to the
Model T. We bumped fists.

Jeff stuck his head out the window when “Plan B?” I asked.
he saw us. “That didn’t take long. How did
it go?” “I’ll explain once we open the wine.”

“He failed.” *

“No! How did that happen?” He started Just past the village of Deer Isle, we swerved
the engine. onto Haystack Road, then shot past the en-
trance to Mariner’s Park.
I explained as we lurched out of the lot.
“You missed the turn.”
“I was afraid you started off with a wood
pussy story.” “I found us a new place.”

I shook my head. “It’s hard to put on I knew why he wanted to skip Mariner’s
an act when the major a rac on has to be Park. It was one of Patricia’s favorite spots.
dragged out of his carrier. Didn’t even want A few hundred yards down the road, we
to be pe ed.” slowed, darted onto an overgrown two-
track lane. We slid to a stop in front of a
“Any chance for a retest?” wide puddle. Two muddy tracks, slick and
oily from last night’s rain, wound up the hill.
“The Director said he needs to get used A sagging barn slouched at the top.
to kids. Then we could try again next year.”
“Is this it?”
“That wasn’t much fun,” Smokey said.
Jeff nodded. “There’s an awesome view
I turned. “You were supposed to walk of the Reach at the top.”
around the room, purr and be pleasant.”
“It looks slippery. We can’t make it.”
“That place was crawling with kids. And
they didn’t look sick to me.” “Nonsense.” He revved the engine.

“That was a dry run,” I said. “A me to The T growled, reared up and splashed
show your stuff.” through the puddle. Le rear wheel churn-
ing, the car swaying from side to side, we
An icy chill se led over us. All this talk charged. I bounced up and down, gripped
about Pet Therapy had given me a boost. the seat with one hand, reached around
We never thought that Smokey wouldn’t and steadied the carrier with the other. The
cooperate. I looked over at Jeff, saw the car bucked and snorted, spewed a stream
disgruntled look on his face. He rubbed the of mud from the le rear wheel, then the
back of his neck.

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right rear wheel. Near the top, we slid off I shook my head. “He flunked his test.”
the tracks and whooshed through a wild
raspberry thicket. Jeff laughed. “The Island Nursing Home
doesn’t screen their volunteers. You just
As we came to a stop by the barn, Jeff show up. What say you, Smokey?” He raised
smiled. “I believe we widened the approach.” his glass. “And, the old guys would love
wood pussy stories.”
We spread out a blanket next to a fallen
oak. Jeff had brought chicken sandwiches, Smokey glared at Jeff. “Will I have to
two packages of cheese, and a box of fan- walk around a room packed with old folks?”
cy crackers. I set out a can of mixed nuts, a
bo le of red wine, and a bag of cherry to- Jeff set one hand on Smokey’s back. “You
matoes from the farmer’s market. I tethered meet one person at a me, in their rooms or
Smokey’s leash to a branch, poured the wine. on the porch.” He spread more cheese, then
con nued, “You’ll like old people. They’re
Smokey sat up, licked his lips. “Where quiet, move slow. Not like children.” He bit
are my roast chicken yummies?” down on the cracker.

I tossed a handful of yummies onto a My spirits began to li . I took another
paper plate. When Jeff and I touched glass- drink of wine. Jeff’s voice dropped an oc-
es, he said, “Here’s to Mr. Smokes, the Al- tave. “Mr. Smokes…want to give it a try?”
most Pet Therapist.” We each took a drink.
He gazed up at the sky. “What a wonder- Smokey yawned, dropped his head to
ful day: wind from the northwest, blowing his forepaws. “I suppose…” His eyes closed.
out the storm.” He unwrapped the cheeses, “Don’t bother me. Think I’ll snooze.”
opened the crackers and poured nuts onto
a paper plate. The hillside, li ered with Jeff stopped chewing, frowned. “Hey,
maples, oaks, and pines, dropped away to what kind of nuts are these?”
a ribbon of black rocks and white surf. Sail-
boats do ed the water. I looked at his plate.

“Tell me about Plan B,” I said. “You’re ea ng Smokey’s Roast Chicken
Flavored Yummies. How are they?”
He spread brie onto a rye cracker.
“Well goll-lee!” He spat a wad into his
“You know that every so o en I visit the Is- palm, tossed them into the weeds. Smokey’s
land Nursing Home; give folks rides in the T?” eyes snapped open when he heard them fly
past. He scrambled to his paws, strained
“Sure, once we went together.” against his leash. “He threw away perfectly
good yummies!”
Jeff stared at the label on the bo le. “I
love a good Merlot.” He swirled his glass, I tossed a few more at Smokey. He dug
watched the legs creep upward. A handful them out of the grass, then curled up and
of puffy clouds dri ed overhead. The sun dri ed to sleep.
was hot on my forehead, the Merlot warm
in my throat. Jeff popped a couple of toma- Jeff took a swig of wine, smiled, stretched
toes in his mouth, picked up a sandwich. out on the blanket and gazed up at the
clouds. Every once and a while he roused
“Plan B is you, me, and Mr. Smokes visit- himself, refilled his glass. Smokey began to
ing folks at the Island Nursing Home.” purr. I glanced at the Model T: mud spat-
tered, knee-deep in clover and goldenrod.

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Jeff saw me staring, hands in my pock- shot off the top, ski ered down the mud-
ets. “How are you doing?” dy tracks, then splashed through the pud-
dle. Steam rising from under the hood, we
I had thought that riding with Jeff in the sprang out onto the Haystack Road, sped
T, going on a picnic without Patricia would for home.
be painful. But it really wasn’t. I began to
think about how Jeff had ini ated this Pet *
Therapy business. He always seemed like
a simple, straigh orward guy. He took life Jeff helped us out, waved, then disappeared
at its own speed, never complained about among the trees. Smokey scooted out of
much. Not planful; a lot like Smokey. But the carrier, raced over to a sandy spot in
Jeff had just engineered a rehab program the driveway. He flopped down, rolled on
for me under the guise of entertaining sick his back, squirmed from side to side, paws
kids. Smokey was supposed to be the ther- in the air.
apist; I was supposed to be the facilitator.
But as it turned out, Smokey would take “There’s nothing like a good dust bath.”
care of me.
I pointed to a fur tu at the edge of the
I remembered how Patricia loved to driveway.
sit out like this, drink wine, eat cheese. It
would please her to know that Smokey and “Where’d that come from?”
I would go to the Island Nursing Home. She
would smile at his star-speckled vest, be “What color is it?”
happy to know that he was conversing with
old folks. “Light brown, some white.”

Guys don’t hug other guys at mes like He stopped rolling. “Probably from a deer
this. Instead, I grabbed Smokey, pressed mouse.” He sat up on his haunches. “Then
him ght against my chest. I looked down again, it might have been a white-footed
at Jeff. mouse.” Twigs, dust, and dried leaves clung
to his coat. “Is everybody s ll mad at me
“Did you know that Maine Coons are es- for flunking out of Pet Therapy School?” He
pecially loud purrers?” whacked his tail down on the gravel.

“No, I did not.” Jeff dropped the leaned “Of course not.”
the wine bo le up against a clump of grass.
“But you be er not squeeze him so hard.” “When do we go to the Old Folks House?”

We lay around for another half hour, “The Island Nursing Home.”
then decided it was me to go. I unleashed
Smokey and shoved him into the carrier. “Whatever.” He scampered toward me,
We stowed everything in the T. Jeff pushed eyes wide.
the starter bu on; the engine moaned,
then cha ered as he advanced the throt- I picked him up and scratched under his
tle. We turned around and bolted for the chin, stroked his neck. He twisted sideways,
hill. I ghtened my grip on the seat as we snuggled his head between my knees, made
low murmurs deep in his throat. When I
rubbed his belly, he began to purr, long,
deep rumbles that ended with a squeak.

His eyes, two yellow slits.

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About the Author:

Andrew Miller re red from a career that included university teaching and research in en-
dangered species and aqua c habitat restora on. Now he has me to pursue his long-held
interest in crea ve wri ng. Recent work has appeared in: Foliate Oak Literary Magazine,
Gravel: A Literary Journal, Front Porch Review, Typehouse Literary Magazine, and Shan h
Literary Journal. h p://www.andrewcmiller.com/

116

TARIFF

by Richard Charles Schaefer

The guy I’m replacing didn’t show up to- did. She said I touched my face too much,
day, so Heather (who calls me Brian, even brushing my bangs out of my eyes; you go
though my name’s Dus n) shows me in thinking they’re going to tell you the font
around the office. This includes a tutorial on your resume is wrong and instead they
on the photocopier/fax and the coffee mak- tell you that. It’s a temp-to-perm assign-
er in the break room (the coffee is free as ment, so Freedom Sea-Air will ul mately
long as we don’t take advantage of it), then be the ones to decide if they’re okay with
she leads me to the mee ng room at the how much I touch my face.
back of the office. She suggests that, un l
someone else gets in to train me, I sort the A couple more people come in at 9:30.
piles of manila folders into the filing cabi- I wait for Heather to tell them I’m back
nets lining the wall. She leaves before ex- here, hidden out of sight, but she doesn’t.
plaining how they’re supposed to be filed. So I have to come out and introduce my-
But if she didn’t say, it must be obvious self, trying to do it without terrifying them.
enough that I don’t have to ask. They do seem surprised, but mostly be-
cause they didn’t know a new guy was
Heather le the lights off, so I don’t turn star ng.
them on either. One wall is all windows,
looking out on a gravel lot full of transform- They’re both probably around the same
ers and mean looking bushes. There’s a big age as Heather, which is to say any of the
antenna-tower at the center, and the train- three of them could be my mother, if you
tracks at the far end. I have to press my remove looks and personality from the
head against the window to see the top of equa on. The one with the kind of puffy
the tower; it looks like it’s swaying if I stare brown hair you get from a standing, weekly
too long. When I move away from the win- appointment with a stylist is named Hel-
dow, I see that I le a smudge of forehead en, and the one with naturally curly hair is
grease on it. I swear, I showered this morn- named Mary. I didn’t men on it before, but
ing, but there you go. Heather’s hair is blonde, just like mine.

The lady at the employment agency They don’t ask much about me, which
told me Freedom Sea-Air is a customs bro- is fine; it’s Monday, so they’re telling each
ker and I don’t know what that means but other about their weekends. Heather
it’s a li le too late to ask. She also told me shows me which desk is mine, right in front
to cut my hair, and I said I wouldn’t, but I of Helen’s, toward the front of the office
but posi oned so I can’t see the entrance.

