Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 42, November 2020

Revista Literária Adelaide

and exhaled audibly. My vision blurred, and An awkward moment of silence. Her fiery
I knew if I didn’t sit down and try to calm my- eyes bore holes in me. I didn’t think snubbing
self down, I might pass out at any moment. her would generate such an angry reaction.
So I rushed to my bed and stretched out on
it, telling myself that Ekene and Chetachi ‘Thank you. I didn’t know you had such a
were probably discussing politics. low opinion of me.’

Not long after, Chetachi’s door creaked ‘Ke ihe i turu anya? What did you ex-
open and Ekene emerged. I rushed to the pect…?’ I took her by the hand and led
living room and looked at the wall clock: her to the backyard. ‘A man stayed in your
midnight. TWELVE. apartment till midnight, what opinion of
you did you expect me to have?’
Though relieved he had come out of her
room, I didn’t sleep a wink again the rest ‘He’s your brother. I didn’t know how to
of the morning. I lay in the darkness of my tell him to leave.’
room, unconsciously replaying in my mind
the different ways in which he had had her. I looked away, fuming, and telling her in
Anger, hatred, jealousy coursed red hot my mind, ‘Tell that to the marines. You can’t
through my veins. deny you guys did nothing.’

* ‘You don’t believe me. You think I slept
with him.’
I gave Chetachi the cold shoulder as the
day broke. She had gone to the backyard ‘Look, it’s your life, it’s your body, you
to hang out a set of half-dried laundry and can do whatever you like with it. I don’t...’ I
was walking back inside when our paths stopped, seeing the hurt and disbelief in her
crossed. Eyes pointing straight ahead, I’d eyes. Taking two slow steps forward, she
walked on by as if no one else existed be- stood face to face with me. We searched
side me. each other’s eyes.

‘Uche,’ she called, halting, eyes blazing. ‘Don’t you ever in your life say that to me,
do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ I stopped and turned casually as if I
didn’t know what just happened. ‘Yes, ma.’

‘What’s that?’ ‘And besides,’ she went on, ‘you care,
otherwise, you won’t be so angry.’
I looked around me. ‘What’s what?’
I shut my eyes as if they were betraying me.
‘That thing you did now.’
She blew out an audible breath, and
‘What did I just do?’ with it her displeasure. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all my
fault. I shouldn’t have let him stay so long.
‘Ignoring me.’ Her eyes were orbs of fire. What should I do when next he comes?’
The look in them robbed me of words and
immediately made me sorry for my action. ‘Do what any lady who’s not interested
in a man does.’
‘I-I thought… I doubted my words would
still make any sense to you since other peo- ‘Okay. But don’t snub me again, ever!’
ple’s now keep you awake till late.’
‘I’m sorry. I was angry.’

‘So how did you manage last night?’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘I kept an unintended vigil.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

She chuckled. ‘Can I ask you something?’ ‘Some of them think the saying: “Never
Give Up” applies in all situations.’
‘Shoot.’
I replied with a chuckle as we went back
‘Why is it some guys can’t figure out inside.
when a girl isn’t interested in them?’

About the Author

Michael Emeka is a writer, a teacher and lover of nature. He has been published in Volney
Road Review. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria and can be found on Twitter @michael64639151.

50

GONE WITH
A TRACE

by Ashley Jones

“Ahh!”, I said. A piercing scream escapes my I snapped back to reality. His fingers still
mouth. just barely touching my arms.

My fate is sealed just like Monica. It all “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
started with that damn box. Time stopped.
Dusty orange strawberry clouds dance “Nothing,” I say.
across the blackened skies. Musky thick air
dragged through his large nostrils. His eyes. “Your lying,” he growls.
Fiery. Burning holes into my soul. I stood
frozen as he moved closer. Closer, until “No! I am not lying.” I say.
our noses touched. He knew before I even
spoke. Finding this place after following the As I try to pull away it feels like two-ton
clues led me here. He had been watching. pressure plates are gripping my limbs.
Struggling in vain I hear the voices. They are
Glassy stark eyes stare back at me. They chanting now. Louder. Louder. The pressure
pierce me. Deep. A tremble, tiny yet mighty building pushing against my eardrums.
stirs in my chest. Oh. My heartbeat. I gasp.
His icy cold thick fingers trace my arms. “AHH!” the crowd screams.
Shivers everywhere.
“Kill her!” they say.
Days before I found a bloodstained key.
It was delivered to me in a small box. The He grins. His perfect teeth. Disgusting.
edges were sunken the color pale gray- His personality going against the very smile
ish-green. The box was from Monica, the he wears. Creepy and unrealistic. Heart
only problem is Monica was dead and had beating, pounding viscously. Laughter. All I
been for three months now. Inside she left have is laughter. Crude distasteful laughter. I
me the evidence. Evidence of her murder. belt it out uncontrollably. Eyes widen. Veins
Why? Why did it have to me? pulsing. He stares at me in horror. They stare
at me. Mouths hung like the rotten fruit
“Are you going to keep ignoring me?” he from trees. No one was expecting my reac-
said. tion. The inner folds of my mind have bent.
They were all expecting me to crumble. I
was expecting me to crumble.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“HA AH HA— HA— HA!” I say. “Come on! Can we cut the reunion? I’ve
been waiting for this.”
“I’ve had enough,” my bones ache as I try
to stand tall, “Why are you doing this? Why “What is happening right now? You c—
did you do this to her?” can’t be alive. You can’t be here. The evi-
dence you sent me. The evidence you sent
The staring crowd quiets. Eyes still, me. You sent me. Sent me. You bitch!”
steady, he comes back to himself.
“No need to struggle. No need to even try
“You know, Monica… was sweet. I truly and wrap your head around this. But here
enjoyed her. She reacted just perfectly to is another clue.”
me.”
She walks up to me and strokes my head.
He moves away from me. I watch as he
grabs a large butcher knife. The minions “I always envied you. Wanted you. Yet
mindless giggling, moving anxiously in the you were always out of my reach. I couldn’t
background. take it anymore. No one will blame me for
your death cause I’m already dead. Blaze!
“Get it ready!” he says. Blaze have at her,” she says.

