Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 42, November 2020

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 42, November 2020 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 42, novembro 2020
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-953510-92-1
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter- Adelaide Franco Nikolic
national monthly publication, based in New York and
Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality Adelaide Books LLC, New York
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as
well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding
literary fiction, nonfic-tion, and poetry, and to promote Lisa Reily, Jim Woessner,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and Natalie Hampton, James Baughman,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Ron Singer, Roger McKnight, Brandy McKay,

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men- Michael Emeka, Ashley Jones,
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Katie Kopacz, Abhirup Dutta,
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Magdalena Blazevic, Lana Ayers,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é Ed Meek, Brian Schulz, Cat Sole,
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de David Robbins, Sebastian Raedler,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas Gary Jaycox, Mary Jane White, Lisa Chow,
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos Wendy A. Miller, Svitlana Matiushenko-
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Musyj, Jeff Loeb, Grove Koger,
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- John Lambremont, Sarah Stephens,
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên- Mary Jane White, Lisa Reily,
cia literária mais vasta. Roseangelina Baptista, Bess Amelia Yeager,
Art Sorrentino, I.G., Ken Schweda,
(http://adelaidemagazine.org) Rikki Santer, Lorraine Caputo, Daniel King,
Nathanael OReilly, Alan Britt, Shera Hill,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Reed Venrick, Duane Anderson,
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27
New York NY, 10001 Byron Beynon
e-mail: [email protected]
phone: (917) 477 8984
http://adelaidebooks.org

Copyright © 2019 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-zine
Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-tations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS NONFICTION

FICTION BERNIE, DOROTHY, AND CATHERINE
by Mary Jane White 119
HER PINK ROSE TEACUP
by Lisa Reily 7 LIVING IN THE EYE OF THE STORM
by Wendy A. Miller 142
DIXON RIDGE
by Jim Woessner 12 JAM SESSION
by Svitlana Matiushenko-Musyj 151
ALL FLOWERS MUST EVENTUALLY WILT
by Natalie Hampton 18 STACI
by Jeff Loeb 158
WHERE THE MONEY ISN’T
by Ron Singer 21 OUZO: A TASTE OF GREECE
by Grove Koger 166
PULPIT ROCK: A REVERIE IN THREE ACTS
by Roger McKnight 31 POETRY

SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET VIRTUAL REALITIES
by Brandy McKay 41 by John Lambremont 171

AGAINST ALL ODDS LIE WITH ME IN THIS MOMENT
by Michael Emeka 44 by Sarah Stephens 175

GONE WITH A TRACE AMULET
by Ashley Jones 51 by Mary Jane White 179

THE SITE OLD WORLD MONKEY
by Katie Kopacz 54 by Lisa Reily 187

THE TWO-TAILED MONSTER CAT ALMA DESATADA
by Abhirup Dutta 60 by Roseangelina Baptista 192

THE DEATHWATCH MEMENTO
by Magdalena Blazevic 68 by Bess Amelia Yeager 194

BARISTA BOB BE SURE TO SHOW YOUR WORK
by Lana Ayers 73 by Art Sorrentino 196

LUCKY CHARMS THE HARDEST PART
by Ed Meek 83 by I.G. 199

WINTER’S CALL ENCOUNTER WITH EINSTEIN
by Brian Schulz 90 by Ken Schweda 202

PANOPTICON TWO WINDOWS
by Cat Sole 97 by Rikki Santer 204

THE ENGLISH SUITE THE CITY
by Sebastian Raedler 104 by Lorraine Caputo 207

THE COMPANY OF TREES
by Gary Delmar Jaycox 114

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RACING THE SUPERNOVA INTERVIEWS
by Daniel King 211
DAVID DEPHY
VICTORIA PARK LAKE A GEORGIAN / AMERICAN POET, NOVELIST,
by Nathanael OReilly 215 MULTIMEDIA ARTIST 233

EVENING NEWS GARY PEDLER
by Alan Britt 217 AUTHOR OF GAYDONIA 239

THE FIRST LOCKDOWN A CHAT WITH MARK SABA 243
by Shera Hill 222
WAYNE F. BURKE
THE CORK OAK OF PORTUGAL AUTHOR OF TURMOIL
by Reed Venrick 224 & OTHER STORIES 248

VISITOR FOR THE DAY
by Duane Anderson 226

YELLOW
by Byron Beynon 229

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FICTION



HER PINK ROSE

TEACUP

by Lisa Reily

Steve was just another in a long line of A final dinner plate and the sink emptied
men. But he was kinder somehow. So Gem- noisily. Gemma sat at the kitchen table and
ma married him. She felt nothing on their watched Steve as he put the dishes away.
wedding day and just went through the His reliable tidiness, the clink of plate upon
motions. Steve could have been anybody, plate.
really. He was simply the first to propose.
Steve turned to find her eyes on him
Gemma had been to the library that af- and responded with a bow and a dramatic
ternoon, straight after work. She knew Ray- flourish of the tea towel. He folded it per-
mond would be there. fectly in half and hung it inside the cup-
board. Gemma considered his big teeth grin.
“I kept this aside for you,” Raymond How could she tell him?
smiled over the counter.
That night, when Steve was asleep, she
It was a book about living in Italy; printed her ticket.
Gemma had told him only last week she’d
had a dream to return there. She accepted Gemma’s mother had always told her
the book without really looking at it. In- that a good man was hard to find, and only
stead, she looked at Raymond. the most beautiful women could catch
one. Gemma knew she wasn’t beautiful;
* her mum had made sure of that. But even
though her mother had been gone for five
Washing the dishes back at home, Gemma years now, Gemma still needed her. She
handed her favourite pink rose teacup to needed her approval and advice, however
Steve, who wiped it methodically. She stared skewed.
out the window. The sea was in darkness.
Most of Gemma’s twenties were spent
“Such a pretty cup,” said Gemma. “I’ve avoiding men, or trawling with a net so
always loved it.” wide she was destined to catch creatures
she was never meant to catch. So when she
“I remember when I bought it for you. I hit thirty and Steve got snagged in her net,
knew you had a special spot for it,” winked
Steve.

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she didn’t throw him back. She held onto the first place. She was over her friends—if
him; he was a wonderful man. Probably not that’s what you could call them. They just
meant for her. wanted her to fit in, have husbands and ba-
bies just like them.
Gemma put the ticket in her handbag.
She pictured Raymond in his corduroy Gemma got on her flight and headed off
jacket. He was a would-be writer working into the sky. As she leaned back in her seat
in a library. Okay. So he was a cliché. But and looked out to the blur of civilisation
there was a definite spark between them— below, the world seemed tiny to her. She
just another thing she didn’t want to start. was glad she was alone, away from Ray-
She would leave him behind. Twisted in her mond—she’d made enough mistakes. She
net. collapsed into the darkness of the plane
and cried hot, quiet tears until nothing was
* left of her. She didn’t exist, and that was
how she liked it. She knew no one; that’s
Guilt rose through Gemma when Steve how she liked it, too.
kissed her goodbye that final morning. He
had no idea she would not be there for *
dinner. There would be no meal waiting for
him. It would be their tenth anniversary the By the time Gemma arrived in Florence,
next day, and she’d be gone. she was a wreck. Her hotel looked as dated
as it had on the internet, but it was clean
A note for Steve waited blankly on the and affordable. She took a shower; it was
kitchen table. Gemma imagined him coming a tiny cubicle with a small step in it—a kind
home from work, sneaking in his special bag of seat. Gemma slumped, knees bent, with
of ingredients, only to find it waiting for him. the water scalding her skin, her feet wrin-
There’d be none of his night time escapades kling in the small, rising pool. She’d never
to make their anniversary cake. No tip- really been alone before. She was not sure
toeing to the kitchen while she was asleep. if she could do it, always moving from one
No pink rose teacup waiting for her in the man disaster to the next. There was barely
morning. She’d never told him the scent of a breath between them… sometimes no air
his rich, chocolatey baking had woken her at all.
every year.
That night, Gemma walked the Piazza
Gemma sipped from her pink rose del Duomo. It was crowded and the heavy
teacup. She felt sick; she hadn’t expected beauty of Florence was more lovely than
that. Then she sobbed, hard and desperate. she remembered. Il Duomo Di Firenze, the
Almost choking. She was fed up with Steve huge gothic cathedral, stood in the centre
and their stupid cabin. He was never going of the piazza like an enormous white wed-
to fix it. It was damp and the paint outside ding cake, its intricate panels trimmed in
was peeling. It was no longer a romantic no- pale green, pink and gold.
tion to live with him by the sea.
Gemma remembered coming here with
She was sick of everything. Her life, her best friend, Fran. They’d been so excited
her job. She wasn’t a teacher, she was a about their first overseas trip, they thought
babysitter—a surrogate parent, raising kids they’d come back to live in Florence one day.
for people who shouldn’t have had them in

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Marry sexy Italian men, grow grapes—make By next evening, Gemma was in Venice.
fine Italian wine. Fran would have been for- She ate dinner alone, as usual. But this time
ty-two this month. she chose a romantic restaurant. It was by
the Grand Canal and, even though it was
After a consoling pasta, eaten standing still light, candles flickered gently on each
up at a rustic take-away, and a free wine in table. For a treat, she ordered the Risotto
a plastic cup, Gemma made her way back al nero di seppia, a seafood risotto. It was
to her hotel. It was wonderful to hear snip- thick and jet-black, courtesy of a squid and
pets of Italian from passers-by. But there its ink. It was delicious.
was no talking for her. No explaining. No
pretending. And no bumping into anyone. Gemma surveyed the couples at each
Only a hungry street cat or two— table and wondered if she could ever be
like them. Even the odd ones looked beau-
A memory of Steve suddenly intruded. tiful to her. Happy. She imagined how they
Their holiday to Queensland. The stray met and fell in love. She’d never really been
cat on the mat outside their hotel room. in love. She had loved Fran, more than
Steve had picked up the sickly, skinny thing, anyone. She’d chosen her as her best friend
cleaned it up and fed it till it nearly burst. and Fran had never let her down. Gemma
Mat Cat, Steve had called him. By the time hadn’t chosen anyone else in her life. Not
they left, Mat Cat had recovered and the even Steve.
hotel owner decided to keep him.
After two full weeks in Venice, Gemma fi-
Gemma checked her emails. Mostly junk. nally caved in and paid the extortionate fee
And one from Steve. She could not bear to for a gondola ride. In preparation, she pur-
read it. Not on her first day here. She cre- chased a cup of the darkest-of-dark choc-
ated a new folder; everything from Steve’s olate gelato. She scooped a taste and the
email address would automatically go there. heavenly weight of cacao filled her mouth.
That way, she wouldn’t have to face him. The flavour was so intense, she thought
she’d never need a man again!
After three weeks in Florence, Gemma
visited the Basilica di Santa Croce, the burial Giovanni, the gondolier, in his red-and-
place of such eminent Italians as Michelan- white striped shirt and straw hat, was a
gelo, Galileo and Rossini. She and Fran had handsome Italian, who (of course) called
studied them in school and it had been a her bella several times. He took Gemma’s
thrill for them to visit their tombs. hand to help her on board, swathed her in
a soft blanket and glided her away between
Walking through the church alone now, the damp stone walls of the narrow canals.
headphones on, the story of Michelangelo’s
nephew secretly transporting Michelange- Giovanni manoeuvred the gondola past
lo’s body from Rome to Florence penetrated pretty boats and under balconies bursting
Gemma’s ears. She stopped before his tomb with bright red geraniums. They drifted by
and felt the ice cold of marble all around beautiful old buildings, their entrance steps
her. The excitement that she and Fran had completely submerged. Terracotta, egg
felt here, their love of history and its sto- yellow, and musk pink façades gave way
ries, suddenly escaped her. It felt quiet now. to the elements, leaving paint peeling and
Impersonal. Michelangelo lay close, but he handsome brick exposed.
was gone. Like Fran.

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“Okay, bella? Cold?” Giovanni enquired, Gemma didn’t dare tell Giovanni that
looking back at Gemma. her husband was alive and well. Somehow,
away from Steve, her love for him had
Gemma nodded, smiled. She pulled the grown without her consent. Or perhaps it
blanket around herself, grateful for its cosy had been growing quietly all along, like an
reassurance. She was glad for Giovanni’s arranged marriage, where love sometimes
company. But for the first time since leaving, grows from the beginnings of nothing.
she felt completely alone.
Back in her hotel room, Gemma’s hand
Gemma stared down at her gelato. It trembled over her computer. She opened
had melted into a delicious, oozing pool. Steve’s folder; she hadn’t touched it since
She stirred it slowly into a thickshake con- arriving in Italy. Her entire screen filled with
sistency and tasted a dripping scoop; she’d messages. Thirty-eight. One for each day
always loved eating gelato this way. She she’d been gone.
swirled its luxury around her tongue. Then
stopped. *

An abrupt tear spilled down her cheek… Gemma arrived at the old beach cabin, its
The gelato. It had the same rich, chocolatey paint still barely hanging on. The sea mist
flavour as Steve’s special anniversary cake. felt soft on her skin, familiar. A butcherbird
The one he had made for her every year called out from between the paperbarks;
since they met, its muddy texture concealed it was a sad flute-like call that reminded
in layers of thick, dark chocolate. She sud- her of her mother. Gemma unlocked the
denly missed Steve so badly, his big teeth door and brought her suitcase inside. Steve
grin and his secret midnight baking—even would not be home till late. Gemma hadn’t
the way he always folded their tea towels wanted to meet him at the airport; she
perfectly in half. didn’t want an emotional scene.