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I do have a view of that antenna from the Imagine if there were a book like that for
window to my le . people, something that told you the price
of ge ng in or out of a place.
I half-listen to them talking, because it’s
stuff about people I’ve never heard of. I’ll I make the mistake of looking behind me
probably learn something about all of their and Helen has her stockings rolled part-way
lives eventually, and they’ll probably learn down one leg and completely off the oth-
something about mine, too, and that’s er and she’s cu ng her toe-nails. Seeing
okay. Temp-to-perm usually means “per- that’s bad enough but she sees me looking
manent unless you fuck up spectacular- so she starts talking about how she used to
ly”, so I should get to know my coworkers be a dancer and owned a dance studio with
some. her sister un l her sister became an alco-
holic. She talks about her fat daughter “her
If this desk belonged to the guy I’m re- words” and how she wants her daughter to
placing, I bet he was taller than me. I mess leave her husband because he’s no good for
around with the bu ons and levers on my her self-esteem and that’s why she’s fat.
chair un l I lower it, and that takes a few
minutes. I’m not really sure what I’m sup- Her toe-nails are flying all over the place,
posed to be doing now. Helen, Mary, and so I’m kind of distracted when she starts
Heather are s ll talking, so it might be rude talking about Karen, who I assume is her
to get up and go back to filing folders. daughter. A er a minute, though, I realize
that Karen’s our final office-mate who isn’t
One of the knobs under the chair got here yet because, according to Helen, she’s
my hand all greasy, so I want to take care always late, even though she lives three
of that before I ruin my pants or pick my minutes away. I look out the window and
nose and leave a black smudge on my wonder what could possibly be within 3
nostril, because that’s pre y much inev- minutes of this place.
itable in this scenario. I don’t get why a
chair needs that level of lubrica on, like A er rolling her stockings all the way
some complex mechanism will jam if it’s back up, Helen comes up next to me and
not greased but I’m not about to take it whispers, “don’t trust Heather,” then con-
apart to find out, since I wouldn’t have
anywhere to sit if I did. nues over to the front counter to drop a
folder in a metal bin.
Now that everyone knows everybody
else’s business from the weekend, I’m Soon, a younger woman “older than me
star ng to learn a li le about what cus- but s ll under 30” hurries in, carrying two
toms brokerage is. Basically, there’s this iced coffees; she has long straight hair, dyed
big book “thousands of pages” with long somewhere on the spectrum between red
numbers in it, and every object on earth and brown. Heather introduces Karen, who
has a number that corresponds with it. puts both coffees down, nods to me and
When you want to bring anything into the says “oh.”
country, you hire a broker to tell the gov-
ernment what number corresponds with She hangs her jacket on her chair then
whatever it is, so they know how much to leaves the office without saying anything.
make you pay in duty.
“She’s going to have a cigare e,” Helen
says.

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Mary, who sits in front of me, next to Helen sighs behind me and then I hear
Karen, turns around. Tony Benne playing on her computer
speakers. I don’t think Mary can hear it, but
“It’s awful, people who take advantage of I’m stuck between Fog-hat in front of me
the fact that there’s no boss here,” she says. and “I Le My Heart in San Francisco” be-
hind me.
“Isn’t Heather the manager?” I ask and
look behind me, past Helen’s desk to Heath- When Mary gets up to make coffee, Hel-
er’s. I didn’t no ce her go anywhere, but en leans over her desk to me.
she’s not there.
“The only reason Mary s ll has her job
“Heather doesn’t know what she’s doing,” here is because her father knows the owner.”
Helen says.
Karen, at her desk, nods without looking
“She’s worked here for 30 years,” Mary up.
agrees, “so they made her the manager, but
she’s not even a licensed broker.” “So you see, they put the tariff on the
paperwork, that’s what you’re going to put
I hope they don’t think I have a license into the computer here.” Heather push-
for this. es on my monitor with one finger, hard
enough to distort the colors where I start
“And she’s a pushover,” Mary adds. to type the 10 digit number in. “Include the
periods.”
“Maybe to you,” Helen says. “She’s mean.
She bullies me, to be frank.” “Don’t I have to, like, check the tariff in
the book there?”
“Oh,” I say.
“Not for this account. They have a li-
The front door opens so Mary and Helen censed broker working for them, he pro-
pretend they’re working, but it’s just Karen. vides the tariffs. It’s always the same stuff.”

“We were telling Brian about how Heath- “Why doesn’t he just, like, submit it di-
er is.” rectly? Why do they need us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Karen says. “She can be a real “Because we’re their broker.”
bitch.”
“Oh.” I don’t push it.
“My name is Dus n,” I say.
“His name is Huong.”
The door opens again and this me it’s
Heather. She returns to her desk without “What?” I ask.
saying anything. I wonder where she was
and how thick these walls are. “He’s a know-it-all.”

“I thought there would be walls,” I say. “Oh.”
“Like, cubicles.”
“So we use the numbers he provides.”
“Nope,” Mary says. “We all work togeth-
er. Hey, you seem like you like rock music, “What is this stuff, anyway?” I ask. It’s a
right? Aerosmith? Bob Seger?” 40-page invoice with about 30 lines of items
on each page. At the top, it says Lock te
“Oh, uh,” I start, but Mary is already turn- Fasteners.
ing up the li le radio on her desk.

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“Fasteners,” Heather says. “Our home office is in Rhode Island. You
must have interviewed with someone there.”
“Right,” I say. “So a er we submit it,” I start.
“I got hired through a temp agency.”
“Customs will approve it, we’ll get a pa-
perless clearance back.” “And another thing about Heather,” Hel-
en says, “she never communicates. She
“What if they don’t approve it?” didn’t tell us you were star ng today. I’m
happy you’re here, don’t get me wrong, I
“They don’t do exams for Lock te. It’s al- think you’ll add some much needed relief
ways the same stuff, so they’ll clear it.” to the tension. But could have taken five
minutes to tell us about it before hand?”
“So then do we arrange the trucking?”
“Yeah,” I say, “it’s weird.”
“Lock te has a trucker they use. They’ll
arrange it.” “I’m so glad you agree,” Helen says.

“Do I do the billing?” Marie runs into the break-room and
dumps her coffee in the sink.
“Don’t worry about that. Just give me
the paperwork a er it clears.” “It got cold,” she explains. “God, the sink’s
always filthy.”
“What if we don’t agree with one of the
tariffs they use?” “Anyway,” Helen says, “Brian agrees that
Heather is out of control.”
“Who?”
“It’s Dus n,” I say.
“Lock te. Huong.”
“I’m sorry, Brian is my son. You remind
“Don’t worry about it.” me of him. Before he got depressed. He
won’t leave the house now. He watches TV
“Okay,” I say, and keep working while all day with his father. Why? Because he’s
Heather watches. A er a minute, she leans vain. He put on a few pounds and he used
close to whisper: to be such a peacock but now he won’t go
outside. He needs rehab, but how much
“Watch out for Helen. She’ll drag you can I do? I’m only his mother.”
down if she gets a chance.”
“That’s right, Helen,” Marie nods. “You
“I’m the only one who cleans the kitch- can only do what you can.”
en,” Helen informs me, wiping the sink with
a paper towel. The coffeemaker is squir ng “And don’t get me started on my sister.
French roast into my mug. The seafood Hel- You know she’s not doing well. Try to tell
en is microwaving smells like the breath of Karen that and she won’t talk to me for a
a mermaid hooker blowing a kiss at last call. month. Poor Danielle, she doesn’t know
what’s happening in her own home. She
“Look, there’s broccoli in the drain. Heath- lets Karen live there with that boyfriend,
er’s broccoli always s nks up the whole smoking cigare es and never leaving their
place,” Helen says. “We have to bring dish bedroom, doing god knows what in there
soap from home and Heather refuses to in addi on to smoking.”
ask them to buy it for us. Ask her and she’ll
make it sound like they’ll just shut the whole “They’re engaged now,” Marie says.
branch down over soap.”

“There are other branches?” I ask.

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“And not even living in their own house. knows well, given the way Heather suggests
Ask Karen and she’ll say it’s so she can details that finish Karen’s anecdotes.
take care of her mother, but her mother’s
the one paying for the house. What does “Don’t forget the waiter,” she says.
Karen spend her money on, besides ciga-
re es? But she’s always broke. Karen gets “That’s right,” Mary says, “our waiter on
paid more than I do! I got her this job and the beach, you understand, we had to wait
she makes more than I do. I can’t even ask days before ge ng our Susana, he was
Heather for a raise because you know what such a flirt, and my husband, instead of get-
she’ll say, she’s a bully.”
ng angry like you’d expect, used it to our
The coffeemaker heaves a final sigh. I advantage, to get free drinks.”
take my mug and step out of the room as
quickly as I can. “And it worked,” Heather says. “Oh, tell
him about the stomach bug!”
“He didn’t empty his pod out of the cof-
feemaker,” I hear Helen say. ÒI swear, I’m the Tell him? I realize Mary’s been telling the
only one who does anything around here, story for my benefit.
and does anyone say ‘thank you, Helen’?”
ÒI think that’s really nice that you ad-
Most of this stuff comes from China. The opted your daughter,” I say.
things that make other things & bolts, li le
metal pieces, and machine parts. There are “Even though she is adopted, we really
binding rulings to decide what all of it is, think of her as our own.”
like a federal court that decides if a lamp is
really a lamp, if its essen al character is il- “I think it’s nice.”
lumina on or decora on. When Freud said
that a cigar is just a cigar, he wasn’t thinking “God knows she tried ge ng pregnant,”
about impor ng them. Heather says. “We all went through that with
her. Hormones, fer lity specialists, tes ng.
It makes you want to stop, take a look We were on the edge of our seats roo ng for
at everything around you, and consider Mary.”
the millions of component pieces of your
house, your car, your phone. They were “I gained 40 pounds during that me,”
gathered from myriad points around the Mary says.
globe to be here now, and you can make
your head hurt trying to figure out what’s “I never had kids either,” Heather says.
holding them together. ÒI live with my parents and my nieces and
nephew visit all the me.”
Conversa onally, I’m at the center of the
office. If words were bullets, my desk would “This is bullshit,” Karen says suddenly,
be shot to hell, like a car that’s le in the jumping up from her desk, holding her cell-
middle of a ba lefield. I try to keep my head phone up, and running over to Helen’s desk.
down and do what I understand of my job.
“What is it, dear?” Helen asks.
Mary’s talking about the trip she and her
husband made to Peru to adopt their daugh- “Aun e, how could you send this to Mum-
ter. It’s a story everyone in the office but me my?” You probably put it together from
what Helen was saying before that Karen is
Helen’s niece. I can’t imagine working with
one of my aunts. I can’t imagine living with
my parents either, though, so I guess every-
body’s different.

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“Oh, that,” Helen says, squin ng at the dow’s made of thick glass so it doesn’t shat-
phone. “Well, she’s sick, and no one is telling ter, but there’s a good li le chip where it
her to take care of herself.” hit. Karen runs out of the office and Helen
stomps out a er her. They don’t look much
“She’s not sick,” Karen says. “The doctor alike, but they’ve got the same walk when
said she’s ge ng be er.” they’re angry.