They move in unison still giggling. He moves toward me, Blaze, she says.
Somehow, I can see that as a nickname.
“Tell me why! Why! Why are you so ob- They take me. Nailing me to the tree. They
sessed?” I say. hadn’t set this one on fire yet. Blood trickled
down my chest. Cold metal cutting my skin.
At this moment, I could no longer Something sharp. Something warm. More
control my fear or anger. I wanted blood gushing. Breathe shortening.
to fight. In the corner another figure
move. The shape forming. Moving closer.  “Hey, say hi to God for me. I doubt I’ll see
“I never said I actually killed her. How do you him when it’s my turn,” she says.
know it was her I wanted?”
Laughter filled the air like the smoke
My mind must be gone. The smoky skies surrounding my body. Burning crisp flesh
seemed to lower to fog and move with the overpowered the pungent burnt wood.
figure. The figure clear as the day came out Breathe. Exhale. Breathe. Boisterous flames
from behind the now burning trees. Min- lick and twist around the bottom of the tree.
ions depart like the splitting sea. No. No. It Around the bottom of my feet. Whispers
can’t be. pass through the crowded orchard. Frag-
ments of lies stampede across the leaves.
“Monica!” I say.
“You wanted to be me?” weakly I whisper,
“To be honest I really wasn’t expecting “Why all of this? Why the spectacle?”
you to be so clever. Or to even try and figure
it all out.” Monica says. “Because you were the shining star ev-
eryone wanted. The one no one contented.
“Y—You… I buried you. Your Mother Too smart. Too attractive. Too fucking per-
buried you! I watched them lower the fect. I hated living in your shadow. I wanted
casket.” you to suffer. Best friend my ass. You’re so
smart why not paint the path to your own
“Sure, you did. But it wasn’t an open
casket now was it.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

death. But you were too dumb to figure out hatred. I hate hatred. It is a poison that rots
it was all for you. I guess I win this one. I the roots. Lighting surged up my limbs. Heat
can’t fly until you die.” engulfing me just like the flames. No sound
would exit my mouth. My breath stifles. My
So, this is it. The end and all because of fate is sealed. Only not like Monica’s.
something as shallow as jealousy, envy,

About the Author

Ashley Jones is a novice writer currently attending Full Sail
University working to earn her Bachelors of Fine Arts in
Creative Writing.

53

THE SITE

by Katie Kopacz

The Metro North train lurched from side from the seat in front of her. She thought of
to side as it accelerated, wheels squealing, P. and wondered about the top of his head.
out of Grand Central station and into the She, Essie, even at a height 5’6” stood inches
dark tunnel. She, Essie, was accustomed taller than him but had never really looked
to the rattling banshee scream of the sub- at the top of his head nor had she wanted
way, so this was hardly worth noticing. to, though she had glanced and knew him
More bothersome was the presence of the to be balding. Now, on the train to go visit
bulky passenger next to her which caused him, she couldn’t help but wonder if the top
her to press her shoulder against the win- of his balding head, too, was covered with
dow, cram her duffle between her feet, and liver spots.
brace her jacket and book on her lap.
The timing was good. Perfect, she had
Looking out the window into the told Liz. Just days after she was laid off from
speeding nothingness of the tunnel walls, her second job as a restaurant server, she
she thought of her destination. This whole received the call from P. He wanted to re-
thing, today, this trip, she couldn’t tell her connect. He couldn’t make it to the city, but
roommates or her therapist or even her his wife would be out of town that weekend,
mother (to whom she confided about ev- he explained, and he would love if she, Essie,
erything.) She only could tell one friend, Liz. would come up to visit him. It would be nice,
he said, to spend some time alone catching
“Why isn’t he calling you a black car, if up. He had always wanted to take her up
he’s so rich?” Liz asked. But of course there to his home, and in the winter, it was so
couldn’t be a paper trail, nothing on his nice. Maybe she would feel more comfort-
credit card, so she’d have to front the car able, he suggested, since it wouldn’t have to
money herself and she could barely afford be at a hotel. He would pay for everything,
the Metro North ticket as it was, had in fact of course, and in addition to their normal
spent her last dollar at the ticket machine date fee, P. would add $1000 for each day.
investing in this game of trust. Liz only re- For her time, her trouble, and for the word
sponded “are you sure” and “for how long” she most cringed at, “intimacy” with her.
and “be careful” and “call me when you get They had been speaking again recently. He
there.” missed her, he said, hadn’t gotten over her,
still thought of her often. Rent was due in
Essie glanced forward and saw a bald less than two weeks. The timing was good.
head, covered in liver spots, peaking up

