Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 44, January 2021

SUMMER’S
SILENCE

by Ashley Hajimirsadeghi

It was June and Auntie Mabel and Uncle Jim to head to the market real fast. It’ll only take
had come up from Alabama to visit for two thirty minutes.” I nodded, rolling the dice
weeks. With them came George, the young- again. Three. I moved onto Free Parking and
est cousin, my favorite person. He was easy George huffed, crossing his arms.
to bully, quiet, and immature, which I took
full advantage of. George was small and “How come you always get that?” He
sickly, his posture always bad, ashy blonde whined, grabbing the dice.
hair constantly sticking up and ruffled. His
mother, Auntie Mabel, always believed that Momma smiled as she left, calling over her
the Maryland air was better for him during shoulder, “Jane’s never lost a game of Mo-
this season, as his asthma usually flared up nopoly!” George frowned and swept his hand
around this time. across the board, knocking the pieces over.

I think my bond with George started “I don’t want to play anymore!”
when I saved him from drowning in the Ches-
apeake two years earlier. He never learned I felt a stab of irritation. “Fine.” I snapped
how to swim, always begged for lessons, but back at him, aggressively slamming the game
we often ignored him. Since then, when- back into the box. “I’m going to go sit on the
ever Auntie and Uncle brought him up for balcony, you go do whatever you want.” His
their annual trip, he always stuck to my side. lip quivered, his eyes large and full of tears,
“Janie,” he’d always say, “don’t leave alone.” but I didn’t care. I went over to the white
ornate French doors on the other side of the
On the day of the eighteenth, I was left room and sat on the ledge of the wooden
in charge of George. We were sitting in the balcony. My heel scraped against an exposed
reading room, playing Monopoly, when edge of wood and it began to bleed.
Momma entered. “Jane,” she said, opening
the curtains next to us. The sunlight The balcony overlooked Momma’s
bounced off the mirrors and created rain- pond. It was Momma’s pride and joy, the
bows across George’s face, which he smiled most cared-for part of the estate. Lily pads
and waved his hand through. “We’re all go were scattered across the dark water, frogs
and toads lingering on the edges. Orange
and black koi nipped at the surface; it was

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almost time for them to be fed. Handfuls of It took me twenty minutes, and in that
water lilies were scattered across the water, time, I had forgotten about George. The
slowly bobbing with summer’s breeze, and house was quiet, not a voice to be heard.
bees flitted from bud to bud. The balcony was empty when I came back.
“George?” I called out, leaning a bit for-
I heard the doors open behind me, then ward, peering into the pond. I thought I saw
slow, deliberate footsteps. “Janie?” George something move in the far right corner, a
murmured. I turned to look back at him. His ripple, but it was only a frog leaping onto
bangs were falling over his face messily and another lily pad. Where was he?
he had his arms crossed behind his back.
“I’m scared.” I went back into house. I hadn’t seen him
since I left him alone. Panic ripped through
I sighed, then patted the ledge next to me. “George!” I called out, running from
me. “Come sit here.” He shyly nodded, then room to room. I slammed into a pillar, falling
hoisted himself onto the ledge. We sat in si- backwards. No movement could be heard.
lence for a moment, with George twiddling his The house was too still. Too quiet. George
thumbs and I blankly staring into the murky was gone.
water. The koi had dispersed, the water now
calm, too still. My heel began to sting and I It took us three days to find George. No
looked down. The blood was now dripping. one had ever taught him how to swim, so
when he fell off the balcony that day, he
“George, you can stay here, my ankle’s drowned. He never called out. I imagine
bleeding.” He looked at my foot and his eyes his lungs filled with water before he could,
went wide. or, maybe, he was just too quiet. His body
was found floating, all bloated and lifeless.
“Okay.” He whispered, the twiddling Auntie Mabel and Uncle Jim had him buried
gaining intensity. I felt guilty leaving him here, then left. They couldn’t look me in the
alone, but I felt as if my wound needed to eye, give me a goodbye kiss.
be attended to. I swept through the halls
of the house, opening closets, searching Momma closed up the pond two months
for bandages or a cloth to wrap around my later. She’d begun to neglect it since George’s
foot until Momma got home. I found the death, and the lily pads and water lilies had
bandages in the kitchen, which was on the shriveled up under the summer heat. The
other side of the house. I put my foot in the koi had stopped eating their food. There was
sink, running water over it, and watched nothing left for us but grief; the beauty in
the pink streams cascade down the drain. A our home died. We moved that fall.
small wood shard was embedded, so before
dressing the wound, I had to get that out.

Ashley Hajimirsadeghi’s work has appeared in, or is forthcoming,
Into the Void Magazine, Rust + Moth, and The Shore, among
others. She is a poetry reader at both Mud Season Review and
Ex/Post, attended the International Writing Program’s Summer
Institute, and was a Brooklyn Poets Fellow. Her website is http://
ashleyhajimirsadeghi.squarespace.com/

50

BENEATH THE
GRAY BRIONI SUIT

by Ramsey Mathews

Beneath the gray Brioni suit, underneath On this last Friday of November 2022,
the Salvatore Ferragamo five-fold Italian when not one of the ménage expected a
silk tie and the tailored John Varvatos shirt, missile to strike, the men finished, and Alexa
on the day the missile would strike the San- walked home to prepare dinner for her
ta Monica Pier, the G-Men attached a de- guest of honor, a suspect of great interest
vice to her chest. Above her left nipple, the to the FBI agents. Special Agent! What does
bald man taped the flat, metal disc to her that even mean? Special.
skin with cheap, white medical tape. Too
close to my heart. Handmade spaghetti. A simple mari-
nara. Fresh baked bread. Francisco doesn’t
“Can this thing stop my heart?” Alexa eat salad, and Alexa didn’t want to eat
Lydle asked and looked at the listening salad alone, so she never made salad for
device, rather a transmitter, applied and Francisco. She concocted a fresh fruit ap-
tested by the two FBI agents as the three petizer of kiwi, blueberries, honey dew, and
sat in the black van parked one block from cherries with a light sauce never heavy and
Alexa’s house. never too much sugar. Frank loves this dish.
She readied the bowl, then chilled the fruit
“No,” the bald man said. cocktail in the refrigerator.

“Your heart is the least of your worries.” Alexa never offered alcohol before
The other man with garlic breath laughed dinner. One of Francisco’s foibles. The fruit
and patted Alexa on the shoulder like a cocktail was an aperitif, wine with dinner,
cat might knead the tummy of its owner. and a digestif cocktail of brandy or whiskey,
She was short and could stand in the van, neat, depending on conversation. Some-
but the two men were tall, so they sat on times, Francisco requested a Grasshopper
wooden boxes. When garlic breath finished, or a White Russian after the meal. Alexa
she buttoned her shirt. kept all the best cocktail ingredients.

Don’t touch me. I have no power here. Frank harbored strange food habits. The
You have no clue what my worries are. My fruit cocktail must appear to be his idea,
heart keeps me ticking.

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but Alexa knew he would ask. She focused Gogh’s yellow in his “House in Arles.” The
on the meal as best she could while the FBI dining room was cadmium red much like
agents listened. She usually played arias Rembrandt brushed into the Portrait of an
sung by Renata Tebaldi or Giuseppe di Ste- “Old Man in Red.” Alexa’s Italian leather
fano as she made dinner. She often sang as house shoes complemented the Rembrandt
she cooked a solo meal for herself. The spe- red.
cial agents asked Alexa not to play music.
She mentioned that Francisco would find The awkward, large second hand of
this strange, and strange changes in routine the wall clock, wider and longer than the
make Frank nervous. He would expect music minute hand, sported a ceramic human
because Alexa always played an Italian aria. hand near the Roman numerals. The hand
The law enforcement goons relented and was curled into a fist and the index finger
said yes but keep the volume down. pointed past the clock circle as if ignoring
the numbers and admonishing clock makers
Soon after Alexa moved into the Pacific and prophets who wished to control time.
Palisades house overlooking the Riviera
Country Club Golf Course, gifts arrived from Not only was the clock oddly shaped,
members of the organization her father more like a rhombus, but the ticking was
worked for and she now worked for. One gift peculiar. As the second hand passed six on
was a sizeable, awkward wall clock with no the way to twelve, the arm lifted so quietly
aesthetic value. Alexa wasn’t fond of the in- that unless Alexa stood immediately in front
elegant clock, but she wasn’t sure who sent of the clock, she could not hear the move-
the contraption. So as not to offend anyone, ment. Once the hand reached twelve falling
she hung the four-foot-tall timepiece on the to six, the clock arm clicked with a loud
kitchen wall by the cased opening to the ratchet, ratchet, ratchet until the second
dining room where Alexa and Frank would hand passed six again and the sound de-
eat and chat. ceased for the next thirty counts.

Ceilings in the ranch-style house were Alexa was as fond of Tagliata rib steaks
ten feet, so the abnormal clock perfectly as Francisco. When Frank called the week
filled the space and did not crowd the crown before to say he would be in town, he asked
moulding. All wood trim was twenty-five for steak.
years old with a brown mahogany stain that
appeared black when the sun didn’t sneak “Little A.”
into a room. The house belonged to her fa-
ther, so when he died she moved in. Alexa “Frank.”
was indifferent to the dark moulding and
didn’t think repainting the wood was nec- “I have business next week in Los An-
essary. The masculine wood decor appealed geles.”
to her aesthetic sensibilities and reminded
Alexa of her father. “Good. What night for dinner?”

She hired painters to repaint the walls “Friday. Is that okay?”
a unique color throughout the three bed-
room, two-and-one-half bath one-story “Friday is perfect.”
house. The kitchen yellow matched Van
“Voglio manzo.”

“Steak it is.” The FBI tapped her phone.
They knew about the steak, and Alexa knew
they knew.

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“What kind of business?” Garlic breath Anthony Ricci, who died of natural causes in
asked a few hours after the phone conver- the same month her father died of a heart
sation. attack. Ricci’s son, Little Luca, gave the Dali
painting to Alexa. When she researched the
“You heard the conversation.” painting, she discovered the Dali was stolen
from a Glasgow gallery.
“What else do you know?” Baldy asked.
The FBI men installed surveillance equip-
“Frank wants steak.” ment inside Alexa’s house. Garlic breath at-
tempted to move the Dali painting to hide
“What else?” Garlic breath queried. a transmitter.

“I never ask Francisco about his busi- “Don’t touch that,” Alexa demanded.
ness. That would be rude and dangerous.”
Garlic breath ignored her and tried again.
“You’re gonna ask at dinner.” Baldy said.
“I said don’t touch the painting. It’s
“The hit man’s business is our business.” worth more than your house.
Garlic breath mentioned. “Which makes it
your business. Capeesh? ” Garlic breath stopped fiddling with the
painting and walked into the kitchen.
“I will do as you wish.”
“Why do you dress like a man?” Baldy
Next to the awkward wall clock hung a asked.
brass crucifix of Jesus. Another gift. Unlike
usual depictions where Jesus looked down To piss you off, asshole. “What do you
and to the side, this Jesus stared straight mean?”
ahead. His skin was a light coffee hue much
like Francisco’s skin. She hung the crucifix “You wear a suit and tie.” Baldy added.
at eye level and sometimes gazed into Je-
sus’s eyes. At private school, she often heard “So?”
the expression, “What would Jesus do?” If I
could summon that kind of power, I would “I’m just saying.”
rain holy hell on these special agent ass-
holes. These clothes cost more than your entire
wardrobe. Is there an FBI fashion censorship
Atop a credenza in the foyer stood Sal- manual that includes women’s clothes?
vador Dali’s “Christ of St. John of the Cross, I don’t dress like this every day, asshole.
Bronze Sculpture.” The original. On a dining Only when I have dinner guests. I could
room wall hung the Salvador Dali painting care less what the world thinks. My dinner
of “Christ of St. John of the Cross.” The orig- guests enjoy the clothes. I enjoy the men’s
inal. Frank liked to sit facing the painting, suits. Perhaps I feel comfortable and unique
which was fine with Alexa. She was not reli- around my friends.
gious. She found some pleasure in the my-
thology, the architecture, and the art of the “Just keep him talking,” the bald man
church, but she saw no evident truths in any said.
of the stories.
“And feeding him wine,” garlic man chimed
The Dali artifacts were gifts from mem- in. “Loosen him up.”
bers of the organization. The bronze sculp-
ture belonged to her dad as a gift from Don “Francisco doesn’t know the meaning
of loosened up.” Alexa wasn’t trying to be

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funny, but the response sounded funny “These Guineas,” Biff whispered.
anyway. The bald man laughed, and Alexa
managed a small, painful chuckle. “She’s not a Guinea.”

The agents were more like technicians “I thought she was born in Sicily?”
who came to service the cable TV or repair
the WiFi modem, but unlike the cable guy “Pay attention. The dinner guest is
the FBI Special Agents arrived five minutes Italian. You can’t be serious.” Buff paid at-
before their appointment, eight hours be- tention.
fore Francisco Barconi arrived for dinner.
Alexa never asked the names of the agents. Biff and Buff placed transmitters
She was sure they told her at some point, throughout the house. One under the dining
but their names were unimportant. room table. One in the kitchen light fixture.
One in the seven-foot-tall floor lamp with
To herself, she called them Biff and Buff. the brass eagle that guarded the small li-
Biff for the bald agent and Buff for the garlic brary. Alexa thought the lamp was hideous,
breath agent. She never asked if they wanted but she didn’t know who gifted the lamp, so
water. She never asked if they were hungry. she kept the fixture on display.
She never pointed out the location of the
bathroom. When Buff tried to make conver- “Does this mean I don’t have to wear the
sation about the Lakers or California envi- one on my chest?”
ronmental politics or Biff talked about North
Korea, Alexa never responded. The few words “No,” Biff and Buff said simultaneously.
she spoke were, “One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven.” When Alexa was away from the organi-
zation, she cosplayed as Italian. Her clothes.
“You sure are bling,” Biff said. Her hand gestures. The way she tilted her
face like Little Luca. She sometimes sat on
“What?” Alexa asked as she sliced an the patio at sunset and smoked a cigar,
onion with a ten-inch carving knife on a holding the stogy like her father would, and
maple cutting board. sipped scotch.

“The way you dress.” Buff said. When she was around the Italians, she
knew the difference. Clothes, food, cigars,
“The way I dress?” alcohol, and hand gestures do not make a
person something they aren’t, no matter
“Your clothes. That tie.” Alexa had tucked how much she role played at home. Alexa
her tie into the gap between the second and deeply understood the allegiance of her
third shirt buttons while she prepped the job as accountant. She was no sycophant.
evening meal. She was a professional. To serve Francisco
dinner as a snitch, a pawn for the FBI, with
“What’s wrong with my tie.” These guys trumped up tax evasion charges against her,
wouldn’t know a tie. placed her at odds with everything she em-
braced about her work, her life, her appear-
“Nothing at all.” Biff said. “Your clothes ance, and she saw no way out.
are perfect.”
Alexa enjoyed traveling to Costa Rica,
“Bling,” Buff chimed in. Alaska, and Nepal. She planned a trip to
Peru next year, but the pandemic nixed
Alexa walked to her bedroom at the back that idea. Her loyalty gave her a lifestyle she
of the house.