“Dear, no one gets be er from MS.” Before Helen comes back in, Heather
and Mary fill me in on what’s going on. It’s
“You shouldn’t of sent her this,” Karen says. mostly stuff I’ve already put together, but I
nod along.
“She won’t hear me when I talk to her,
I thought pu ng it in wri ng, and she “She didn’t mean to do that,” Karen says.
shouldn’t have shared it with you. This is
between me and her.” “Of course not. If anyone asks, we’re go-
ing to say we don’t know what happened.
“You know how close we are.” I’ll put in a work order to get it repaired,”
Heather says, and right as she does Helen
“I know you live in the basement there comes back in.
with your boyfriend and I know you never
leave. She told me she had to shovel the “Oh, that you’ll fix, but not the dispose-all?”
walk because you or Jimmy wouldn’t.” Helen says.

“That’s bullshit! She never asked me. By “The dispose-all isn’t broken,” Heather
the me I woke up it was done.” says. “You just can’t put bones in it.”

“Then you shouldn’t sleep so late. I’m wor- “I refuse to get into this with you again,
ried you’re depressed. You don’t eat enough.” Heather. Everyone knows how you feel
about everything and nothing ever chang-
“I don’t want to talk about this in front es your mind.”
of, “Karen waves at me, like she’s dispersing
cigare e smoke. “I’m very fair,” Heather shouts.

“Dus n,” I say. “That’s the statement of the year! Karen
will be back in a minute but she asked me
“No offense,” Karen says, “but this isn’t to bring her bag to redo her make-up. So
your business. You wouldn’t understand.” I’m doing that and then I’m leaving.” Helen
grabs Karen’s bag from under her desk and
“He understands,” Helen says. walks out again.

“Did you tell him about personal family “I don’t know why she’s so mean to me,”
business?” Heather says. She’s crying a li le bit. “I’ve
talked to her about it and I just don’t know!”
“I’m not saying I told him or didn’t tell him.
I’m saying that anyone with a heart would “I know,” Mary says, “You’ve never done
understand, your mother needs help.” anything to Helen. You know how she can
be. It’s just her way.”
“He’s from the outside!” Karen says.
“Well,” Heather says, “why does it have
She runs back to her desk and grabs her to be me she takes it out on?”
stapler. I don’t think she’s trying to throw
it at me, but it flies my way; I duck and it
hits the big window behind me. The win-

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I feel my cell phone vibra ng and take it “I’m sorry, Dus n. It’s my mistake but it is
out to see who’s calling. When I see that it’s a mistake. One we must rec fy.”
the temp agency I pick up.
“So I’ll go to the bank tomorrow instead.”
“Hello?”
“Another mistake on my part. I sent an-
“Hello, this is Stella from Mertzer-Howe other employee to the bank job and we’re
Staffing. Dus n?” Stella’s the one who told keeping her on that assignment. We can’t
me I touch my face too much. have you con nue this one. We can contact
you when something that matches your
“Yeah,” I say. I step out into the hall with qualifica ons does open up but it’s a very
my phone. Mary is rubbing Heather’s back as compe ve job-market right now, and en-
she cries into a ssue, so they don’t no ce. try level jobs are rare.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up,” Stella “You’re very bad at your job,” I say, and
says. ÒA rather large one. The egg is on my hang up the phone.
face.”
I’m about to go back into the office to
“What’s wrong?” grab my stuff, when I remember that I don’t
have anything to grab. I can get right in my
“We sent you to the wrong assignment.” car and be on the highway within five min-
utes. But that’s just an imaginary world out
“Really?” there, painted roads leading to invented
des na ons. I live in the real world and I
“Yes, I’m so dreadfully sorry. You were don’t think anyone can name all the pieces
meant to be at Virtue Bank, on a tempo- that compose it.
rary assignment, but instead we sent you to
Freedom Sea-Air, which is a temp-to-perm I step back into the office. Everyone is
assignment and one you’re not qualified at their desks, quietly working like nothing
for.” ever happened. I sit down at mine and do
the same.
“Wow, I’ve been doing it all day, and I
think I can do it.”

About the Author:

Richard Charles Schaefer is a Massachuse s na ve liv-
ing in Cha anooga, Tennessee with his wife, two chil-
dren, and two cats. He recently finished his first novel
and is working on a collec on of short stories. His work
appears in Issue 36 of Lowesto Chronicle.

123

THE PLAN

by Michelle Kouzmine

The plan was Vera would take a nap while sides, how else could I find out what it is we
Frank showered, and then they’d unpack forgot this me?” She tried to keep the wea-
together. But Vera never could rest in a riness out of her voice. She tried, for Frank’s
place that was unse led. Instead, she text- sake, to look energe c. She didn’t want him
ed their son to let him know they’d arrived to think that she didn’t want to be here in
and surveyed the room, which was small Madrid. She did want to be here, just not in
and lavishly decorated in the preten ous, the same way that Frank did. Vera dreamed
faux-Rococo style favored by European of sunshine and lazy days. But, for Frank, a
five-star hotels. It made her feel claustro- financial advisor who defined everything in
phobic. She opened the curtains to bring in terms of numbers, fun was measured by a
the light; Frank had closed them when they
had arrived so she could rest. The bed, she cker that ran constantly in his head: how
no ced, was also small, a double. many passport stamps accumulated; how
many stairs climbed to reach the tops of
The door between the room and the bell towers, scenic overlooks, and historical
bathroom was made up of a wooden frame stone bridges; how many kilometers racked
surrounding a panel of frosted glass, so when up on the rental car’s odometer; how many
Frank stepped out of the shower, Vera could bo les of local wine wrapped in yesterday’s
see his silhoue e–a looming shadow on the clothes and shoved into the dirty-clothes
glass. She busied herself with the unpacking. suitcase. The higher the total, the more suc-
cessful the trip.
Frank came out of the bathroom in only
his boxer shorts, and Vera felt the room This me, however, Vera knew the stats
shrink around him. “I thought you were would revolve around her. He’d be watching
taking a nap,” he said. her, out of the corner of his eye, coun ng.
He’d be asking himself: How many steps
“I slept prac cally the whole flight,” she can she take before she gets too red; how
said without looking up. many stairs can she climb before she gets
winded; how many mes has she smiled?
Frank li ed the stack of underwear from And the ul mate ques on: How many dis-
her hands, hovering over her so closely she trac ons did they have to pack into this
could feel the steam vaporizing from his vaca on to keep them both from thinking
skin. “Let me do it. You should rest.” about cancer?

“No, thanks,” Vera said while talking the She didn’t want to let him down. He de-
underwear back. “I’d rather do it myself. Be- served this trip. He needed it.

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Vera began lining their shoes up against Frank set his phone on the desk and
the wall by the doorway and said, “So, stood up. His boxers gaped open at the
what’s the plan again?” Frank had always crotch, and Vera quickly averted her eyes
relished these moments that proved how and stared out the window, wondering why
organized his brain was, how well he could she felt so unnerved. Frank pointed to the
blueprint every moment of their lives. She bedside table behind Vera and said, “I need
gave him this as a gi , this chance to spew to grab my watch.”
the words they both knew by heart. Be-
sides, it gave her me to sort the shoes Her arms were full of clothes, so she
in the peace of Frank’s droning voice–a si- stepped back. The space was so ght; she
lence, really. So, as Frank gave a rundown had to press herself against the armchair to
of the next few days, Vera let his voice fade give him enough room.
away into the background. By the me he’d
recited a blow-by-blow account of the i n- As Frank set his watch to the local me,
erary, she’d finished unpacking and arrang- he said, “Not exactly spacious, huh? It
ing their things, making the hotel their tem- looked bigger online.”
porary home.
“Doesn’t it always?” Vera held out his shirt
Once Vera had the room just they way for him.
she thought it should be, it was nearly me
to dress for dinner. She laid out Frank’s “I suppose so, yes. But that’s Europe for
clothes and hers side by side on the bed, you. They like small; small cars, small rooms,
the very small–she noted again–double small apartments.”
bed. At home they had a king. Everyone,
Vera thought, had a king-sized bed these “Small dinner por ons. Small ps, too.
days. When she was sick, really sick, they Don’t forget, you just round up. No twenty
had moved her from their room on the percent here.”
third floor to the guest room on the main
floor. Frank would sit by her bed and read Frank said, “All true. You know, we have
un l she fell asleep, and then he’d go up- some me yet. We can get dressed quickly
stairs. If he’d felt lonely, sleeping in the their and have a drink in the lobby.”
bed alone, two stories above where Vera
had slept in a drugged blackness, he’d never “Oh, well. OK.”
said so.
Frank whistled as he bu oned up his shirt.
Only a couple months ago, once she
almost had the wind to face two flights of Vera retreated to the bathroom to take
stairs, had Vera moved back to their shared a shower. Even with the door shut she
bedroom, to their king-sized bed. But a er could hear his whistling, invading even the
a few nights, spent awake and ridged, tee- most in mate of places. She wondered
tering on the edge of the ma ress, Vera re- how close she’d have to stand to the door
treated to the guestroom. “Too many stairs, for her shadow to been seen. She needed
too late at night, too early in the morning,” to find a way to get him out of the room,
she’d said. The truth was, she slept be er so she peeked her head around the door-
alone. She suspected they both did. frame and said, “Frank, toothbrushes!”

“Huh?”

“Toothbrushes. We forgot our toothbrushes.”

“Well, it’s always something. I don’t un-
derstand it. I always check and double check,

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and we s ll always forget something. I just suggested that she should test drive this
don’t get it.” A er a pause he added, “I new hairstyle in the safety of a country full
guess I’ll get my pants and go on a hunt for of strangers. She leaned over the sink, inch-
toothbrushes while you get yourself ready.” es from the mirror, to apply her lips ck and
caught a glimpse of her bra through the
Vera listened for the door to swing shut narrow gape in the neckline. She craned
and then took the toothbrushes out of the her neck le and right, and looked, real-
toiletry bag, wrapped them up in toilet ly looked at her own breastbone, and a
paper, and threw them into the wastebas- full, matronly bra stuffed with prosthe c
ket. Worried the two li le bundles looked breasts. She’d been wearing the breasts
suspicious, she spun half the roll of pa- here and there, whenever she le the
per around her hand, bunched it up, and house, which was rare. Even then, she usu-
shoved it in the basket to cover the tooth- ally rushed to put them in and tried not to
brushes. For authen city, she gathered up think about them–out of sight, out of mind.
other small items–pulled-off price tags, old
receipts from the bo om of her handbag, Her hands slid over these breasts. They
and an empty Coke can–and placed them felt heavy. She squeezed them. Did they
on top of the paper. feel real? She couldn’t tell. The only breasts
she’d ever felt were her own. Her breasts,
Vera stepped out of the shower and her real breasts, had been smaller than her
pulled the plush robe from the brass hook cupped hand, but firm. It that respect, these
by the door and wrapped it around herself, replacements were similar. But the nipples
were too pliant, too giving. They didn’t
ghtly, crossing the lapels all the way up pluck to the touch. Her doctor had told her
against the base of her neck. She folded her that she’d get used to them. That they’d feel
arms over her chest and crept to the main real. But to whom, she wondered. The idea
room. Just as she had hoped, Frank was s ll of le ng Frank actually touch them both
out, likely cha ng with the lobby bartender. embarrassed her and horrified her.