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Sitting on the Metro North train from It seemed like a good idea.
the city up to P.’s house in Westchester, all
she could think of now were liver spots. And for a while, it was. First came a
They had yet to share a bed, or any “inti- flurry of messages from men who asked to
macy” for that matter, but she wondered, take her out for cocktails, asked her if she
P. being shorter than she was, if when he liked to be tied up, asked her to meet at a
laid on top, adjusting himself to enter her, hotel room that night for $4000. Messages
if she would be confronted with liver spots commenting on her appearance were most
on his balding scalp, and if the liver spots, in common.
that very instant, would be the deal breaker,
would change her level of consent, make “Love the red. Does the carpet match the
her wish she could back track all the way to drapes? ;)”
Grand Central Station.
Most of them middle-aged, most of
That said, she had been on dates with P., them “married but looking,” most of them
and the nature of their meeting was, albeit claiming to be millionaires, offering to take
quite intentional, far from what she classi- her to dinner, take her shopping, take her
fied as “organic.” They met online, on “the on tropical vacations. She sat at her kitchen
site,” as it was euphemistically called, a place table, imagining sitting in a swimsuit on
designed for wealthy older men to meet a yacht with a drink in her hand, legs ex-
younger, attractive partners with a pre-set tended in the sun, and on her knee, the
understanding that financial compensation hand of a man her father’s age. Her laptop
would be involved. When she first heard of snapped shut. The late morning sun gazed
the site, Essie was working as an administra- in through the narrow air shaft between her
tive assistant for a special education program building and the next.
in Brooklyn. She was four years out of col-
lege and, even though the job provided her She decided to make a few rules for her-
with basic health insurance, her salary was self:
barely enough to cover her expenses, lest
much money left to bop around downtown 1. Men who mention sex in their initial
bars with her friends. She had lost count of message will be instantly ruled out.
the number of times she had over drafted
her checking account or made up an excuse 1. First dates should be brief, in a coffee
for paying rent late. Another girl living in her shop or over drinks or any place easily es-
building, a blonde sculptor with whom Essie caped should things go south.
shared a fire escape, told her about the site.
2. He will pay for everything, including
“It was easier than I expected,” she told her transportation.
Essie between puffs of cigarette smoke. “I
met him for dinner and at the end, he gave 3. Treat it like a job.
me a book with $200 inside the front cover.”
Her first date was with a tall, bulky mid-
“And you didn’t have to do anything?” dle-aged man with doughy skin and pale
Essie asked. blonde hair who bought her an iced tea,
bragged about his Tesla, and never called
“Nothing,” the girl said. “Just dinner. We’re her again. She met P. for the first time on a
doing it again next week.” Exhale smoke. smoldering summer afternoon, at a coffee
shop. The air-conditioning inside made her
arms prick with goosebumps but in the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

outdoor seating area, her sweat-slicked “I honestly can’t believe it,” Essie said.
thighs stuck to one another like two beached “Like taking candy from a fucking baby.” The
seals. P. was short, bespectacled, and wore other girl grinned and smoke enveloped her
a faintly sweat stained oxford shirt. He ram- blonde curls.
bled about his work as a real estate investor
and about the non-profit independent arts “How are they so desperate?” Essie asked.
organization he ran, and about collecting “Do you think they get off on it?”
art. She smiled and touched her hair and
tried to speak as if she was doing an inter- “E. bought me a dildo,” she said. “He wants
view on television, all charm and whistle. me to peg him.”
It was a job, she told herself, a game. Like
any other job, there were tasks and a code “Oh my god.”
of conduct. And in the end, for playing her
part, she would be rewarded. She leaned “He has a prison fantasy.” Both girls burst
forward when he spoke, rested her head on out laughing.
her hand, looked into his eyes to show that
she was listening. She focused so hard on “Are you going to do it?” Essie asked.
looking like she was listening that she hardly
listened at all. She laughed at his jokes. “I mean, why not? Right?”

She flirtatiously touched his arm. He “Sure, I guess if you’re comfortable,” Essie
asked her what brought her to “the site” said.
(the vernacular code word, she soon real-
ized, that all of the site’s users preferred.) He “Would you do it?”
didn’t try to touch her. For thirty-some-odd
minutes they sat talking, and at the end of “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Essie laughed.
it all he grinned and tucked $300 into her
palm and it felt a little like a drug deal. “I don’t give a shit,” the other girl said.
Smoke floated out between her teeth. “Might
On the hot New York street, the sky threat- be fun.” Smile. Cough.
ened rain. Essie saw a homeless woman
scrunched on a dirty blanket on the curb Essie and P. developed a routine. Almost
with a cardboard sign and a beat up plastic every Tuesday, he took her out. Usually to
container with coins inside of it. P. didn’t look dinner. At the Whitney Museum she winced
down. She glanced at his Rolex. Did he ever when he draped his arm around her waist
give money to people on the street? Did he as they walked through the permanent col-
donate to charity? There was the non-profit lection. In the dark of the Public Theater he
organization, at least. He flagged down a cab set his hand on her knee and squeezed. Out-
for her and as she stepped into the car, he side of several Soho restaurants, buzzing on
offered to take his ring off next time. She wine or vodka martinis, she’d kissed him in
shrugged and said she didn’t care. the humid summer air, always breaking away
when he pulled her in closer. Always gracefully
When she got home, she saw her falling into the night the way rain fell. Maybe
neighbor on their shared fire escape. she could do it, after all. She’d done it for free
enough times. If they split a cab home, he’d
“I told you it would be easy,” said the girl drop himself off a few blocks from his own
as she lit a cigarette. house, press a hundred into her hand and tell
the driver, “Wherever she wants to go,” be-
fore stepping out. Every time he handed her
money, she felt a little bit like Robin Hood.