The liquefied gelato sat in Gemma’s When Gemma walked into the kitchen,
mouth. She thought of Steve going to bed her favourite teacup was waiting for her, a
without her, his plastic bag of ingredients fresh slice of Steve’s chocolate anniversary
hidden somewhere in the house. She won- cake on a matching plate beside it. Gemma
dered if he’d still woken in the night to make immediately devoured several mouthfuls—
an anniversary cake for her. Or if he’d set Steve’s cake was as thick and rich and good as
out her pink rose teacup and saucer, like always—and as she waited on her pot of tea,
he’d always done. she consulted the fridge for a second slice.

Water passed by ancient doorways. Life Gemma stood by the kitchen window
was passing. More swiftly than Gemma had and sipped soothing heat from her pink rose
ever imagined possible. Mascara ran down teacup. The last of the sun beamed through.
her face. The beach was empty. Only a dog and its
owner in the distance. Gemma watched as
“Alright, bella?” asked Giovanni. the dog chased a stick into the sea—just
seeing it brave the waves was enough.
“I’m okay,” she sniffed. “I just miss my
husband.” She was glad to be home. She loved
Steve. And she couldn’t wait to see him.
“I am sorry for your loss,” comforted
Giovanni.

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About the Author

Lisa Reily is a former literacy consultant, dance director and teacher from Australia. Her
poetry and stories have been published in several journals, such as Amaryllis, London Grip,
The High Window, Panoplyzine, Riggwelter, The Fenland Reed, Wanderlust and River Teeth
Journal’s Beautiful Things. You can find out more at lisareily.wordpress.com

11

DIXON RIDGE

by Jim Woessner

A brass bell suspended in a wooden frame are named for trees: Pine, Maple, Oak, and
stands in a square of hard-packed yellow Elm. Crossing them are Main, Second, and
dirt about the same area as a two-car ga- Third. I learned at the post office that fewer
rage. They call it a park, but it’s not much than thirty families live in Dixon Ridge. In
of one. A few weeds hang onto life in the addition to the post office, there are four
summer. No one bothers to plant grass or businesses: the Dixon Ridge Grocery Store
water what’s there. The bell is attached to and Bait Shop, the Dixon Ridge Outboard
a rusted wheel you have to turn by hand Motor Repair, Delmont’s Phillips 66, and a
to make it ring. Beneath the wheel is a hairdresser’s called Trim Kuts. There’s also
hand-painted sign asking people to refrain a Masonic Lodge, although I was told the
from ringing the bell except in actual emer- chapter disbanded years ago. And there’s
gencies. I asked at the post office if the bell the Dixon Ridge Apostolic Christian Church,
was ever used. The postmaster told me which is the only church in town. There’s
that a tornado skirted the town the previ- also about a dozen houses in the town
ous May. “That was the only time in recent proper and an assortment of sheds, privies,
memory,” she said. and “out” buildings. There’s nothing else
worth mentioning in terms of a physical de-
There’s not much about Dixon Ridge that scription.
can’t be described in a single paragraph.
The town sits at a bend in the Gasconade I went to Dixon Ridge for several rea-
River. There’s a trestle bridge for trains sons. Near the top of the list was a family
that come through twice a day but never connection. A grandmother I never knew
stop. And a wooden bridge for cars about a had grown up in the area. I wanted to get a
hundred yards upriver that was built when sense of who she was, perhaps see where
cars were a rarity here. The bridge is in a she had lived as a girl. Further down the
constant state of repair, new lumber inter- list was a desire to get out of the city for
spersed with old. State Route J is the only a couple of weeks, away from urban dis-
paved road, two blacktop lanes that cross tractions. I wanted quiet. I wanted to sit in
the bridge, then turn left, and parallel the a flat-bottomed boat on a lazy river. And I
river. The part that passes through town is wanted to think, read, and do some writing.
called Main Street. The other streets are
gravel, tamped down and backfilled once I rented a two-room cabin on a hill
a year after the spring rains. Four of them above the town. It featured a screened-in

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porch but didn’t have electricity or indoor seem that some of the residents of Dixon
plumbing. The only source of water was a Ridge are cursed with long memories.
long-handled pump in the yard. Perishable
food had to be kept in a relic of an appliance, On Sunday that first week I decided to go
appropriately called an “ice box.” I was told to church. Mildred suggested it after I told
I’d have to buy a block of ice every four or her about the grandmother I never knew.
five days to keep it cool. At night, the only She didn’t recognize my grandmother’s
light came from candles or kerosene. There name, Anna Miller, but she told me to ask at
was a propane stove, so I could cook food the church. If anyone knew, they’d be there,
and heat water for coffee and bathing. The she said. I was hesitant to go since I’m not
only real inconvenience was the outhouse, the least bit religious. The idea felt hypocrit-
which stood thirty yards down a winding ical and a bit voyeuristic, especially going to
path overgrown with weeds. But in spite a fundamentalist church. I admitted this to
of the limitations, I didn’t feel deprived. If Mildred. She agreed that the Dixon Ridge
I got desperate to know what was going on Apostolic Christian Church was about as
in the outside world, which happened more fundamental as a church could get. But she
often than I care to admit, I’d go down the also told me I might be surprised. In the end,
hill to the Dixon Ridge Grocery Store and I rationalized going as “family research.”
Bait Shop. They had Wi-Fi, fresh muffins,
tolerable coffee, and a place to sit. After my The church was down the hill a half-mile
second day, Mildred and I were on a first- from the cabin at the corner of Elm and
name basis. I’d already become a regular. Second. It was a white clapboard building
badly in need of paint and a new roof. Mil-
The first of my two weeks in Dixon dred told me it had once been a one-room
Ridge was a period of adjustment. Since I schoolhouse. Sometime in the ’60s when
couldn’t plug in my laptop at the cabin, I they started bussing kids to the consoli-
worked with pen and paper. Mostly I tried dated school in the next town, the church
to catch up on my reading. Even that was took over the building. I saw that it still had
difficult until I bought a second kerosene a cupola on the roof with a bell that had
lantern. For exploring the river, I rented a marked the beginning and ending of each
jon boat with a five-horsepower Evinrude school day.
for $45 a day from Dan at the Dixon Ridge
Outboard Motor Repair. On my first full day, I entered and sat at the back on a long
I motored upriver a couple of miles, shutoff wooden bench. Several people welcomed
the motor, and drifted back to the dock. In me with smiling faces, simple hellos, and an
the afternoon, I hiked a river bluff with the introduction or two. I feared my discomfort
ubiquitous name of Lover’s Leap. There’s was obvious. These are Holy Rollers, I re-
one in every state “from whose summit dis- minded myself, people who believe we are
appointed Indian girls have jumped,” Mark living in the end times and that the second
Twain wrote. Late in the day, I walked across coming of Christ is imminent. I fully ex-
the trestle bridge after I learned the train pected they would start rolling on the floor,
schedule. Mildred warned me that the train convulsing, and screaming in tongues. But
schedule wasn’t written in stone. She told Mildred had been right. I was surprised. The
me about two boys that were killed on the holy rolling undoubtedly happened on occa-
tracks sometime back in the ’50s. It would sion, but this wasn’t one of them. Someone
did yell out at one point that the Holy Spirit

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

had seized him. When it happened, others I realized I hadn’t asked anyone about my
closed their eyes, waved their hands in the grandmother. It was unlikely I’d return for
air, and cried out “amen” and “praise the another service, so I turned to the woman
lord.” at the door and asked if I could have a word.

What surprised me most was the singing. We stepped outside where I introduced
In the churches I had visited on rare occa- myself and asked if she had lived in Dixon
sions, the congregations sang as though Ridge for a long time. She said proudly that
embarrassed to be heard. It was always she had been born here and would un-
polite, reserved singing. Not here. These doubtedly die here, Lord Jesus Christ willing.
people opened their throats and made the I then asked if she had known Anna Miller.
sort of noise you would expect from a choir She said she didn’t, but I could tell that the
of hundreds, not the thirty or forty in at- question had triggered something in her
tendance. The hymns themselves may have memory. After a moment of concentration,
been somber, but the singing was joyous, she asked if perhaps I had meant Anna
full of life. And the accompaniment was Roberts. I nodded. Roberts had been my
nothing short of raucous. An upright piano grandmother’s maiden name. The woman
that looked as if it had survived multiple smiled broadly. “I’ll tell you more after the
wars was played by a thin, elderly woman foot washing ceremony,” she said.
with arthritic fingers who sang as loudly as
she played. It was an awkward self-realiza- The ceremony itself was actually quite
tion to find my feet moving and my body sweet. No words were spoken. The piano
swaying. played quietly in the background. I waited
and watched until several had been through
I was also surprised to find out that the process before accepting an invitation
the minister was a woman. I didn’t expect to sit in the front and remove my shoes and
gender equality in this small river town. socks. The only difficulty I had was that the
Her sermon was about redemption and woman who washed my feet was also the
deliverance from sin. Numerous Biblical postmaster. I wondered how I was going to
passages were recited from memory. Fol- feel if I had to buy stamps or mail a letter
lowing the sermon came more singing and later in the week.
sharing. A man gave testimony about the
rewards of having Jesus in his life. Everyone When the ceremony was over, the
cheered. A young woman shared about her woman who knew of my grandmother told
good fortune in overcoming cancer, which me the Roberts family had lived on a farm
brought more cheers. Hallelujah. Praise god. just south of town. A family named Mitchell
Then came another song and the benedic- lived there now. She said that Anna had
tion. The minister announced that a foot been close to her older sister Rose. They
washing ceremony would follow the ser- had been in school together. She remem-
vice. Several stood up to stretch their legs. bered Anna coming over to the house to
I stood up to leave. When I did, I felt the see Rose. And she remembered liking her.
eyes of the congregation. I smiled politely When the two girls turned 18, they went to
and headed to the door where a white- St. Louis to work in the garment industry.
haired woman thanked me for coming. I That was before the war, she said. She was
nodded and stepped outside. That’s when referring to World War I. After a dozen or
so years, her sister returned to Dixon Ridge.

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But Anna never did. She didn’t know what trying to put it out. I asked a man in the
happened to her. She added that Rose died crowd about the fire department. He said
twenty years ago, and she was sorry she that Dixon Ridge didn’t have one and added
couldn’t tell me more. I thanked her. It was that the nearest one was too far away to
more than I had expected. do any good. Why not pump water from
the river? I asked. No pump, he said. What
The next day, I asked the woman who about well water? Same answer. I was angry
had washed my feet where I could find the at the lack of action. I wanted to do some-
Mitchell farm. I drove five miles out of town thing, organize something, start a bucket
and found the place boarded up. A neighbor brigade, anything. But there was nothing
said that old Mitchell had died, and his sons to do. I yelled over the sound of the flames,
hadn’t decided what to do with the prop- “You’re just going to let it burn?” He didn’t
erty. At present, it was abandoned, but look at me, didn’t answer. No one did.
there were “no trespassing” signs every-
where, so I didn’t go any further. The fire was so intense I stepped to the
other side of the street. For a moment I
The next several days were spent doing thought I saw people inside the church
pretty much the same things. Coffee and running past the windows, but it was just
a muffin every morning at Mildred’s while smoke and color dancing. The noise grew
I wrote on my laptop. Hiking in the after- louder, like the terrifying roar of a train.
noon, either on the other side of the river Popping sounds. The shrieks and screams
or through the woods behind the cabin. of burning ghosts. At one point I thought
One afternoon I climbed a ridge looking for I heard the old piano die. An explosion of
a cave that someone told me about, but I notes, wires snapping. The windows ex-
never found it. I rented the boat twice more ploded. Broken glass flew into the street.
to explore the river. Evenings I either drove And flames rolled out of the windows under
to Jerome where there was a roadside diner the eaves and caught the roof shingles. A
or stayed in and cooked something simple woman screamed that they were the devil’s
like pasta. After dinner I read myself to tongues.
sleep. During the night I peed in a bucket to
avoid walking to the outhouse where I had I looked at the faces in the crowd.
already seen too many spiders and on one The men were standing in a large group
occasion a large black snake. watching. Hands tucked inside their jeans
or bib overalls. Talking quietly to one an-
It was on the evening of the second other. Their sun-reddened faces glowing
Friday when I heard the bell. The ringing in the heat. The women stood apart from
was clear even though it was nearly a mile the men in twos and threes in cotton print
away. I walked outside and saw an orange dresses. Their long hair tied in knots on the
glow above the trees. I decided to put on a tops of their heads. Standing silently with
pair of boots and investigate. The closer I their arms crossed, backs to the fire to pro-
got to town, the more the sky was alive in tect their faces and preserve their eyesight
oranges and yellows. When I turned onto to keep watch on the children. They glanced
Second Street, I saw the church engulfed in over their shoulders now and then at the
flames. fire. Many of them, both men and women,
wept at the death of something they loved.
A crowd had gathered, everyone
standing to look at the fire, but no one was