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liked. She was not naive about the company Alexa’s house, after Frank arrived at LAX,
businesses. She was good at laundering the he took a taxi to “Arno’s Gold & Jewelry,” a
cash. Her father, as the organization’s ac- shop owned by the organization. The shop-
countant, taught her well. University pro- keeper resembled Delores O’Riordan of the
fessors taught her legal maneuverings and Cranberries.
the IRS accountants unknowingly taught her
loopholes at their seminars. “I’m Frank. You have a package for me.”

Only a blind act of providence could save “Yes.” The woman pulled a box from
her, and she didn’t believe in providence. under the counter.

Francisco is one-hundred percent Si- “Did you look at it?” Frank asked proudly.
cilian. Alexa and Frank attended the same
private schools. Francisco was by no means “Is that okay?”
dumb, but he knew at an early age he would
follow in his father’s footsteps. Who needs “Open the box.”
school when your income is guaranteed for
life. Not until her senior year in high school The woman slipped on a pair of cotton
did Alexa decide she would follow her fa- gloves, carefully opened the box, and
ther as an accountant. Everything fell into peeled back the tissue paper. She lifted the
place. Van Cleef and Arpels Dunhill Lighter.

The two-acre Los Angeles inner city “Early 70s,” Frank said.
private school compound near USC where
Alexa and Francisco met was juxtaposed “The gold and wood are beautiful.”
between a commercial area with light in-
dustrial machine shops and a residential “Thank you for holding this.” Frank said.
area controlled by local gangs. Frank slid by “Would you call me a taxi?”
in algebra with Alexa’s help. In return, Fran-
cisco offered Alexa protection from the rich, “What about Uber?”
private school bullies.
“I don’t have a smart phone.”
Alexa’s father knew Frank’s father. She
eventually learned that everyone knew ev- “2020 and you don’t have an iPhone.
eryone. Frank and Alexa talked at birthday Samsung?”
parties, weddings, and dinners. Over a
couple of decades, the two became close “Would you call me a taxi? Please.”
friends even though their roles were gal-
axies apart. Trust was central, and the con- The taxi driver was a chatter box. Frank
nection was strictly platonic. They were didn’t want to chat. “Anyone ever say that
buddies. When Francisco was in town from you look just like Antonio Banderas?” The
Vegas, where he lived, Alexa cooked dinner. driver asked.

Francisco often took collectibles as pay- “Anyone ever compare you to Joseph
ment. He enjoyed cigarette and classic cigar Stalin?”
lighters. On this day of the missile attack,
this day when the special agents bugged The driver stopped talking. “Linger” by
the Cranberries came on the radio.

“Would you turn that up?” Francisco
asked.

Unlike Frank, Alexa enjoyed learning.
The organization paid for her Bachelor of

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Science in accounting, the MBA, and CPA li- Benjamin, filled a sock with quarters and
censing. She would enter Stanford Law next beat punks until the sock burst and the
Fall. Before she graduated from high school, coins scattered on the ground. Bronson
she knew the complexities of blind trusts, graduated to guns. As a kid, Alexa didn’t
movie production companies, off-shore have the cash for a roll of coins. She learned
corporations, and cash businesses. Every from Charles Bronson that any dense object
morning at breakfast, her father casually slammed against an adversary’s head auto-
talked accounting, finance, and banking as matically changed the dynamic, because as
if discussing the Dodgers. Alexa was a nat- small as she is, no one expects her to strike.
ural with numbers, and her father fueled
her genius ways. Alexa planned to carry a blackjack or
brass knuckles, but such weapons are evi-
The IRS audited the organization every dence of premeditated malice, so she nixed
two years. Zerilli Holdings accounted for that idea. She learned to catalog every
four Italian restaurants, two Chinese restau- moveable object in a room. The wall clock.
rants, three neighborhood bars, six food Salt and pepper shakers on the café table.
trucks, two trucking firms, two porn produc- Wine bottles, beer bottles, and coffee cups.
tion studios, a concrete manufacturing busi- Even a book, the sharp end of a spoon, a
ness, seven laundromats, three dozen used door, and the prongs of an electrical cord
car lots from San Diego to Humboldt, one are weapons. Objects to throw or stab with.
card room in Los Angeles, one card room in If she ever had children, she would be the
Petaluma, three strip clubs in Los Angeles, best mother at childproofing the house.
and fifteen coin-operated car washes. There
was an import-export business out of San Alexa settled for a gun. Or five guns. A .38
Pedro, a residential construction firm in Co- in her purse. Two nine millimeters, one in a
vina, a vineyard in Temecula, two gold and kitchen drawer with the spatulas, and one
diamond jewelry shops in the Valley, eigh- in an antique box atop her bedroom chiffo-
teen pawn brokers between San Diego and robe. Her grandfather’s WWI .45 waited in
LA, four long-term storage sites in Palmdale, the foyer table drawer beneath Dali’s bronze
and one commercial real estate company in Jesus, and she tucked a sawed-off shot gun
Thousand Oaks. Thanks to California law- under the kitchen cabinet next to the slow
makers, Zerilli Holdings now owned twen- cooker. She was a good shot. Anyone in the
ty-three marijuana dispensaries. organization would mentor her at the gun
range. The FBI guys removed all the guns.
Growing up, or in Alexa’s case aging
but not getting taller, Alexa tried to learn She found it ironic that Charles Bronson
self-defense, not in a class of kids yelling was an accountant. Before Frank helped at
kia and feigning discipline, and not from an school, Alexa defended herself by throwing
older brother because she had no siblings. objects and jabbing with rulers until the
She tried boxing, which lasted two months. other kids thought she was mean, or crazy,
Alexa was not good at punching or kicking. and someone not to fuck with. The FBI were
fucking with her without pulling a weapon.
After too many ass kickings at school The law in the hands of the government
and before Frank became her schoolyard sucked.
guardian, Alexa religiously watched Charles
Bronson in Death Wish. Charles, aka Paul

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She had never killed anyone. Even if she past. She envied him. She wondered about
could find another gun, killing these agents the women, though. Alexa simply asked
wouldn’t solve her problems. She wanted the question and waited while she quietly
to talk to Frank, but the house was bugged. sipped her wine.

Alexa lost track of time as she prepped The second hand of the kitchen clock
for dinner, so when a sharp rapping noise clicked slowly past twelve, ratchet, ratchet,
came from the front door she jumped a ratchet, past six and became quiet.
little. The kitchen clock read five.
Francisco sat down his wine glass. “Over
She started an aria louder than the spe- two hundred. Maybe three hundred.” Fran-
cial agents would approve. cisco tore a piece of bread and dipped it in
the marinara.
“What’s in the box?” Alexa asked as
Frank entered the foyer. “How many women have you killed,
Frank?” Alexa asked.
“The company gave me this relic as pay-
ment. I picked it up near LAX.” “Eleven women.” Francisco said emphat-
ically and tore another piece of bread. “Not
They walked into the kitchen where exact on the number of men, but I know it
Frank opened the box. “What a lovely is eleven women. I don’t keep records. Not
lighter, Frank. You are so fortunate.” a good idea. I don’t have a computer or one
of those smart phones to create personal
“I haven’t eaten all day.” Frank closed the memos about names and places and how
box. “A fruit cocktail before dinner would be and why. I don’t know how to work gad-
a nice refreshment.” gets and computers. I never ask the bosses
about reasons for this or that job. Doesn’t
Alexa and Frank sat at the dining room matter. This is my work.”
table watched over by Jesus while the FBI
men listened. Francisco Barconi enjoyed the Frank dipped the bread in the marinara
fresh fruit cocktail with a diminutive grapefruit and chewed. “On TV shows, the killer has
spoon. Alexa enjoyed the dual nature of the photographs on the wall of the people he
spoon as an eating utensil and the serrated kills, or a picture book, or a secret compart-
end as a perfect weapon to gouge an eye. ment in the floor full of Polaroids. The serial
killers, I mean. Am I a serial killer?”
They chatted about sports and travel
during dinner. Never politics or religion. “I don’t own a camera. I suppose I could
go to the police station and ask to see the
“How many people have you killed?” crime scene photos. That would be a laugh.
Alexa asked near the end of the meal. I do the job and leave. The women I re-
member. Not out of remorse. More like bird
Francisco stared at Alexa. The minute watching.”
hand on the kitchen clock, in the next
room, moved through one circle. Alexa “I didn’t know you are a bird watcher.”
didn’t worry. Their twenty-year relation-
ship was solid. Although Alexa rarely asked “When I was a boy in Italy, my mother
business questions, she knew Francisco was a bird watcher. Not professional, but
would not interrogate her motives if she she had tiny binoculars and a catalog with
finessed the conversation. Francisco never drawings of birds and their names. I once
felt remorse. They talked about that in the

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knew thirty birds by their songs. My mother “The next April, the man from Rome
knew the songs of over sixty birds.” arrived on the same morning the little bird
arrived.
Alexa poured wine for the two of them.
“Blyth’s Reed Warbler.” The man from
“There was this little bird that danced Rome said.
around our back garden one spring as the
flowers bloomed. I memorized the colors “Is that good?” My mother asked.
of the head and the wings. I memorized
the song. I could draw the patterns of the “It’s impossible, but there’s the bird.”
tail feathers and the back. I’m an average
drawer. The little bird looked light brown, “At that time, no one had seen the war-
but in certain light the wings were a greenish bler in that area of Italy, or at least a serious
gray tint with white underneath. I say little, birder had never reported a sighting. Only
but I think the bird was an adult.” when an expert sees the bird does it offi-
cially exist even though dozens of locals
“Little like me.” might watch the creature bounce about the
garden, sing from a tree branch, and rut in
“A rare, little bird. No matter the mark- the dust for grubs. The man from Rome gave
ings and colors, the song is always an my mother credit for the sighting which was
identifier. This song was a mix of whistles a bird record for Italy. She became a local
and cricket noises. The bird wasn’t in my celebrity.”
mother’s book, so she searched other bird
books. We lived on the coast up from Pal- The two agents sat in the van with the
ermo, near Capo d’Orlando, closer to Cat- surveillance equipment. Biff thumbed
ania. I traveled with my mother to Catania through a Marvel comic. They wore head-
or Palermo, where my mother shopped for phones and listened to the dinner table
flour and salt, and used the occasion to ask conversation.
birders about the little gray bird.”
“Jesus,” Biff swore. “Stop with the little
Frank paused for a moment and stared bird, already. What’s up with this goon?”
into the distant past. “People sing. I don’t
literally mean sing, but when someone talks “Birders asked my mother to join their
they sing their story even if the words don’t groups, both local and national, but she de-
tell their truth.” clined. Even an ornithologist from the Uni-
versity paid a visit.”
“My mother asked semi-professional bird
watchers about the little bird. They dismissed Frank placed both hands flat on the table
her as a simple housewife. Others were bold on either side of his wine glass and stared
enough to say she was mistaken in her iden- at Jesus. “The women I killed were like that
tification, and she should borrow a camera. little bird.” Frank continued.
No one in our town owned a camera.”
“I can tell you the color of the women’s
“On one trip to Rome, she visited a man eyes. Hair color. I can draw a map of the
who wrote articles about animals, especially freckles and moles on their faces.” Frank
birds. My mother read about the man in a looked at Alexa. “They never see me coming.
birding magazine. He said he was interested I cut them with a knife and watch their eyes.
in seeing the bird and would soon visit.” I don’t interrogate them or torture them. I
kill the men quickly with a gun. I’m not

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interested in their self-defense tactics. But “The FBI ever approach you?”
the women, I watch die slowly. I’m curious.
The little birds. Their songs are whimpers.” “Not the FBI. Every year around tax
season, the Secret Service and the IRS drop
Frank raised and waved the wine glass by my office or send a dozen emails.”
as he sang. “Sail with me into the unknown
void / That has no end / Swept along the “What do you say?”
open road / That don’t seem to begin.”
“My father taught me to say one thing
“What is that? Alexa asked. and one thing only. There’s the books.
You’re welcome to look at them.”
“It’s from an Arlo Guthrie song. When I
killed the first woman, that song was playing “And they leave you alone.”
on her house radio. I listened to the song
as she bled out on the kitchen floor. The DJ “Never. They show up quarterly. Every
mentioned the song and artist, so I made a two or three years one of their forensic ac-
mental note and eventually memorized the countants believes he found something, so
words. I recite the song every time I kill a an audit team performs an extensive review.”
woman. I never linger over the men.”
“Sounds expensive and time consuming.”
Biff’s phone vibrated in his pocket with
lyrics from Adele’s “Hello.” He read the text. “For them, yes. The taxpayer’s money.”
“My wife is in labor.”
“And you?”
“Timing.” Buff remarked.
“It’s my job. I’m better that any Federal
“You can’t plan this shit.” accountant. Zerilli Holdings pays a lot of le-
gitimate taxes which pays The FBI accoun-
“I can handle the dinner convo and the tants. They’re already on our payroll.”
equipment.”
The van was stuffy. Buff removed the
“Sorry man. I have to go.” headphones and opened a slider window
on the west side. He heard the ocean in the
“Yea. Go. Slap the wife and kiss the baby distance and smelled the salt air. The little
for me.” window didn’t allow much of a breeze, so
Buff stepped out the back.
Biff stuffed his gear in a small gym bag.
“I’ll call from the hospital.” He opened the A dog barked down the street, then an-
back door of the van, stepped out, and other dog responded. He envied Biff and his
closed the door. growing family. Buff was divorced two years
with no kids. He poured his efforts into work
Buff put on the headphones. to pass the time. He thought of himself as
a good agent and investigator. He didn’t be-
“You know the family has a guy working long to a gym because he exercised at home
in the FBI.” Francisco picked up his knife and on free weights and a pull up bar. He worked
fork, cut the last piece of steak from the the speed bag in his garage. He did his daily
bone, and chewed. pushups and crunches. He never dated. He
never went to bars or clubs. He had no so-
“Oh, shit.” Buff said to the empty van. cial life, and suddenly Buff realized he was
alone in the world.
Alexa finished her wine. “That’s a smart
move. I’ve heard rumors, but that’s not my
side of the business.”

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The impact wave and the noise of the head and bulged from one eye socket. Alexa
missile striking Santa Monica Pier five miles smelled what she thought might be flesh
away arrived at Buff’s van. He never knew burning and realized her Brioni jacket was
what happened. on fire. She shed the suit coat and slowly
sat up. Her head throbbed. Smoke poured
Alexa and Francisco had moved to the from the ceiling, and the wall clock lay face
kitchen to drink Grasshoppers. Alexa’s down and shattered. The ceramic finger of
kitchen was on the east end of the house, the second hand pointed toward the front
so when the missile wave struck, forty-feet of the house.
of framed walls and sheetrock acted as a
buffer. The house burst into flames, and the Alexa stumbled and coughed down the
impact knocked Alexa and Frank to the tile hallway into the foyer. The Dali Jesus stood
kitchen floor. unphased on the credenza. She wrapped
her fist around the sculpture, opened the
Alexa passed out briefly. When she woke, front door, and walked into the burning
her face was two feet from Frank’s face. A night.
splinter of wood lodged in the back of his

About the Author

Ramsey Mathews was born in Fitzgerald, Georgia. In Hollywood, he performed stand-in and
stunt work for Patrick Swayze and Ron Perlman. He earned his PhD in English and Creative
Writing from Florida State University, and he lives in Tallahassee, Florida.

60

SICK HEADACHE

by Thomas Elson

Look closely. face opens as she refocuses your question;
then she answers and strokes your upper
You are where it began - at a time be- back. This evening she also brought home
fore polio shots, seat belts, and television. A a few spoken-word records - the big 78 rpm
time when visitors entered houses through kind. You choose the one about Columbus
unlocked kitchen doors. that tells of his ships and his voyage.