Vera grabbed her black shi dress from She dropped her hands and fussed with
the bed and dashed back to the bathroom. her dress. It pulled too ghtly across her
She turned her back to the mirror, quick- chest and made her feel exposed. Vera
ly shed the robe, hooked on her bra, and wound a voluminous summer scarf around
pulled on her dress. She had worn a nearly her neck several mes, hiding herself in lay-
iden cal dress twenty-five years earlier, on ers of gauzy co on.
their honeymoon. Without looking up at
the mirror, now dripping with condensa- Vera sank into an armchair and waited
for Frank, but the combina on of jetlag and
on, she grabbed her new breasts from the her usual exhaus on pulled her down into a
vanity. They, too, were slick and wet, and deep sleep. When she heard the door open,
the le one squeezed itself out of her hand she sprang to a en on and said, “I was just
and fell to the marble floor with a whack. res ng my eyes.” Her mother used to say the
She picked it up, dried both breasts in a same thing whenever she’d been caught nap-
hand towel, and slipped them into her bra. ping. Vera always thought it was a silly thing
to say and was surprised to hear herself say it.
Finally, she let herself look in the mirror. “I’m turning into my mother,” she joked.
She ran her fingers through her hair, just
long enough to go without her wig, which
she le behind in Chicago. Vera’s sister had

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“Nonsense,” said Frank. He held out his ing is, of course, the pig. And I think we’ll go
arm for her. “You look marvelous.” She with a local Vinos de Madrid.”
grabbed her handbag and met him at the
door. He hugged her, firmly but awkwardly; “That’s fine,” Vera said. She’d re red
he bent over too much at the waist so that from par cipa ng in those sorts of deci-
their bodies made contact only at the shoul- sions years ago and honestly didn’t miss it.
ders, not the chest. The first me she’d worn
the breasts, a few months ago to her sister’s Frank ordered in broken Spanish, pad-
birthday party, she’d worn a chiffon top ded with lots of facial expressions and hand
with a voluminous bow, ed just so, hoping gestures, even though, Vera was sure, a
Frank would both not no ce them and not waiter in a restaurant full of tourists spoke
not no ce them. That en re night, and for English. When the waiter le , they looked
weeks a erwards, he had never seemed to at each other for a moment in a silence
glance below her chin, keeping his own face that would have been uncomfortable if
not for the fact that they’d been sharing a
pped awkwardly upward, like a man stand- walking-on-eggshells silence for nearly two
ing in water that was just a cen meter too years.
deep. Now, he could look at her, all of her,
but looking was as far as they had come. But this trip was supposed to change
all that, reverse the last twenty-two or so
For dinner they went to El Bo n: “The months, and bring them back to the people,
Oldest Restaurant in the World! See El Bo- and couple, they used to be. As if the combi-
na on of a warmer temperature and views
n in the Guinness Book of World Records!” of charming, old-world streets was the se-
A tourist trap. The kind of place that, back cret elixir to remedy growing old, growing
home, would make them both turn their bored, and growing apart. Vera searched
noses up. But they were on vaca on, and her brain for something innocuous to say,
El Bo n was where they had eaten on their something that wouldn’t lead either of
honeymoon when they were too young them down an associa on path that could
and too short of cash to be par cular. possibly lead to the topic of cancer. Finally,
she came up with: “I don’t think this is the
They were led upstairs to a ny dining same room we sat in on our honeymoon.”
room, packed so ghtly with tourists that
every me someone cut into their meat or Frank had to turn his chair to scan the
drank from their glass, elbows came dan- restaurant. “No. We were in the basement.
gerously close to touching other, strange It was even stuffier there, if I recall correctly.”
elbows. The room was stuffy and saturated
with the scent of charred pigskin. Frank had Vera nodded. She could barely remember
read online that a ten-euro note, slipped the room or the food. What she did remem-
into the palm of the maitre d’, could win a ber was the excitement of being abroad for
table by the window. When they were seat- the first me, and being newlyweds. They
ed in the coveted, window-seat spot, Frank had been so intensely together then in that
shot Vera a gloa ng smile. way young married couples tend to be. Their
conversa ons were at one moment lively
Vera felt overheated. She fluffed her scarf, and animated, and in the next quiet and
releasing the air her body had warmed. comfortable. How foolish of them to think
that life would always be that way.
Frank scanned the wine list. “Well, ac-
cording to Yelp, the only dish worth order-

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The passion had faded over the years “How, Frank? How can you be sure of it?
and mellowed into a warmth–a kindred Because you’ve got it all figured out on your
feeling of experiencing life and parenthood iPhone calendar?” Vera set down her glass
together. But illness had slashed a gaping and leaned over the table, closer to Frank.
hole in that shared togetherness. Sudden- She wanted eye contact, real conversa on,
ly, they weren’t experiencing the same life intensity, heat–any way she could get it–a
anymore. She was sick and he wasn’t. And it fight.
wasn’t fair. Not to her and not to him, either.
“I just know it,” he said.
The waiter returned with the wine,
spoke quickly in Spanish, and poured a “Because it’s not part of your plan? What
taste into Frank’s glass. Frank held the wine if the cancer comes back?” She could hear
up to the dusty light, gave it a swirl, and her voice sliding up pitch, becoming too
took a sip. “Bueno, bueno.” He nodded and shrill for a public conversa on, but she was
smiled. The waiter spoke again, and again too agitated to tamp it down. “It can come
Vera understood nothing. Frank smiled and back, you know. It can be hiding out some-
said, “Bueno.” She didn’t think he under- where, anywhere: liver, bowels.”
stood, either. He was just be er at faking it.
“Stop, Vera. Stop saying such things.” Frank
Halfway through dinner, they were s ll looked bewildered.
making polite conversa on. Frank poured
himself another glass of wine. “Not the best “Like what, Frank? Cancer? You can’t even
wine I’ve ever had, I’ll tell you that much.” say it can you?” She could feel the blood
swishing around her eardrums. “Say it Frank.
“It’s all right.” Vera smiled and had anoth- Say, it. I dare you.” She was leaning in so hard
er sip. Her tolerance wasn’t what it used to that the edge of the table jammed in be-
be. When they were young, on a night like tween two of her ribs. Vera pressed harder.
this, a celebra on night, they’d pour glass-
es upon glasses of red and maybe even “Vera? What are you saying?” He looked
some grappa a erwards. She’d luxuriate in out the window.
her drunkenness; let the calm seep into her
muscles and grease up her mind and joints. “The truth. One of us has to.”
Now the wine just made her feel red.
Frank took a sip of his wine and pped
Frank raised his glass and said, “Are you his glass toward Vera as a mock salute, a
having a good me, dear?” way-to-ruin-the-evening gesture. He held
the glass out, gracelessly between them,
She brought her glass up to meet his. like a shield. Vera swa ed it away, and
“Bueno, bueno.” wine sloshed around and out the glass.
Frank, startled, cradled the base and stem
Frank said, “May the next twenty-five with both hands as the wine spla ered the
years be bueno, bueno.” white cloth, dividing the table in half with a
seeping, maroon line that widened as they
Vera, suddenly too weary to uphold her stared. Vera pressed her palms flat against
slapped-on, sunny disposi on, took a swig the table and said, “I’m just saying that we
and said, “And if they’re not? What if they’re can’t always pretend that we know for sure
not bueno, bueno?” that everything is going to be OK. I’m red
of pretending. And basically, I’m just plain
“But,” Frank said, “but they will be. I’m
sure of it.”

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red.” She put her head in her hand and together, she could tell by the cadence of
mu ered, “I’m just so damn red.” his breath. Vera sat on the bed. Frank had
her pills and a glass of water all lined up on
Back at the hotel, Frank neatly folded the side table. She took them one at a me,
his pants and draped his shirt over the back swallowing them whole and gulping them
of the armchair. He slipped into bed in only down along with the guilt from losing her
his boxers. Vera took her nightgown to the temper, and then slid into bed.
bathroom and brushed her teeth un l her
gums bled, which had become so common For a few long minutes neither of them
over the last two years, she relied on it as moved. Vera said, “I’m sorry Frank. I shouldn’t
her indicator to stop. have gone at you like that. I just sort of
snapped.” Frank stayed s ll and quiet. “Frank,
She couldn’t decide if she should wear I can tell you’re not sleeping.” She reached
her bra and new breasts to bed, or just go out for his hand, missed it, and rested her
without. That bed was so small, she was hand on his forearm.
afraid his arm would bump into her in the
night. And if it did, would he pull away? Without turning to face her, he said, “No
Would she? She spat and rinsed the blood need to apologize. You just said what you’re
and used-up toothpaste down the drain. thinking.”

Vera double checked the lock on the “No, but I am sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t
frosted-glass door. If she undressed, would mean it. I love that you’re so posi ve. I love
he see her peel her prosthe cs off? She that you plan everything. We would’ve
stepped back, hoping she was out of the drowned by now if not for you.” She rubbed
danger zone. She zipped herself out of her his shoulder and he finally rolled over to
dress and unhooked her bra, holding the face her. “So, remind me again, what’s on
bra and breasts up to her chest with her le the agenda for tomorrow?”
forearm. A dizziness took over and she lost
her foo ng. She eased herself down on the “The Prado.” Vera could see, in the puls-
toilet seat. ing, green, neon light from the alarm clock,
relief easing across Frank’s face. “But don’t
Why was this so damn hard? Twen- worry about it. We’ll just take it easy, relax.
ty-five years of marriage and she was hid- We don’t have to go anywhere if you’re not
ing out in the bathroom, afraid to go to bed up to it.”
with her own husband. She couldn’t decide
which body would feel more natural to him, “I assure you, I’m up to it. I want to go
to her: Vera with the silicone, detached to The Prado, really.” She leaned over and
breasts and a bra in bed, or Vera, par al kissed him on the cheek so ly, and he kissed
and scarred, violently scarred. Which one back. He ran his fingers through her spiky
was she less afraid of? She rehooked her hair and gave her scalp a li le scratch. “I like
bra– surrendering to the fact that it would your hair like this. It’s plucky.” The sensa on
be an uncomfortable night–and pulled her made Vera shudder.
nightgown over her head.
“Honestly?”
Frank was lying on his side with his back
to her side of the bed. She knew he was “Honestly, honestly.” He kissed her again
pretending to sleep. A er so many years and lightly grasped the side of her face,
his fingers stroking the back of her neck.