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Young men and boys chased sparks Dan who told me he had never set foot in-
like fireflies and stomped them out when side the church.
they could. Some were afraid other houses
and perhaps even the woods would catch My last day in Dixon Ridge was also
fire. Grass fires that started were quickly my second Sunday there. I walked back
stamped out. Men stood on the roofs of to the church. I hadn’t planned to go, but
nearby houses with buckets of water to something pulled me there. When I ar-
douse the flying sparks. Boys played too rived, people were gathering in the street
close to the fire, and girls hid behind their next to the ruins. Faint wisps of smoke still
mothers’ skirts. One small girl hid under- curled into the air along with the familiar
neath her mother’s dress and stood with her acrid smell of ashes. The outdoor sermon
small feet on top of her mother’s. A strange seemed particularly appropriate. It was
beast, I thought. A centauress with the body about healing the damaged parts of our-
of a woman and four legs. It seemed that selves. There was singing, but it was more
everyone who lived in Dixon Ridge was in somber and without the accompaniment
the street that night. of the old upright. One young man tried
vainly to pluck the chords of the hymns
As if for a final act, the roof of the church on his guitar. After the service, they took
caved in. The cupola fell into the flames. And up a collection to begin building a new
the school bell made a final sound as foun- church. When it was over, I shook hands
tains of sparks exploded into the night sky. with some, thanked the pastor for her
There was a sweet smell in the air. Burning words, then left and walked through town
hymnals, wooden benches, cloth curtains. to the river. At the Dixon Ridge Outboard
And finally just the smell of ashes. Motor Repair, Dan gave me the key to the
jon boat without me having to ask. I doubt
No one knew how the fire had started. if anyone had used it during my stay be-
There was speculation, of course. Someone sides me. I got in, pulled the starter rope,
said he heard firecrackers or bottle rockets and motored upriver. I passed three and
going off. Another said it was caused by four hundred foot cliffs, long gravel bars,
faulty wiring. The lights in the church had impenetrable looking forests on one side,
been bare bulbs hanging from wires strung and farms on the other. When I had gone
across open roof trusses. And there was talk five maybe six miles, I reached a riffle that
of god and the devil. One woman told me was too shallow to proceed any further. I
in confidential tones, “The devil is never far turned off the motor, tilted the prop end
from Dixon Ridge.” out of the water, and laid across one of
the broad wooden seats, my feet dangling
It was well past midnight when I started over the side, drifting, strangely content.
back up the hill. In an odd way, I think the For two weeks I had managed to get away
fire consumed a small part of me. Over the from my other life. And in a small way I felt
next several days I thought and wrote about I had connected with my grandmother by
little else. I talked with Mildred and a couple just being here.
of others that I met in the store or by the
river. Everyone expressed sadness. Even

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About the Author

Jim Woessner lives on the water in Sausalito, California. He has an MFA from Bennington
College and has had poetry and prose published in online and print magazines, including
the Blue Collar Review, California Quarterly, Friday Flash Fiction, 101 Words, 200 Word Short
Story, Flash Fiction Magazine, Fewer Than 500, The Daily Drunk, and Close to the Bone.
Additionally, two of his plays have been produced in community theatre.

17

ALL FLOWERS MUST
EVENTUALLY WILT

by Natalie Hampton

Sweat clings to his pasty skin, pooling at the small talk with them until that awkward-
base of his back. Are his hands too clammy? ness is gone.
Is his face pallid and sickly? And why does
he feel like he is forgetting something? He makes sure to always hold the
doors open for her and pulls her chair out
Moths fly into the flickering lamp, the before she sits. She’d probably been with
only source of illumination on the front lots of guys before – with that golden hair,
porch. In his teenage mind, he is about to soft skin, kind eyes, and infectious laugh,
commit the same form of suicide, but be- who could resist her? Her standards must
fore he can chicken out, the door swings be high, and he feels that immense pres-
open. sure.

She gives him a soft but hesitant smile On the way back to the car after he
that he tries to return but it comes out lop- paid their bill, he takes a deep breath and
sided and he is instantly embarrassed and reaches for her hand. She doesn’t pull away.
feels like he has already messed this all up.
The door closes and it is just them. They take the long route back to her
house, weaving through the various streets
It’s silent at first as they walk to his car. and forming their first inside jokes. It isn’t
He won’t admit it to her, but this is his first until they pull up to her driveway that he
date, his first time alone with any girl really. realizes what he’d forgotten at the begin-
ning. The flowers.
They drive down a winding road, and she
doesn’t look at all anxious, coaxing him into He is a blundering and blushing mess
a steady conversation until his heartbeat handing her the tulips, but she laughs it all
slows down and he can breathe again. off, inhaling deeply and not caring that they
were slightly mushed from the excess hours
Dinner goes well. The waiter gives them forgotten in a hot car.
that knowing look and shoots him a reas-
suring wink. Whenever there is a lapse in When she leans over to kiss him, nothing
conversation, the waiter comes and makes else matters.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She tries to put them in a vase back at kisses while the kids are napping, quick
home, but the flowers were already wilted. texts sent during lunch breaks.

A familiar tune carries in the air. He is coming home early from work
tonight. It is, after all, their ten years anni-
Everyone is silent, craning their heads versary. Her sister is watching the kids, and
backward, and there she comes. The bride. they have a dinner reservation at a five star
restaurant across town.
Her dress is a traditional A-line, the fabric
soft and silken. Her face is mostly concealed She squeezes into a dress that once was
by a veil, but her smile shines through the loose, but two kids later, is tighter than she
gossamer – bright and vibrant. In her hands wants to admit, but it’s black, trendy, and
is a single bouquet of flowers. does compliment her figure, so she doesn’t
change. As she emerges down the stairs
The roses are a deep red, almost velvet, with a full face of make-up, sleek heels, and
the only pop of color. The groom barely no- a designer handbag around her right wrist,
tices; his only focus is on the woman he is they make eye contact and it’s like they are
pledging to spend the rest of his life with. those young teenagers finding love for the
Crystal tears begin to blur his vision. Who first time all over again.
would have thought that sweaty, nervous
boy would end up marrying an angel? A bouquet of pink orchids rest on the
table in a clear vase – her favorite. She
Later that night, at the bouquet toss, smiles, breaths in their armona, and gives
they are drunk on laughter. A part of him him a light peck on the cheek.
is still scared she will turn around and re-
ject him, and he keeps trying out her new Like every year when he brings them
last name, just to remind himself this is real. home on their anniversary, she tries to hold
Every time she smiles, he wishes he could onto the flowers for as long as she can, but
take a picture of the moment and treasure it within a week, they are wilted away.
all forever. She tosses the bouquet back, and
the various other women scramble to catch The hospital room is too clean, pristine,
it, leaping higher than should be possible in perfect. Every wall and surface is wiped
their wedged and uncomfortable heels. down daily with disinfect, and he couldn’t
find a speck of dust on the walls if he
It’s the bride’s sister who comes out vic- wanted to. But none of that matters. All he
torious. She gives her boyfriend a knowing cares about is her.
look, then goes back to the dance floor,
placing the flowers on the nearest table, al- Tubes extend out of her nose, she
ready forgotten. breaths with aid. Her hair has been gray for
decades now, and it started falling out in
They begin to wilt the next morning – chunks. He still brushes it out of her face,
when the reception has long since been behind her ears like he did when they were
abandoned, and the couple is preparing to younger, but it isn’t nearly as soft now.
board the plane for their honeymoon.
Her wrinkles look like the folds of a for-
It’s ten years later now. They are still in tune cookie, and her skin is leathery from
love but a different kind. No longer the in- too much time spent in the sun. He doesn’t
nocent, all-consuming type that came with look much better himself, but he is still on
their youth, but a more mature one – stolen

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

his feet, yet to completely fall victim to old her flowers every time. They collect on her
age; if they could trade places, he would do counter – the orchids and roses and tulips.
it in a heartbeat. He likes to think she can at least smell them,
remember the life they built together.
The nurses pity him as he comes in every
morning right when visiting hours begin and Tulips from their first date. Roses from
stays until they kick him out at night, only to their wedding. Orchids from every anniver-
return again the next day. The entire time, he sary.
holds her familiar hand, only letting go when
a nurse insists so she can check up on her. Eventually, though, the flowers all begin
to wilt.
She rarely opens her eyes anymore or
acknowledges him at all, but he still brings And she wilts away with them.

About the Author

Natalie Hampton is a sophomore from Houston. Her work has previously been published
in Truant Lit, Scarlet Leaf Review, and the anthology Little Inked Birds. She has also been
recognized at the National level of the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition. When she
isn’t writing, she likes to volunteer, work in activism, and play soccer.

20

WHERE THE
MONEY ISN’T

by Ron Singer

“Because that’s where the money is,” was Last year, having served five of a six-
either Willie “The Actor” Sutton’s reply to to-ten in the branch of the Federal Pen
some journalist’s softball question, “Why located in southeast New York State, I was
do you rob banks?” –or fake news, the approaching release. “Bill,” said the warden,
journalist’s invention. I’ve also heard that “what would you like to be when you grow
in med school they teach what they call up?” (I was thirty-nine, a big boy already.)
Sutton’s Law: “Look for the obvious first.” He didn’t condescend further by making
Well, in my case, “the obvious” is that, with stupid suggestions. (“Would you consider
the move toward electronic banking, in- license-plate manufacture?”)
cluding the replacement of actual currency
with bit-coins, or “virtual” currency, there What he didn’t realize was that I had
is much less cash, anymore, in banks, or anticipated his question. “How?” you ask.
anywhere else. Since I used to be a bank Fellow jailbirds had told me, and the reason
robber, it’s also obvious that I’m out of luck. I believed them, in spite of our reputation
as liars, was intuition. It’s hard to put this in
My name is William Sullivan –Bill, not words, I just knew.
Willie. My problem is not lack of education.
I did enough time in college to learn about Has it ever occurred to you that a rel-
J.M. Keynes’ declaration that “technolog- atively successful bank robber –sooner,
ical unemployment” is “only a temporary or later, we all get caught—has good in-
phase of maladjustment.” Tell that to the stincts? Consider the exploding dye-pack.
six million working stiffs who are jobless My method of avoiding this occupational
stiffs in 2019. And tell them that unemploy- hazard, based upon intuition, was credible
ment is at “a historic low.” I have person- fear. In my preliminary visits to a bank, I
ally suffered two previous periods of virtual would note the names of the tellers. Then,
unemployment: that is, two stints in actual I would use an online look-up service to
prisons, a total of nine years, two months, find their addresses. Since these listings
six days, and eleven hours. included photos, I could be sure I had the
right “Evelyn Nieves.” When I approached

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Evelyn’s window, raising my eyebrows, I hand at the main gate, he said, “Good luck,
would recite a little spiel. Bill! Hope I won’t be seeing you again.” And
he handed me a Letter of Introduction ad-
“No dye packs, Evelyn Nieves, 46-11 68th dressed to the Personnel Manager of one of
Street.” Especially if she had children, telling the big hotels, the Neves, which was on the
her I knew where she lived was a sure-fire outskirts of Naponach, a half-hour from the
deterrent. To give credit where it’s due, my prison. With a nod and a shit-eating grin, I
spiritual father, Willie Sutton, also used walked out, and caught the next bus.
credible fear. Pretending to be packing, he’d
say something like “It’s not your money so “Neves” is “seven,” backwards. The resort
you don’t have to die for it.” was named for a lucky roll of the dice that
bankrolled a bungalow colony for the Sa-
When I was in college (two-plus years at lacky brothers –three, not seven—in 1951.
a four-year public institution), I was good The Salackies made their fortune during the
at Math and Science. Paradoxically, this af- Borscht-Belt boom of the 1950’s and ‘60’s,
fected my response to the warden’s ques- when the Neves grew into a premium re-
tion. What would they teach a bank robber sort. But they lost most of the money during
who was good at Math? Computer Science, the ‘70’s and ‘80’s, when Borscht- Belt idylls
of course –not. You don’t want to teach jail- gave way to long-distance airplane vaca-
birds how to rip off electronic money trans- tions. The coup de grace came in ‘87, when
fers, or how to scam people by imperson- the country fell into recession. After that
ating their banks. came a long, slow recovery.

So, when the warden asked his smart-ass By 2019, when I got my job, the Neves
question, I was ready First, I pretended to had been reborn as a humungous resort
ponder possible answers. Then, I said, “I’d and spa. What made people return to the
like to be a landscape gardener, sir.” There Catskills involved rebranding. The new
was method to my answer. The prison is in a Neves featured short-term stays; family
region where there are several resorts, and packages; special diets (not just kosher);
I knew he often found menial jobs at them golf (mini- and regular); squash, racquet-
for ex-cons. ball and tennis; multiple pools; state-of-
the-art facilities for Pilates, melt, spinning,
Not that I wanted to spend the rest of you name it; and horseback riding (pony to
my days plucking crabgrass. But I knew not bronco).
to say that I wanted to be a waiter, busboy,
or bellhop, because those jobs would have Upon my arrival, management put me
brought me into proximity with the guests up in a bunkhouse redolent of Steinbeck’s
–with their furs, jewelry, etc., that is. “Gar- Of Mice and Men. My roommate was a sep-
dener” sounded harmless. But, as soon as tuagenarian barber named Gil, who slept
I was working at a hotel, I would buddy up with his teeth in a glass. When he snored, I
with bellhops, busboys and waiters, some would pinch his nose, enjoying the contrast
of whom I would likely have known in the with what would have happened if I had
slammer. pinched a cellmate’s nose.