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Her newfound abundance of free time a musician 12 years her senior. They met
was at first thrilling. She went to the beach, at a Brooklyn dive bar early in the summer,
went out to lunch, bought coffee and a around the same time she met P.
croissant at the local café every morning
where she’d sit with a book for hours some- She had watched from a barstool as R.’s
times. The administrative job she held at band set up their instruments on stage. He
the school apologized when they said they was slender, which, from far away, gave him
needed to reduce staff hours. She didn’t the appearance of being taller than he was.
blink twice. She paid her rent, paid her bills, He opened a guitar case and placed the
made a solid dent in her student loans. She strap over his shoulder, then methodically
found a part-time job serving at a restau- tied the neck of his guitar to a rope fixed to
rant with coworkers who made her laugh, an awning above the stage. With his black
and the paychecks weren’t half bad. She sneaker he popped open a tiny hard suit-
kept this job a secret from P. She’d never case on the floor filled with effects pedals
felt so confident. and cables. R. plugged in to the box and,
beneath the breezy summer night sky and
“I’d really love to be intimate with you the heat of the stage lamps, he swung the
sometime,” P. said after they finished a guitar from its rope while sliding his fingers
bottle of wine at dinner and now were over chords, stepping on different pedals to
drinking cocktails at Soho House. Essie tried change the cacophonous sounds traveling
her best to control her face. from his instrument to the stage monitors.
His thick, dark hair tousled around his face
The word “intimate” like something as it twisted in a fit of passion. She was mes-
sour. She knew this wasn’t P.’s first rodeo. merized.
He had been using the site for years, he ex-
plained, had dated multiple women her age Their relationship, if she dared to name
and younger, and told her that he had slept it such, didn’t have what she would call a ro-
with all of them. It was never a problem, mantic takeoff. After meeting R. that night,
he said. Essie wondered if maybe he was one drink led to another, and they barreled
exceptional in bed, if maybe those women together into the black hole of the night,
who slept with him did it for more than just emerging somehow side by side on a couch
money. She’d known him for a couple of at a small party in an apartment in Green-
months now, and he didn’t seem like a bad point, the dawn light shining in like an inter-
guy, after all. rogation lamp. They sat close, but shared
the couch with two other friends, all sitting
“I hadn’t slept with anyone other than my across from a glass coffee table littered
wife in 20 years,” he explained. “We sort of with drinks and an obscene mound of co-
stopped having sex at one point after my caine which had been sliced into lines by a
daughter was born.” His daughter. Who was nearby credit card caked in guilty residue. In
closer in age to Essie than P. was. the morning, the inside of her nose would
feel like a coral reef, but at that moment she
“I’m just not ready yet,” she replied. “I was too focused on her conversation with
just, I need to get to know someone. I need R., in which they had agreed to team up
to trust them.” should the apocalypse come, to take dual
responsibility of keeping the human race
A lie. The first of many. Essie was hardly
puritan. She kept a list. Number 49 was R.,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

alive. Maybe it was the looseness from the The truth was, she wasn’t sure she could
alcohol, or the confidence from the drugs, bear doing the things she had done so re-
but Essie couldn’t remember feeling any- cently with R. with him, P., this man still un-
thing but natural as they leaned in to kiss. familiar, still living in a world so foreign to
In the cab to his apartment, she took his her. Couldn’t bear lying next to him post-co-
fingers in her mouth one by one. itus, standing to wipe dried cum from her
belly or back, tip-toeing to the bathroom
The next morning, and on many morn- and, seeing her mascara-smudged eyes in
ings to come, they lay together in bed, a slit the mirror, beginning to cry and then weep
of sun shining through R.’s velvet curtains. in florescent silence, completely yet not
His room was messy – cluttered with clothes quite alone.
and books and record sleeves. She woke up
and rolled over but the morning-after awk- Eventually, P. gave up. “This doesn’t have
wardness she had come to know and asso- to be anything you don’t want it to be,” he
ciate with ‘time to leave’ never came, so she texted early one morning. “But I’d love to
nuzzled her head in the crook of R.’s neck see you again even if it’s the last time.”
and he wrapped his arms around her and
she stayed, until finally she stood up and as On their dinner date, he leaned in close
she reached for her clothes scattered on the to her at the table.
floor he pulled her back into bed with him.
“It’s raining every time I see you,” he
“No, not yet,” he’d said. “Can I make you whispered, looking down as he slipped an
coffee?” envelope under the table. She waited until
she was in a car, safely blocks away from P.
She had been seeing R. for weeks before and the restaurant. When she opened the
P. asked again. envelope, she counted $1500.

“I’d ask you to book the room,” he said. “I The armpit of the summer had turned
can’t have a paper trail on my card. But I’ll to fall, and then winter, and now here
reimburse you of course.” she was, bundled in a different wardrobe,
coming back to him again. When had she
“I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but I tied a leash around her neck? This was
don’t have enough money in my account,” supposed to be about easy money, about
she lied. claiming a power she never knew she had,
about narrowing the gender wage gap. She
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” never imagined that she, Essie, would get
he said a week later. wrapped up in this.

“I have a UTI,” she replied. She, Essie, who had become so wrapped
up in R. over the past several months.
“I’m very giving in bed,” he said.
Happenstance meetups (“oh, I didn’t
“I’m too busy this week,” she replied. realize you’d be here too!”) and knowing
glances across a group of friends turned
“I’m on my period,” she replied. to hand holding in public. Hand holding!
Which she, Essie, holds far more intimate
“My job has me working around the than even kissing in public. He initiated it all,
clock,” she replied.