And, after all these years, is it as you re- Then, as if on cue, your mother’s eyes
member? shoot toward the clock. She checks her
watch, twists her wrist, then shakes it as if
It’s early November, just past dusk. You hoping for some misreading. Her eyes grow
stop at the corner two blocks east of a grand flat. You watch. She presses her right hand
neighborhood concealed by trees. Look. On against her stomach. Her shoulders curl,
your left is the old basement house with dirt once again her eyes lock onto the clock. She
walls and next to it the two-story house of sways slightly and shrinks. She rises from
your grade school friend. But it’s the house the floor, says nothing, trudges toward the
two doors down at 507 West Blaine you bedroom, and closes the door.
came to see – beige and weathered, one of
the many shotgun houses thrown up at the Evenings weren’t like this when you
end of World War II. were a family of two.

You park, and, in an instant you are in- Alone in the living room, you hear the
side – small and almost silent. A harsh light kitchen door slam. Your father, recently
from the pole lamp casts a shadow across discharged from the Army, traipses past
the living room with a divan, a chair, a clock, without looking down, glares at the closed
and you - a four-year-old child, still eager bedroom door, walks forward, and opens it.
and open to the world - sitting on the floor You feel the shudder of door against frame.
next to record player your mother bought,
and encourages you to use. Voices.

The two of you have just finished playing Silence.
outside, and now she kneels on the living
room floor and inserts a new sapphire Louder voices.
needle into the tip of the cumbersome,
curved metal arm to replace the needle that You flinch.
skipped and scratched. She smiles, and her
Silence.

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One or two loud shouts, then nothing. You look to your right. You see your fa-
ther, partially hidden behind the bedroom
You listen, but hear only the wind, some doorway, with only his right hand and half
creaks, and the record player. After a mo- his face visible.
ment, the bedroom door opens. You tilt
your head toward the hallway. Your left “Turn it off. It bothers your mother. She
hand hovers over the arm of the record has a sick headache.”
player as the narrative of Columbus’ travels
continues.

About the Author

Thomas Elson’s short stories, poetry, and flash fiction have been published in numerous
venues such as Calliope, The Cabinet of Heed, Pinyon, Lunaris, New Ulster, Lampeter, Selkie,
and Adelaide. He divides his time between Northern California and Western Kansas.

62

BURNT UMBER,
BURNT SIENNA

by David Obuchowski

You tell yourself to not be superstitious. desk. And that’s when I knew. That’s when I
You take a deep breath and squeeze your knew it was going to be bad.”
eyes shut and you assure yourself that
omens and jinxes aren’t real. But then you And then you catch yourself. No. It’s only
do something so insignificant as knock your a pen, you tell yourself. And maybe you’re
pen off your desk as you’re reaching for it, even able to manufacture a chuckle, as if
and you feel a wave of terror as you watch your superstition is silly, just an amusing
it roll along the worn hardwood floor, the little flaw of yours. Like how when you were
planks so thin there’s no repairing them, a kid, no matter how much you enjoyed a
only replacing them. meal, you always left one bite on the plate.
Like how, now, whenever you take your first
The pen falling, rolling behind the desk, sip of anything fizzy, you hiccup. Like how
it’s a sign. You’ll remember this moment, you do this thing where, whenever you
you say to yourself. You’ll look back on today sneeze, you actually annunciate it: ha-choo!
and you’ll tell people, “That’s when I knew
it would be bad news. I reached for a pen Those funny little flaws. Endearing in
on my desk. It was just sitting right there. their own way.
But somehow what should have been this
simple thing, it went wrong. I misjudged No like your defects. Your damages.
the depth or maybe I bumped the desk with Those are the things that will never make
my hand and then the next thing I knew, it you or anyone else laugh. The things that
was rolling towards the edge, and I reached have made your children give you worried
for it again, but I was too late, and it fell. I looks as you sip broth from a mug for dinner
crouched down to pick it up and I hit my fore- for the third night in a row as you try to as-
head on the edge of my desk, and I winced sure them you’ll eat later, after they’re in
at the pain, and when I opened my eyes, this bed. The things that have driven you to keep
pen that had just been sitting right there in travel-size tubes of ibuprofen in your glove
the middle of the desk, it was rolling into compartment, in your coat, in your bedside
the dust bunnies and old cat hair behind my table because you’ve lately been eating
three of them every four hours, preempting

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

your recurring fevers and keeping the un- and assured yourself, The lab results are
relenting, agonizing pain to a mere ev- based on the blood and nothing else. What
er-present dull ache. you say or do can’t change the count of the
white blood cells or the red blood cells, the
These are the things that bring tears to proteins or anything else. You took a deep
your eyes and a lump to your throat when breath and tried your best to believe your-
you think about them at three o’clock in self.
the morning on those nights, which is most
nights these days, when you can’t sleep “Two more,” the phlebotomist said, as
from the overwhelming fear of it all. The she pulled the vial from the butterfly needle.
things you have had three family members It made a small sound, like the sound of a
die from. The things that finally, one early miniature bottle of champagne being un-
evening, convinced you to wander through corked. Maybe, you thought hopefully,
those automatic sliding doors over which that’s a good sign. The sound of celebration.
the words GRAVEL CREEK HEALTH CENTER
were spelled out in large, red capital letters, This moment of hope was cut short when
and were all illuminated except for the L in a spurt of blood erupted from the needle
GRAVEL, so that it spelled GRAVE, which before the phlebotomist attached the next
you, of course, took as a horrifying omen. vial. The small spatter of blood looked like
some scale model crime scene. Hardly a cel-
When the woman punctured your vein, ebratory image. The phlebotomist wiped it
she said, “look up at me. It makes it hurt less away with a piece of gauze and connected
when you don’t watch.” the third vial fill. It seemed to you it wasn’t
filling as quickly as the last two, and then
“Phlebotomist,” you said. you felt lightheaded.

“I’m sorry?” she said. “Seems like you’re taking a lot of blood,”
you observed, and you did your best to
“Phlebotomist. That’s what they call sound casually indifferent. The way you
someone who draws blood, right?” might sound remarking on a slightly warm-
er-than-usual day in an otherwise frigid au-
“That’s right,” she said, and then she at- tumn. But you knew the phlebotomist could
tached a fresh vial to the needle. hear the worry in your voice. She had done
this many times before, you knew, and she
You watched it fill with blood. “Is it sup- had dealt with all kinds of people, some
posed to be that dark?” you said. of whom would grow faint at the sight of
blood, some of whom couldn’t stand the
“I’m not permitted to comment. But pain of a needle piercing their skin, some
color isn’t something we generally look at, of whom were terrified to learn the results
unless—” but then she stopped. of the tests. Some of whom were all three
at once.
“Unless what?”
“These aren’t as big as they look,” she
“I’m not really allowed to say. Just relax.” said, as if she’d said it a thousand times be-
She switched to a new vial. fore because she almost certainly had.

“Sorry,” you said feebly. And then you “Is it filling slower?”
thought to yourself, You shouldn’t have
pushed it. She’s annoyed now. That’s not a
good sign. But then you cleared your throat

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Maybe a little, she said. And before you somehow comforting. And comfort in any
could ask if that was okay, she said, “one form is something that’s become increas-
more and you’re done.” ingly difficult for you to find as you wait.

You’re done. You did your best to not But the waiting will be over soon. The
read into those words. You did your best. phone is due to ring anytime now, and it
But your best was not enough. You drove will be the doctor who will tell you what
back home, rehearsing what you would al- they have discovered. You pace a bit and
most certainly tell people in the near future. then remember you have a half of a ginger
The phlebotomist said “one more and you’re ale in your refrigerator. You take the cold,
done.” Not “we’re done.” That’s when I green can from the shelf above the crisper
knew. That’s when I knew for sure. “You’re and take a generous sip. It tastes good but
done.” That says it all, doesn’t it? as it flows down your throat and into your
empty stomach, it chills you. You look at the
And so now you wait. You wait for your clock and see that it’s been three hours and
results. For data. For objective, quantifiable forty five minutes since your last dose, so
information gauged by precisely calibrated you swallow three more ibuprofen tablets
scientific instruments and fed through com- that are coated with a color you would best
plex algorithms and calculations of software describe as burnt umbre.
practically immune from error, and purely
immune from whether or not you knocked Or is it burnt sienna?
a pen off your desk or what light bulbs were
burned out in a sign or what words a phle- It occurs to you that you do not know the
botomist might have said to indicate the difference, and this gap in knowledge sends
blood draw was complete. You pick up the a shudder of fear through you, as if it were
pen from behind the floor and you wipe it some critical oversight. As if, even though
free of the dust and old cat hair. You do this one thing has absolutely nothing to do with
on the leg of your sweatpants that you have the other, your life depends on it. Because
been wearing more often lately, as you’ve in these terrible moments before the phone
found them not only comfortable, but rings, you are somehow certain that it does.

About the Author

David Obuchowski is a prolific writer of fiction and long-
form essays. His short stories have appeared (or are
scheduled to appear) in The Baltimore Review, Border
Crossing, Rind, West Trade Review, Twisted Vine Literary
Arts, Miracle Monocle, Willows Wept Review, and others.
His non-fiction can be found in Salon, Longreads, Jalopnik,
Fangoria, Aquarium Drunkard, The Awl, and more. His
in-depth documentary podcast, TEMPEST, is a critical
and popular success and serves as the inspiration for an
upcoming television series. For work published in 2019, he was nominated for a Pushcart
Prize for both fiction and non-fiction. David and his family live in Colorado.

65

THE GIRL BY
THE LAKE

by Kim Harrison

I worked graveyard shifts at the plywood One afternoon Barry and I strummed
mill and I hated it, but it paid double a rock and roll on the beach as usual, leaning
server wage. The forklift driver I worked forward into the sound while sitting flat on
with, Elton Frank, said “You’re a boy doing two big logs. I heard a whinny and from
a man’s job.” Frank was two years older. down the beach trotted a horse and atop
He knocked over my pile of wood sheets. that horse bounced a young girl, her brown
“They’re not straight enough.” That woke legs gripping the animal’s sides. She looked
me up. I almost fell asleep on them, which up at us, hit the horse’s behind with the flat
was funny because after work I couldn’t of her hand and rode straight out into the
snooze at all. lake. We stopped our music and watched.
I’ll never forget her black hair flying and
I took my Mom’s old car out to the lake the crashing of the water around her. She
and tried to dream under the trees. My guided her horse out a ways then turned
buddy Barry showed up with his guitar, we around and slid off its back into the waves.
played away the afternoons, until it got too
hot. Then we splashed in for a swim, lifting I took off my shirt and ran in. “Hey!” I
our heads from the depths to view the yelled, moving towards the horse as fast as I
shoreline trees beyond, or a water snake could. I didn’t see the girl until she surfaced
gliding beside us. After a long while, we’d beside me.
turn back in, move towards our two guitars
shining on the beach. “Wow, you can hold your breath a long
time,” I said.
We’d been to a hypnosis show, and
while I paddled in the water I tried to set up She dunked her head in the water again,
a rhythm that said “You will get out of this and flipped her hair up.
town,” then I made the chant into a song.
“Race you,” she grinned. She held the
I took up a rhythm at work, too, piling horse’s reins in her hand.
sheets of plywood to “after you get out of
this town, you will find a girlfriend.” The truth was I didn’t like big animals.
I could smell this one as it swam around

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Revista Literária Adelaide

beside us, but I said “Yeah, sure,” and began she started singing for real. The horse under
the Australian crawl. I won easily because I the trees shook its head up and down. After
splashed as much as possible to keep the the second number she said “I’ve got to go
beast back. The girl laughed all the way, she back. Janine is calling.”
led the horse to the shallows where the
weeds grew, then turned round, hopped Lana stood up and walked away, hair all dry
on her steed and put it to a gallop all the now, bare arms and legs shining in the sun.
way past Barry to the laurel trees, her head
down by the mane, her arms around the “You could join us tonight,” said Barry,
animal’s neck. but she didn’t look back and she didn’t
show up.
“We’re having a party here tonight,”
Barry yelled at the girl, as I climbed out of As it grew dark, Barry and I built a fire
the water and watched her pull the horse down near the water. We were both too
up by some picnic tables. She tied it to a young to buy alcohol, but Barry had scored
tree and walked up to me, within conver- some off his friend Don. He sat drinking it.
sation range, she stood in her cutoffs and Barry drank all through high school. He kept
white blouse tied above the navel. Behind a bottle of wine in his locker. I didn’t care for
her rose the heat waving forest, the blue sky the stuff. “Why don’t you hypnotize me?”
dry and hot above her dripping black hair. he said. “My head’s still full of that show
magic.”
“I’m Rennie,” I said. “The madman in the
water.” “Maybe after midnight,” I told him. “I
could cure your drinking.”
“I like parties,” she said. “My horse is
called Janine.” “Not the drinking,” he said. “My nerves.”

I went up to the horse. It looked over at As the fire crackled, we watched the sun
me. I didn’t touch it. smoulder red behind the hills. A couple of
kids walked across the rocks towards us,
“Nice mane,” I said. “Janine.” Millie Acabo and Gordon Nichols, “I got a
bottle of lemon gin,” said Gordon. He was
“I’m Lana,” said the girl. about fourteen years old, his blonde hair
framed light against the dusk.
“How’d you like to join us for some
music, Lana?” I asked. Millie had a loose front tooth. She showed
us by moving it around with her tongue.
“I don’t know how to sing,” she said. But
she came over to the guitars, I watched her “I fell on the cement,” she said. “My
bare feet step on the rocks. “I’m a flag girl,” Dad’s coming to pick me up later.”
she told me. “We don’t sing too much.”
We all sat in front of the fire and stared
Lana sat on the log, very close to my out at the lake. Millie said she’d walked all
acoustic. I picked it up. Barry and I began to day with Gordon. “I can’t remember where
play. I watched Lana mouth the notes, then we went,” she said.
she hummed. I stopped playing, reached
into my packsack, passed her the water “We went up above the falls,” said
canteen. She poured the contents over her Gordon. “Then up to the cliffs.”
head, and turned her face towards me. Then
After some drinking, Barry became a bit
feisty. He started talking about how it was

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

stupid to walk around all day with no pur- her put her hand up to her mouth, to that
pose. He berated me for not getting Lana’s loose tooth.
phone number. After the sun went down,
he stood up, yelled, took a running leap and “I want to see your I. D., boys,” said the cop.
jumped over the fire.
I dug in the back of my pants for my driv-
“Did you see that on TV?” asked Millie. er’s license. Barry and I were both 18, too
“Do it again, maybe I can take a photo.” young to drink. Gordon sat there holding his
gin bottle. When he saw the cop looking at
She looked up. Two car headlights moved him, he shoved it under the log he sat on.
slowly along the beach road above us. “That Maurice walked over and pulled it out.
could be my Dad!” she yelled.
“Who did you buy the liquor from?”
She hesitated, then stood up and ran asked the policeman.
towards the car. As she clambered up the
embankment the vehicle stopped, and two We didn’t say anything.
men got out. They walked over to the edge
of the parking lot and stood there. I stepped “If you don’t tell us, we’ll charge you
around in the dark, to check closer. Millie with withholding evidence.”
looked tiny talking to them. They all walked
down towards our fire. “I bought it from Don. Don Crusnett,”
said Barry. His voice shook. He’d mellowed
“It’s the cops,” said Gordon. “Maybe her out considerably from his fire jumping. I fig-
Dad called them.” ured maybe I should’ve hypnotized him.