The warden did not disappoint. Over In the grungy staff dining room, they
the next several months, I was taught ru- served us three day-old leftovers from the
dimentary gardening skills. As he shook my

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guest dining room, shit like fried rice with not been hard to convince her that I liked
chicken skin or beef or pork gristle. Within women. Post-coitus, propped up on pillows,
a week, I moved higher on the hog. Once we sat side by side on my bed, chatting. The
I was in with the bellhops, busboys, and only furnishings in the small room were the
waiters, I shared in the bounty of purloined two double beds and two scarred chests of
guest food. drawers. Two hooks on the back of the door
served as closets.
I made my first connection at poolside,
where they encouraged staff to mingle “Call me ‘Achu,’ she said, “like the sneeze.”
with single guests of a certain age (which
many were). One hot afternoon, as I was “Gesundheit,” I quipped. Her stink-eye
manicuring the verge of the pool, I spotted told me she had heard that one before.
an off-duty young bellhop with the look
of a summer employee. Wearing his gray Soon, we left the bunkhouse and went
wool uniform pants with red side stripes, over to the main building, where we shared
topped by a wife-beater that gleamed in a pastry platter for six in the small room off
the sunshine, the butterball was trying to the kitchen where the bellhops prepared
put a move on a delicious waitress in a red the room-service trays. While we ate, I got
bikini. After she had rebuffed his clumsy to the point. I had already broached the
advances for the nth time, and jumped idea of theft, and she had seemed receptive.
into the pool, splashing his pants, I gave
him the high sign. “If Jay thinks you like him, Achu, we’ll
have a team. Since we work in different de-
“Sorry, Son,” I said, continuing to pluck partments, they’ll be less likely to suspect
crabgrass, and looking up at him, “but you us.”
don’t have a chance. I mean this is 2019, not
1952! Instead of putting clumsy moves on “Very slick, Billy,” she said. “Jay gets into a
her, why don’t you just let her see that you room to, say, replace a leaking washer. The
like women, which you obviously do! That guest goes off to play golf, or something,
way, if she likes you, she’ll make the moves. instructing Jay to lock himself out when
Capiche, amigo?” he’s done. Then, you and I go in, and do our
business.”
For the next week, or so, I continued
schooling this boy, whose name was Jay, “You’re a quick study.”
and who turned out to be a fellow college
dropout. Of course, his progress was has- Within a few days, we were ready to un-
tened by my own budding relationship with lock and unload. Actually, the three-person
the young woman, whose name was Asun- concept was borrowed from my role model,
cion. William Francis Sutton, Jr. (1901-1980). Of
course, The Actor’s team had comprised a
We had just slept together for the second driver, the lead thief (him), and a henchman
time, in my room. (Gil was spending the to help control the bank employees. With
evening at a nearby dog track.) Asuncion us, Jay would be spotter and lookout, the
had joined me around ten-thirty, having easiest job. He would identify the mark,
just finished setting up her tables for break- then open the door for us, and watch from
fast. After four-plus in the slammer, it had a corner of the hall between the room and
the elevators. If anyone approached, three
loud knocks, three soft, three loud: SOS.

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Achu’s job was to eyeball the loot. As pay-offs could not stanch all the rumors.
soon as she and I were inside, she would At that point, they would consider security
do a quick “inventory”: yes or no, take this, measures that inexperienced hotel thieves
leave that. She turned out to have an un- (like us) did not know how to evade. If the
canny talent for telling costume jewelry police happened to arrest one of my fences,
from real, fake fur from real. he might give us up as fast as Jay would.

My job was “other.” Like my namesake, So, by week seven, it was time to change
I did most of the planning. I schooled Jay the game. I got the idea for a new one while
about which room locations were best: we were inside our fourth victims’ room.
nothing near the elevators, good sight The pretext had been to turn a mattress,
lines, etc. I also chose the time, mid-eve- which we began by doing. After I had re-
ning, when the maids went off duty, and the made the bed (with hospital corners), Achu
guests were away at amusements (comedy and I proceeded to search for the Mur-
club, card room), or self-improvement phy-Langes’ hiding places. Almost immedi-
(gyms, pools). I also kept lists. A sample ately, we found an emerald necklace taped
item: Henry & Joanne Sanchez-Cohen, under the toilet tank. (They probably saw
room 409: mink stole (if that’s how you ”The Godfather.”) Then, my attention wan-
spell it), matching antique Patek Philippe dered to a laptop that had been left on. Not
Grandes watches. that we stole computers, which are hard to
fence because of the registered serial num-
I also dictated the split: a third, apiece. bers. I had a better idea.
Why didn’t I take a bigger cut –50%, say?
Because successful crime teams understand I began by asking myself a rhetorical
that someone who gets a chintzy share is question: Why was I working in a field for
more likely to rat out his partners. And Jay which I had so few qualifications, when
was the kind of gee who would not hold up there was another possibility right under
for five minutes under police interrogation. my nose, for which I had considerable apti-
tude? So, when Achu and I had completed
As I said, Achu was the appraiser –take our inventory, I told her to leave, and to
this, not that. But I was her backup. She have Jay follow her out of the building in
correctly understood my “yea” or “nay” for five minutes –the usual drill– while I stowed
an item as a cost-benefit analysis. Take the the booty in our large, hard-sided, wheeled
P.P. Grande watches (which we did). I knew suitcase, a type many guests owned. Then,
these babies went for about 300K apiece, as usual, I would drive Jay’s late-model car
used, and that the fence in town who to town, and make the circuit of the fences.
worked with shady jewelers in New York The idea was to start the booty rolling be-
could get ten cents on the dollar, or 60K for fore its loss was discovered.
the pair. That meant our team netted 12K,
or 4K each. Similar facts applied to the other What I did, instead, was to throw the
stuff we boosted on our first three heists. stuff in the suitcase, pell-mell, then sit
down at the computer. When I opened
Of course, there were risks. By the fourth Mr. Thomas P. Murphy’s email folder, sure
job, which took us into the seventh week enough, there was a weekly message from
of operations, Neves Management would his bank: “Your account statement is ready.”
have rightly begun to fear that insurance Clicking on the login button, I assumed his

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Revista Literária Adelaide

user name was Tom, or Thomas, Murphy. jogged to the hotel coffee shop, where I
“Tom” worked. The password was trickier. knew I would find my partners, who usually
went there for a celebratory treat after a
Remember what I said about intuition? job.
I reviewed some personal details that Jay
had garnered during check-in. Mr. M. was The trick now was to persuade them that
middle-aged, and his tip had been meager – going out of business would be good for all
but not his wit. In the fifteen minutes during of us. When I saw them sitting in a booth,
which the luggage was being brought from feeding each other cross-handed from a hot
car to room, he had cracked five or six puns. fudge sundae, I knew exactly what to say:

First, I tried ”Scrooge,” “Nickel-Dime,” I had heard footsteps in the hallway.
and variations thereof. Then, I realized I was When they stopped outside the room, I
on the wrong track, because Mr. M. might quickly unpacked the suitcase, and put ev-
not belong to the subclass of cheapskates erything back where we found it. Then (the
who are proud of the fact. So I switched lie continued), as I was leaving the building
to puns, beginning with “Murphy’s Law.” through the rear exit, as usual, a security
Adding a number, a CAP, and a character, guard seemed to be following me to the
I came up with “murphy’s#1Law.” Bingo! parking lot, where Jay had left his car. So
I was in! And Thomas P. Murphy had just I threw the empty suitcase into one of the
fallen victim to said law which, as you may big dumpsters, and detoured to the coffee
know, says, “Anything that can go wrong, shop.
will.”
“Well,” said Achu, with a little smile.
Feeling like I was back at the teller’s “That sounds like a narrow escape, Billy. But
window, I scanned the accounts. There was why did you carry the suitcase all the way
ample booty, over 200K, total. And, under down to the parking lot? Someone could
Mr. M’s transfer feature, there were three have stopped you.”
“from” listings, including his checking ac-
count, where he presently had just under “Who knows? Momentum? What would
55K. The “to” was empty, and, new to this, you have done with it?”
I wondered if there was a way to authorize
money transfers to my own account, or to a Although she looked skeptical, she
dummy one I could open. (Remember why dropped the matter. Jay just looked worried.
they don’t teach Computer Science in jail?) By then, Mary, the server, had come to our
table, and I ordered a cup of decaf. Saved by
Then, I realized time was up. I had been the server. When my coffee arrived, Achu
in the room thirty minutes, ten more than and Jay sat nervously ignoring their unfin-
we normally allowed ourselves. I thought ished sundae.
fast. Returning the computer to the home
page, and putting the booty back where, as “Uh, oh, they’re on our trail,” said Jay.
far as I could remember, it had come from,
I locked the door behind me, rang for the “Could be,” Achu opined.
elevator, and wheeled the empty suitcase
out through the rear entrance of the main I took a sip, pretending to weigh the
building. Instead of driving Jay’s car to town, threat. “We’d better not hang out together
I dropped the suitcase in a dumpster and for a while,” I said, with a sigh. To my dis-
appointment, Achu looked relieved. Jay
nodded soberly, and that was that, sort of.

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My lingering fear was that he would Gil was out.) Flashing to the desk, I scanned
prove to be the weak link. I was afraid he the lobby, then photographed on my phone
would be unable to stay away from Achu. the open double page of the check-in reg-
So, for several days, I spied on their likely ister, and, flipping back, the two previous
meeting places: poolside, coffee shop, double pages. Then, returning the pages
and the room-service room. To my relief, to their original position, I left the building.
I never saw them together. Jay looked a When I got to the room, Gil was snoring
bit downhearted; Achu, setting tables and away. In the morning, after he left for the
serving guests, looked as briskly efficient barbershop, I studied the photographed
as ever. pages.

And me? I plucked weeds, picked at the I was now in possession of a list of 100
slop in the staff dining room, and feeling the names, which, in all probability, included
loss of Achu, moped, like someone recently many seniors, with their addresses (snail
unemployed –which, in a sense, I was. and e) and phone numbers. That these
people had stayed at the Neves meant they
After about a week, I shrugged off my must be rich, or at least what my mother
lethargy and got back to business, picking used to call “comfortable.”
up where I had left off with Mr. Murphy’s
computer. Only this time, I carried on in the At four-thirty that afternoon, a
hotel’s public computer room, off the main Wednesday, I borrowed the room of a
lobby, doing so in the middle of the night, busboy I knew, while he was in the dining
when the room was normally empty. This room setting up, and used my smart phone
was where I became an acolyte of what is to start making calls. The numbers I tried
called “the dark net.” first were those that looked like land lines. If
no one picked up, I would not leave a mes-
I soon learned that many old people fail sage. If someone did, assuming most elders
to complain about –maybe even notice—fi- are on Medicare, this is the spiel I used:
nancial scams. I also learned that the key to
a successful scam was the victim’s personal “Hello, Mr. …, this is Robert Maxwell
information. So, at two a.m. on several con- calling from Medicare Services of the Social
secutive Tuesdays, I lounged in an armchair, Security Administration. How are you today,
behind a newspaper, alongside the check-in sir?”
counter in the lobby. I wore colorless sur-
gical gloves, invisible to anyone more than When eight of the first ten slammed
a few feet away. When the night clerk dis- the phone down, it was a strong warning
appeared into the area behind the desk, to that many thieves might be trying the same
refresh his cup of coffee or answer nature’s scam. Of the two people who stayed on the
call, I timed him. He usually took two to line, here is the first conversation, with an
five minutes. When it was five, I assumed elderly man whom I knew (from his registra-
that he was doing his business before re- tion) was a bachelor or widower.
plenishing his cup. On the fourth Tuesday,
I struck. “WHAT THE [EXPLETIVE] DO YOU WANT?”

Two minutes was all I allowed myself. (I “Well, sir, I’m calling with some bad news.
had timed the operation in my room, when Oh, I am speaking to Mr. Norman L. Hirsch,
correct?”

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“Correct. What is this sh– about?” from an open record at Small Claims court,
where, two years before, he had apparently
“Well, Mr. Hirsch, I’m afraid we have a sued an electronics company over a defec-
small problem. But don’t worry, please. I’m tive TV. S.S. numbers are a strong hook.
sure we’ll be able to take care of it.”
“Is all that correct, sir?”
“Eh? What is this ‘small problem’?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, sir, someone has apparently ac-
cessed your personal information, sir, in- “Good. If I may proceed, according to the
cluding your social security number, and bank, your password is “albert$47juLian,”
used it to attempt to withdraw funds from which I spelled out, indicating the symbol
your checking account.” At that point, Mr. and capital letter. “Is that also correct, sir?”
Hirsch slammed his phone down (#9).
“No, it’s not correct, at all.” This, I knew,
When I started my spiel with the tenth, was the make-or-break point.
and last, person I called that day, a Mr. Al-
fred Julian, he shouted “WHAT THE HELL!” “Hmm, how could… have I gotten one of
which meant I had a toe in the door –I the characters wrong?”
hoped.
“No, the whole thing is wrong, my pass-
“Well, sir, the good news is, I think word is nothing like that.”
we’re in time to prevent any loss of funds.
Luckily…” “Hmm, perhaps I should call the bank
again. Of course, that would mean waiting
“What? What? What?” until they re-open tomorrow morning. By
the time I reach them, and they put me
“Please, sir, just hear me out, so we can on hold, and I wait, the scammer could
take care of this matter.” have emptied your account.” I could hear
his breathing grow heavier. “On the other
“How?” The door was open. hand, sir, if you could see your way toward
sharing the correct password with the So-
“Well, Mr. Julian, if we could just go over cial Security Administration –with me– we
some information, I’ll be able to determine could immediately send the bank an offi-
what the would-be thief knows, so we can cial notification of the intended fraud, so
make any changes we need to, before he they can stop any activity until you come
robs the account. Let’s continue, shall we? in and sign the necessary papers to re-
open…”
“Shoot.”
That was the trick. Unfortunately, it
“These are the details your bank has con- never worked. Of the six people, over four
fided to my employers, the SSA –the Social calling sessions, who stayed on the line long
Security Administration—which, as you enough to reach the critical password junc-
know, administers the Medicare program.” ture, two (including Mr. Julian) said they
would call the bank, themselves, and one
I proceeded to recite Mr. Julian’s full asked for my office phone number, so he
name and address, and the numbers of his could check that I was “for real.” The other
landline (which we were speaking on) and three hung up. No one wished me a nice
his cell, all of which I had photographed day.
from the hotel register. The kicker was his
social security number, which I had accessed