“I’m sorry but I think I’m just too busy to
date right now,” she replied.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

carefully waiting for her approval with each stand for something? Weren’t hers the eyes
step forward. She came to live for those mo- he gazed into? After all, it had been months,
ments, his wink, his hands wandering her and they hadn’t had ‘the conversation,’ and
body in the dark at ungodly hours, still not wouldn’t that all crack and slowly shatter if
tired, still high on the thrill of simply being she said anything now?
together. Still high on the way their bodies
connected and fell apart in tandem, high R. had been on tour for weeks when
on the mornings when he’d put a record on Essie accepted P.’s invitation to come visit.
and saunter up to her, take her hand in his Even longer by the time she stepped on the
and pull her close in a slow dance. Eyelash Metro North that afternoon. She wondered
against cheek. Lips against forehead. how long it had been since she had plucked
a rogue fallen pube from her bedsheets,
And yet she knew she wasn’t the only and if that last morning session with R.
one, knew that wherever he travelled with (which was rushed, the tour van waiting, so
his band on tour, other women lay in wait for they decided to time it for speed, 4.5 min-
him. Little welcoming committees in every utes) had been long enough to cause one of
town. When rummaging for condoms in his his hairs to linger on top of her duvet. How
bedside drawer, she stumbled upon more many of her own hairs lay unfound twisted
than one letter from a woman in Madrid, a within the bedsheets of friends, beds of
woman in California. Letters she didn’t want numbers on her list, across the city?
to read but couldn’t keep herself from. And
if these two women were writing letters, The train emerged from the tunnel, the
letters, for christ’s sake, how many others banshee scream, out of Grand Central and
were texting, or emailing, and of course the into the open air. She could still turn around,
worst wonder of all, what was he saying? could still get off at the next stop in Harlem
But she was his in New York, where he lived, and run, skip, dance through the streets
and he called her every day, and didn’t that all the way back to Brooklyn. Outside, the
winter sky threatened rain.

About the Author

Katie Kopacz is a writer living in Brooklyn, New York. She
is currently a student in the Writing MFA program at Sarah
Lawrence College, and also holds a BA in creative writing
from San Francisco State University.

59

THE TWO-TAILED
MONSTER CAT

by Abhirup Dutta

The hauntings began three days after Ishani Ishani ran and ran, until she found her-
moved from India to Kyoto. She moved self in her company-provided accommoda-
through narrow straight roads, with tradi- tion: a tiny capsule-hotel and badged inside
tional Machiya-style houses, adorned with into safety.
paper-lanterns. She was running away from
something— something she could not see Her phone rang. It was a group video-call
in the dark. from two of her co-workers, both from Cal-
ifornia, also on site in Japan on her project.
She saw a string of lanterns on one of
the houses and heard sounds of people “Hello?”
inside. They can save me from Him, she
thought. The hostess smiled at her and ges- “Take deep breaths”, Akari said, putting
tured to her to come inside, but as Ishani on her hairband.
made her way towards it, the hostess’s ex-
pression changed. She gasped in horror and Ishani laughed.
ran inside, sliding the doors shut.
“Last night at the Izakaya, you said you
As the Thing gained on her, Ishani turned were having hallucinations, right?” Ryan
to the next alley, spotting another lantern-lit said, combing his hand through his fiery-red
house. As she neared it, a short man held hair. “So, we thought we could make you
his hand up in a cross-sign, and retreated relax and zen away your troubles.”
inside, shutting the doors. “Help me please,”
Ishani gasped. “Don’t run away.” Ishani saw her round and dark-complex-
ioned face on the self-facing camera and
Ishani ran farther, each lit lantern extin- turned on all the lights in the room. Her
guishing just as she was close enough to mother’s snide comments about her skin
seek help. Turning back, she could now see echoed in the back of her mind.
two long furry appendages coming from the
rear side of the monster, twitching against “Ok, fine, I agree. Show me how to do
the starry sky. your meditation,” she said smiling.

“It’s not any meditation, it’s called Zazen”,
Akari said, “Sit straight, leg over leg in lotus

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position. Bring both of your arms around “I don’t know, I have to still unpack”, Is-
your navel.” hani said, “Mom would be mad about her
home-made mango pickles confiscated at
“Oh, I know this. We do this in India too”, the airport.”
Ishani said, “My mom tried to teach me
when I was young, but I just couldn’t sit still.” “Ishani, this is where my parents lived, be-
fore they moved to California. It is a second
“You don’t have to sit still or suppress home to me. I would love to introduce it to
anything”, Akari said, “Just breathe in and you, as it’s your first time here. Think about it.”
out gently and let things be as they are.
Ryan you too.” Soon, another message popped up on
her phone.
“Why me? Urghh, I am here for moral
support, okay?” Ryan said, rubbing his eyes, It’s Saturday there. Why no response? I
and then putting on a pair of small round know you’re free today. Call me. - Ma
glasses.
Breathe-in, breathe-out, Ishani said to
Together they took a few in-breaths and herself as she got dressed.
out-breaths.
Ishani’s mother wouldn’t leave her alone.
Ishani was able to let it be. Her mind Back in India, her mother’s presence hov-
began to settle like tea leaves at the bottom ered on every conference call. Claiming that
of a kettle. she didn’t trust Ishani with “foreign people”,
her mother would make indirect excuses to
And then, the phone rang again. It was enter the room, pretending to dust the pil-
a call from Ma in India. Ishani flinched in- lows or such, while sneaking glances at the
stinctively. She dreaded picking it up and screen.
listening to more snide comments and ex-
pectations. Her voicemail popped a notification and
Ishani listened:
Then, the ringing stopped. Instead, a
message popped up on WhatsApp: “Ishani, you have been fighting a lot with
your own mother, now that you’ve grown
Photos too dark, not suitable for mar- up. Check that attitude. Love you. - Ma.”
riage or dating sites. Your face looks too
muddy and bloated. Send other photos. *

“Just let it be, whatever it is,” Akari said, Ishani met Ryan at the station and, togeth-
“Breathe in. Breathe out.” er, walked over to the location Akari texted.
They roamed around the block in circles
Ishani smiled. “I think Ryan has fallen several times before noticing tiny white cur-
asleep.” tains with an entrance.