“Goddamn it,” Barry whispered. “We need Don’s name and address,” said
the cop.
One guy had the uniform and the gun.
The other one was Maurice Parent, my old “I don’t want to tell on him,” said Barry.
French teacher from high school. He’d often “You know his address, Rennie.”
told us he worked as an auxiliary policeman.
“I only met him one time,” I said. “Does
“I know this fellow,” he pointed at me, he live in his car?”
then smoothed his hand down the front of
his paunch. “You’ve been drinking.” The cop got the address off Barry.

“You all look underage,” said the cop, a “We’re charging you two with being mi-
buff, dark haired guy. He kicked at a beer nors in possession of alcohol,” he told us.
can. “And “contributing to the delinquency of
minors.” He looked at Gordon. “We’ll drive
“You should pick up your trash.” you and the girl home.”

He looked at Millie. “This girl is thirteen After they left, Barry and I hauled water
years old,” he told us. “You boys should have up in our canteens and put the fire out.
driven her home. Her Dad’s worried sick.” Then we took our sleeping bags out of my
car and lay on the grass above the beach.
“Wow, did her Dad call you guys?” Barry
asked. “They pressured me,” said Barry. “I had
to give them Don’s name.”
“Sorry,” Millie said. Her face looked very
brown and red, reflected by the fire, I saw “Isn’t contributing to the delinquency of
minors and being a minor in possession of

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Revista Literária Adelaide

alcohol contradictory?” I asked, staring up “He wasn’t,” I said. “They must have
at millions of stars. mixed him up with Gordon.”

“You think too much,” said Barry. “You I paid the fine from my mill earnings.
should go to college.” The incident made the local paper. “Three
charged with liquor offences,” said the by-
The next night I returned to the mill. I line. What it didn’t say was that Don Crus-
pulled plywood strips off the green chain, nett showed the Judge his poetry. Don’s
piece after piece for eight hours. I drove parents were in attendance, sitting close
straight home afterwards, lay in bed trying together in the court.
to sleep. A loud front door knocking startled
me alert. My Mom answered. “You don’t want to destroy a promising
future, son,” the Judge told him. “Keep
“There’s a policeman here who wants to working on that verse.”
see you,” she yelled.
Don received a hundred dollar fine.
I got up and the officer from the beach
stood holding a document. “This is a sum- “I wasn’t even at the party,” he told Barry.
mons to court on the charge of being a minor “That’s the last time I sell anyone alcohol.”
in possession of alcohol,” he announced.
My Mom couldn’t make it to the hearing.
My Mom shook her head. “Why didn’t She had to work. She didn’t talk about the
you tell me?” she said. “Why did you keep incident except to say “Please don’t shame
this so secret?” me like that ever again.”

“I didn’t actually drink anything,” I told her. At the mill, Elton Frank called to me across
the lunchroom. “I hear you got busted.”
“Yeah, right,” Mom said. “What else are
you lying about?” His bleary eyed buddies lifted their heads
from the tables.
At Pinot City court house, I told the Judge
the same thing. The Judge said it didn’t “Yes,” I said. “A two hundred dollar fine.”
matter. “You were there at the time,” he
told me. “That’s all the evidence we need, “That’s not cool, man,” he said. “What
under the law. How do you plead?” eighteen year old doesn’t drink?”

“Guilty,” I said. “I don’t,” I said.

The Judge gave me a two hundred dollar Elton thought that was very funny. He
fine. and his friends couldn’t stop laughing.

“The problem with you is you’re imma- “So you pled guilty, and you didn’t even
ture,” said my Mom. “And Barry’s immature drink anything.” Elton wiped tears from his
too.” eyes.

“They charged him with contributing to Later in the shift, he helped me move my
the delinquency of minors,” I pointed out. carts full of plywood.
“But he’s not even nineteen.”
“I think you know your way around this
“The officer told me Barry’s younger mill now,” he said.
brother was there too,” she said. “He’s only
twelve.” After the court case, I drove out to the
lake by myself after work most days, and

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

dozed under the trees. One early evening Everything shimmered round me, with
I opened my eyes to the horse splashing Lana at the center.
sound. I lifted my head. Lana rode out in
the lake with Janine. Behind them lay the “Do you want to say hello to the horse?”
mountains, hazy in the heat. No motor- she asked.
boats sounded. I heard the wind then, in
the laurel trees. I walked down to the edge “Yes,” I said. “I’m crazy about horses,”
of the water, where the water lapped over and I reached up to the stinky wet head and
the stones covered with green lake weed. I rubbed it between the eyes.
waved at Lana, an outline in the haze now.
“I have to swim to her again,” I thought. “My brother Elton knows you,” said
Lana. “He drives the forklift at the mill.”
I took off my shirt and pants and moved
forward, bound in one direction. I heard the “He’s not a bad guy,” I said, “If you stay
sound of my arms and legs hitting the sur- on his good side.”
face, and plunging in. The water was warm,
and deep, and I had a purpose. Each time I I tried hypnotizing Barry a couple of
looked up, I saw Lana and the horse against times after that, but it was like I was in a
the mountain haze, each time closer. trance state myself. I couldn’t focus. Barry
was drinking a lot anyway, and how do you
Had she turned around? hypnotize a drunk? I tried to convince him
to do something constructive with his life.
“Hey!” I yelled. “It’s me, Rennie, the
madman in the water!” “You’re only an actor,” he told me. “It’s
all a big charade, your bogus hypnosis.
She circled. I was sure she’d seen me. A Why did you plead guilty in court when you
few minutes later she headed back, closer weren’t?” He continued on. “What do you
to the shore than I. see in Lana? She’s an ordinary looking girl.”

“Hey!” I yelled. “Lana! Where are you I told my Mom I was quitting the mill in a
going?” few months and going to college.

She looked back at me, then looked away. “Only rich people go to college,” she
said. “It’s out of your league.”
“Do I know you?” she yelled across the
water. I thought about that. Maybe she was
right. It was a strategy, though, if nothing
“Yes, you know me!” I said. else developed.

She stood on shore, her brown legs drip- I didn’t see Barry much after he chewed
ping, her cutoffs blue black and tight, the me out, but Lana and I went out a lot. It
horse shaking itself. was like she’d gotten right inside me that
day. We swam up and down the lake, went
I climbed out and stood across from her, fishing, horseback riding. I borrowed Elton’s
horse to ride with her. I didn’t like the an-
“We did the same race a few weeks imal, but it never bit me.
ago.” I said. “And wow, what a race it was.
I followed you out, just like today, and I fol- “If we live together one day,” Lana said
lowed you back in.” “You could try for a management position.”

“You think I don’t remember?” she laughed. “What do you see in me?” I asked. “Barry
says I’m just an actor.”

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Lana took some time to answer. My life was so real and sharp and clear I
could hardly stand being alive. My next shift
“I like all your energy, from the first time at the mill was coming up, and the prospect
I met you.” she said. “I remember the way didn’t seem so bad, another way to make a
you focussed at the lake that day, trying to living. Work was a means to an end, a man-
race me. Very impressive. You have strength, agement position, college, who knew what
and no bad habits.” She smiled. “What do might happen?
you see in me?”
“Let me trance in this moment,” I
I wanted to say “That brown legged thought, as we moved on again. I held on
summer beauty, the look when you turn to the reins, steered my balky horse, and
your head, the way you sing by the fire,” followed my lover along the lake trail all the
Then I told her “all my dreams.” way back to the edge of the mountain.

She stopped her horse and looked over.
“That’s pretty serious,” she said.

About the Author

Kim Harrison: I live and write in Victoria, Canada with my editor and spouse Sera T. In the last
year, my stories have appeared in Storgy, Bewildering Stories, Horla, Blue Lake Review, The
Blue Nib, The Horror Zine, Spadina Literary Review, Literally Stories, and others.

71

THE PRINCESS IN
THE TOWER

by Cezarija Abartis

The voices layered over each other–women’s The princess caressed her hair, said, “It’s
voices–but she couldn’t make out the words. mine.”
Valentine? Mannequin? She pulled out her
hairpin, set down her coronet, loosed her The crone curved a forefinger at her.
hair. It fell below her shoulders, below her “Keep it till it grows so heavy it breaks your
waist, past her ankles, and to the floor. neck.”

She leaned her elbows on the window Now nobody could cut her hair without
sill and drew the yellow coils of hair toward her blood spurting out from the slash, so
and out the casement, where it thumped she wore a neck brace, carved ivory with
down along the side of the tower to the figures of roses unfurling as she grew older.
ground. At the bottom was a moat in which She touched the latch in the back. It would
swirled upright blades crisscrossing back be good to be free. The hard circle cut into
and forth. No escape, no rescue. her chin. No longer a child, she regretted
her parsimony. What was a lock of hair? Not
In the misty distance, the leaves were a foot, nor an eye.
golden. Winter soon. Snow. Ice.
The mannequin in the corner of the
She would try to sleep again, dream room shivered. It was headless and hairless.
away this nightmare, wake to a sunny day. Usually quiet, but this time trembling and
whispering (even without a mouth) some-
She remembered a crooked old woman thing about safety.
spinning thread in a tower. The hag was
not like her mother, not like her father. She “Yes, I am safe,” the princess said.
was bald, when she took off her yellow ker-
chief. Bony, bloodless. The princess, in her Outside, birds chirped. There would be
youth and carelessness, mocked her. The a storm later; clouds moved in and dimmed
old woman commanded, “Give me a lock of the landscape. She thought she could see
your hair to weave into a tapestry.” The old the hut at the edge of the woods. A lantern
woman straightened. “Or are you too vain?” flickered in the window. In mid-October
some of the trees were bare.

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Her head was so heavy. her hair. Drops of blood fell on her hand as
she tried to keep the hair from pulling out
The mannequin whispered. It’s time. of her scalp. This was too much. She would
You’ll plunge down. shake him away.

She just needed to follow the hair as She put her hand out to tell him to stop.
it spilled downward. At the bottom in the He thought she was waving him up. The
gloom, someone raised his hand to her, mannequin shrieked, It’s time. The princess
hallooed, swept off his wide-brimmed smelled the iron of blood. It dropped in a
hat and bowed like a courtier. He resem- wristlet around her hand. She wiped at it,
bled her mother from this height, elegant smearing it. And it was no longer a beautiful
straight stance, graceful hand waving to circle of beads. She wept.
her. She thought she could recognize a
bracelet on his wrist, a dragon with a rose Should she try to cut her hair? She would
in its mouth. Surely, he had come to free bleed. Should she let him climb up? She
her from the tower. He grasped a coil of would bleed. Should she jump down? She
her hair, tied it in a knot, set his foot in the would bleed. She should stay.
knot, climbed, and repeated the action.
She winced as he stepped up the ladder of The mannequin shrieked, Here it’s safe.

About the Author

Cezarija Abartis has published a collection, Nice Girls and
Other Stories (New Rivers Press) and stories in Baltimore
Review, Bennington Review, FRiGG, matchbook, Waccamaw,
and New York Tyrant, among others. Recently she completed
a crime novel. She lives and writes in Minnesota.

73

BAR HARBOR,
MAINE

by Luke Black

A radiant heating element hummed over a “Yes, I play!” she said, white teeth
plane of wet tile as the mothers feigned in- gleaming in contrast with her golden skin.
terest in their children’s cannonballs. How “My name is Selini.”
many feet had padded across the spear-
mint-colored tile since it had been laid in “Hi, Selini, my name’s Kevin,” the boy
1958? Thousands? Millions? said, blushing when he noticed that Selini
was sporting bikini bottoms and no top.
The Pine View Inn’s pool was well-insu- Though it was strange, the slight deviation
lated from the crisp, July evening hanging in familiarity held no more real estate in
just beyond the steamy, glass door. An his brain than a passing bird. He examined
outdoor pool in the 62° evening would be it, considered it, and allowed it to fly away
nothing for a proper Downeast child, but like a sparrow on the breeze. Sparkling in
these vacationers were accustomed to his innocence, Kevin hadn’t yet learned to
much warmer climates: Tulsa, Oklahoma, criticize things that deviated from what he
and Petras, Greece. knew to be normal.

The 2 children were strangers, well, “I do Englise,” the girl said, brown eyes
strange as children can be to one another. glistening like wet stones in the harsh light.
At 9 years old, they hadn’t yet mastered
the arts of distrust or aloof trepidation. Up “Yeah, I do English too! You wanna take
until a certain age—12, sometimes a bit a turn diving for this?” Kevin held up a toy
older—it’s accepted that all children are in torpedo, rivulets glistening on the red rubber
the same club, and the only requirement for as he threw it into the pool like a paper air-
full-blown friendship is a brief introduction. plane. The torpedo breached the surface
Sometimes, even less. without a splash, cutting through the water
with exquisite hydrodynamics before veering
“Hey, you wanna play with me?” Kevin’s left and settling on the rough, gunite bottom.
question carried across the rippling water as
the girl met him with a coy smile. “I dive?” The girl looked to Kevin, then
turned to her raven-haired mother who

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looked up from her paperback and nodded “You are—American?” Selini asked.
in approval.
“Yes, I’m from Oklahoma.”
“Like this!” Kevin’s yellow shark trunks
breached the water as he dove into the “Oka…?”
deep. Of course, Selini couldn’t see it,
but Kevin was smiling, chlorinated water “Oke-luh-homa, it’s above Texas. My dad
passing through clenched teeth as he tried says that Texas is our pants and Kansas is
so desperately to impress the exotic crea- our hat.” Kevin waited for a laugh, but Selini
ture waiting for him on the surface. When didn’t understand anything that he’d said.
he emerged with the torpedo, Selini greeted Though her mother was fluent in 4 lan-
him with thunderous applause. guages, Selini had only been taking English
classes for a year. She could communicate,
“All right, Kevin, fifteen more minutes,” so long it was slow and simple.
Susan said as she snapped her paperback
closed and picked up a leather clamshell After a few half-hearted attempts at
stuffed with Misty Slims. breaking through their language barrier,
the children sat it aside and embraced the
“Come on mom, I just got in like two universal language of play. Kevin’s heart
minutes ag—” skipped a beat each time his outstretched
fingers brushed the girl’s wet skin—eyes
“I didn’t drive two thousand miles for smashed to slits as he screamed out
you to swim in a motel pool,” Susan said as “Marco!” in the humid pool room.
she opened the door to the parking lot and
disappeared on the night. Though obfus- At 9-years-old, Kevin knew nothing of
cated by a blanket of condensation, Kevin love, girls, or even the concept of an inno-
could see her Bic sparking through the glass cent crush. Lightsabers and Super Mario
as she lit up her smoke. When he turned Bros. were more his speed—exploring the
to the golden-skinned girl feeling embar- woods and catching mountain boomers as
rassed, he found no judgment in her eyes. they sunned lazily on sandstone slabs in
the cool Oklahoma morning. And though
“Are you from Maine?” Kevin handed he couldn’t articulate the feelings swirling
the torpedo to Selini, noticing the golden within, Kevin loved the girl. The word hadn’t
studs twinkling upon her wet lobes. He’d popped into his brain, but he felt it. And
never met a kid with pierced ears before. love is nothing if not a feeling.