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

When the bank scam failed, I tried some- and from town, I had spent about twenty
thing simpler, the grandparent scam, which hours, over six or seven evenings and
I also discovered on the dark net. In order three half-Sundays. That worked out to a
to prey on the oldest, I chose people from little over $87.50 an hour, which meant I
my list whose first names were no longer was risking serious jail time for five times
in fashion, like “Gladys,” “Elsie,” “Harry,” my wage as a gardener (by now, a snow-
“Morris,” etc. plow operator). Not bad, but… Besides,
if I decided to pursue this scam, I would
“Hi, Grandpa/Grandma,” this is your need to photograph more pages from the
grandson [cough],” I would say when register. So I concluded that the game was
someone answered the phone. If they not worth the candle, and decided to look
said they did not have any grandchildren, I elsewhere –elsewhere on the dark net, of
would reply, “Sorry, wrong number,” and try course.
the next one. I had read, on the Internet,
that some grandparent-scammers avoided The results boggled even my mind. Some
the name problem by not giving a name, poor slob had replied to a “fuckbuddy” post.
trying, instead, to bait the victim by asking, When he kept the rendezvous, at a motel,
“Can you guess who this is?” But, to me, that she chloroformed him, and her accom-
did not seem like a question a real grand- plice, a defrocked surgeon, removed one
child would ask. of his kidneys. Luckily, the mark recovered
from the “operation,” but he never got his
The most common response was, kidney back. Some rich Russian or Saudi
“Who?” to which I would reply with another probably has it. Returning to bank cyber-
cough. If they asked again, they would get, crime, I learned that a single entrepreneur
“Sorry, wrong number.” If they guessed, and like me had virtually no chance. The field
sounded receptive, and possibly muddled, I was jammed, the ingenuity and economies
would swing into my spiel. of scale, mind-boggling. I was a babe in the
cyber-woods.
“I’m afraid I’m in a little trouble, Grandpa/
ma. I need a new water pump for my car. Just as I was approaching near- despair,
You know, that old clunker I drive? I need to my luck underwent a sea change. Which
have the repair done right away so I can get began, once again, at poolside (the indoor
to work. I’ve already missed two days, and pool). Several months having passed, I
the boss is threatening to fire me.” missed Achu more and more, both in mind
and body. One frigid February day, I saw
If Grandpa/ma was sympathetic, the her on a chaise, once again clad (sort of) in
rest was simple. I’d have them send the the red bikini. It was my day off, a Monday.
money, five or six hundred dollars, to a When I plopped down on an adjoining
fictitious name, via Western Union, at a chaise, after a little chitchat and sniffing,
branch in town that did not require ID. we agreed that it would be safe to relax the
The scam yielded one success for every “no-contact” rule. That said, she broke the
ten or twelve attempts. By the time I ice.
reached the end of my six pages, I had
stolen $1,750. (One or two cheapskates “So, Billy Boy, what have you been doing
had short-changed me.) And, between my with yourself?”
time on the phone, and riding the bus to

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Eschewing masturbation jokes, I fool- I read this article, on a Saturday evening,
ishly tried to amuse her with an account of in one of the papers kept in the lobby (for
my grandparent scams. guests who still preferred print). Jumping to
my feet, and almost impaling myself on the
“That’s really sick, Bill!” she exploded. “I newspaper stick, I rushed from the building
never thought you were such an asshole.” to look for Achu and Jay.

“Hey, Ach,” I replied, smarting. “Didn’t we When Napanoch Savings & Loan opens
used to rob hotel rooms together?” Monday morning at nine, I plan to be inside,
having entered with the Manager. Ach will
That just added fuel to the fire. Jumping be there, too, to assist with crowd control.
to her feet and wrapping herself in a green- Jay will be down the block waiting in his car
and-white hotel bath towel, without an- with the motor running.
other word she flounced off toward the
locker rooms. After I had sulked on the Note: Two successful robberies, and five
chaise for five or ten minutes, I realized weeks later, the Covit-19 pandemic struck.
that all she had done was to articulate my Although they always wore gloves and
own sense of guilt. As I slouched back to the masks, anyway, the trio suspended oper-
bunkhouse, I wondered if I would be able ations. The reason was that most people
to repair her ruined opinion of me, possibly were doing their banking long distance,
through Jay. which meant that, once again, there was
little cash to rob. As for “historically-low
For a few weeks, there were no further unemployment rates,” soon they were re-
developments, except that when I pumped cord high. And since there were no guests
Jay, he intimated that, the prohibition at the Neves…
against fraternizing having been lifted, he
and Achu were once again a number. That is, Sources:
they had resumed intercourse (both kinds).
This was galling. I had blown it, lost out to a “Treasury to Roll Out Cryptocurrency
marked inferior. But, at that low point, the Rules,” NY Times, 2/13/20: https://www.
sea change kicked in. nytimes.com/2020/02/12/us/politics/trea-
sury-cryptocurrency.html
I happened upon a long article in the
local paper that had been pulled from one –Willie Sutton, with Edward Linn, Where
of the wire services. The gist of it was that, the Money Was (New York, Broadway
after careful study, the U.S. Treasury Dept. Books. Library of Larceny, 2004, first pub-
had decided to place strict regulations on lished 1976)
virtual currencies. The goal was to curtail
the use of these currencies for crimes such –“Top 10 Financial Scams Targeting Se-
as money laundering. According to the ar- niors,” NCOA (National Council on Aging):
ticle, the Fed Chair had characterized these https://www.ncoa.org/economic-security/
nefarious practices as “the new Swiss bank money-management/scams-security/top-
accounts.” He ended by describing a new, 10-scams-targeting-seniors/
mixed system that would include the return
of cash to banks! Wow!

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About the Author

Ron Singer: This story is an analogue to Willie Sutton’s WHERE THE MONEY IS, a remarkably
cant-free memoir. As for the author, here are some recent highlights: THE PROMISED END
is a story collection about aging (Unsolicited Press, Dec. 2019) GRAVY is also about aging,
but contains fiction, satire, memoir and poetry (Unsolicited Press, July 2020) THE REAL
PRESENCE is a historical novel focusing on the Biafra War, in Nigeria (1967-70 (Adelaide
Books, forthcoming in Jan. 2021). For further details, please visit www.ronsinger.net.

30

PULPIT ROCK: A REVERIE
IN THREE ACTS

by Roger McKnight

I idea of something new, but he returned
in doubt. The morning ride passed sub-
Hank Standish saved his and Hanna’s serv- urbs whose sleazy back sides revealed
ing cup after City bus 12 rammed a curb, overstuffed garbage containers and strag-
but nothing stopped the chocolate sundae gling drunks. The train smoothly avoided
from swishing onto her white skirt. His sis- other bugaboos, like the highway backups
ter wiped at a darkening splotch, only to and road rage Hank knew from delivering
see the ice cream trickle down her leg. “My pizzas for Pasta Bomba. In posher neigh-
bad,” he apologized. “Maybe Mom’ll blame borhoods green soccer fields, tennis courts,
some goon from your school for it.” Sens- and concert halls whizzed by until the train
ing frowns from nearby passengers, Hank inched to a halt among downtown highrises.
wished someone’d tell him okay, it’ll go Spiffy businessmen strode by while women
away. in high heels turned their noses up. Hank
realized they barely noticed a 21-year-old
That someone wasn’t Hanna. Hank wannabee like him.
guessed she’d been pouting off and on
since Flo ordered them to meet up at the He wandered around downtown until his
depot and take a bus home together. Not Fourth Street military induction site popped
Mom’s brightest idea. Hanna’s school was a up. It belonged to the National Guard, but
hike from town and the streets were iffy for regular Army examiners retreated to it
a pretty 16-year-old. Nevertheless, she met when street crews with jack hammers be-
Hank with a smile at his commuter train sieged their regular testing spot. “Military
from the City, and they figured out the best Entrance Processing Station? Fancy name.
bus to take. Her frown returned when he Ain’t far from a cattle market,” joked a
bought them a sundae with two spoons, fellow recruit Hank met on the street. They
then dumped it in her lap. went in together.

Hank’s day was as mixed as Hanna’s “Yeah, MEPS, they call it,” Hank replied.
moods. He’d left for the City that morning
intent on joining the Army, anything to get He knew the jargon because he’d read
away from home. Being a grunt was his up on recruit processing. The test for boot

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camp sounded imposing. Two minutes “Ventilation systems, plastics, good
of push-ups, two more of sit-ups, and a dough till the virus closed business.”
long-distance run. He’d trained for weeks to
pass, only to realize the test was adminis- Hank studied the guys ahead of them.
tered after basic training, not today. It didn’t He noticed Karl watching him and figured
sound so rugged anyway. He’d played high they were thinking the same things. Like,
school soccer, where the coach said strikers here we are. Piss poor jobs. No future. De-
like him ran seven miles a match. In addi- pendent on our folks, who hardly make it
tion, MEPS measured guys’ aptitude and themselves.
judged their moral standards. If any, Hank
guessed with a smile. “Me, I got a little sister to worry about,”
Hank said.
The Guard’s crumbling brick Armory re-
minded him of a Quonset hut from some Karl eyed him carefully. “Army’s not your
long-ago war. Creaky flooring made it even dream job?” he asked with another smile.
humbler indoors. Hank and his new-found He was strong and nimble like Hank, but
buddy joined a couple hundred roustabouts clearly most at home talking. “They strip
who came, the fellow guessed, from every you down, test your muscle strength and
walk of life, but were mostly working dudes. coordination. My big brother told me.”
“Jerks without jobs,” he continued with a
wry smile. “Like me. I’m Karl, name means When Hank’s turn came, the docs es-
a real stud in old English. Used to do sheet tablished what he didn’t have. TB. Heart
metal. What’s your story?” disease. VD. Fallen arches. They ordered
windsprints, two laps around a shortened
“Don’t have one,” Hank answered, but track. Hank ran the half-mile instead, felt
knew it wasn’t true, just that nobody ever out of shape but finished first. His aptitude
asked. test measured little more than if he could
read or write. Examiners left his morals
He and Karl joked inanely about the moot.
other testees, mostly a conglomeration
of overweight or undernourished guys of “So, what’s your story? You never said,”
every skin color. Then came a few stupen- Karl reminded Hank on the way out.
dous hunks, who’d been pumping iron and
probably dreamed of emerging bloody but “No money for college. Delivering for
unbeaten on far-off shores, Rambo-style. Pasta Bomba, heard of it?” he replied.
An uneasy camaraderie held the diverse
mix together. They inched forward to be Karl shrugged. “I left home when Pa
measured and tested, in hopes their testi- wanted me in mortuary science. Dressing
cles and temporary abstinence from dope stiffs.”
or alcohol rendered them inductable.
“I figured there’s gotta be a way out,”
“These guys don’t know squat about Hank continued.
heat,” Karl explained. “I been roofing all
summer, temp job. Hot enough on house- “To where?”
tops to bust your balls.”
“From here. A bigger world.”
“Sheet metal, what’s that?” Hank asked.
“And here you found it?” Karl asked and
pointed dubiously at some guys lounging in
uniform. “See you at swearing-in?”

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* “Nut case,” she mumbled at him and gig-
gled so her torso shook.
Hanna wiped at the fudge then put a hand
on her skirt to cover it. Seeing her self-con- “Makes two of us,” Hank whispered.
scious movements, Hank wondered how
her life’d be at home without him. She True, they were nutheads together,
argues with Pa, he thought, and Ma’s Bi- though not the usual sort, equal in age.
ble-banging continues. At the same time, Hanna was still a sometimes petulant or
his thoughts jiggled around to his Army often giggly teen and he a guy on the cusp
swearing-in, or the absence of one. Karl of manhood. Still, they bonded together,
joked about swearing allegiance on a stack caught as they were between opposing
of Bibles, but Hank’s own recruiting officer forces at home, Mom and Dad never seeing
never showed up at the Armory. He was to eye to eye.
send a notice. Soon, he texted.
“We’re all we have,” was Hank’s explana-
Gazing past Hanna and out the bus tion. He meant all, like deep down, where
window, Hank compared the jumbled mix of they could laugh about dopey stuff or en-
folks on Fairfield’s streets, their hometown, dure angry outbursts that left them giggling
with the motley crew he’d just been tested when others bawled. In the long run they
against. Nothing he saw made the Army feel were happy with each other by nature, be-
better or worse. His Bomba route presented a cause of awkward moments like the hot
shifting kaleidoscope of human nature, good fudge, not despite them. He jabbed her in
folks and bad. There were enough guns in the ribs as they rode the bus and she leaned
town, he knew, to blow a few small world re- against him, still giggling, so they rubbed
publics off the map, but nobody’d confronted fudge on each other, with sticky fingers.
him with deadly force yet, face to face.
“Who cares what any dumb boys or pissy
Meanwhile Hanna quit fidgeting with girlfriends say about my skirt,” she said.
the lace on her soiled garment. She ei- “And here I was bragging so much about it
ther hadn’t thought much about, or didn’t in school today.”
fathom, what her brother was about to sign
up for, but was smart enough to know her “So no matter?” he asked.
own needs.
Hank sensed the mixed feelings in her,
“What’s up?” he asked. “Fiddling? Why?” tough as nails but sensitive to pain, if that
made any sense. No girl deserved teasing,
“Praying for the chocolate to dry and me unless it was the right boys saying the
not look…,” Hanna answered. wrong things to her by mistake. He prayed
the wrong boys’d leave her be, but their
“Like what?” shallowness was what it was, and Hank
felt her brace for the indignity of their ap-
“A floozy.” proaches even before they left the bus. To
calm her at touchy moments like these, he
“The brown specks? It’s only fudge.” entertained Hanna with stories of looney
times at Pasta Bomba, like the silly old ladies
She shot him a glance that turned to a with blue hair or the codgers who talked to
grimace, then melted to glee. At last she ex- themselves. Not to mention the guy that
ploded in ringing laughter so her spit splat-
tered on the back rest before her.