“Ryan? Ryan?” “I could swear it wasn’t here before,”
Ryan said.
“I’m going back to bed. Ciao.”
When they entered, the three were
Akari said, “Ishani, it’s Saturday. It’s your greeted by cats purring all around the cafe
first weekend in Japan. And you’re in Kyoto. - some black, some white and others bright
I want to show you around. And Ryan will be orange.
coming too if he…wakes up.”

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Akari beckoned them inside. She had a her nose to its nose. “See? It’s almost like
Cat-ears headband on. they understand us. That’s why they are
loved in Japan.”
The owner of the restaurant appeared
from the kitchen— a short young man who Ishani noticed there were no other cus-
wore a kitty-band of his own and a white tomers.
apron with the words “Imperfect Kitty Kafe”
on it. She held out her arms, and a white cat
came forward cautiously, then ran between
He bowed and directed them to a hand- her feet. This was unexpected, and Ishani
wash, and mimed washing of hands before didn’t know what to do. She bent down,
touching the cats. trying to grab it but it clawed at her, an-
noyed.
“Why imperfect?” Ishani asked the man.
Ishani felt a deep sense of betrayal.
He replied in broken English, “Cats her— Wanting a new cat, she got up to walk away,
urm not perfect. Nobody— want them. I but the white cat followed her and blocked
take them”, and then exchanged a few words her way.
of Japanese with Akari, handing them each a
kitty hair-band. “Do you want me or not?” Ishani asked
the cat.
Ishani soon understood what he meant
by “Imperfect Cats”. The orange cat had But the cat looked away from her,
only one eye. Another one had an ugly mark seeming bored.
on its face. A third one had two tails instead
of one. Akari and Ryan both burst into laughter.

“They’re cats that people didn’t adopt,” “Hajime?” the store owner Jun asked,
Akari explained. “Not ‘Kawaii’, as Jun says. laughing too.
But I personally find them highly intelligent,
almost like humans.” “Sorry what?”

“That’s so sad,” Ryan said, “But it’s super “Urm .. eto … First Time? Cat?”
cool they found a home here.”
“Yes, why?”
“Yes, it is so cute. I wanted to have a cat as
a child,” Ishani said, “But my mother said she “Head, head” Jun said.
didn’t want anything unclean in our house.”
Ishani aimed for the head and the cat
“I can show you how,” Ryan said, “I grew didn’t seem to mind. As soon as she touched
up with two cats. You just hold out your it, it leaned in, letting her caress it. Without
hand like this and wait for them to come.” warning, it jumped out of Ishani’s lap and
walked away as if it never met her at all.
A gray cat gently walked towards Ryan
and jumped on his lap. He began to pet it— Jun spoke to Akari and she translated -
first its head, then the whiskers and then “He says cats don’t belong to humans like
gently over its spine. dogs. Cats belong to no one. It is the na-
ture of cats, so don’t take it personally. He
A black cat meowed at Akari. Tying her wants us to give him our names so he can
hair into a knot, she bent down and bumped scrawl it over our orders in sauce. Great for
Instagram.”

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Ishani got an Omurice (omelet over away. More nightmares of being chased
rice, with a cat’s face drawn over it, using down dark alleyways by a two-tailed mon-
ketchup, and her name below it). She ster continued.
smiled and took a photo of it, posting it
online, with the labels #Cute #Kawaii—the Having barely any sleep, she could no
new word she learned. longer focus on her project. More than
once, her boss rebuked her for forgetting
Ryan and Akari got a plate of mixed oni- to attend a meeting or missing a deadline.
giris (rice-balls held together by seaweed). He threatened to cancel her visa and send
They were the shape of a cat, with ears, her back to India.
eyes and whiskers cut out from seaweed
sheets. “Oh, Salmon stuffing inside. Oishi!” After a shouting match at work, Ishani,
having memorized the Japanese symbol for
* O-Cha (tea), entered one such place, and
motioned to speak on her phone.
They’d stayed a while in the cafe before Is-
hani noticed some black spots on the wall The server greeted her with an “Irashi-
next to the door. She walked up to it and masiye” and took her past the silent space
raised her hand to rub on them. Her arm into a separate talking space overlooking
also had the same black spots, like chick- the garden. She pointed at the first item on
enpox, except the spots were bigger. Ryan the menu before she video called Akari and
and Akari didn’t seem to notice. Ishani in- Ryan. Her heart skipped a beat when both
stinctively began to itch all over, frantically answered. They too were covered in spots,
scratching her elbows. but theirs were moving. Like a bug, a large
spot on Ryan’s face went inside his right eye
She dashed to the bathroom and rig- only to wiggle out of his left.
orously washed her hands until they red-
dened. The reflection in the mirror had no Nevertheless, Ishani was glad to see
spots on its arm, but she did. them. She started by talking about her
mother cajoling her demanding she use
Am I going crazy? She thought. Is this a fairness creams (skin-whiteners in India).
nightmare too? Ryan couldn’t speak much as he was unwell.
Still, he listened instead of throwing plati-
But it wasn’t. On her way home, she tudes at her like Ma. Akari’s eyes were red
saw spots everywhere: on her own skin, on like she had been crying all day.
her Suica metro-card, on the trains. Some
people, had few, while others had dense in- “My grandfather said something to me
festations all over their bodies. at the family reunion. Something about our
family that I am now old enough to know.”
But no one else seemed to notice.
“What is it?” Ishani asked, “Are you in any
* danger?”

For the next week, Ishani tried to tell her “No, no,” Akari said, “But I knew it was
friends about it, but neither Ryan, nor Akari big when this proud man thrice my age
responded to calls. She felt all alone. Her bowed down to me. It meant something
body reddened with scratch marks. No was really bad.”
matter what she did, the spots never went
“What is it? A family secret?”