“No, no,” Selini said with a little laugh, “I The next morning, Kevin’s mother shut-
live in Greece.” tled them to the summit of Cadillac Moun-
tain in Acadia National Park. Not only was it
“Woa, is that another country?” beautiful, but it was also the highest point
on the Atlantic Seaboard and the first soil
“Yes,” Seleni nodded, “on the Sea of to be graced by sunlight each morning. The
Crete.” plan was to arrive before daybreak—to be
the first of 250 million Americans to bask
“Wow. I’ve never met anyone from an- in Earth’s dawn—but Susan’s snooze button
other country before.” Maybe that’s why had foiled their plans. When the old Volvo
she’s not wearing a top to her bathing suit, squealed to a stop in the parking lot, the sun
Kevin thought. That must be how they do it
in Greece.

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was hovering over the North Atlantic like a official food of Maine. Did you know that?
glowing, red basketball. I didn’t. The guy at the lobster place told
us all about it yesterday. I didn’t even think
“Close enough,” Susan said as she that I liked blueberries, but I guess I do. The
touched a flame to the end of her Misty, syrup was from Vermont, which is like one
filled her lungs, and tainted the briny sea state that way,” Kevin said as he pointed
breeze with the stink of burnt tobacco. toward the exit. “Or maybe it’s that way,”
Kevin said, gazing at the hot tub. “I’m bad
It was pretty, perhaps even beautiful at directions. After pancakes, we went on
with its panoramic views of wooded islands a whale-watching tour out of Bar Harbor.
peeking up from the fiery-sea, but Kevin Only here they call it Baaah Hahbaah. They
would rather be back at the Pine View Inn gave us seasick bags in case we needed
playing with his new European friend. Kevin to throw up, but I didn’t,” Kevin rambled,
considered floating the idea to his mom, but wet hands looping in exaggerated arcs as
he already knew what she’d say: We didn’t he relayed each detail with boisterous en-
drive across the country to [insert thing he thusiasm.  “For lunch, we ate lobster at a
wanted to do]. So, Kevin climbed atop the place called Mick’s Lobster Pound. That’s
biggest boulder he could find and drank in what they call lobster shacks on account of
the morning as it erupted all around him. them selling them by the pound. Only here
they call it lahb-stah. We don’t have lahb-
When Kevin exploded into the poolroom stah in Oklahoma, do they have lahb-stah
later that evening, Selini was waiting for him in Greece?” Selini only smiled, dazed by
in the shallows. Maine’s ragged, salt-washed the strange boy’s informational onslaught.
shoreline might have been an oily puddle “They made mom pick out a lobster from
when juxtaposed with her radiant smile. this little swimming pool thing, then they
threw it in a boiling pot. I asked the guy if I
“Selini!” Susan looked up as her son can- could pet it, but he said no. It tasted pretty
nonballed through the air but turned back good I guess. Mom made me eat the left
to her book before witnessing his impres- claw, but I kinda felt sad about eating him.
sive splash. It was like their trip up Cadillac When she twisted the tail off, there was this
Mountain, she’d given effort but fell short sickening brown stuff that came out. Mom
on the follow-through. Susan always fell said it wasn’t number two, but I don’t be-
short on the follow-through. lieve her. I mean, what else could it be? Oh
yeah, we also went to Cadillac Mountain!
“Hallo.” Selini smiled birdishly as she That was before the pancakes even. It’s the
leaned in to give the boy a small hug. This first place that sunlight—”
time, she was wearing the top to her bi-
kini. Perhaps it was her mother’s attempt “Too mucha Englise!” Selini said as she
at bending to American conservatism, waved her wet hands in front of Kevin’s face.
or maybe it was just because she felt like
wearing it. “You have good day, Ka-veen?” “Huh?”

“Yeah! Wanna hear about it?” The “Too mucha Englise!” Selini squealed be-
wide-eyed girl nodded. “I had blueberry fore diving into the water like a suntanned
pancakes for breakfast. I wanted bacon porpoise. Maxwell shelved his exhaustive
and eggs, but mom made me get the pan- blow-by-blow and followed suit, leaping
cakes on account of blueberries being the

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into the European girl’s wake with a smile Slim from the mauve mouth of her cig case
pure as a newborn’s purr. that much sooner. And the only thing better
than a Maine lobster roll was the cigarette
Selini’s golden studs winked in the harsh that immediately followed it.
light as she wrung water from her ma-
hogany ponytail and retrieved a silver and “Nothing.”
gold coin from the spearmint tile. “Now, you
find,” Selini said as she held the coin up to “You’re sad about leaving that little
her eye like a monocle. Greek girl, aren’t you?” Typical Kevin
fashion would be vehement denial, but he
“Okay!” Kevin squealed. only shrugged. Denial would be a betrayal
to his friend.
“Ready, go!” Selini threw the coin into
the deep end and Kevin swam toward the “She’s a pretty girl, but if I’m being
splash with exuberant, American resolve. honest, Sarah Mullins is cuter. What?”
When he emerged with the coin, Selini Susan asked as Kevin leapt up from the
greeted him with white teeth and a barrage table, cheeks glowing like coals as he dis-
of wet claps which rang out like gunshots in appeared in the tall grass skirting the salt
the stark room. marsh. His mother’s comment didn’t even
warrant a response.
“Wow,” Kevin said as he stared at the
golden-rimmed coin boasting a whimsical It’s not as if God had designed Kevin for
owl. “Is this Greece money?” Selini, and she for him, but in the mystical
realm of cosmic pairing, they were a per-
“Yas, Greek,” Selini said with a proud nod. fect match. If the children had been psy-
choanalyzed, given compatibility quizzes,
“That’s so rad!” The coin pinged as Max- or even been casually observed by profes-
well flicked it to the other side of the pool, sional matchmakers, they’d have proven to
watching as his friend disappeared into the be a one-in-a-million match. The children’s
shimmery-blue water. personalities dovetailed with the seamless-
ness of old-world furniture—sanded birch
The children swam for 2 hours that night, pressed into oiled walnut—invisible seams
and it was the best night of their lives. Inno- smooth as a sheet of silk.
cent love ping-ponged between the Euro-
pean and the American like ball lightning. Kevin’s heart sank when he walked into
the empty poolroom that night. The glass-
Kevin dreamed about Selini that night smooth surface of the pool was the saddest
and awoke with a hollow void in his heart. sight he’d ever seen. “Don’t dilly-dally, mister
Today was their last full day in Maine, which man. You’ve only got thirty minutes,” Susan
meant that tonight would be their last time said as she looked to her watch. “We’re
to swim together. staying in Mystic, Connecticut tomorrow
night. Supposed to have good pizza.”
In a child’s world of endless firsts, elusive
lasts are all the more painful. Kevin circumnavigated the room and en-
tered the water using the pool’s steps for
“What’s wrong with you today, Mr. Sad the first time in his life. After 5 minutes of
Sack?” Susan whole-mouthed the last bite lackadaisically squeezing water through his
of her lobster roll and stifled a briny belch. It palms, the door at the far end of the room
should have been a two-bite bite, but a one-
bite bite meant that she could slide a Misty

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creaked opened and a girl sporting only bi- Whether it was compassion or a particu-
kini bottoms rocketed across the puddled larly riveting chapter, no one could say, but
floor. “Ka-veen!” Selini squealed as she Susan permitted Kevin to swim for a full hour
sailed across the pool with chaotic grace. that night. And it was glorious. To Kevin, it
was better than floating Pirates of the Carib-
“I was afraid you weren’t coming!” Kevin bean’s dark tunnels at Disneyland, to Selini,
said as the girl swam over and gave him a sweeter than figs and fresh-pressed olive oil
big hug. Her hair smelled of exotic oils that after a day of sailing with her father in Santo-
were vaguely floral, yet largely indecipher- rini. When the dreaded words were uttered
able to his naive senses. in each language: time to get out, and Ώρα
να βγούμε, the dejected children crawled
“I come!” Selini said, brown eyes twin- out of the pool, each on the brink of tears.
kling like a crystal cup filled with Vermont’s As their respective mothers held out towels
finest grade A golden maple. like cotton muletas, Kevin and Selini stared
at one another, sadness dripping onto the
“What did you do today?” Kevin asked, spearmint tile as each struggled to translate
taking care not to bombard the delicate feelings into words—feelings to which there
creature with his truckload of high-balling were no words.
English.
“Ka-veen, I never forget you,” Selini whis-
“Today, I eat blueberry cakes,” Selini pered as she embraced the boy and laid her
said. Her big-eyed expression was that of a head on his shoulder.
child seeking approval.
Kevin slapped back roaring emotion as
“Cool, I’ve never had a blueberry cake he swallowed hard and whispered into the
bef—oh—blueberry pancakes?” girl’s wet hair, “Don’t worry, Selini, I’ll find
you again.”
“Yes, pancakes!” Selini said with a big
smile.” Kevin toweled off his wet body with me-
thodical slowness, staring across the room
“Did you love them?” as the Greek girl was patted dry and ush-
ered out of the poolroom by her mother.
“Yes, I love!” Just before the door closed, Selini turned
back and gave Kevin a sad little smile—the
“I told you they were great! What else did saddest smile the world had ever known.
you do?”
Kevin’s heart was a molten slag.
“I went to shopping, we ate cherry
stones, and the sunset cruise on Bar Harbor.” “I don’t know what the big deal is,”
Susan said as she stubbed a Misty into
“Awesome! What’s a cherry stone?” the aluminum ashtray gracing her bedside
table. As Kevin stared up at the gray cloud
Selini shrugged her shoulders as she hanging over his bed, the flickering TV gave
looked to her mom, who wasn’t paying it the illusion of a lightning-filled thunder-
attention. “From the sea? Like...maybe head—a physical manifestation of his me-
clams?” lancholy. “You’ll make a new friend in Con-
necticut tomorrow. The place we’re staying
“Sickening, I’ve never had those before!”

“I think, you skip,” Selini said as she
scrunched up her nose. With that, she pro-
duced her coin and tossed it into the water.

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has a pool overlooking the ocean. Probably If the children had grown up together in
be a hundred kids in there.” Kevin didn’t Maine, they’d have married at 18—wave-
respond—not because he was throwing a lengths thrumming in an intertwined fre-
fit or attempting to emphasize some kind quency of perpetual harmony. Kevin might
of point—but because he was crying. The have been a lobster fisherman, and Selini,
snagged comforter was rough on Kevin’s a baker of blueberry pies at the corner of
cheek as he rolled over and allowed cold Oliver and Main. She’d sell pies whole, or
gusts from the window unit to dry his tears. by the slice, keeping an eye trained to the
sea each evening, waiting for the captain of
Kevin opened the door to 212 the next a modest lobster boat called Cherry Stone.
morning and stared off into the parking
lot, sure that he’d see Selini climbing into But in the real world, the world that
their blue rental car. But like his heart, the rarely dealt optimal scenarios, Kevin was
slot was empty, a graven slab of cracked as- no sea captain, and Selini hadn’t eaten a
phalt. The Greek tourists had left at sunup— blueberry since her summer in Maine. The
en route to Boston, where they’d spend 2 Greek girl was divorced at the age of 30, and
days exploring the Cradle of Liberty before the Oklahoman, widowed at 29. Cancer.
catching a bird back across the pond.
“I still think we should have gone to Disn-
Failing to appreciate the simplistic eyland,” Peter said as he waived at a passing
beauty of Maine’s morning, Kevin turned semi, then turned back to the cacophony of
back to his room and noticed something goblins and monsters sprawling from the
glinting at his bare feet. The boy knelt to margins of his tattered sketchbook.
the rough concrete of Pine View Inn’s 2nd
story and picked up the coin. The wide- “Why stare at a plaster mountain when
eyed owl stared up at him from it’s golden, you could see the real thing?”
star-rimmed border. Kevin imagined the girl
sneaking up to leave him the gift—a tan- “Because plaster mountains have roller
gible representation forever reminding him coasters attached to them,” Kevin said with
that she’d been real. Had she left it in the a wry smirk.
morning, or crept up in the night? Had Se-
lini peeked through the cracked curtain and “Your grandma took me up here when I
watched as he slept? The cold coin com- was your age and it was the best summer
forted Kevin as he clutched it in his palm, of my life. How many of your friends will be
smiling as he looked upon the morning with able to say that they ate blueberry pie and
new, appreciative eyes. fresh-caught lobster in Maine?”

Whether it was an adolescent disad- “Probably like twelve.”
vantage, or a parent’s failure to recognize
something beautiful and pure, the children “Yeah, right, twelve might have gone to
had been cheated. A parental intervention, Dallas for vacation, and that number’s prob-
something simple as a phone number or ably more like two.”
address might have changed the course
of these children’s lives. Because well into “Does this place have a pool at least?”
adulthood, both Kevin and Selini thought
about each other every single week. “They did twenty years ago. And if it’s
still there, I’ll let you swim for a full two
hours every night.”

“Promise?”

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“Promise.” he reached into his pocket and fingered
through a palmful of coins.
Though the Pine Village Inn’s name had
been changed to The Downeaster, there “Yeah, I’ll take a Coke.”
was no mistaking the motel’s white, green-
trimmed aesthetic. If anything, the motel “Okay, be right back.”
looked to be in better shape than Kevin re-
membered it being 25 years ago. Kevin appre- After acquiring the Cokes, Kevin mean-
ciated Mainers’ reverence for structural pres- dered through the parking lot, drinking in
ervation—a British obligation to maintenance the cool evening as he glanced up at the
that never made it south of the Mason-Dixon. room he and his mom had stayed in once
Old world traditions were deeper rooted in upon a time. He’d recently read a news ar-
New England—anchored to the bedrock. ticle proclaiming cigarette butts to be the
most littered item on Earth. Heaven knows
“I don’t see a pool,” Peter said as he his mother had contributed her fair share.
slammed the door and slung a backpack over If he were a betting man, he’d put $50 on
his shoulder. the guarantee that a few of her 30-year-old
butts were holding strong somewhere at
“It’s an indoor pool,” Kevin said as he the Pine View Inn—might even still have
popped the hatch and yanked a suitcase out pink lipstick on them. The thought of it
of the 4Runner’s caboose. “And don’t worry, made him sad.
it’s there,” Kevin said, glancing at the fogged-
over glass on the far end of the building. In the morning, he’d take his son to the
top of Cadillac Mountain and they’d arrive
After settling into the room, the pair well before dawn, drinking in first light be-
walked downtown for patty melts and root fore the rest of America had the pleasure.
beers. It was a sin to eat beef while staring After that, they’d hit Acadia’s high points
at the sea, but they’d get lobster tomorrow. and wrap up the day with lobster rolls at
At $20 per pound, it wasn’t in the budget whatever roadside pound had the best
for more than a single meal—maybe two. hand-painted sign.

The pungent, chlorinated aroma of the A blast of dank humidity greeted Kevin
hot pool room hit Kevin like a stone wall of as he pushed open the foggy door, pulled
nostalgia. He thought of Selini as his son ran something from the watch pocket of his
across the spearmint-colored tile and cannon- jeans, and flicked it into the air. “Hey Pete,
balled into the deep. He’d hoped that his son dive down for this!” The coin chimed as it
might make a friend in the pool as he had so tumbled through the air, plunking into the
many years ago, but the room was empty, save deep end with a tiny splash. As Peter dove
a portly, heavy-jowled man in the hot tub. for the coin, a second splash erupted from
the far side of the pool. Kevin smiled as he
“Nice splash Pete! I think you even got sat his Cokes on the table, watching as 2 kid-
the ceiling wet!” sized shapes moved beneath the turbulent
waters. Perhaps his son had found a swim-
“Really?” ming buddy after all.