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She leaned into his touch, as his finger p however, was full of several large groups
traced the dip in her collarbone, around of students, sca ered about, si ng on
her shoulder and down her arm. His thumb the floor, listening to their instructors, and
grazed over the top of her bra, pulling the drawing their own sketches of the artworks
cup slightly outward, and dipped, just bare- on the wall. Frank wanted to s ck with the
ly, into the fabric. He jerked back–stunned. plan and stay in the room anyway– ptoe
They froze, wide-eyed and shocked, and around the students. But Vera argued that
neither moved un l, finally, Vera eased they should go to the surrounding galleries
herself down, further into bed, pulled the and enjoy them un l the students had fin-
sheets up to her neck, and turned away. ished.

Frank stood up and yanked his trou- The adjacent rooms were full of religious
sers on. “I’m sorry, Vera. I’m so sorry. God Renaissance art. Vera thought all religious
dammit.” Vera stayed silent.”I’m going to art looked the same, and was always dis-
the lobby for a drink.” Vera listened for the appointed to be reminded that Europe was
bang, the slam of the door, but it hardly full of art museums that were full of the
made a sound, just a sad, muffled click. same sort of pain ngs. Frank, on the oth-
er hand, loved Renaissance art. She never
The line to enter The Prado wrapped understood how he could enjoy looking at
around the immense stone building and religious pain ngs, each and every damn
seemed not to move at all. As they got one of them. Vera felt judged standing in
out of the cab and walked to the entrance, front of them, though she could never tell
Frank took Vera by the elbow. She knew ex- for sure if they were judging her for her lack
actly what he expected her to say, so she of faith or her lack of ar s c knowledge.
said it: “Look at that line! My goodness,
you were right. Good thing you reserved Frank lingered over a pain ng of a wom-
our ckets online.” Frank pulled the print- an reading by the fire. Vera’s only impres-
out from the back pocket of his jeans and sion of the piece was that it looked dan-
waved it triumphantly. gerous to be si ng in front of an open fire-
place, in a backless chair and wearing a full-
They headed straight for the entrance, length dress. Frank, however, gushed over
which wasn’t in the front, as Frank expect- the vibrant greens and reds. “Amazing,” he
ed, but all the way around the corner. By said, “like they were painted yesterday, but
the me they got to the lobby, Vera was this piece is nearly five hundred years old.”
winded and had to sit to catch her breath. He remarked on the light, how natural the
Frank went to the gi shop and returned shadows and highlights were in tune with
with a bo le of water and a museum guide the dual source of light, window and fire-
as big as a Russian novel. He studied the place. He then read from the book and
pages and came up with “a plan of a ack,” shared bits of trivia about the pain ng with
while Vera sipped the water and watched her. To Vera’s surprise, instead of grumbling
the lobby fill with people. under her breath and checking her watch
like she used to, she found herself enjoy-
The plan was to begin at the traveling ing the moment—not the piece itself, but
exhibi on of Spanish drawings, on loan listening to the enthusiasm in Frank’s voice,
from the Bri sh Museum. Frank consulted seeing the lines in his forehead arch with
the guidebook and led the way. The gallery,

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interest and excitement. She saw some- Vera? Vera?” She leaned forward, suddenly
thing new in Frank, something she’d never overheated–and no wonder–she’d lost not
bothered to slow down and no ce before. only her breasts, but also her sweat glands
to surgery. Vera unwrapped the scarf from
They con nued on to the Flemish Renais- around her neck and let it slide to the floor.
sance gallery. Frank paused at the first paint- How ridiculous, this big scarf, and the scarves
ing and studied it. Vera stood a foot or so to she wore every day, a parade of shrouds that
his side and watched him concentrate. She she’d been hiding under for over a year.
hardly glanced at the work–another Chris-
Frank knelt down in front of her, scooped
an something-or-other–because she was up her scarf and piled it in her lap. “Are you
just watching her husband. Clearly, he rec- OK? Do you feel faint? Do you need water?”
ognized things in art that her eyes couldn’t He grabbed her by the shoulders and hoist-
see. This, she realized, impressed her. She ed her up so that she sat upright, looking
slipped her hand in his. He paused for a mo- down on him.
ment and then squeezed her hand, gently.
Her mouth was stretched wide open,
Frank pulled her along to the next paint- but no sound was coming out.
ing, and then quickly again to the next. “Let’s
go,” he said. “We don’t need to see these.” Frank said, “Vera, oh my God, say some-
He dragged her along faster. thing.”

“But, Frank,” she said, “slow down. We The delayed laughter burst from her gut
haven’t finished with this sec on yet.” and over her lips. She laughed and it felt
good. She laughed so hard she choked on
“Let’s just go back to the exhibi on. I’m her own cackling–gasping and coughing.
sure the students are gone.” This alarmed Frank even more; he darted
up to his feet, searching the crowd for help.
“But they’re not. I can s ll hear them.” The look on his face struck Vera with a dou-
ble punch of pity and adora on, so much
He didn’t answer; he pulled her along, so that she laughed even harder. For a mo-
too quickly for Vera to get her foo ng. She ment she thought she was going to cry. But
stumbled in tow. They weaved in and out of she composed herself enough to say, “Don’t
tourists and guards and benches. And then, you mean, oh my suckling baby Jesus?”
in the passing blur of pain ngs, she caught
sight of an exposed pink nipple, and then Frank’s brow wrinkled with confusion.
of a bold round breast. All around them, on He crouched down in front of her.
every wall, were pain ngs of the Madonna
and Child: Mary’s breasts, beau ful and “Wait, wait,” she held her hand out to sig-
alive, and Baby Jesuses sucking on them. In nal a pause. “Or how about, oh my topless
some, he was even squeezing his mother’s mother of God?” She crumpled into anoth-
nipple, claiming it for himself as she looked er bout of laughter.
proudly down on him.
Frank sighed and lowered his head. Ve-
Vera’s breath wheezed out of her and she ra’s laughter tapered off. She ran her fingers
sunk down onto a cold, hard marble bench through his hair and scratched his scalp.
in the middle of the room. The pain ngs sur- She looked over his head at the pain ng
rounded her on all sides. Frank put his hand in front of her. Madonna was outside in
on her shoulder, protec vely. “Are you OK?

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the sun, with her naked breast in her hand, He looked at her, eye to eye. “I’m so sor-
and baby Jesus calmly kneeling in her lap. It ry,” he said. His eyes dropped. “I just didn’t
seemed to Vera that Madonna was looking think about it.”
down at her, kindly.
“See?” She said, “You can’t plan everything.”
Vera took a good hold of Frank’s hair She twisted down, lining her face up with his.
and pped his face back to hers. “You just can’t plan everything.”

About the Author:

Michelle Kouzmine graduated from Lesley University with an MFA in Crea ve Wri ng. She
is currently an English professor at Miami Dade College, teaching both composi on and
literature.

132

THE FOOD UPON
WHICH OTHERS FEAST

by Thomas Elson

We mapped this route genera ons earlier, rooms and stomp women to death with his
and irrespec ve of origin, the path is the climbing spikes. It’s his second me here.
same for everyone. We also dictated a hi- He’d be at the North Center if the van-
erarchy: We, the vanguards, would watch guards didn’t s ll have some use for him.”
the votaries whom the witnesses were told He waited for a moment. “Just watch him.
monitored them. All he wants to do is get close to that thin
kid. If he were anywhere but here, he’d get
Two of our votaries perched thirty feet detained for-“Obadiah waited a second.
above the driveway in front of a limestone “Following too close.” Laughed at his own
building constructed in 1868. Obadiah, the joke.
senior votary, impeccably a red in a dark
blue suit, silk e - the color of which befit- “That thin guy looks like an eleven-year-
ted our calendar, and sunglasses, rested his old girl.” Ariel pulled his sweater over his
hands on the polished railing. Ariel, young belt buckle. “Hell, he looks like a-”
and eager to impress, hovered with his clip-
board pressed into his gray sweater. “Don’t say it. Do not say it. That’s Ken-
ny Dumars. Just two months ago, he was a
“Who are the two new witnesses?” Ariel part- me wheat farmer and full- me high
looked at the older votary, bit off a piece of school Spanish teacher livin the dream.
beef jerky, and waited for an answer. Even set-up housekeeping with his girl-
friend. But the sheriff caught a Cessna
“Take notes at the briefings the way I unloading marijuana on his property. Ol’
taught you and you’d know.” Obadiah smiled Kenny boy had himself a third job - being
and looked down. paid for the use of his farm land.” Obadiah
grinned, added, “Poor guy’ll be eaten alive
Ariel, by now used to such sarcasm, in here,” then shook his head and unbut-
tapped his pen on the report form a ached toned his suit jacket.
to his clip board. “Humor me.”
“He ought’a have a good me in this place
Obadiah shrugged and con nued. “That with Herb tailga ng him.” Ariel watched
first guy, the red-headed one, is Herb Peavy. the red-head smooth his hands over the
He used to sneak into second-floor bed-

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thin kid’s shoulders. “What’da they want us with his middle finger alo . He abruptly
to do with ‘em?” shouted, “Looks like you’re working old
three-pack pre y hard,” nodded toward
“Well, Herb’s bound to do what he did the man laboring to stand - his le hand
the last me.” Obadiah adjusted his e, clasped three unopened packs of cigare es,
nodded toward the driveway. “His only val- then hurriedly walked to his chair, li ed his
ue to the vanguards is to see how Kenny pad and charcoal, resumed drawing.
reacts around him at the South Center. So,
we are required to keep ‘em together a er Kenny held back un l Herb returned,
processing and watch what happens.” then clutched his towel where he thought
it might do the most good, and, despite wet
When new witnesses arrived, we re- floors, rushed into the shower. He finished
quired they remain alone for a short peri- without drying, quickly headed back, and
od of me. Alone and una ended, but not hurriedly dressed.
unobserved, and, certainly not unrecord-
ed. Their movements to be transcribed by The votary handed each a paper bag
votaries onto a checklist. Posture erect? and directed them to carry it in their right
Hunched over? Ges cula ons made? Peo- hand. “What you’ve got there is a tooth-
ple touched? Pockets reached into? Items brush, toothpaste, and two hotel-sized bars
extracted? Stepped out of line? Anything of Ivory soap. Commissary takes ninety
picked up? Rocks? Cigare e bu s? days to kick-in but most of you will be gone
by then. So, other than your meals, that’s
The witnesses stood as if transfixed. pre y much it.”
Blank stares. Clenched teeth, ght jaws.
Minds working over me. They s ffened The votary raised his palm. “Ya’ll gonna
as a sca ershot wind hit their faces. Herb be buried under the mass of senior wit-
looked east toward the wide expanse of nesses. Just know that you have no rights
farmland and inhaled the scent of the here. Only privileges. The rest you go a
harvest. Kenny stared at contrails swirling figure out on your own.” He looked at Ken-
twenty-six thousand feet above. Both shuf- ny in his prac ced manner. “Consider that
fled around on the gravel driveway their your orienta on.”
sounds alternated between crunching and
hammering. Neither looked toward the The votary knew Kenny was too fright-
North or South Centers. ened to remember what was said, but his
perspec ve would change a er the doors
Inside the South Center Processing and slammed. When it became apparent that
Orienta on sec on a votary with a sore-knee he could never again open or close a door,
limp walked toward the two witnesses, hand- walk from one room to another, chose
ed each a towel and small cup half-filled with when to eat, what to eat, where or when
delousing shampoo. “Well, Herb. I figured I’d to sleep without first asking permission.
see you again. What happened? You hear we When Kenny had the look of an animal that
got a new line of clothing?” He pointed at the decided to stop running, we would know
open shower. “You know the drill. And keep it he had learned our Rules: Eyes down but
in your hair for a few minutes.” stay alert - Don’t look but see everything
–When you walk hug the wall but do not
Amid echoes of “Fresh meat,” and touch it – There are no gi s; accept any-
“Come over here and visit me,” Herb walked