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“Yes. We are hibakusha,” Akari replied, becomes faint enough to not cause any real
waiting for a response. But neither Ishani damage. It is not the radiation itself which
nor Ryan had any idea what it meant. is harmful today. It is the social implications,
the untouchability.”
“It means, my grandfather was in the ra-
diation zone when the atomic bombs were Ma’s text interrupted the call, saying:
dropped. He suffered from its effects.”
Without you, I have to do all the chores
Ishani took in information with concern. around the house. Meanwhile, you enjoy
“So, are you ill? Could it be passed down?” Japan. No response to my calls. Never come
back to my house again.
“No, of course not, and scientists have de-
bunked any genetic transmission on several Ishani knew that Ma was being dramatic.
occasions,” Akari said. “But many people in It was her modus operandi to provoke re-
Japan still think it can. Of course, people are actions. But Ishani had enough. She texted
polite enough not to mention it openly, but back:
many wouldn’t date or even hire someone
like that— someone like me. That is why Never coming back. I love you, Ma. But
many families keep this a secret. We might enough is enough. I might live long-term in
lose all social standing if the word got out.” Japan.

“Akari, listen to me,” Ryan said, “I don’t Her hands shook as she pressed “Send”.
know about this Hiba-whatever. But it is not
fair for you to carry the burden of the past.” “Ishani, are you there?” Akari asked.
“Were you haunted by any spirit? I ask you
“Thanks Ryan.” this because you said you had nightmares.
What did you see in them?”
“Akari, Ryan, there is something I need to
tell you guys”, Ishani said. “You might think “A giant cat, with two-tails,” Ishani said.
I am crazy, but I can see spots— black spots,
that no one else can. I see patches of it all Akari gasped and the phone fell from her
over the place but right now, I see a lot of hands, its screen now showing the rotating
them on you Akari. Far more than on other ceiling-fan. Akari picked up the phone and
people.” said, “That’s a Nekomata— a harbinger of
death. It is said that cat-spirits steal the
Akari did not laugh or scorn. After a souls of people about to die so they cannot
few moments of silence, she said, “It is not be reborn. Funerals often have chants to
unheard of. Sometimes, when people are keep away the Nekomata.”
cursed by a Yokai— a type of spirit—, they
have premonitions. They can see things “Wait, you guys seriously believe this?”
others cannot, especially impending doom, Ryan asked, “A two-tailed cat cannot be that
like illnesses. I think you can see radiation, bad. All cats are cute. Harbingers of Death?
even faint ones.” Seriously? You remember how we played
with them at the Cat Cafe?”
“Radiation? Those spots are nuclear ra-
diation?” Ishani gasped, “There was a two-tailed
cat there. Come to think of it, the entire
“How else do you explain seeing more of place felt … wrong. It had a spiritual vibe,
them on me? Radiation never really dies but but in a bad way. Akari, how did you know
of the place?”

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Akari scratched her head. “I don’t re- “What about Ryan, we need to tell him
member. I thought you guys suggested it, too.”
maybe? Was I the first one there? I don’t
remember much of that day.” Ishani pressed her lips. “The company
email mentioned him. It is too late. He is
“I knew it! The entrance wasn’t there the apparently in the hospital after having
first time we went around the block. It had breathing difficulties. I had seen the spots
magically appeared”, Ryan said, “I still don’t on him wiggling all over. Please take this se-
think it’s those cute cats. It’s got to be the riously. Wash yourself. Disinfect your room.
owner Jun. He looked suspicious. We need And don’t go out.”
to head there first thing tomorrow. Man, if
only I didn’t have this cold.” “I will. And what are you going to do?
Is our project cancelled? What does that
Ishani’s order arrived– matcha in the mean for us? Are you going back to India,
darkest shade of green in a black lacquered to your mother?”
bowl. Next to it, lay another bowl in the
shape of a fan, different sweets in the form “I can’t go back to my mother’s house. I
of a bird, a fish, and a peach. The server said, have to make a future here in Japan. I need
“Wagashi— traditional sweet”. this project to succeed no matter what. We
have to face this Yokai today. We have exor-
* cism rituals in India for our spirits. How can
this Yokai be defeated?”
The next morning, Ishani checked her emails,
one of which sat her up with a jolt. With “We must confront it”, Akari said, “It bat-
shivering fingers, she called Akari. “I know tles in riddles - at least that’s what folklore
why I am seeing spots. Have you read the say.”
company’s email?”
“Let’s go.”
“No,” Akari said, “Is it not the radiation?”
*
“The company notice mentions a new
disease called Coronavirus. It is an epidemic. Ishani reached the imperfect Cat Cafe
It started in China and has reached Korea within an hour. As she stopped before the
and Japan. Korea has already enforced lantern at the entrance, she heard a low
lockdowns to prevent its transmission, and growl behind her. She turned and saw a gi-
Japan will soon be seeing new policies. ant white cat, the size of a tiger, two tails
Don’t you get it? Those spots that I see are twitching behind it, ready to pounce.
not the radiation of the past. They are the
contamination of the present.” The cat’s head split halfway, such that
there were three eyes, two mouths and a
Akari sipped a cup of water. Her hands deformed nose. Two more faces emerged
trembled, trying to process the new infor- out of its sides. Gradually, more warts grew
mation. She said, “And you said you saw over its torso, turning into cats’ faces, all
spots on me and yourself? How dangerous howling in agony with their eyes fixed on
is this Coronavirus? Is it like Ebola? Do we her.
all die?”
“I recognize you”, Ishani said, “You are
“I don’t know. I’m scared.” Jun, and your true name is Nekomata.”