“Really! I’m gonna grab a Coke from the “Found it!” the girl squealed as her lithe
vending machine next to the front office, arm shot up from the water with Kevin’s owl
you want anything?” The overhead heating coin.
element broiled the top of Kevin’s head as

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“You looked like a dolphin down there! As Kevin scooped up the wet towel and
Where’d you learn to swim so fast?” Peter turned to drop it in the laundry bin, the out-
asked as he dog-paddled toward the girl side door opened, allowing a cool gust of
with a goofy smile. Maine night into the humid room.

“The sea.” “Ma-ma, I made a friend!” Chlorinated
water shone upon Sybella’s sun-kissed skin
“Hey dad, this is Sib—umm—” as she clamored out of the pool and ran up
to her mother, who’d just entered the room
“Sybella,” the girl interrupted. with a fresh towel. Sybella leaned into the
curtain of her mother’s shiny hair as she
“Yeah, Sybella,” Peter parroted as the whispered into her ear and showed her the
girl examined the coin with a raised brow. boy’s coin.

“Nice to meet you Syb—” The table “Hey dad, will you buy me another Coke
screeched across the tile as Kevin bumped since you spilled that one?” Kevin didn’t re-
it with his knee and the Cokes toppled over spond as he stared across the room, bones
with a glassy clink. A waterfall of cola fell to feeling like rubber as the rusty heater
the floor, foaming briefly before dispersing hummed like an iron sun. “Actually…I’ll take
into caramel-colored estuaries tracing the a Sprite this time,” Peter said, wondering
thin grout-lines in-between the tiles. While why his dad had such a weird look on his
most dads would have cursed, Kevin just face. As Sybella turned back toward the pool
laughed. and tossed the coin into the deep end, Peter
gasped. When she’d been in the water, he
As Kevin mopped up Coke in the pool- hadn’t even noticed. “Hey, Sybella?”
room, silvery moonlight glittered on the
harbor—bathing lobstermen as they “Yes?” Sybella’s eyes were glittering
prepped their boats for an early morning’s as she stood at the edge of the pool with
catch. Because one man’s vacationland is her hands on her hips—black whips of hair
another man’s daily grind. As bait was cut trailing down her back like wet leather.
and pots were mended, cigarettes glowed in
dimly lit wheelhouses. Coffee-stained maps “Why doesn’t your bathing suit have a
of dead grandfathers would be consulted top?”
and rolled, squirreled away into nooks
as Marlboro smoke lofted onto the black
night—swirling in the wake of night birds as
a light gale whispered up from the South.

About the Author

Luke Black had an essay published in the book Lost on Route
66: Tales From The Mother Road, and he is desperately
hoping to catch a break in the enigmatic realm of printed
fiction.

81

WHERE I’M
FROM, THEY STILL
CELEBRATE VJ DAY

by Angelo Sylvester

When Henry found it that morning, he real- not let her lose him all over again. Grandpa
ized he never knew his grandfather. He dug Hank left the property and everything on it,
it out of the attic from a dust-covered pile to her, his only daughter. She would decide
of what had recently become his grandfa- the fate of his legacy, how the family moved
ther’s artifacts. At that point in time, what out from under the shadow of it; but this
Henry didn’t realize, although he eventual- important piece had made itself Henry’s,
ly would– when the black lacquer box with whether he wanted it or not, and he would
velvet plush insides came from Boston, its decide what to do with it.
return postage paid in full– was how of-
ten these things turn up, as the hands of Now it was dark, and as he walked to
time move over the face of history, slowly John’s garage in the humid August air he
revealing the skeletons in our loved ones’ could feel it knocking against his lower back.
collective closets. He snuck it out to show the boys that night,
wrapping it in a plain white undershirt so it
Up there, in the attic of a place he once wouldn’t clank against the bottles of beer
called home, Henry decided he would hide he had also hidden in the drawstring back-
it from his mother. At the age of 93, her pack. He hadn’t lived at home since he fin-
father, Henry’s namesake, passed away ished high school five years earlier and no
quietly while in a coma on the 7th floor of one seemed to notice he had grown-up. It’s
Rhode Island Hospital. She had just lost him, not that he wouldn’t be allowed to have
and Henry, seeing the way she quietly held the beer, it was the ceaseless questions and
her head in the hospital’s waiting room, cautions that would come with knowing he
after the doctors told her he died while had them that frustrated Henry. He passed
she waited for visiting hours to start, would his mother and Glenn at the dining room

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table on his way out, carrying the backpack him up until that night. Why did he decide
low, on his far side. They were up late again, to go then, so deep into the dogged days of
going over paperwork for the estate. Any summer? Why did he take it with him when
other night they would have asked about he did? Why that night, of all nights? Henry
the backpack if they saw it, asked him what couldn’t say. In fact, when he felt those
he was doing, where he was going– re- questions bubble up in his head on his walk
minded him to wear his mask, not to drink he repressed them. He would understand,
too much or to share– to be home by mid- later of course, that life had been much too
night, that the wake was tomorrow. But that raw then, that he was chasing a comfort in
night, his mother just picked her head up nostalgia he thought existed there, that we
and looked at him kindly. She smiled, and all think exists there, and that maybe the
all she said was, “Be safe.” thing was a peace offering, or just some-
thing interesting to bring to the table.
Henry hadn’t seen ‘the boys’ in a long
time– around two years by then, though He kept walking. It wasn’t a far walk,
the hiatus was with purpose. Nearly three about a mile in a nearly straight line. He
years into his collegiate career, Henry woke could have easily skate-boarded or just
up one morning and took account of his life. driven the distance, but he felt he had to
He looked around, saw the trash piled high walk. He wanted to; to sweat the day off, to
like termite mounds in his room and an un- walk back into the past as an act of penance.
named goon sleeping fully clothed on his
suite’s couch. He saw the number of credits When he got to John’s house the win-
he collected so far and the inbox filled with dows were dark like they had always been,
professors asking where he had been for his adopted parents away on business or
this midterm or that presentation, finally asleep. They never bothered the boys in
coming to the conclusion that he, ‘didn’t the garage, no matter how much noise
want to live and die on Long Island.’ He they made or how much their numbers
messaged John and a few others in a group swelled with the heat in summer, spilling
text, saying something along the lines of, out into the driveway, then the backyard
‘friendships never end they just change…’ and finally into the street. Henry walked
and dropped off the grid. Two years later, a up the driveway and saw the lower half of
graduate, the only one of his friends, Henry the scene in the garage cut off by the door,
reached out to John again. It was lite con- pulled two-thirds of the way down. He felt in
versation over text at first, explanations free-fall when he counted 12 pairs of feet in
and apologies, a few phone calls to make the semi-circle around the speaker system,
the sheer amount of information involved and, for a second, in the quiet, voyeuristic
in catching up, on Henry’s side of things at position out on the dark of the driveway, he
least, much easier to convey. John didn’t thought about turning back. He could tell
seem to mind at all. He said he understood, John he fell asleep or that he wasn’t feeling
that he was glad Henry did what he had to. well, ‘it was always easy to flake on flakes.’
John was the most agreeable person he had He thought. But stopping short of the door,
ever met. the backpack swayed and he felt the del-
icate weight of it inside nudge him in the
Henry had been back home since May, direction of the garage. He bent down and
avoiding all the invitations John extended to lifted the door.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Everyone in the garage turned their with his seat in a grand gesture, like the un-
attention to the shifting door as it rolled veiling of the at stake prize on a gameshow.
its way up the rusted tracks. There was a It was the most pristine lawn chair in the
moment of recognition as Henry smiled, garage, an honor amongst dirtbags. Henry
dumbly and at no one in particular, then a thanked him and sat down. He was right in
collective cheer arose, Yoooos and Ayes, like the middle of the semi-circle, between John
Henry was a long-awaited army coming to and a girl everyone seemed to know who
liberate Long Island. He recognized most of was sitting on another old acquaintance’s
the guys there, getting up to give him awk- lap. Henry recognized him but couldn’t dig
ward daps, smiling and clutching his hand, the name out of his head.
forcibly drawing him into them, chest to
chest. They were all dressed pretty much the Someone handed Henry a beer and
same, in the classic goon attire; ripped jeans, someone else popped it open for him with
some black, some acid-washed, with a set of the edge of a lighter. They asked him how he
keys dangling from a belt loop, old loosely was and he lied. They asked if he wanted a cig-
fitted t-shirts– something ironic from a thrift arette, he said sure, and someone flicked one
store or torn with road-rash, dirty sneakers at him, which he bobbled before he clamped
for skating, even if they didn’t skate, all it down against his chest. John passed him a
worn with a strain of apathy you could call lighter. Henry lit the cigarette and let it burn,
swagger. Although he always thought of flicking the ashes from time to time.
himself as a loner, a feeling he could never
shake from growing up alone, these were “Yo Hen,” said the kid with the girl on
friends Henry spent a lot of time with in his his lap, leaning forward, his eyes half shut,
teenage years. They were the first people to “Congrats man.”
make him feel he was part of anything. He
grasped for affection, some sort of thread Before he could give a hesitant, “Thank
that still connected them all together as he you?” he heard John say, “Oh shit, that’s
was met by face after smiling face, but a year right,” smiling and raising his beer above his
to a kid is still a lifetime, and he felt more head, “congrats, guy.”
than ever the gulf that two had opened up
between his past and his present. He was confused. His grandfather was
the first person close to him to ever die, and
John got up, the same hulking figure at least John knew that, but he could have
Henry remembered, not muscular in any sworn you didn’t congratulate people for
way, just large and smiling. There were mourning. Then he remembered his own
added features of time that he noticed, a graduation. He laughed nervously to him-
little more yellowing of the teeth, a few self, “Thanks, guys,” and clanked his beer
more inches of waist, some scruff– but still, into theirs before taking a drink.
John. They embraced.
Henry felt torn in two, unstuck in time.
“It’s good to see you, buddy.” John said. He finished his first beer quickly and reached
for one of his own, feeling the backpack
“Yeah man, it’s great to see you too.” under his chair. Tomorrow, he would have to
look down on his grandfather’s body– with
With one flanneled arm around Henry’s its unfamiliar youthfulness, laid in his best
shoulders, the other one presented him gray suit and burgundy tie, no medals or
pins or insignia on its lapels, just a look of

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peace on his face– and wonder how morti- “Congratulations, Henry.” He heard, in a
cians altered facial expressions and what one shy, soft voice from his left. Snapping back,
of guilt would look like etched in forever. He he turned to see it was the girl on the lap
would have to listen to the priest when he next to him.
got up and said the things that priests say:
“Hen,” his faded friend in black denim
...If they experienced said from underneath her, “this is my girl-
friend, Asuka. Asuka, this is Hen.”
punishment as men see it,
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, in
their hope was rich with immortality; perfectly learned english, a stark contrast to
whatever language Henry reverted to here,
slight was their affliction, great “you’re the last of Josh’s friends I still had
to meet.”
will their blessing be.
Henry smiled and told her the same,
God has put them to the test that it was nice to finally meet, but the
truth was Henry hadn’t heard a thing about
and proved them to be this girl, and he had no idea where and
how this kid could have met her. He hadn’t
worthy with him; even taken the chance to really notice her
since he came in, overwhelmed by his re-
he has tested them like ception and the shock a materialization of
the past can jolt through us, but when he
gold in a furnace, finally did meet her eyes, finally heard her
voice, her kindness moved him. It cut right
and accepted them as a holocaust. through the night, existing in an entirely
different reality then everything else hap-
And afterwards, at the macabre frat pening around him. Even the way she was
party his mother would host in the old dressed comforted him, like the girls they
house, where the themes were formal wear used to try and talk to at concerts or parties
and respectful tones for the dead, he would that on lucky nights would talk back. She
sneak off to his old bedroom and find it bare, had a Hello Kitty mask dangling from one
just the crusty and matted carpet from years ear and a fluorescent shirt tucked into short
of painting and the weight of old, dense jean cut-offs, so short that Henry caught a
hand-me-down furniture– the black, waist- glimpse of her underwear’s hem at their
high marks in the corner where his bed had crotch. He quickly looked away, down to
been from countless nights of restless sleep. the floor, to her woven ankle bracelets and
He would remember all the hours that he scuffed Vans, nudging the backpack a little
passed playing alone on the floor of that farther underneath his chair.
room, how it always seemed like things were
getting away from him there. Lego pieces “How long have you two been together?”
gone missing, Hot-Wheels, somehow, rolling He asked.
away on the thickly bristled carpet; how he
scraped and reddened his skinny, pale fore- The couple looked at each other with a
arms reaching under his high dresser for mutual recognition that neither had been
what had disappeared– some things within keeping very good track of time. “About four
his reach, while others were not– until his
grandfather finally came to tilt it back, Henry
marvelling at the muscles bulging from
under his thin white undershirt during the
feat of herculean strength, revealing, some-
times, the things he was looking for and
other times, nothing at all.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

months,” was their answer. Henry nodded didn’t have to wait at the stop lights if he
and took a long drink of beer. went around.”

In this way– Asuka, a question, a knod, Asuka raised her eyebrows and gave
a drink of beer– Henry grounded himself. Henry a sideways look.
Blunts and bowls were passed through him
and time started drifting by in smoke, get- “Listen,” he said, taking a drink and leaning
ting shorter and hazier, and impossible to towards her, every once in a while glancing
grasp only because it made Henry forget at her boyfriend so he didn’t get any funny
how impossible it was to grasp anyway, ideas, as if he could, at this point in the night,
making him believe the fault was the tingle get any ideas at all, “I was driving an artifact
in his fingers. Drink after drink, his troubles back then, an Oldsmobile, from before they
fell off of him like tender meat off a bone, made cars like soda cans. You feel pretty in-
and as he cooked his mind the smell of vincible driving something that weighs 1000
marijuana and the pinch of hops down his pounds more than it should, you know?”
throat brought him back to a time where
he used to laugh, often and loudly. And he “A tank.” John added.
did that night, feeling that he had walked
himself back to where home existed, back “A damn battering ram.” Henry con-
before the changes that made him take ev- firmed, taking another drink.
erything oh so seriously.
“So, he jumps the curb, and there’s like
As the night wore on the crowd thinned gazebos and shit out there, he doesn’t care,
out. Henry got a hug or a dap or a ‘good to he’s gotta get home before his mom kills
see you bro’, with every exit, until, finally, him. And he’s about to make it across, and
just the four of them remained: John, Henry, then, BAM,” John says, punching his palm,
Asuka, who occupied her own chair now, while Henry covers his face laughing, and
and her boyfriend Josh. They pulled into a Asuka leans forward with a slack-jawed
tight square and the boys folded Asuka into smile, “he hits a statue, and not just any
their life of getting into trouble together. statue, it’s a pedestal with the bust of our
great town’s founder on it.”
“No, no, let me tell it, let me tell it. So,”
John began to Asuka sitting across from him, “Oh my gosh.” She said, sincerely but
“late one night, this idiot,” he said laughing giggling.
and gesturing to Henry, who was grinning,
hand in chin, his legs crossed, “was driving “To be fair,” Henry added, “I saw it coming,
home, I forget from where, and, I don’t but brakes don’t work well on grass. Im-
know if you’ve ever been downtown, but portant lesson.”
there’s a park, with like, you know, monu-
ments and shit, to whatever, right next to “It’s a clean break, so this kid stops, gets
the train station.” out of the car– mind you, this is downtown,
and nobody sees him–”
Asuka nodded.
“Imagine?” She said, grabbing his
“So he’s driving home passing the park forearm, “You’re so lucky.”
and something possesses him to take his car
and try to cut across the grass, I guess so he Henry opened his eyes wide and shook
his head vigorously up and down.