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thing and you are in debt. – Ask for permis- Kenny leaned forward, gently raised his
sion before you do anything. hand, gracefully rested it on the back of
Herb’s head, and whispered.
The votary led them into an area the
size of a basketball court with a walkway Herb’s eyes flared. “We’ll see smart guy.”
surrounding a chain-link enclosure. He Then, contempla ng his next move, said,
assigned both witnesses separate bunks “We’ll see how you’re taken care of from
within fi een feet of two exposed toilets now on.” He grabbed Kenny’s half-pint of
and one rust-stained sink. Then he repeat- milk, shoved it into his coat sleeve, stood,
ed what he said each me, “Good luck. And le the package of gum on the table, and
don’t come back.” He locked the gate and walked toward the stage and the line of
walked away. witnesses wai ng to be frisked.

As Kenny waited in line that evening, his A votary bent to frisk him – calves first,
eyes moved from witness to witness. He then thighs and hips. Herb, with a one-
watched how each held two utensils under arm mo on, slid the milk carton from coat
a stainless-steel tray, and silently moved to- sleeve to palm and onto the stage. When
ward a wall opening, then placed the tray the votary found nothing, he turned to frisk
on a small ledge, and remained mo onless another witness. Herb picked-up the milk
as meat and green beans were plopped on carton, raised his arm, allowed the carton
it. A er a half-pint carton of milk hit a tray, to dri inside his coat sleeve, cupped his
a voice barked, “Next”, and the line moved hand, lowered his arm, and walked away.
forward.
An hour and a half later sounds and smells
Kenny set his tray on a table near the reverberated inside the enclosure. Toilets
stage. Herb pulled out a chair out, turned flushing or not flushing. Bodies unwashed
it slightly, dropped his tray next to Kenny. for days. Sca ered loud voices. Small groups
Herb looked at Kenny, “What’cha need from talking, shuffling. Bunks creaking.
the commissary?” Then skimmed his tongue
across his upper lip and moved his hand un- A votary wheeled in a console television.
der Kenny’s. A er a moment Herb raised his “This will remain on the channel it’s set to.”
fingers slightly, pulled his hand back, and He paused. “That safety razor on top the
le a list of commissary items under Kenny’s t.v. has one blade.” He pointed to the razor.
palm. “I can get you ramen noodles, pens, “You have one-half hour to shave,” he said
paper, stamps, cigare es, peanut bu er, to everyone. “When I return at eight o’clock,
pre y much anything. What’cha want?” that razor will be right there.” He struck the
top of the console with his knuckles. “With
“They told us we can’t use it for nine- the razor blade next to it. If I see anything
ty-days.” Kenny moved his hand away. other than that, I will respond.” Tapped the
console and le the enclosure.
Herb pushed a package of gum between
their trays. “But I can. I’ve been here before.” Herb rose from his bunk with three oth-
er witnesses, walked up to Kenny, blinked
Silence. slowly. “You busy?”

“Why me?” No reply.

Herb stroked Kenny’s hand. “You’re my “You too busy to spend some me with
friend.” us?” Gestured toward his bunk, then pulled
Kenny’s head closer, “You owe me.”

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“The hell I-” through a tube a ached to an elevated
bag. When he pulled down his sheet, he
“Shut up. Shut the hell up. You owe me. I saw s tches below his rib cage and several
gave you something. And now you owe me. blood stains.
Don’t renege or I’ll make sure they yank
your privileges. Send your ass down behind A nurse from Honduras walked up.
them damn white doors.” Within moments “¿Como estás?” Kenny asked.
he laughed, raised his voice a decibel be-
low a yell. “You want that? You wanna be She eagerly responded. “¿Pero, como es-
b’hind them doors downstairs?” tas?” Then smiled and touched his shoulder.

The three witnesses from Herb’s bunk A witness two beds over pounded his
surrounded Kenny, then ghtened their ma ress. “Hey, lady, get the hell over here
circle. Kenny’s head jerked back. Pain de- and take care of my bedpan.”
scended from eyes to mouth, then came
gu ural sounds, and he was on the floor in She rolled her eyes, stooped slight-
a fetal curl. He knew he was leaking – red or ly, walked toward the demand. When she
brown – but did not know which. One of the returned, Kenny con nued with ques ons
witnesses set a blade on top the television. about Honduras, her hometown, his diffi-
cul es. In an environment where she was
The next a ernoon Kenny waited in yet held in less esteem than children’s pets,
another line of witnesses to be told what she lingered. On his third day, she handed
to do, where to go, yelled at about some- him a gi - a Hershey’s candy bar.
thing, lined up to go somewhere or lined
up to come back. It didn’t really ma er. His “No te puedo pagar,” said Kenny.
knees ached, everything ached, and he was
ashamed of the stains between the hip “No need to repay,” she said. Then add-
pockets of his jeans. Herb cut in. Within ed, “You don’t look like you belong here.”
seconds Kenny was again encircled.
Kenny laughed, then winced. “Gracias.”
“You.” Herb spit on the floor. “You do not
say ‘no’ to me.” When he signaled, the circle On his final morning, the nurse placed
blended away, and Kenny was on the floor the Spanish edi on of “One Hundred Years
with blood on his shirt and darkening yes- of Solitude” on Kenny’s bed. “When you go
terday’s stains. back, read it,” and tucked it under his pillow,
then pa ed the pillow as if fluffing it. “Wait.
A votary meandered over. “Get off the Open then.” She knew when he le the in-
floor.” He raised his voice. “Get over to the firmary he would not be searched.
infirmary.”
A week later Kenny was strong enough
We now knew Kenny had learned the Rules. to walk the circumference of the enclosure.
He moved carefully. His head down just
Late the next day, when he awoke, Ken- enough to seem disinterested – as if pass-
ny’s eyes followed the white infirmary wall ing through on an assignment.
toward a metal desk at the opening of the
ward. He blew at the detritus descending *
from the ceiling, watched it float away,
then concentrated on the liquid dripping Kenny had waited almost six years since his
transfer to the North Center’s third floor
when he heard a votary’s clipped accent
call his name for the first me, “Du mars.”

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The sound seemed to extend. “Kaaaa-neee small concrete warehouse, and through an
Duuuu-maws. Somebo’y lu’ ya.” He pitched opening the width of a garage door. When
a nine-by-twelve manila envelope on the he stopped, the door would descend.
concrete floor. Kenny hustled down iron
steps to retrieve the package. Lights would illuminate five unsmiling
votaries in dark suits and one senior wit-
Back on the third floor, he flipped to the ness. At this point, Kenny would need assis-
last page, saw the final word: DENIED. But tance. We knew it required an element of
when he read the preceding three words irra onality to voluntarily con nue. “Let’s
his body constricted. “… the same fate.” go,” a votary would say. “Lean on me.”

He reached for the book the nurse had Kenny’s shallow breathing would be fa-
given him. Opened it to the sec on with miliar to these votaries, as would the next
the indenta on. He did not understand sequence – Exam table. White sheets. Straps.
why they allowed him to keep the book. No needles. No tubes. Eyes never averted.
Kenny closed his eyes. His contours hard- No request for last words. No more me.
ened as if chiseled. DENIED, that last word
on the final page told him whether sunny or Our Rules dictated that Kenny remain
dark, summer or winter, held no relevance awake while the senior witness held the
for him. He knew what came next. toothbrush the nurse had secreted inside
the book. The same sharpened toothbrush
He would soon be inside a metal build- Kenny shoved into Herb Peavy’s caro d ar-
ing, past racks of the North Center’s food tery.
items – cans of peaches and lard, bags of
rice and beans, five-gallon bo les of ketch- The senior witness would press that
up and mustard – walking toward unmarked toothbrush into Kenny’s neck un l there
doors, then into a building connected to a was no longer a pulse.

About the Author:

Thomas Elson’s short stories, poetry, and flash fic on have been published in numerous
venues such as Calliope, Pinyon, Lunaris, New Ulster, Lampeter, Pennsylvania Literary Jour-
nal, and Adelaide Literary Magazine. He divides his me between Northern California and
Western Kansas.

137

A NIGHT OF FIREFLIES

by Gail Hosking

I listen to the story again, the one on the sexes with flashes from luminescent or-
edge of memory ready to be told like gans. Electric fli ers turned off and then
something wri en from the future back- on, plenty to last the night. She was in
wards. A night stored away in a body of love, had been, she admi ed, when she
light, a purse of gold coins, or dozens of first heard him quote a sentence of a fa-
new moons. The most roman c night of vorite essay about the courage of turtles,
her life, she always said. Two together then dared her to dance in the nearby
for a weekend, missing the big reunion recovered barn with its author. And she
dinner and choosing instead a long walk had danced, she said with her eyes lit up
where they ended up by the Music Hall, as if surprised even now. But that night
a building of stone and leaded glass with of the fireflies—might it have been their
ivy climbing the walls. As she spoke, you last? Not because of love or anything
could nearly imagine the sounds of a they said, but because it’s the way of the
piano concert held in a room upstairs world. Gi s aren’t meant to be kept, she
just for the two of them. They sat on a conceded. Distance alone made it diffi-
blanket in a nearby field with a bo le of cult. Ahh, but that’s only a prac cal thing,
wine without glasses, the sun angling its she’d say with her eyes staring into the
way down and falling below the horizon. distance. It was a lot more complicated
Eventually moonlight lit up the sky with than a simple map, she admi ed. His-
its brilliant mysteries. There were laughs tories carry burdens, and geography in-
galore, kisses, and the dazzle of desire. cludes many people, which remains an
A beau ful silence as they stared ahead impossible philosophical puzzle. Know-
through the mist, hand in hand. Then ing all that, their le ers would stop with a
more talk—the kind, she said, she had slow climb back to other worlds. But now
longed to hear for years. There it was in it’s those fireflies she recalls foremost. A
spades pouring out with the language of field of them ligh ng up the world, she
ease and a million opened doors. They would tell again and again with a smile.
lay back to watch the first stars come out. A painted panorama of poetry with lu-
Then it happened—a field of fireflies minosity brighter than any divine truth
ligh ng up as a signal between the ny she’d ever known.