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bragged he kept a real-live tiger cub in his down. Nine hundred feet below. Or was it
one-bedroom apartment. Hank knew she’d nine thousand?
heard his tales before but would fib about
it and save her worst irritations or tantrums “We climbed up there as kids. Every
for the folks at home. summer,” Hank remembered the chef
saying with a laugh. “It’s like life, climb high
“You know, the one about the naked Nor- toward what you dream of, do what you
wegians?” he asked. want. What do you want?”

Hanna grinned, so he saw she recog- “Dunno. Art. Famous books. The heights
nized comic relief time. “You told me once, don’t bother you?” Hank wondered.
but I kinda forgot,” she white-lied. She
straightened up, while sneaking peeks at “The heights? No. Falling? Yes,” the chef
the crowds of guys outside the windows. answered.

Hank decided to keep it short. She’d Hank puzzled how anyone could muster
tune out if he bored her. “They’re this old the bravery to balance between life and
couple, forty at least. He’s a famous chef at death so high up and bare themselves to
some persnickety joint, but orders from us. the heavens, knowing some never passed
Same pizza. Same day. Every week.” the test and fell or were like the young
couple the chef knew, who clasped hands
“A Margarita,” she added. “I remember.” in a suicide pact and sailed into oblivion.

“Yeah, thinnest crust. We don’t normally “You mean, why a Margarita?” Hank fi-
even make them, only for him. Gives huge nally asked realizing Hanna was waiting for
tips. Us guys fight to deliver there, him a reply. Ordering simple pizzas must be the
this renowned cook, does TV shows, and Norwegian chef’s sub-text, he decided, like
all. They live across town, on Emerald Lake, English teachers talked about, whatever
know it? Lotsa dough. It only costs them they meant by it, exactly. “Like maybe the
$9.50 for a large, but they’re big tippers. Norwegians’re telling us there’s something
They give the delivery guys 30-40 bucks, beneath the surface driving them against
sometimes more. Clear profit, for us.” the grain? Doing what nobody expects?”

“Depending on what?” Hanna insisted “Like you joining the Army?”
eagerly.
“No, maybe more like me staying home.
“How long we stay and talk. About any Writing books.”
old thing. With them, it’s not about pizza.”
“Or maybe simple food, like Margaritas,
“About what then?” are what they had when they were young
and poor?” Hanna suggested, changing the
Hank wondered himself, the same way topic back to pizza. “I bet it became their
he knew other delivery guys did, trying tradition.”
to figure out what strange habits the chef
and his wife brought with them from their “Yeah, or they come from where life’s or-
far-off fjords and fells. The chef showed him dered to a tee, and here they can act nuts,
pics of a place called Pulpit Rock. A Nor- and enjoy it, trying to fit in like everybody
wegian precipice of stunning granite that else who’s whacko. You know, they open
people edged out onto then peered straight the door with this beaming smile. Don’t

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have a stitch on. He’s this grizzled tall guy II
with a beer belly and a super fancy mus-
tache. But no hair on his legs. Stands there At the last stop folks rushed on and off #12.
clutching dollar bills so they wad up, while Among them were scads of the dumb boys
the Bomba gets cold, I can feel heat seeping and pissy girls Hanna willed to go away. This
outa the box.” time they accommodated her and scattered,
which left Hank to walk on with his sister. Nei-
“And her? Maybe she’s the hungry one.” ther spoke. Both knew their dad’s scenario.
Stop for a draft and head home with a bottle.
“Like maybe they don’t even eat it, I’m
thinking. They order something, to make it Hanna hit their porch first and opened
seem natural. I mean, they can’t call us to the door while Hank hurried in so Flo
come out just to show they don’t have any would miss his sister heading upstairs in the
clothes on. Anyway she’s happy and nod- smudged skirt. From the kitchen doorway,
ding yes to everything. She stands next to he watched as his mother went to the sink
him, she’s got her arms crossed and cov- and pared potatoes. She pursed her lips,
ered with goose bumps, and he squishes while Hank’s dad, who’d gotten home be-
the bills even tighter and holds her at the fore him and Hanna, slouched in a chair
waist. It’s darned cold out, so I’m shivering slinging epithets at Lowry Accountants,
in my boots. Like I said, they’re old and the where he worked.
door’s open and the pizza’s cooling. I’m
wondering if he’s ever gonna pay up and “Dumbasses, can’t add, substract, and...
give me my tip.” threaten...sack a guy for it!” His words came
out clear at first then subsided to static.
“Her, though?”
As Corey Standish’s ramblings filtered
“Like I told you, they’re in their birthday through the room, Hank remembered the
suits, and she’s smiling, and bouncing…” down-and-outers he’d seen from the com-
muter train, poking among empty bottles.
In mid-sentence he saw Hanna glance
out the window. “Don’t let me hear that,” Flo retorted.

“Remember Pulpit Rock, he says to me, “Low-down Lowry,” Corey muttered in reply.
following dreams at your age will decide
your life forever…he finally hands me the “Lush. A miracle they don’t dump you,”
tip,” Hank continued, “and says Takk.” she harangued him. Flo had bright eyes, so
when she grimaced a flame burned from
Hanna frowned. her visage. “You’ll pay at the Reckoning.”

Eager to explain his only word of Norwe- At times Corey’s slumping posture made
gian, Hank eyed his sister expectantly until Hank sure his drinking was a knee-jerk re-
she pointed out. “Look.” action to Flo’s tirades. Other times he won-
dered if Corey’s drinking drove Flo to the
Takk. Look. Two four-letter words, he arms of unforgiving temperance folks long
thought as a guy in a gray felt hat closed before he and Hanna were born.
the door to a liquor store and proceeded
unsteadily toward his car. “How often do I have to tell you?” Flo
demanded. “Take your shoes off. Spreading
“Dad,” Hanna whispered and leaned back germs from sleazy saloons.”
to roll her eyes.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Corey straightened up and smiled for “Were they dirty, the others boys?” she
whatever reason, lightening the heavy at- asked. “Smoking? Swearing?”
mosphere. Flo sensed the change and re-
laxed while slicing the last potatoes. She put “No, but no swearing-in. Any notice come
them on the stove. here for me?”

“Oh, American fries, my favorite!” Hanna “How would I know? Without your pass-
exclaimed as she flounced down the word?” Her questions hinted he was remiss
stairway, now in shorts and a baggy blouse. not giving it to her.

“Where I come from, nobody removes While Hank wondered why she needed
their shoes indoors,” her dad explained, his email access, Flo described her own fa-
while obeying Flo’s command. “My oysters ther’s long-ago days on World War II’s Pa-
next?” cific front. Kamikaze pilots. Blood and guts.
Hank heard she knew her stuff.
Flo shifted her attention from him.
“Where’s that new dress I bought you?” she “What about Dad?”
asked Hanna.
“Him? No war. Spent two years guarding
Caught between her father’s smile and a nuclear test site. Buck private and all.”
her mother’s glare, Hanna waited, knowing
their moods could change on a dime. “Yeah, I know. Sandia. Or some god-for-
saken place.”
“It’s a skirt, remember?” Hank inter-
rupted. “I spilled something on it. Ice cream.” “The Service’s when he started drinking.”

Flo gave him a questioning glance, so Interesting. I begun in school, Hank
Hank hesitated. “My god, it’s washable,” he thought.
said.
“You could stay here and work, get some-
“What flavor?” thing real.”

“What?” “Me, laboring in the fields of the Lord?
Totin’ Scriptures?”
“The ice cream?” Corey asked.
Flo pursed her lips in frustration and mo-
“Sassafras,” Hank fibbed. He glanced at tioned for Hank to sit.
Hanna and both burst out laughing, which
lowered Flo’s insistent guard. He waited for Corey and Hanna. Finally,
he got up to fill their glasses with water
“Yeah, sassafras, ice milk,” Hanna while an unlikely dinner of oysters and
chuckled and all four joined in playfully to American fries or hash browns, whatever
ease the tension. they were, waited. He watched his busy
mother. Fervent Evangelist, he thought,
“Just think, sassafras milk,” Corey joked. serving meatless Friday fare.

While Flo prepared dinner, Hanna and *
Corey went to wash up. That left Hank set-
ting the table. He had his mind on the Army Table talk went well. Hanna spoke of her
physical, but only spoke when his mother pride in the new skirt, now in the wash, and
asked. other school girls’ envy of her for having a
mother that knew a girl’s taste. Hank re-

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Revista Literária Adelaide

counted the routine at MEPS, but skipped “That’s it, you have to chew to get the
his thoughts about the Army personnel try- fruity fruitness,” Myles encouraged him
ing to act busy. while handing over a shot of Bacardi. Hank
swallowed slowly, ignoring Flo’s stare. Sa-
Together Hank and Hanna finally got voring oyster and rum together, he felt alive
around to telling how it really was on the and sensual, sensing warmth in his father’s
#12 bus. Bumping the curb to avoid some attentiveness.
bikers was a shock. Hank wasn’t the only
guy that spilled stuff, but nobody got hurt. “For crying out loud!” Hank heard his
As they babbled on, Flo went to the stove sister screaming in revulsion. She shared
and returned with raw oysters. Corey pro- her mother’s distaste for the food Flo so
duced a bottle of Bacardi rum. By the time reluctantly prepared to satisfy her husband
the others got a full plate, he already had a in his cups.
foretaste of oysters down his gullet. Hank
knew seafood was his dad’s favorite, but “No worry,” Hank said to calm Hanna.
he eyed his own serving skeptically. The
oysters looked slimy, an impossible dose of “It looks like someone puked or sneezed
gooey fat. on a seashell,” Hanna uttered as she jerked
back.
“Oysters excite the palate,” Corey said
and took yet a sip of Bacardi. “An oyster’s Hank realized he for one had gone be-
blood is seawater. You chew the beast till it yond taste. He remembered a poem from
breaks or snaps, like a fresh fig.” high school English about a girl brave
enough to defeat the child in herself and
Hank looked at Hanna, who munched on leave her juvenile ways behind, as Hank had
her potatoes and poked an oyster. In turn, done in devouring the oyster. The poem was
she glanced at Corey as he contemplated intriguing, but he could never remember its
another drink. Seeing the disharmony be- title, just the idea that the death of child-
tween father and daughter, Hank chose an hood’s a ritual and everybody experiences
oyster. He examined it and took a shucking it alone.
knife. Next he placed the tip at the base of
the hinge. He applied pressure by twisting “I’ll gag!” Hanna cried out.
the knife upwards till the hinge opened.
Corey showed him how to slide the blade To defend her, Flo lashed out at Corey.
under the top shell. Hank released the “Getting our only son drunk on this acid.”
oyster and removed the shell.
In anger, she attacked a bowl of po-
As he slurped the oyster, the texture tato soup she’d prepared for herself while
felt firm yet slippery. Strangely he felt a Corey devoured the remaining oysters. Left
one-on-one relationship with the creature to celebrate his transformation in private,
he was consuming and by extension killing. Hank moved Hanna’s oyster to his plate
Life and death became like one, as when and downed it with the last sips of Bacardi.
victor and vanquished share the moment While doing so, he thought of his leaving
of truth in mortal combat, Hank imagined. home, an act of abandoning Hanna to a
The salty taste, transferred from oyster to pitched battle between church and tavern,
human, was satisfying, like the blood-wa- fought out across the dinner table each
tery essence his father spoke of. night.

“Ugh, I said I’m gagging!” Hanna repeated.

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“Eat it,” Corey ordered. “Good for you, That was all. Sometimes they talked lots,
rich in dopamine.” not now. The rippling sunspots on her clothing
suggested continual renewal of thoughts and
“You’re the dope,” Hanna replied with a ideas, but Hank and Hanna let waft be waft
scowl. and pretended nothing changed. While the
afternoon sun held steady, Hank gripped
“Corey!” Flo retorted. the swing’s metal arm rest and Hanna sat
at the other end looking ahead. Long min-
His parents’ outburst over Hanna and utes passed until they sensed the sun gliding
the oysters made Hank recall similar, or down. He glanced to the side and saw her
even worse, family feuds. He’d put up with sense of surprise that he hadn’t packed.
his mother berating him at Sunday dinners
for missing church or imagining his father “A penny,” she said, trying to sound re-
flirting with younger women. Worst was the flective and motherly.
time both parents hit the ceiling after the
Fairfield Record published a photo of Hank Hank fingered the metal, like he’d peel
dancing with a black classmate at a teen the paint off but for no reason, except doing
dance. so allowed time to figure a reply.

Hank spoke little while helping Flo and “I remember once. I’m ten and you five.
Hanna do dishes, but he felt their worlds We’re all at home. Everybody’s talking up a
tug at him, one dying and the other being storm, like we’re encapsulated, you know?”
born. His locked in the middle. Once back in
his room, he found the recruiter’s message. She shook her head.
Swearing-in. Wednesday.
“Like we’re in it together,” he said.
III
“In what?”
Hank was sprawled across the front porch
sofa when Hanna left for school on Mon- “Whatever. Like all wrapped up in the
day. He was still lazing there when she moment. Can you imagine?”
came home. The afternoon breeze wafted
through a huge sugar maple overhead, and Hanna didn’t answer but leaned forward
Hanna walked through the leaves’ shifting waiting for more.
shadows, which made her white skirt rus-
tle. In the light it appeared dappled, even “Outa the blue, the phone rings, and ev-
though Hank fumbled for a better word. erybody stops but doesn’t move.”