“He gets out and he takes it. It’s like a
50 pound hunk of marble, and he puts it in

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his trunk and drives away! So now, the next else now entirely. Maybe at the wake again,
few days, there’s like a hunt for this fucking or in his old bedroom, feeling the hard white
bust, right? Dude, it’s in the paper, everyone crust on the carpet along the wall. But he
at school is talking about it–” was probably back in the attic again, right
above where he laid his head as a child,
“Did you ever get caught?” lifting the past out of the rafters.

“Nope, never. Just a secret between “What made you do that, Henry?”
me and old man Calhoun,” Henry said with
a prideful glow, “I told my parents I hit a “I don’t know, really.”
parking ballard.”
“Grandpa Hank’s Oxys probably had
“What did you do with it?” something to do with it,” John said laughing
and nudging Henry in the shoulder. Henry
“He kept it in his trunk,” John said, didn’t say anything, he just swayed with
“brought it out at parties here and stuff. It John’s push and turned to look at him.
was a big hit. Every time he would bring it
out it would have like a new piece of clothing Silence settled over the garage like a
on it or something goofy like a propeller sheet over a corpse.
hat. I remember we colored its eyes in with
sharpie–” “Hey...Hen...I, uh…”

“What happened to it? Do you still have “I’m sorry to hear about your grandfa-
it?” ther, Henry.” Asuka said, “John told us ear-
lier. I heard you were close.”
“Nah, we had to get rid of it,” Henry
said, “I couldn’t take it to school with me, “Yeah,” Henry said half-smiling at her,
too heavy. We left it in a state park a few “It’s alright, thank you.”
towns over. We set it up like a shrine, with
everything we dressed it in laid around it. He sat there for a moment under the si-
Saying it out loud actually makes it sound lence, John looking anywhere but at Henry.
super creepy and I guess it was, but it felt Even Josh in his vegetable state sensed the
pretty fitting at the time.” awkwardness of the situation, sitting up
and adjusting himself in his chair. Asuka sat
Henry threw his head back and finished leaning forward looking at Henry with her
his beer. He reached down between his legs hands clasped between her knees.
to get another one out of his backpack but
it had been his last. All that was left was its He reached down slowly and took the
hard roundness through the cheap vinyl. He drawstring backpack out from under his
drew his hand away and felt his drunken- seat.
ness crest.
“This morning we started going through
“That’s one of the craziest things I’ve his house and I found this, and I’m sorry,
ever heard,” Asuka said, amused, “if I tried but...I think I just really need to show it to
that and my parents ever found out, they’d someone.”
send me away!”
“Sure man, what is it?”
“Yeah...it would have been the end of
me.” Henry said, rising back up, somewhere Henry didn’t say anything, his drunken-
ness crested now, rolling down the other
side into depression.

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“You can show us, Henry.” him, but there he learned things you couldn’t
see in pictures or on maps. Things that would
“Yeah man, don’t worry.” make him tired but never sleepy. The fact
that, sometimes, jungle could be so dense
Henry took off the thin backpack and that it strangled itself and rotted, the stench
t-shirt and let them fall to the floor next to becoming unbearable. He read that the Japa-
him. He held it in both hands like he was nese army charged in the dead of night, when
cupping the face of a loved one. the stars were silent and you felt the weight
of months in a foxhole and two meals a day
“Whoa…” said someone in a whisper. out of a can and dysentery all in your eyelids.
“Too many, too close, and too long.” was all
With others there looking, Henry felt somebody had written. He would learn that
wrong for holding it– for having his hands neither side took many prisoners.
on it at all. He let it sit on his knees facing
him and instead gripped the seat of his chair. Eventually he would see it, but he only
clicked on it that night, just once.
The skull was yellow with a dull sheen.
There was no jaw or teeth. From what they A picture of four GIs squating and smiling
could see, under the bug stained fluorescent around a skull in a helmet, a cigarette
lights, there were chips in it, raking marks, hanging from its mouth in jest. It linked him
and words carved into its forehead, colored to the article he was looking for, but had not
in black. They read, “Guadalcanal 1943.” the heart to type the words.

Later that night, and on occasion for There would be dozens of pictures. A
years after, whenever he felt his own past pretty young woman writing a letter to her
caught in the gears of history, Henry would boyfriend in the war, looking longingly at
type that word and that year into his web the skull he had sent her for inspiration.
browser. He would see black and white pic- They were mounted on tanks and jeeps, on
tures of gaunt young men, kids really, that sign posts reminding troops to take their
reminded him of the candid senior shots malaria treatments, or what happened to
in his highschool yearbook, in long lines, Americans that surrendered on Bataan and
marching through rows of palm trees and Wake Island. There were descriptions of the
jungle. He would see figures, blurry in mo- process. Pictures of men, crouched, boiling
tion, sprinting out of boats through the things in the jungle. Henry will have seen
sea and onto beaches. Boys, kneeling and enough by then. He would wipe his browser
aiming rifles at something off frame. Some- history and try, in vain, to sleep, the dull
times he saw other gaunt kids, Japanese blue of dawn showing through his blinds.
ones, sitting behind barbed wire, guarded
by yet more kids with guns who looked like Everything was sucked out of the garage
they were dressed in their father’s soldier through the black of its hollowed eyes. Henry
uniforms. And bodies. Bodies along a shore, felt them boring into his psyche. He reached
along a road, bodies in the hands of other over and grabbed the white t-shirt and
bodies that just happened to be standing wrapped it back up so time could find its legs
up with the same look in their eyes as the again. He held the white bundle in his lap.
dead.
“He fought in World War Two, but I
He looked for first hand accounts. Most of never heard him talk about it. My mom had
the diaries were written by boys younger than

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Revista Literária Adelaide

to tell me.” He said, “I had to look up where few remained intact enough to make out
Guadalcanal was. It’s an island in Guam and their images. They were snapshots of land-
I guess there was a battle there. He would scapes, deeply focused pictures of wheat or
have only been 16.” corn fields and plains and mountains; they
had smeared inscriptions at the bottom
The others were silent. like, Arkansas 1947, or Montana 1948. One
picture was of a group of big white tents in
Asuka looked at the ground and what looked like the middle of nowhere.
squeezed her eyes shut. Lingering there Another, showed a woman standing next
with her hands on the arms of her chair as to a car on the side of a dirt road. She was
if she was about to push herself up, she let lifting up her skirt to reveal a tattoo on her
out a deep breath. She waved a hand be- thigh. Henry remembered his grandfather’s
hind her as she got up and almost ran out own faded tattoos, which he only caught
of the garage, flinging the door up as she a glimpse of on occasion. The last picture
left. The opening framed her away into the in the pile was the most pristine, a gaunt,
night. It had started to rain some time ago. young man, squatting in the sand holding
a rifle. He was smiling. The year 1945 was
Josh followed her with his head to the written on the back in light, slighted letters.
maximum angle his neck would allow.
“Henry?”
“Suka’!” He managed to blurt out before
he tried to go after her, but the light alu- He jumped, almost putting his knee
minium chair slipped out from under him through the ceiling. He saw his mother’s
when he shifted his weight. head hovering shoulder height above the
floor. He felt himself heat-up.
After Josh scrambled out of the ga-
rage, John and Henry stared at each other, “You scared the shit out of me.”
alone. Then John looked down to the white
bundle. A deep shame welled up in Henry, “You scared me, I thought you left.”
the kind he knew, thereafter, would never
leave him. He picked up his backpack and “Why would that have scared you?” He
without a word put the bundle inside and said, looking back at what he found.
walked out into the rain.
His mother climbed the last few steps
The next day, after the wake, after he had and followed what floor boards there were
slipped away from the consolations of rela- to get as close to him as she could. She
tives he had never met and didn’t care to, found a 5-gallon bucket and flipped it over,
Henry quietly pulled down the attic stairs. dusting off the bottom. She sat down.
He crouched back to the corner where he
found it, and resumed his search from the “You look tired today.”
day before, kneeling on two parallel ceiling
beams. Digging deeper he found other ar- “I was out late last night, at John’s.”
tifacts. Postcards from Australia and Tokyo, Henry said, trying to subtly square his body
dog-tags, a single, unopened letter from, to obstruct his mother’s view of what he was
who he assumed to be, his great-grandpar- doing.
ents. Under that layer he found a rusted
black box filled with pictures. Most had “How is John?”
been crinkled to the point of linen, but a
“The same, you know? All those guys are.”

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His mother looked at him as he stared off he thought was right, even when he didn’t
at the patchwork attic floor. want to.”

“He would have been proud of you, you “Was he a good dad?”
know.”
“As a parent, no, not the best.” She ex-
“I know.” haled, “But he really had to change direc-
tions once I was born, and he had to do
“What are you doing up here?” She it alone. That’s not easy. I know men who
asked, after a moment, craning her neck. wouldn’t.”

“Just looking through a bunch of grand- Henry nodded. He contemplated asking
pa’s old stuff.” He turned around and about her mother, he didn’t know much
grabbed the dog tags and gave them to her, more than that she died right after his
then the picture he had in his hand. mother was born. He wanted to show her
what else he had found, the picture of the
“Wow,” she said, with a laugh, “I’ve actu- woman or the picture of the tents, maybe
ally never seen these before. Look at him.” the letter from her grandparents, forever
She held up the picture of his grandfather unopened. But she would find all these
in the sand. things on her own, he thought, it was all
hers now anyway. Then he thought, or
“He looks just like you, Henry.” maybe he was always thinking about what
she would never find, what he would send
His mother lowered the picture to see away, off on its final journey.
her son cast in a gray light coming through
the attic’s small, circular window. She “You know what though?” His mother
reached forward and gave him his grandfa- asked. “I think he really hit his stride as a
ther’s things and kissed her fingers sticking grandfather. By the time we moved back in
them on his forehead. with him, he really...put the pieces together.
Finally knew how to teach right from wrong
“We’ll be downstairs.” She said, getting and set a decent example.” She said, and
up. smiled.

“Hey, mom…” he said, stopping her “... He looked at her and smiled back, “I’ll be
was he, a good guy? Grandpa, I mean.” down in a second.”

She thought for a moment, “Yes, I think
so. He wasn’t perfect, but he always did what

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THE BLIGHTED
MADONNA

by Lynn Dowless

There was a lady once, an extremely at- in the lush green grass by the riverside, all
tractive lady, who appeared as to hold the to the spellbound delight of her employers.
beauty of the holy cherubs in her warm Just having the chance to gaze upon her as
pleasant face and upon her delicate fragile she labored, to behold the flow of the paint
body. Her hair was black as coal fresh from pouring from her brush, then moving as if
the Pennsylvania hills, gliding down her by it’s own motivation to form the most ma-
neck, showering her shoulders and hips. jestic of portraits, was surly a gift from the
Her eyes were dark as new onyx, her skin high angels above that labored diligently to
clear and fair as newly fallen snow. When please hexed, bedazzled eyes.
she spoke her voice was perfectly free of
any rasp or stuttering stumble. Her return from her labors found her en-
tering a rambling magnificent mansion that
Any of those who’s eyes fell upon her sat tucked away in the midst of a hundred
were immediately hypnotized by her beauty, acre wooded estate. Her husband was surly
her delicate mannerisms, the form and mo- blessed and delighted by the spell of her
tion of her body. Her mind was blessed with charm, and the success in her endeavors.
the intellect of omniscient angels, and her As she rode throughout the wooded estate
vivid imagination knew no limitations. upon her healthy shinning stallion’s back,
all the men of the surrounding community
Behold, she was an instructor by trade, ceased their labors whilst in the dusty fields
and a contracted artist by choice. She ex- without, just to gaze forward with wide
celled in both areas of endeavor. The opened, bedazzled eyes. Surly her dear hus-
wealthiest individuals always sought out band had found the blessing from the an-
her artistic ability, employing her to paint gels on high he had prayed so intensely for,
fantastic and imaginative wall paper mu- they said. “Oh how we do envy him,” they
rals. On the walls of those splendid man- spoke among themselves in private!
sions she painted scenes of angelic battles,
of blessed nymphs corrupting weak men for I soon was taken by her enchanted spell,
the purpose of military conquest, of lovers mesmerized by the motion of her gait and

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the skill in her artistic talent. My eyes were Behold, I saw her as she stepped out of the
frozen upon the wooden door of the class- back door and into the wood stand, meeting
room as my racing heart anticipated the the dreadful demon as he handed her that
time of her emergence through. Upon her beckoning hexing herb, bearing a compul-
entrance all the male children did gasp, sion far greater than the power of mortal
and the females studied her habits out of a will to refuse. She raised the crystal herb up
desire to emulate her ways. All of the kids to her blood red lips. Aye, she gently placed
were eager to please her, each of the boys it upon her delicate tongue! The euphoria it
desiring that she find favor with them, and brought her pleasured her beyond that of any
them alone. other experience in her entire background.
She would cease in her taking of the herb,
I performed at my best in her class, only to be compelled into a greater need for
holding a secret desire that she would praise it. Through that increased need the demon
the quality of my work above all others in seized her heart, soon ruling her mind, and
the class. When she approached my place as her every future action or endeavor.
I sat cross legged upon the floor, she would
look down, smiling upon me as though she I saw her as she fell upon her knees,
greatly approved, and my eyes were simply pleading unto the sable demon for more
frozen by the fact that her gentle face was herb, her and the demon falling into the lush
now gazing deeply into mine. grass, her giving any pleasure of his demand
until he soon had his fill. Now the demon re-
The years passed and she only grew into fused her gracious gifts of the flesh, only de-
a more mesmerizing dazzling beauty, raising manding gold in exchange for the venerated
three wonderful girls just as beautiful as crystal herb of terrible Mephistopheles. I saw
herself. By now I had long since moved on, her fall as she wept, pleading unto a merciful
my mind only drifting back to occasionally generosity within him she so intensely longed
reflect upon her face frozen into my vivid for, but one he so greatly lacked.
memory. My car came to pause by the
roadside, seemingly as though by it’s own Behold, I saw her as she ripped the pris-
spontaneous motivation. I eased through tine exotic wood from the walls of her most
the wood stand until I came into clear view elegant mansion. I saw her as she traded an-
of the concealed mansion she still dwelt in. cient valuable tables, and those extremely
cherished charms from far away lands, for any
Behold, I saw her when she walked as pittance offered forth by her forlorn neigh-
though her feet never touched the floor, in bors, who only saw in her the chance to take
and out of the doorway. I saw her as she an advantage. I saw her trade her horses for
glided into the horse stable, racing around some small gift, but a small gift allowing her
the pasture sitting proudly upon the back of to receive a share of the vexing cursed herb.
her majestic shinning midnight stallion. For
days I was frozen into my hiding place, my I saw her as she traded all of the majestic
eyes and my heart refusing to allow me to trees from her now decaying estate. I saw
move on. I subsisted on bleach treated ditch her as she traded the pleasures of the flesh
water and previously made pemmican. I to her neighbors, who soon only tired of
could not move, but only was contented to her favors. I saw her as she stole gold from
observe the hexing captivating angel I was her dear father, who was bowed and heavy
much to young to hold. laden with the ages; then her husband

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whilst he was away at labor. My eyes were Her artistic talents fled from her grasp. Her
with her as she roamed the streets in search cherished husband..., her warm once caring
of any opportunity to seize more gold from adoring husband..., understandably fled
those of whom were unsuspecting, or trade from her presence. An oozing foul yellow
flesh for only another small share. pestilence crept from deep within her eyes,
pouring forth from within her ears. A strange
Her most abhorrent action was when she hacking cough caused her to double over as
traded her precious daughters to the wicked she gasped for breath. A brilliant crimson
demon for only another insignificant mea- rash covered and consumed her quivering
sure. The demon then seized the daughters body; no physician held the urgent cure; and
up, taking them deep into his lair, only to the Lord of the heavens above heard not her
trade them repeatedly until his supply of cries for relief, nor her begging prayers for
crystal herb replenished, and his solicitors his unhesitating mercy.
tired of the favors this wicked fiend forced
from the shivering, weeping trio. I saw her as her once most majestic mag-
nificent mansion was wrested from her grasp
But the spirits in the woodland wit- by the demon, and she was forever cast forth
nessed her depraved transgressions, as did into the outer void, condemned to walk the
the angels in high heaven. Her accusers street-sides, begging for solace, shelter, and
then met with the omniscient Lord Of All nourishment. Her precious daughters were
The Universe, whose sacred council con- soon saved by holy cherubs, forever keeping
vened her trial by court in the heavens them from her tainted hazed eyes.
above. Due to her crimes, especially those
crimes committed upon her own daughters, I finally sickened of the sights before me,
she was declared guilty and condemned ambling silently through the wood stand,
into the filthy hands of Appolyon, who was making my way back toward my car as it sat
then allowed to do with her as he pleased. waiting by the roadside. As I drove down
that lone narrow paved road so deep inside
Behold, her hair of radiant flowing charm the soaring timber, I motored passed her
fell from it’s seat upon her head. Her immac- ragged skeleton figure clothed in her foul,
ulate teeth fell from their seat within her horridly corrupted flesh, glancing upward
once most delicate mouth. Her flesh dried, into my rear view mirror only to see her tar-
until only thin skin remained upon ragged nished, shriveled form vanish, as I made my
bones; but she still lived only to suffer hor- way around the sharp curb ahead.
ribly, and was very much alive all of the way.