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About the Author:

Gail Hosking is the author of the memoir Snake’s Daughter: The Roads in and out of War, pub-
lished by U of Iowa Press, as well as the poetry chapbook The Tug (Finishing Line Press). Her es-
says and poems have appeared in such places as Consequence Magazine, The Florida Review,
Post Road, Timberline Review, River Teeth, and Upstreet. She holds an MFA from Bennington
College and taught at Rochester Ins tute of Technology for 15 years. She writes, teaches, and
edits in upstate New York, and has recently become a grandmother for the first me.

139

ELECTRICITY

by David Rogers

The whole sky flashed, a searing electric have to hit the road again. Especially if he
blaze, fading to the blue-brown of the hori- screwed up an assignment. He wasn’t wor-
zon. Lightning here did funny things to a ried about that. He was good at what he did.
man’s vision. The clouds were patchy, silver
gray, like the plains of an airless moon. The wave generator was a hundred and
fi y yards out. A surprisingly simple inter-
Masters checked the zippers on his wet- nal mechanism converted the mostly- lat-
suit, snugged the goggles down over his eral mo on of the waves to rotary mo on
eyes, and waded into the surf. The water that turned a generator. The anchor cable
was cold. He’d have to make the repair fast fed electricity back to the terminal high on
and get out. the cliff behind him. Dozens of other gen-
erators were strategically placed along the
This was his first real job since the last shore in places where they could collect
episode. He’d been turned down by half maximum energy without being impossibly
a dozen companies before he decided in hard to reach for maintenance.
despera on to change his name and doctor
his resume. Not that he felt bad about the *
decep on. At least, not most of the me.
A er all, didn’t people usually do the oppo- She stood ankle-deep in the surf when
site of what he did–claim skills and experi- he turned from the generator. At first he
ence they didn’t have, in order to get jobs thought she wore a flesh-colored wetsuit.
they were not qualified for? But he’d been As he came closer he saw that, beneath
told he was overqualified enough mes to short dark hair, curiously streaked with
know it was code for “untrustworthy.” So red and gold, she wore only a few strands
he did what he had to, in order to survive. of seaweed, strategically-placed. Her eyes
It was evolu on at work. Natural selec on. were also flecked with gold and red, around
Not that it had been easy, even so. The first green irises, cheeks flushed pink in the cold
three employers he applied to checked wind. Her lips curved, dark red bows parted
his references and invited him to go away, slightly as if about to speak or smile.
without bothering to be polite. Not that he
blamed them. That was how things worked. “You look cold,” she said.

But Undersea Power Corpora on was a Masters shivered. He’d forgo en how
budget opera on from start to finish. Soon- frigid the water was. He opened his mouth,
er or they might check up on him, and he’d but the memory flooded back before he
could ask, “And you are not cold?”

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* es, their furious lights strobing the dark-
ness into a hideous, psychedelic nightmare.
He smelled smoke. It must be the lingering Flameless smoke choked him, and he fell on
cobwebs of dream. He shook his head, sat the bed, gasping for breath.
up, struggled to recall where he was. The
room was dark. He fumbled for his watch. Dawn broke at last. In the the ny bath-
The luminous dial showed four minutes af- room, he ran water over the burned hand
ter three. and found disinfectant and bandages to
wrap the blisters. The medicine stung and
He remembered, then. The ny apart- throbbed where torn skin had already
ment was all he could afford in the new city cracked and leaked.
since his last episode. Rumor had it there
were jobs here. The building supervisor’s office off the
corner of the lobby said he would be in
Awake, he s ll smelled smoke. It was by eight. He arrived at a quarter a er. His
stronger now, the harsh, cu ng stench name was Hensley. They’d met when Mas-
of electricity and burning carpet, painted ters rented the apartment. Masters waited,
walls in flame, and the dry nder of old fur- si ng in the chair by the dusty window
niture instantly alight. He heard the roar of while Hensley unlocked the door, turned
flames in the hallway outside the door. on lights, and sat in the creaking chair. The
man turned when Master’s shadow blocked
He almost touched the door knob, then the light from the hall and cast a shadow on
tried to recall what people were supposed the opposite wall.
to do in these cases. Stay and wait for help,
because there was no escape through the “Mr. Hensley,” Masters began. He took a
hall? He ran to the window, stumbling over deep breath, as if he would have to hold
the room’s only chair in the darkness. Push- it for a long me, and then exhaled. “Mr.
ing aside the curtain, he stared at the silent, Hensley, this building is not safe.”
half-empty parking lot. No sirens, no flash-
ing lights. Nothing moved. He was on the Hensley stared at him. “Why do you say
fourth floor, the rusty death-trap fire-es- that?”
cape fallen away long ago.
“There’s no fire escape.”
He turned away from the window, pulled
the blanket from the end of the bed, and “Sure there is. They’re called stairs. Front
wrapped his hand. The heat of the knob and back.”
scorched his hand through the cloth, but
he wrenched it open anyway, ready to mask “You know what I mean. And the wiring
his nose and mouth with the blanket and is ancient–when was the last me an elec-
run. Too late, he recalled the blanket should trician looked at anything in this building?”
be wet.
“What, you thought you were ge ng
The hallway was dark and quiet. The EXIT a suite at the Taj Mahal for what you pay
sign flickered and buzzed at the end by the here?” Hensley’s face twisted in a crooked
stairs. grin. “I don’t live here. It’s not my building.
Just a job. But the boss gave me strict or-
He went back in the room, back to the ders–no troublemakers. You want to hit the
window, saw the fire trucks and ambulanc- streets, or you want to keep your big ideas
to yourself?”

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“I’m only warning you. I have to. When– They stood with the surf booming around
if–if there’s a fire, many people will die.” them, its roar echoing off the cliffs, the tang
of salt filling his nose and lungs.
So of course, a er the fire, nine days lat-
er, the super had told the detec ves, and “But I see things some mes. See things,
the arson inspector, and the reporter, and hear them. Like you. It doesn’t mean you’re
anyone else who would listen. Masters was real.”
ques oned by the police, but the inspector
concluded faulty wiring had caused the fire. “Don’t they become real? You see the
Eleven people died, four of them children, future.”
and there was talk of criminal negligence
on the part of Hensley and the building How do you know that? But all could do
owner. By then, only reporters wanted to was nod. Nod, and turn, and swim for the
talk to Masters. Headlines ran along the generator. The water closed around him
lines of “Psychic’s Warning Unheeded! like a womb.
Deadly Inferno! Dozens Die Needlessly!” or
even more sensa onal language. *

It had happened before, me and again, The company let him live in the n building
the vision, the a empt to warn, to explain, near the transformers, sheltered from the
the disaster followed by suspicion, by ques- wind, in a basin two hundred yards wide,
half a mile from the cliff’s edge. In heavy
ons he could not answer. So he’d le that rains, water coursed across the plain in
city, all ci es, and come here to this lonely, rocky streams and sluiced down through
rocky outcrop where sky and land and wa- tunnels under the last few hundred feet
ter thrashed through their eternal love tri- to the ocean. The rumble of streams and
angle, se ling nothing, solving everything. the drumming on the roof and the sighing
of the distant surf made Masters think of
* Homer, of ancient chanted poems about
wooden boats on the Aegean sea.
The next day, the warning light on the pan-
el flickered for the same generator. Masers He scooped coffee into the pot, poured
suited up, strapped the tool vest across his in water, le ng it mix with the grounds and
chest, and started to the water. se le, and lit the gas burner. While the cof-
fee came to a boil, the room filling with the
He saw her when he was s ll far away, as rich, earthy scent, he sat on his bunk and
he walked down the long zig-zag path from put on dry socks. How did she know abut
the top of the cliff to the narrow beach. S ll him, how he saw things that, sooner or lat-
as a length of salt-bleached dri wood, she er, turned out to be real? Was she real now,
waited. or part of a vision? He knew the answer, the
way he knew the smell of coffee and salty
“You look cold,” she said. ocean air, an ins nct old as consciousness.
The visions were always dream-like, surre-
“How do I know you are real?” he asked. al, but more intense, nightmarish. She was
no nightmare. Fay and mesmerizing, but he
“Don’t I look real? Or feel real?” She put did not fear her. His ra onal mind told him
her hand on his shoulder, then raised it to he should be afraid. He had hallucinated, or
touch his face. Her fingers were pale, silver something very bizarre had happened. But
skin around blue nails, curiously warm.

“Yes, but . . .”

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he could not convince himself to feel fear. it hard for them to live among humans.
People died this way, when they stopped Sooner or later, the ocean calls them back.”
being afraid of dangerous things.
“Who cares for them? The boys, I mean?”
*
“Humans, who agree to love the child
This me she was on shore when he came and forget where he came from. Oxy-
out of the water. Somehow she had start- gen-breathers are marvelously adept at be-
ed a fire with the wet dri wood, sheltered lieving stories they invent.”
from wind by boulders on two sides, the cliff
on the third side. Bright flames sent clouds “There are no men in your . . . coven?”
of steam into the low sky. A blue-lightning
haze flickered like St. Elmo’s fire where “Very few. Only ones who belong. Most
smoke rose over the cliff. were boy children who were determined to
come home. As I said, some of our boy chil-
Ruby coals hissed on wet sand around the dren have quali es that make life among
fire. She stared at the burning wood, mes- oxygen- breathers difficult. Or impossible.”
merized. “It’s so beau ful. We have nothing
like it. Some of the corals make these colors, “Who makes that decision, about who
but they do not move or sing this way.” belongs–you or the men?”

She took his hands and the seaweed She did not hear the ques on, or she
fell away from her shoulders, breasts, hips. ignored it. “One or two extraordinary oxy-
They danced around the fire. gen-breathers–male and female–have also
joined us.”
*
“You call humans oxygen-breathers–but
“We live for thousands of years,” she said, lat- you seem to breathe air well enough.”
er. They sat near the dying fire. She spread
kelp and Irish moss on small rocks around “My sisters and I are more adaptable than
the fire. Soon it was seared and crisp as humans. When we are not in the water, we
bacon. The taste was salty and pleasantly breathe what they call carbon dioxide. It is
bi er. not natural for us, and it s nks of their ma-
chines, worse every year. But we manage.”
“Our children, if they are female, join the
coven,” she said. “Or rather, the coven rais- “Carbon dioxide–that’s what plants take
es them, and ours is the only life they ever from the atmosphere.”
know. Or want.”
She smiled. “We all come from the same
“Ever? No girl-child has ever chosen to mother.” Masters shivered, not from the
live on land?” cold wind, not from fear. Not quite.