“Liquefaction?” “Who in the world?’ Ma says.”

Maybe, but he let it be. Hanna nudged her end of the sofa, so
they floated back and forth in an even
“What?” she asked. tempo. She looked like expecting another
of his Pizza Bomba tales.
“Wearing the same clothes two school
days in a row?” “Then everybody freezes tighter not
wanting dull news on the other end of the
She smiled. “I acted like your chocolate line or some church biddy to drag Ma away,”
had turned it into a different skirt. Didn’t Hank continued.
fool anybody.”
“Who was it?” Hanna insisted.

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“We never find out. You, you squeal, run could happen here, too. Only a matter of
over, and pick up.” time before Pizza Bomba sends me out and
I knock on the wrong door and some riled
“Me, what could I say? Talking to strangers, up guy opens with an AK-9, expecting police
at age five?” not pepperoni. Not much fun being splat-
tered against an apartment house wall.
“‘Hello. Goodbye. We are eating thupper,’
is all. You speak, hang up, and that’s it. Every- Thinking like that made Hank waver. He
body laughs.” needed to be part of something special.
Hanna needed him, but by the time she
“And you’ve never forgot?” Hanna asked. reached his age, he’d be up there. Twen-
“So dumb.” ty-five for sure and no experience. Or ed-
ucation. The world won’t wait. Somewhere
“Who? Us or you?” there were books and music. Artists his age.

“The whole story. And that’s what you’ve “When I’m gone,” he said to Hanna, who
been up to, all day, sit here an’ swing back was growing tired after another day at
and forth an’ think up stupid stuff to tell?” school.

“No, I got calls today. These I answered.” “And so?” she asked.

“From who?” “The cops’ll murder another guy or two for
driving while black, and the working slobs’ll
“Friends, here and there. Wanting me to protest and it’ll feel like there’s hope at last,
go where they are. I like it.” but nothing changes,” Hank continued and
studied her. She was spunkier than him, but
“Will you?” living in a world where having sensible folks
mattered and the wrong boys could out-
He smiled. “Could be. Recruiter, too. Re- number the right ones. She’s still only a kid,
port and swear in, he says.” he thought, but so was I until the oysters.

“We all knew that. You shoulda waited “Meaning?” she asked in puzzlement.
and let me pick up. I’d run the bad guys off.
Like in the old days.” “Meaning it’s like the rustle of your skirt.
The light flickers and then goes. The skirt
“You’d tell them what? I’m eating thupper?” stays, nothing changes, except our percep-
tion of it and the light.”
Hanna fell silent. So Hank drifted back to
his thoughts. The day was his, but he’d barely Then he heard footsteps and saw Flo.
moved. Prospects outside the front door She said hello and peered at Hank, just as
felt stultifying. Thirty more years in Fairfield, Corey entered.
this dull burgh? Delivery boy or something
worse? Why not somewhere else? “Not packed?” Flo asked. “What’re you
taking?”
Meet up, before your stack of Bibles?
Karl texted. A last beer in civvies? “What’ll I need?” Hank asked with a
shrug. “Underwear? Toothbrush?”
Put that way, military service didn’t
sound half bad. Good pals like Karl would “They’ll give you that,” Corey explained.
pop up. From the Army Hank’d get college “Plus some discipline. Start from scratch.”
tuition, or maybe killed. In some unheard
of place, far away, like the hunks lifted
weights for, fighting for nothing. But that

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* Stopping at her school, he opened the
driver’s window and remembered being a
On Wednesday starting from scratch didn’t school boy himself. He turned to Hanna, but
sound so awful. Hank packed a duffel she was already out and over the curb.
bag, went to the bank for some cash, and
thought of what he’d see from the com- From the sidewalk, she sang out, “Bye,
muter train to the City. Varied temptations, Fudge.”
some of which he’d avoid for sure. A few
others he’d wanna try. Back at home Hank grabbed his duffel. As
he walked along the path to #12, Hanna’s
The time for swearing-in and having goodbye hung in the air around him, like a
a brew grew closer, but for now he was light but insistent breeze. He thought again
driving Hanna back to school after she took of the crazy Norwegians. In the midst of ev-
time off for hotdogs and a coke. She ex- eryday seriousness, their views were a be-
plained yet again how clean the white skirt guiling invite to climb upward on his own and
came out while also telling about a kid who not look back. His mind awhirl yet wishing
broke into her school locker. He heard her for the unknown, he stopped to text, Yeah,
but couldn’t help thinking about boot camp, but heading up a sheerer cliff, what we do
like at Ft. Leonard Wood, where Karl said his with our life, and trusted Karl to understand.
brother went. Hot and dusty, but guys from Maybe he’d even go along. As Hank walked
the Midwest knew no better. on, his duffel grew heavy but his steps light.

About the Author

Roger McKnight: I’m from downstate Illinois, but now
reside in Minnesota. I studied at Southern Illinois
University and the University of Minnesota and have
worked in Chicago, Puerto Rico, Sweden, and Minnesota as
a teacher of English and Swedish. My most was fortunate
experience was witnessing the dignity of Puerto Rican life
before the US’s post-hurricane neglect of the island. I’ve
published one novel, ‘Out of the Ashes’ (Mayhaven Press,
2014) and a book of creative non-fiction, ‘Severed Ties and
Silenced Voices,’ (Chicago: Nordic Studies Press, 2009). My short story collection, ‘Hopeful
Monsters’ (London UK: Storgy Books, 2019) features tales about Minnesota, the Midwest,
and Scandinavia. My short story “Victoria” appeared in Adelaide Literary Magazine in 2018.

40

SKELETONS IN THE
CLOSET

by Brandy McKay

Sometimes families have secrets. And We liked to play on the big porch; there
sometimes curiosity gets the better of folks. were flowers and Victory gardens all around
I was maybe eight or nine. One thing for the yard. I wondered why Aunt Lucy hadn’t
sure, the age of reason hadn’t kicked in yet. buried the skeletons under the blue violets
In the summer, we visited Aunt Lucy. Mom next to the picket fence ‘stead of in the
had warned my younger brother, Patrick closet? Just seemed more logical to me.
and me, to mind our Ps and Qs cause Aunt
Lucy had skeletons in her closet and Mom Rumor had it, Aunt Lucy became an old
didn’t want any trouble. maid ‘cause of Grandpa. Grandpa caught
her with one of those tinker guys___you
Aunt Lucy greeted us with cold lemonade. know, an Irish-gypsy pot and pan man. One
On a hot day and after a long drive from Chi- day Grandpa found the two of them in the
cago to Joliet, it just hit the spot. Aunt Lucy bedroom and ran to get his shotgun. When
always wore colorful skirts, copper earrings, Grandpa returned Tinker Man had done
and sometimes a bandana to hold back her and gone. Took his horse with him. Rode
thick white hair. She gushed over how much off into the sunset, or so the story went.
my red hair had grown, so it didn’t bother Grandpa bragged pretty good about how
me when the clacking and clinging of the he made pot-n-pan man disappear. I figured
bells and brass on her bracelets rang in Aunt Lucy might have hidden the tinker guy
my ears. She called us “Sweetie” and mar- in the closet and he died. I imagined over
veled at how tall Patrick had grown in just time his corpse had been there so long his
a few months. Patrick sat like a bump on a flesh decomposed to the bare bones.
log while she tussled his hair. When mom
told us about the skeletons, he had a deep The summer afternoon felt quiet and
concern of the possibility one might come lazy. Even the birds didn’t fly. We all relaxed
and grab him. But I knew he loved Aunt on the porch. Even Clark Cable, Aunt Lucy’s
Lucy, skeletons and all. I secretly planned cat, curled by her feet and slept like a baby.
on catching those skeletons and putting my I glanced around. Mom and Aunt Lucy ogled
brother out of his misery. the Vogue Pattern Book. Patrick kept his

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

nose in the Sears catalog and seemed not one wall and lacy pink pillows smothered
to have a care in the world. the headboard. A pale pink chenille spread
covered the bed. Lamps of leaded glass
I figured the time was ripe to initiate my graced each nightstand and crochet doilies,
plan. my grandmother must have made, pro-
tected the walnut wood. Fresh flowers sat
I meandered towards the screen door on her writing table and one of the pictures
acting like the toilet might be my destina- Aunt Lucy painted of children on swings
tion. For weeks I had calculated every move. hung on the wall opposite the bed.
First of all, there couldn’t be any noise. I had
read enough Nancy Drew to know gentle In the corner of the room, a nail held an
movements would be needed ‘cause wood old cooking pot framed by leather straps
floors tend to squeak. with two sacks of potpourri. Probably a re-
minder of Tinker Man.
The walls of the hallway were cluttered
with pictures of dead relatives all in their The door to the closet was partially
Sunday best and looking mean as anything. opened. I moved it wider and peered inside.
As I made my move, I wondered if those Lots of clothes on hangers, but no skeleton.
old folks could read my mind. What if some No Boogie Man. No nothing.
dead relative reached out to stop me?
“Hey, Mr. Pan Man, you in there?” I struck
While I inched towards the room, I had a a rat-a-tat-tat on the door.
weird feeling, like old eyes tracked my every
step. The picture of Grandpa glared at me. Well, you would have thought I set the
He stood next to a large dead bear and held house on fire. Things started falling. Boxes
a big rifle. Did he know my plan? Thoughts and thingamajigs propelled like bombs
of him wanting to kill me crossed my mind, from a B17 Flying Fortress. I fell backward
’cause, I crept around like Tinker Man. and landed on the floor. A human head fell
off the shelf and rolled onto my lap. Black
When I turned to see if Grandpa’s eerie eyes gawked at me. Big ruby lips searched
eyes were following me, I felt something to suck my brains out. I felt terrified.
fondle my legs. My eyeballs almost popped
out. I caught my breath. The thing lingered. My hands grasped my mouth not
Holy Moly, what to do? wanting to let out a scream. I heard a
screech so loud I thought the glass cande-
I glanced at my feet. Then I saw it. labra in the room would break. I felt like I
wanted to pee my pants.
If permission were granted to swear, I
would go to hell for what I wanted to say. Aunt Then I saw a big blur leap towards me.
Lucy’s cat, Clark Gable, who always craved at-
tention, wrapped himself around my ankles. I am going to die.

What would Nancy Drew do? My arms few to protect my face. The
creature slammed into my chest like a hard
“Nice kitty, kitty.” I took a deep breath. punch. My body shuttered. I struggled. It
“Mr. Gable, scoot along.” To my delight, he snarled. Claws came out ready to attack…
started to purr and took off.
Wait a minute?
Sunshine filled Aunt Lucy’s bedroom.
Wallpaper with tiny pink flowers enhanced I ripped it off me and held it at arm’s
length. We were eye to eye. I paused for a

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split second and Clark Gable struggled out On the drive home, I couldn’t sleep.
of my grip. He rushed to the bed and whim- Thoughts of discovering the real skeleton
pered like crazy. I must have scared the heck in the closet obsessed me. In a way though,
out of poor Clark ’cause he trembled like a you might say I did capture the skeleton.
leaf on a cold windy day. At least I found out what was really in the
closet. I wondered if mom should be told
All the breath in me seeped out of my the truth. But then I figured if she believed
body as I slumped over. Aunt Lucy had skeletons in the closet who
am I to say something. Besides, she would
“Seriously!” get angry if she knew what happened. Pat-
rick couldn’t know either. Let him grow up
The whole ball of wax: the planning, the and find his own skeletons.
conniving, the tricks…wasted on a cat? Clark
Gable…the famous “Skeleton in the Closet” *
He turned out to be nothing but a great big
scaredy-cat! In a few days, it will be my eleventh birthday.
I’m pretty sure I’ve reached the age where
“Nice kitty, kitty.” there won’t be any creeping around check-
ing on skeletons in closets. Next week mom
I wanted to give Mr. Cable a big hug, but plans for us to visit Uncle Bunny. He used
couldn’t ‘cause of the dead head in my lap. to perform as a clown for the Ringling Bros.
I stared at the big black painted eyes and and Barnum & Bailey’s Circus. I heard he
ruby lips. A paper mâché-mannequin hat loved being a clown, but had to quit. Some
holder stared back. County Cork Judge gave him twenty-five
years in the big house for robbery of the
I had to get out of there. I didn’t worry First National Bank of Chicago. A month ago,
about the mess. Aunt Lucy would blame it the warden of the Illinois State Penitentiary,
on the skeleton in the closet. I scurried to handed Uncle Bunny his walking papers.
join everyone on the porch.
Patrick and I are pretty excited to visit
“What caused all the racket?” Mom Uncle Bunny. Even though mom warned us
asked. over and over, we are still eager to check
out the elephant in the room she told us
“Oh, Clark and I were just playing.” not to talk about.

“Ahh, Sweetie,” Aunt Lucy said, “Clark Gable
loves you.”