About the Author

Lynn Dowless is an international academic Instructor.
He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest
publications have been two books of nonfiction with
Algora Publishing, and fictional publications with combo
e-zines and print magazines; Leaves Of Ink, Short Story
Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales.

93

THE HEART OF A
REVOLUTIONARY

by Jacob McLaws

Zhang Tianyu is being released from the hos- The heart—which according to the dos-
pital today. The Peking Union Medical Col- sier formerly belonged to Xiralijan Saadi—
lege Hospital. I smoke as I wait for him out- was delivered from far away in the west. The
side. He won’t notice me. He’s never seen donation was not part of my assignment,
me before. And plus, I’m in civilian clothes but I did a thorough reading of the report
and blending right in. No police jacket, no to better understand what I might watch for.
insignia, no stab vest, no gun.
The director of the reeducation center
Tailing Zhang Tianyu is a top secret as- in Xinjiang, where Saadi had been staying,
signment. My supervisor said the boss asked included only this in his memo:
specifically for me, given my experience. He
didn’t go so far as to say it, but the strong Uncooperative with officials and proce-
implication was that this is an assignment dures. Radical revolutionary ideologies per-
coming directly from the top. sisted at time of death. All organs, excluding
liver, in good health and recommended for
Here, in essence, are my orders: Observe use at Party discretion.
Zhang Tianyu, the chairman of the Zhu Yuan
Pork Company, following his heart trans- Chairman Zhang emerges from the hos-
plant. Record detailed notes on his activities pital, pushed in a wheelchair by the family’s
and report any and all evidence of political maid and accompanied by his plump wife.
dissidence, revolutionary action, terrorism, I’m on my motorcycle by the time his driver
ethnic separatism, religious extremism, or pulls out of the parking lot and I follow the
criticism of the Party. black car as it moves slowly down Dongsi
Street. It’s not a long trip. The driver lets
Chairman Zhang’s loyalty has not been them out in front of their mansion just in-
in question before—I combed the logs to be side of Second Ring and the doorman holds
sure—and he is by all standards a loyal party the door for them as they enter.
member. But we must be diligent at times
like these. Especially when dealing with the This will be a challenging case, I know.
heart of a revolutionary. Due to the top secret nature of this assign-
ment, and a recent uptick in the number of

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suspected dissidents that must be surveilled, jacket. To really seal the deal, I’ve slung a
I’ve been allocated no additional headcount heavy tool bag over my shoulder. I squint
to aid me in monitoring Chairman Zhang’s at the doorman and explain I’ve come to
home. I will have to make do with what I fix the internet in a voice that sounds much
can manage on my own. Now that I’ve as- older than my own. He’s been told by the
certained the location of the chairman’s maid to expect an internet serviceman and
current lodgings I must begin to make my he lets me in without question. I ask the
arrangements. maid, who meets me at the door, how long
the internet has been off and she explains
I return to the station and retrieve the the situation with a truly painful amount of
van. The van will be my home for the next six additional superfluous details included. But
months. It’s a small van—unassuming; not I nod along patiently as she goes on and on.
old, not new—with the characters State Grid I play the part of a respectful serviceman
Beijing Electric Power Company decaled masterfully. I doubt even Ge You could do
onto the sides and rear. I park around the any better.
corner from the apartment in a quiet alley
and squeeze into the chair in the back where I’ll have to take a look at the routers, I
I boot up the computer. First I tap into the say.
CCTV camera monitoring the street. Then I
hook into the China Unicom internet service I see, she says.
provider portal to track digital communica-
tion and web usage. Lastly, and this is a bit She leads me around the multiple floors
trickier, I run a search for all SIM cards reg- of the large, lavish home and I pretend to
istered to Zhang or his family members and adjust and test each router in turn.
cross-reference that with all the telecom
pings for active SIMs in the area. I’ll keep Yes, I see the problem, I say confidently.
track of ingoing and outgoing calls on each. The maid is quite dull and my sleight of hand
is much too practiced for her to perceive as I
I’ve worked up an appetite so I put on connect the smallest of cameras and micro-
my coat, walk down the street, and buy a phones to each router’s battery units.
couple dozen baozi at the corner. That will
last me a day or two. Back at the van I re- Is this all of them? I ask after the third.
move my jacket, lean back in my chair, and Are there routers in the bedrooms? I’ll need
watch the monitors while I eat. to fix those too.

* We cross paths with Chairman Zhang
on the way into the bedroom and I bow my
Today will be important. This morning I dis- head to keep him from seeing my eyes. My
abled Zhang’s internet. Then, I intercepted disguise is good, but you can never be too
the maid’s call to China Unicom. With my careful. My bow and whispered apology will
best impersonation of a customer support be interpreted as deference to a wealthy
agent, I promised to send someone to fix businessman of a class well-above my pre-
the issue immediately. tended station. The ploy works. He doesn’t
even acknowledge me. With the two bed-
Now I’m standing in front of their man- rooms bugged, I use my phone to turn the
sion, disguised in a thin fake mustache, a internet back on. The dull maid smiles with
wispy wig, a hat, and a padded workman’s relief as she confirms the signal has re-
turned and I even go through the motions

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of getting her signature on a service form imaginary, of course, but it’s good practice
before making my exit. nonetheless. I need to keep my mind sharp
for these sorts of things.
*
I’ve begun reading Saadi’s radical revolu-
My supervisor says he is pleased with the tionary writings to better understand what I
progress so far, but I can tell from his voice should be watching for. They were censored
that he wants more from me. My supervi- and confiscated around the time of his ar-
sor is a hard man, but not unfair. He under- rest, of course, but I’ve been granted access
stands the personal sacrifices his detectives to digital records based on the nature of
make for the good of society, for the Party. my assignment. To be honest, I find them
hard to get through, not just for their log-
I have eaten only baozis and takeout la- ical gaps—though they’re rife with rhetor-
mian for the last three weeks. I have two ical and manipulative tricks—but for their
two-liter bottles. I drink from one and piss grumbling, carping tone. Is a Muslim never
into the other. I hold my bowel movements contented? What more can they ask from
inside all day until I’m sure the chairman is the Party than the Party has already gener-
deep asleep, when I can hear him snoring ously given? The Party gives them protec-
in his bed. And even then I never spend tion, educates them, finds jobs for them,
more than twenty minutes walking to and even sends Han men out west to wed their
shitting in the toilet at the public park. I’ve daughters. Truth be told, I don’t think their
slept reclined in the chair at the rear of the women are as beautiful as they’re made out
van every single night since I began. My to be. I’ve seen the promotional material—
back hurts, but I will not complain aloud. young Uyghur women are attractive and
I defy anyone to find a hard-working com- caring and yada yada yada. I call bullshit. Us
rade who’s back doesn’t hurt. educated men out here in the capital know
what taking a Uyghur wife really means. It
My daily reports are boring, even to me. means you’re desperate.
The chairman rests most of the day, getting
up to use the restroom, eat, and occasion- *
ally take business calls in his study. I watch
and listen when he’s up and about, but it’s A fruit basket has been blocking my cam-
all talk of sales numbers and operational era’s view of the living room for the last for-
efficiency. To entertain myself I make up ty eight hours. The chairman has received
secret revolutionary codes. For example, many gifts from partners and associates
each time Chairman Zhang mentions Re- wishing him a quick recovery after the
gional Manager Li, I let myself interpret it transplant. A lot of wine and cigars as well
as code for a revolutionary accomplice of as vitamin supplements, lotions, and what
his in Urumchi. Their financial projections must be a dozen varieties of high-end teas.
for next quarter are their veiled plans for
growing the religion’s membership num- Tonight there’s nothing going on. I
bers. The figures of pigs slaughtered and watch the chairman as he lights a thick
pork sold each month are code for secret cigar, propped up in his bed. In the back
acts of terrorism and violence performed of the small cold van I light myself a ciga-
by extremist Uyghur terrorists against my rette. Both of us smoke and I try to match
comrades stationed in the west. It’s all my drags to his slow pace. He turns on the

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TV and now we’re just two men smoking, does anything other than walk and pause
watching the late-night news together. After next to trees and breathe in the fresh air
a few minutes I remember something and from the leaves. He never meets up with
put out the cigarette. What I remember is anyone, never even stops to buy a snack.
that I’ve heard stories of detectives falling Today, however, I could tell something was
in love with their subjects. Maybe it’s some different. He walked faster than normal and
variation of the Stockholm syndrome. You took a new route. He stopped outside of an
spend so much time watching your assignee apartment building, checked his phone,
that you build up a closeness, an unwanted looked around to make sure no one was
fondness towards them. It’s more common watching him, and then rang the buzzer. The
with male detectives assigned to surveil door unlocked and he went inside. Exactly
suspicious women, I suppose, but you can two hours later he emerged and headed
never be too careful about these types of home. I waited and was able to snap a few
things. I certainly don’t want to develop any photos of the woman when she exited the
special feelings for Zhang Tianyu. apartment fifteen minutes later. In the van
afterwards I went back over the text conver-
* sations from the chairman’s phone and then
cross-referenced my photos of her face with
We’re three months into the assignment government records. The woman, it turns
and I’ve collected nothing of any real impor- out, was born in Yining.
tance. It’s appearing more and more likely
that Chairman Zhang has been unaffected by Cavorting with Xinjiang-born escorts is
Saadi’s radicalist organ. I’ve kept track of the not necessarily cause for alarm. A man of
visitors carefully. Zhang’s son has come and Zhang Tianyu’s status and wealth probably
gone three times, twice with his full-breasted purchases high-end service women of many
wife in tow and once alone. Two of Zhang’s different ethnic backgrounds. But for this
direct reports, Fu Wenming and Zhao Lin, to be his first choice after the heart trans-
have come and conferenced in the study. plant? It does strike the keen observer as
Mostly, however, Chairman Zhang lounges something worth noting, does it not?
around the house between business calls—
eating, smoking, and watching TV. It’s been *
rather boring. Apparently Chairman Zhang
is feeling healthier though. He had sex with Chairman Zhang is now going into the office
his wife this week. It was short-lived, but it’s on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I
something. I add it to the report. will have to find a way to observe him there.
For now, when he’s inside the building I sit
* and wait for him just outside, monitoring
his cell phone calls and messages on my lap-
The game is afoot at last. Finally, something top. Nothing very interesting has happened
worth reporting. It’s not damning in and of recently. The good news is that the office is
itself, but my supervisor will be happy to very close to a delicious noodle shop. I’m
see some questionable activity. sick of eating baozi in the back of the van.

Chairman Zhang has begun taking after- *
noon strolls around the neighborhood. I tail
him on foot from a distance, but he never Another incident!

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There I was sitting in the van listening in that I’d blended in perfectly like I always
on/watching the chairman’s phone call with do. But when he opens his eyes he’s staring
his son. Chairman Zhang had been drinking. right at me. It’s surreal to be seen by him, to
He was upset at reports that a virus in the make direct eye contact with Zhang Tianyu.
south is going to cause the company to I have been an invisible specter observing
shut down production at the pig farms. He his every action for over four months. I
was in his study on speakerphone, com- know him intimately, like a son knows his
plaining about how much it’s going to cost father. Or maybe more like a lover knows
the company to shut down the entire farm his paramour. I know the songs he hums in
and slaughterhouse. He was practically the morning after he showers, his prefer-
shouting. Then, in a lowered tone, he said ence for extra green onions on his eggplant
it. This whole virus ordeal has been handled at lunch, the sounds of his flatulence, what
extremely poorly. From the very top, I mean. he values most in his employees, what he
Shutting down production! What kind of im- scrolls through on his phone while he is sit-
becilic– ting on the toilet. I know all that, and yet
this is the first time that I’ve actually seen
Zhang’s son tried to calm his drunken into Zhang Tianyu’s dark eyes.
father. The situation is complex, Ba. Things
will be alright though. The company is He’s approaching me at the bench now
strong. The Party supports you. and I try to appear natural, try to look un-
phased.
But there we have it. On tape. Criticism
of the Party leadership! I’m practically bub- Nice weather, isn’t it? he says as he sits
bling as I send it off. My supervisor will enjoy down beside me. His voice is more reso-
this report. nant in person than it’s sounded through
my headphones in the van all these months.
*
Quite nice, I respond. I can’t think of
Another walk this afternoon. It doesn’t look anything more to say. My mind is blank. My
like he’s heading to visit a woman again to- heart is racing. We sit there, the two of us
day. This time he heads to the park. A nice both looking out at the lake, and a feeling
day for it too. Everyone in Beijing should be of deja vu comes over me. Something about
outside on rare days like this. There’s a soft sitting on this same bench with my father
breeze and the sun is out, but with only the years and years ago. And momentarily, I
undertones of that terrible summer heat confuse the two men. In my disoriented
that is in soon in store. dizziness, I wonder if Chairman Zhang is my
father. I am ten years old and at the park
He’s standing beneath a tree, his head on the bench with my father looking out at
lifted, eyes closed, breathing in and out with the red-crowned fairy cranes standing in the
long pauses in between. I’ve seated myself shallow area of the lake.
on a bench across the way.
No.
I’ve grown sloppy, I’ll realize later. Maybe
it’s sleep deprivation or maybe it’s poor No. I am special detective Chu Min-
diet, but my brain isn’t functioning at full gliang. Twenty-eight-years old. And this
speed these days. I’d assumed he hadn’t man beside me is not my father. He is the
noticed me at all over these past months, man I have been assigned to investigate on

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