“Oh, once or twice. They almost always “Tell me about the boys. The odd ones,
come home. We do not force them to stay, who find it hard to adapt.”
if that’s what you mean.
“Mostly, the boys are like ordinary oxy-
“The boy children come ashore and live gen-breathers. They find our way of life . . .
human lives, never knowing or remember- unsuitable. Or impossible even to imagine.
ing where they came from. Usually. Some of But certain boys–they leave us, and wander
the male children have–abili es. This makes for a me, and then come home. When
they become young men, or young men on

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the verge of middle age, red of running, “Who calls them?”
they are drawn back.”
“The mother, of course.” Again, the lit-
“Drawn back how? Mental telepathy, tle smile he thought should frighten him.
fortune-tellers? Or emails from mysterious “Now and then, extraordinary human men
strangers?” may be called. Gene c diversity is essen al,
of course.” She looked in his eyes, smiling
“I’m told it’s more like compulsion. Com- fully now, the far away, green-blue look in
pulsion, and fa gue. They grow red of try- her eyes that made him think of warm sand
ing to live where they are not understood on the Aegean archipelago.
or wanted.”
“I s ll don’t understand what you mean.
“And you let them come back? Who de- Called? Are you talking about an actual
cides if they belong?” sound, or a feeling . . . ?”

“Usually, it is a mutual understanding. Or But she was standing, and then running
so I have been told. As I said, we live for toward the water, her short, dark, red-gold
thousands of years. Males are rarely need- streaked hair bobbing in the wind.
ed. I’ve known only a few.”
He followed, slowly, and when the sea
“What if a male is needed and none shows li ed him, he started to swim. Somewhere
up?” far out, he could hear her siren call. It came
from under the waves. He took a deep
“One is always found. The boys who le breath, and dove.
us are most easily called back.”

About the Author:

David Rogers’ poems, stories, and ar cles have appeared in various print and electronic
publica ons, including The Comstock Review, Atlanta Review, Sky and Telescope, and As-
tronomy magazine. He is the author of two novels, D.B. Cooper is Dead: A Solomon Starr
Adventure and Thor’s Hammer, and a fantasy novella, Return of the Exile, all available from
Amazon. More of his work can be read at h ps://davidrogersbooks.wordpress.com/.

144

COWHIDE

by Alan Berger

She grew up aware of the process of slaugh- When Rainbow was big enough the li le
ter. girl made a saddle for him out of old paja-
mas that were now too small for her s ll
She heard it. She saw saw it, she smelled small body.
it, she ate it.
All she had to do was say le , right, back,
That is how it turns up down on the farm. ahead, and Rainbow listened and gladly fol-
lowed those direc ons.
This li le big 10-year-old girl had a name
for everything and everyone. Rainbow grew too fast and the li le girl
knew soon judgement day would be com-
Dad was “The Execu oner”. Mom was ing and the verdict was not good.
“The kitchen helper’. The animals and birds
that flew over and visited the farm were She saw a movie once with the folks
called ‘Tribes People”. about a deformed man who took a girl away
from an angry bunch of people and brought
She was an only child surrounded by her to a church where no one would be al-
many temporary pets and imaginary pals. lowed to get at her.

She began to hear voices at 8 and they For such an ugly guy he sure came out
were nice and friendly. beau ful by the end of the story.

She was afraid to tell the folks for fear Father Dan at the local church that morn-
they would go away. ing was finishing up a chat he had with one
of priests.
Besides, they told her not to tell anyone
and she was a good secret keeper. Father Dan told the priest he didn’t like
the way the priest played and looked at the
A calf was born one day that the voices kids and sent him packing without a le er
said would be different. of reference.

And he was. Far from it.

He was black and white with a pink nose. Father Dan put the fucking word out as
he phased it to the soon to be ex-priest.
She called him “Rainbow”
And that was that.
The calf and the girl became super fast
friends, and before Rainbow was even born, One fine morning the voices told the lit-
she was told that she would not eat her nor tle girl that this was the day swirly would
would anyone eat or wear her.

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meet his maker and she be er saddle up She got to the church and did just that.
and head down the road.
Father Dan, recognizing the movie she
The voices suggested she wear a tee was referring to minus the voices told her she
shirt that said, “Sanctuary”, on it as well as was brave and that he would take care of it.
a sign around the neck of Rainbow.
When mom hit town, she was told about
A er she got close to town the voices the girl on the cow over by the church with
would tell her what to do next. the signs on the both of them.

As girl and rainbow were ge ng close Father Dan said his hands were ed be-
to town mom got a call informing her that cause she had asked for sanctuary and he
her daughter was riding a cow down along gave it to her.
the highway heading North and was asked
if she knew about that. He also bought the cow with his own
money and not the churches and mom
Mom hung up without answering or tell- promised in front of Father Dan, and the lit-
ing pa. tle girl, and Rainbow, that Rainbow belonged
to heaven now and will die of old age instead
On the outskirts of the inskirts of town, of becoming a porterhouse.
the voices told the cowgirl to head over to
the church and like that movie she saw the Mom drove home slowly with Rainbow
other day tell Father Dan she wished to and her daughter slowly trailing behind.
sanctuary up like that guy did with the girl.
And that was that.

146

BASIL THE GREEK

by Mark Halpern

I’d prepared me culously – beyond any Vasilios; always Basil. Here, Basil-san. “This
possible need – and waited at the li le mee ng’s just for show.” The elevator doors
Starbucks tucked behind the escalator that close. “At this stage, everything is for show.”
carries dark-suited bankers and whatnot up
from the sta on. A young woman dressed Sooner or later, something would hap-
wrists to ankles in mauve knitwear, shapely pen to my advantage – at minimum I’d see
by Japanese standards, lounges on the only a good show. Basil quizzed me about what
couch – technically, a loveseat – but when finance buzzwords are most impressive
she lts her head into her iPhone my stare these days in Tokyo. There wasn’t me to
returns streetwards. Time passes. Then, ask why he’d wanted me here.
“My dear friend!” And my dear friend is soon
bear-hugging me, his cheek so close I en- “It’s all for the game, Danny. You know me
counter the dense black-grey stubble that by now.”
probably reemerges 30 minutes a er his
morning shave. Now, striding towards the That I know him cannot explain our
office tower like a legatus legionis return- friendship. Just watch, and you’ll know him.
ing triumphantly to Rome, he glances back- As when he performs a flourish while mov-
ward before reaching the row of uniformed, ing aside to let some salaryman carrying
immaculate recep onists. The woman in two thin file folders get off at the 37th floor.
mauve holds his business card, her free Basil will perform according to his true na-
hand waving with shy excitement. “Once ture. His pride, no less than his principles,
again I’ve been bad,” he says. “Or, depend- dictates that it be so.
ing on your perspec ve, I’ve been good.”
Among those principles: We need less
As our details are taken and recorded, the help of our friends than the confidence
he counts out his remaining store of cards, of their help when needed. S ll, in my case,
the English-and-Japanese version. On this Basil’s help tends toward the hyperac ve.
his name appears as Basil, as it does even “There’s an acquaintance who’ll need your
on the Greek version, and as it does on the professional assistance.” “There’s a woman
Bri sh passport issued during his pre-law- you should meet.” “There’s some lint on
yering years at Cambridge studying how your jacket.” That Basil knows best goes
Epíkouros/Epicurus influenced Rome and without saying. But why treat my well be-
thence the West, though even back then ing as a burning impera ve?
Basil was doing deals on the side. Never
What does he get in return, when my
commi ed friendship is already a given? I do

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seem to calm him. Basil claims that around Now they scramble to shake our hands in
me he most approximates the Epicurean “life the prescribed order.
of happy tranquility.” The evidence: While
visi ng Japan he smokes only two packs a day. Basil bows and says his first yoroshiku
And what of his fresh anger over the Church onegai shimasu, which I’d explained goes
Fathers’ millennia-old slandering of his hero? with hello or goodbye or any me in be-
Few other corporate-commercial lawyers tween. Few foreigners, and fewer Japanese,
sympathize in their hearts. And so, around even pretend to know its meaning. But it
me Basil becomes more protector than com- will reinforce a sense of we’re-in-this-to-
batant, more interpreter than plo er. And, getherness – unless vocalized with detect-
just a li le, more explainer than doer. able sarcasm, of which today there is none.
These money men hear Basil’s grandilo-
Yet explaining is doing; the help of a quence. He talks of Japan and Greece, of
friend includes the teaching of life skills. At ancient parallels, and of modern contours
my age, who else would see the need? S ll, that let the two countries snap together
it’s the relentless logic of if not now, when? within a jigsaw puzzle of global commerce.
“Every day must count. Every minute. My The undercurrent is Basil’s will, which these
men, our targets, either feel or not. He of-
me is my only valuable possession.” And, fers no specific business proposal. Seizing
indeed, it is logic as much as anything that an opportunity does not require that.
drives Basil. Op mism, too. He would not
play his great games but for confidence in Basil has used the buzzwords, pre ed up
winning the next round. Yes, I know Basil – with my own Japanesque politesse. Today
though he knows me be er. was simply aisatsu, gree ngs. He’s assured
everyone that they already speak Greek: Dy-
I’d not have a racted his no ce were I namism, Strategy, Harmony, Sympathy. He’s
not living in Tokyo, nor were I lacking the proclaimed unworthiness of more of their
peculiar credibility a ached to running
a “registered foreign-law solicitor office” me, a er compelling them to acknowledge,
– even one as humble as mine. So here even if silently, the chance for splendourous
I am, riding upward with a mentor who achievement. It’s me to go.
is a decade younger than I. He men ons
the mauve-clad woman. “Danny,” he says, At dinner Basil’s eyes glisten at photos of
“you’ve got to be a mul -tasker: You’ve got my university-age children. “A blessing, your
to salivate and talk sweetly at the same daughter.” He scrolls back, reexamining her
red-brown hair down to her shoulders, her
me. To taste the mo va on at the very onyx bead necklace looped over twice, her
moment you bring to bear your skills. How cream blouse against her mother’s black
else can you get what you want?” sa n jacket. My daughter stands before our
house, holding my hand. Basil sees an arche-
The 45th floor. We are two; they are sev- type – the girl-woman bonded in all direc-
en. They occupy an en re side of the ob-
long conference table – the side nearer the ons to family, predes ned to be nurturing.
door, the side signifying humility and re- Did this emanate from a sister, a fairytale, a
straint. But they sit in a modernis c manner dream? Basil married early and briefly. His
presumed comprehensible to Westerners, grown son, Alexandros, as well-loved as my
with the Execu ve Director at the centre own children, is all career and adventure. He
and others emana ng outward by seniority. might not produce grandchildren.

148