43

AGAINST ALL ODDS

by Michael Emeka

The first time I saw Chetachi after she I admire, my skin would grow warm, like
moved into our house, she was in the back- grilled meat, and my heart would start
yard, brushing her teeth. Even through beating erratically as if I was facing a firing
the toothpaste foam, I could tell she had a squad. And before you knew what was hap-
gleaming white set of teeth. pening, I’d either clam up or turn to a stam-
mering wreck, words jerking out of me as
‘Hi,’ she mumbled, looking in my direc- if I was a cracked CD. Afterwards, I’d be so
tion. My heart speeded up and my breath regretful I’d want to burst my skull against
froze in my throat. the nearest hard object.

‘Hi-hello,’ I stammered like an imbe- As my heartbeat returned to normal, I
cile. So uncomfortable was I couldn’t even turned and leaned my back against the wall.
meet her gaze. But while she busied herself, Shutting my eyes, I breathed a deep sigh. I
working her toothbrush this way and that couldn’t win her now. That much was clear
and spitting out suds every once in a while, to me. With several bolder and more confi-
I stole secret glances at her from the corner dent young men around in the compound,
of my eye. She was of average height, light- and considering I just let myself down be-
skinned, plump and round-faced. Her brown fore her, it was now a tall order winning her
eyes had a friendly glint in them that drew love and friendship. Well, not getting her
one the way sugar draws ants. And her soft, wouldn’t kill me, would it? I mused. And
red lips reminded me of overripe tomatoes. besides, who even cares? I don’t give a
hoot. Another weary sigh. But deep down,
Scooping water over her face, she a sore place within me ached and smarted.
glanced in my direction. Our eyes met, and I cared.
I looked away. Holding the mug I’d come out
to wash in a tight grip, I raced back inside, *
heart thudding in my chest. In my room now,
I banged my head against the wall several The rays of the dying sun shot like lances
times, cursing myself. ‘What manner of a through the scattering of the cirrus clouds
fool are you?’ Each word was punctuated hanging in tatters around it. The heat soft-
by my head hitting the wall. ‘What… sort… ened and shadows lengthened. Seated on
of… an… idiot… are… you?’ the boulder beneath the Neem tree in our
backyard, I watched as crimson bled into
I can’t explain why that always hap- the firmament.
pens to me. Each time I come across a girl

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While I was outside watching the sunset, leaving the rest to the imagination. All at
my elder brother, Ekene, and Chisim and once, I realized these guys were subtly or
Gideon, our other neighbours, were in not so subtly advertising themselves. This
Chetachi’s room. According to them, they was a parade of endowments and virility.
had gone to welcome her officially to the
compound. But in truth, each of the young ‘Old boy, how far?’ Gideon and Chisim
men had gone to mark out his territory, like called out simultaneously to me, beaming
a rampaging wolf. I didn’t bother going with wide, contented smiles.
them because after the blunders of my first
contact with her, I didn’t seriously think I ‘I’m all right,’ I replied.
was still in contention for her heart. Nature,
such as I was admiring now, put me at rest Chetachi left them and drifted over to
and didn’t make my heart race unnecessarily. me. ‘Ke nke na-eme? What’s happening?’

A noise of displeasure arose suddenly in I shrugged. ‘Nothing.’ My heart picked
the neighbourhood: a power outage. Shortly up speed, but it didn’t go into overdrive
after, everyone poured outside. Ekene as it would have if I was thinking of saying
emerged first into the backyard, swinging something personal to her.
his blue T-shirt over his head to dispel the
heat. What heat I couldn’t fathom because ‘What are you doing?’ She was standing
the weather had cooled. The only reason on my right, gazing at me with shining, ex-
he had removed his shirt, according to my cited eyes. But my gaze was towards the
calculation, was to show Chetachi his mus- heavens.
cled, well-toned body—the bastard! His
extreme handsomeness coupled with that ‘Watching the nightfall.’ I motioned with
body made him a ladies’ magnet. my jaw towards the sky.

‘For all I care, they can have her,’ I told ‘Really?’ Her eyes grew brighter as fires
myself. ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass.’ of interest kindled in them. She came over,
leaned against the narrow trunk of the tree
Chetachi appeared at that moment, and joined me in looking at the sky.
flanked by Chisim and Gideon. Glancing in
their direction, I smiled seeing that both The orange-red sun was now an arc over
men were equally shirtless. What a show the horizon. Its rays receded fast, giving way
they had put up for her in her room! to the grey gossamer shadows spilling out
into the world.
Gideon, like Ekene, had an impressive
body. He was brawny without being too I turned and regarded her as she gazed
muscular. His considerable biceps looked with childlike interest at the celestial display
like they were fashioned especially for in- before us. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced
timate moments. Chisim’s body looked like my way; but I quickly averted my face and
any normal guy’s, but dark tufts of hair cov- fastened my eyes again on the dying sun.
ered every inch of his chest and belly. The
hairs ran down the length of his torso and ‘So you like to watch the sunset too,’ I
vanished under the waistline of his boxer asked her.
short, glimpsed above that of his trousers,
‘Yes.’

Silence.

‘What more do you like to do?’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘I enjoy reading and taking long strolls.’ ‘Thanks for the information.’ Chetachi
nodded. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. But just to clear
I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded as something up for you, someone walking
if she was describing me. ‘Ezi okwu? Is that through the bushes, admiring nature, is doing
so?’ something.’

‘Yes. What about you?’ ‘What?’ he asked from one side of his
mouth.
I shrugged. ‘I enjoy watching movies,
listening to music, playing chess and doing ‘Something you may not understand.’
a host of other things.’ I didn’t want to in-
clude the activities she had mentioned, so *
it wouldn’t look as if I was trying to wangle
my way into being liked by her. A few days later, walking out into the back-
yard, I found Chetachi seated alone on the
‘What about reading, watching the boulder under the Neem tree. I joined her
sunset and taking long walks? Don’t you and we fell into a long and rambling con-
like those too?’ versation that touched on everything. At a
point, I stopped talking and just gazed at
I sighed. But before I could open my her. She felt me staring and turned in my
mouth to answer, Gideon called her. direction. I didn’t avert my face this time,
and we held eyes for a few seconds. There
‘Excuse me.’ When she got to the man, was so much wisdom, so much understand-
he took her aside and told her, ‘What are ing in the brown depths of her eyes.
you doing with that worm?’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Worm?’ Chetachi’s eyes widened in
surprise. ‘I don’t understand. O gini mere? ‘Nothing.’ I shook my head. ‘You’re deep.’
What happened? Why are you calling him
that?’ ‘You too.’ She didn’t need to ponder the
words to grasp my meaning. We broke eye
Gideon forced a smile. ‘You know he’s a contact after a few emotionally charged sec-
bookworm. That’s why I called him a worm.’ onds and looked away, lost in our thoughts.
While we held eyes, I saw more than just
The girl’s shocked eyes glared at him. wisdom and understanding in hers. There
His explanation little convinced her. ‘Can I was tenderness in them, consideration, em-
go now?’ pathy, and what looked like a glimmer of af-
fection for me. I don’t know, maybe it was
Gideon shrugged. ‘Err… just to clear a trick of the light. I couldn’t say. Though in
things up. He’s a nice guy and I have nothing some deep and innermost recess, I consid-
against him. It’s only his strangeness ered I might end up winning her. I liked her
that sometimes bothers me. How could enough, my feelings for her having grown
someone go loitering around the moun- exponentially following this interaction and
tain or the bushes alone, doing absolutely those of the past few days. And I thought she
nothing? And to make matters worse, he liked me too. But I didn’t want to get ahead
has these piles of books in his room that he of myself. The wolves were still on the prowl.
buries his head in always. That is, of course,
when he’s not sitting alone under that tree ‘I’ll like to take you out sometime.’ The
like a monument to a perennially unhappy words came, unbidden, out of me. Before
man.’ I could think to stop them, they were out.

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Chetachi glanced my way, eyes aglow. beside hers, standing by the side. Ekene was
trying to be a killjoy.
‘No. It’s not like those types of outings,’
I rushed to clarify myself. ‘I’ll like us to take Standing by the window, I peeped out
a stroll sometime, explore the mountains of the opened louvres. After a moment,
or some other place and then go some- suddenly feeling like peeing despite having
where else afterwards.’ My heart was pal- done that just a while ago, I went to re-
pitating in my chest and I could hear blood lieve myself again. As I walked across the
throbbing in my ears as I waited for her courtyard, I looked towards Chetachi’s door.
answer. Yes, those were surely Ekene’s. Re-passing
seconds later, to my greatest displeasure,
The glow in the girl’s eyes didn’t dim the footwear was still in front of the door.
as I’d feared. Instead, they grew brighter, I clenched my fists and sucked in the air
spreading wider and wider until they sharply to calm my growing irritation.
reached down and tugged at her lips,
stretching them in a wide and magnificent ‘What’s he playing at?’ I wondered.
smile that reined in my racing heart.
Back in my room, I couldn’t contain my-
‘Okay,’ she said, chuckling. ‘I’ll go…’ I self. I flew to my window once again and
didn’t know when my eyes shut. All I know peeped out. The wretched slippers were
is that I took a deep breath and found my still there. I straightened up and sighed.
eyes opening at the end of it. And then Glancing around the room, I tried to come
Chetachi finished her sentence: ‘… I’ll go up with a plan of action. But just then noises
anywhere with you.’ I froze, certain I’d mis- came from Chetachi’s door. I peered out of
heard. But hadn’t. Looking at her, we locked the window and saw Ekene putting on his
eyes for what seemed an eternity. Soulful, slippers. He shared good nights with the
love-filled eyes gazed back with tenderness girl and traipsed towards our flat. I heaved
at me. Only God knows what she saw in another sigh and felt my heart and pulse re-
mine. But I’m sure it must have made non- turning to normal.
sense of the look in her eyes.
The following day was a Saturday. Ekene
We fixed date as we parted that day. went to the girl’s room and stayed until
late. What they were discussing, I couldn’t
* fathom. He had gone to her room at about
six pm; I could tell because since fixing a
Much later, as the night closed in on the date with her, noises at her door now drew
world and with power restored, excited my undivided attention.
shouts of ‘Up NEPA!’ erupted suddenly in
our neighbourhood and beyond. Everyone Thirty long minutes after Ekene went
scurried back inside to get something done into Chetachi’s room, he had still not come
before the next blackout. out. My blood pressure went up and my
heart turned to a piston, hammering away
In my room now, I looked out casually in my chest. The texts in the novel I was
through my window that opened into the reading hopped around like crickets. They
compound’s courtyard and received a mon- surged out of the book, looping and swirling
umental shock. Ekene’s, my elder brother’s, about in the air right before my very eyes.
footwear, was in front of Chetachi’s door. Undaunted, I read on, struggling to piece
And there were no other footwears there

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

together the sense of what I was reading. By eleven p.m., when I usually went to
But things came to a head at a point. The bed, Ekene had still not come out of the
texts dissolved suddenly into a dark vis- room. Though sleepy, I couldn’t sleep. Each
cous pool of letters from which I could no time I shut my eyes I saw Ekene, rolling
longer discern anything. Disgusted, I shut around with Chetachi on her bed, both of
the book, pushed back the chair, rose, went them fully naked, sweating. My eyes would
to my window and looked out. Ekene’s slip- snap open and I would lie there staring
pers were still there. I considered what to helplessly at the ceiling. It was that night
do. Three options presented themselves to I discovered my whitewashed ceiling had
me: I could go knock on the door and join cracked in certain places. ‘What could have
them in the room, or I could just barge into caused the cracks?’ I asked myself. Lying
the room without knocking. Or still, I could there, eyes wide open to avoid seeing those
give it a rest and wait for him to come out. I pesky mental images, they magically started
opted for the third option. Taking a steadying to coalesce on the ceiling. There was Ekene,
breath, I went to my bed, stretched out and his sweat-streaked back muscles rippling.
shut my eyes, hoping that Ekene would in And here was Chetachi… No. I shook my
no further time be emerging from the girl’s head to clear the visions. Rising from the
apartment. But I was mistaken. bed, I paced the room. It took monumental
effort to block out the pictures.
When I flinched awake a few hours later,
having fallen into a light, restless sleep, I Let down by the ceiling, I fastened my
dashed to the window and looked out. Lo- gaze on the walls. I saw no images here. Yet
and-behold, Ekene’s slippers were still in I spotted other things. There, just as the
front of Chetachi’s door. I gritted my teeth, junction between the wall and the ceiling,
clenched my fists, and fought an overpow- were hairline cracks. Cracks! I followed
ering urge to smash something. I strode them with my eyes and discovered more
to my door, opened it, poked my head out cracks. But they weren’t the only things I
through the living room curtains and fas- saw. There were house spiders and cob-
tened my eyes on the square clock on the webs too. My mind slipped from them and
wall: the time was a quarter past nine. I started counting unconsciously the tiny
dark perforations on my walls, to keep from
‘NINE!’ I screamed in my head. I became going mad.
positively restless. Drawing back into my
room, I returned to the window. His slippers At a point, I realized I just couldn’t take
were still there, the door to the room care- it any longer. I dashed to the window and
lessly shut. Taking great gulps of air, I went looked out again. Ekene’s footwear, like per-
to my reading table, settled back down manent features in the yard, were still there.
and tried to continue with the novel. But I
couldn’t. My heart was doing a measured ‘What could they be doing, for God’s
canter in my chest, struggling to get out of sake?’ I wondered aloud. ‘They couldn’t
control. have been having a conversation all this time,
could they? Mba. No.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s
‘But she has agreed to go out with me,’ having her,’ I concluded. ‘Definitely.’ At this
I told myself mentally. ‘She can’t be doing supposition, my shortness of breath wors-
anything intimate with him.’ I used that ened; my heart went from a canter to a full
thought to keep my heart in check. gallop. I drew in a long shuddering breath

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