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The grotesque assortment of cat-faces “What do you want in exchange for our
vanished. In its place stood the owner of spirits?” Akari asked, “There must be some-
the imperfect Cat Cafe: Jun, in a traditional thing you need, or else you would have
black yukata (a funeral outfit). done worse.”

He bowed down and said, in perfect En- The Yokai moved his face up, and the Noh-
glish, “You know my human name. And you mask appeared to smile. He said, “I want to
know my true name. You know my human play a game. Let us have a Koan-Battle.”
face. Now, let me show you my true face.”
“Koans? Zen Koans?” Ishani asked, “Are
He took his face off like one would a the- they riddles?”
ater mask. Behind it was a crudely marked
face in wood, like that of a child’s doll. “They are the opposite of riddles”, the
spirit said, “You have to give the straightest
“You and your friends made a terrible answer. No complications, no delusions,
mistake in forming a contract with me,” he and no attachments.
said, moving like a puppet, “One must never
give their names to a Yokai. One must never “First the cat-lover— Ryan”, he said.
accept spirit-food offered by a Yokai. And “Koan for you. They say all beings are per-
one must never testify a contract with a fect. And yet the imperfect cats in my cafe
Yokai before the world, sealing it.” are rejected. Now I ask you, do these cats
have a perfect nature?”
“We did no such things.”
Ryan typed out on the chat, “The cats,
The Yokai raised his hand, his fingers ap- perfect or imperfect, need to be taken care
pearing to be made of straw. With a motion of. What can we do to help them?”
of his hand, three images flowed hovered
over it, mid-air. They were the Instagram “I’m impressed”, said the Yokai and
posts of Ishani, Akari and Ryan, with the snapped his fingers. The floating image of
pictures of food in the Cat café, with their Ryan’s social media post disappeared.
names scrolled in sauce. The posts had gone
viral with more than 5000 likes, far beyond “He is free. Next you, Hibakusha Akari.
what was ordinarily possible. Ishani barely Whose fault is the radiation? Is it, America,
had 70 followers. your new homeland? Or was it your ances-
tral country Japan that brought it upon it-
“A Yokai can take many human faces,” he self?”
said, putting on a Noh-mask, used in tradi-
tional theatre, with horns, bulging eyes and Akari looked the masked spirit directly,
an expression simultaneously happy and and without blinking, said, “There must
sad. “And likewise, a Yokai can also create never be a nuclear war again. In no country
many identities on social media to promote in no part of the world. That is all that mat-
and share your posts. Are you alone?” ters.”

“I am not alone”, Ishani said, and to Ne- “I tried to bait you, and yet you did not
komata’s surprise, Akari appeared behind fall for it”, the Yokai said, “You have a clear
her, holding a laptop. A video call was open, mind with no attachments. You are free to
showing Ryan in a hospital bed. He looked go.”
better, though not without heavy breaths.
Saying so, he snapped his fingers, and
Akari’s post disappeared.

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“What is my Koan?” Ishani asked. She no Ishani took a step back in fear, “You mean
longer felt Akari and Ryan with her. She was those cats are human beings— human souls
now surrounded by a fog, as if inside a dream. you have trapped in your world with decep-
tion? Souls stuck forever so they cannot be
“There is no Koan for you, only reality. reborn?”
Your project has been terminated and
you are no longer welcome in Japan. Your “Be reborn where? This world is rotting in
mother in India will disown you, too. Ryan its deeper spiritual essence and you can al-
will eventually die of the coronavirus and ready see the spots of decay. The virus is
Akari will move on to other things. But you just the beginning, bigger things are yet to
have a place in my Cat Cafe. Here, you will be come— fires, hurricanes, wars, and new,
dotted on, petted and fed by humans who unknown things. I am offering you an early
would consider you perfect the way you are.” escape: my world. What do you say?”

About the Author

Abhirup Dutta was born in India and currently resides in
California. When he doesn’t code, he blogs about travel
(https://earlgreykick.com), has promoted Toastmaster,
immigration rights and neurodiversity events. He has been
published in the Corner Bar Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review
and the Literary Yard, and has read at San Jose Flash Fiction
Forum (https://abhirupduttawriting.wordpress.com).

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THE DEATHWATCH

by Magdalena Blazevic

Wood termites gnaw away at the womb of The door opens, and the shadows flicker
the furniture. Underneath the smooth sur- more strongly. The house is doused by a
face lies a labyrinth of endlessly long nar- cloud of biting, damp air. Žarko’s head is
row tunnels. Black columns within. They under his collar. His hair is a shiny black
tap away in the throes of passion and fore- raven. His symmetrical, long moustached
tell the immediate death of Anka Kujadin, face tired and damp. Under his arm are the
the wife of Žarko the carpenter. From the heavy oak boards that he has just taken
miniscule openings a fine, floury sawdust off the wagon at the railway station. His
pours out onto the earthen floor. The lar- brother Nikola, the railway guard, didn’t
vae settled into the wood last summer, on see anything this evening either. He throws
the same day Anka fell ill and took to her the boards under the window. He closes
bed. the door and lowers the bar into place. He
looks around for something to cover them
Midnight struck ages ago and the fire in but finds nothing.
the stove is petering out. A rope stretches
over her with limp, still damp, children’s He opens the furnace and blows strongly
shirts. On the top of the showcase, a onto the already greyed pieces of wood.
sooty lantern throws elongated, flickering Ashy flakes rise into the air. The wood re-
shadows around the cramped kitchen. In ignites hellishly, like eyes. Embers scatter,
the middle there is a wide low table. The covering it. It burns. The firewood is dry,
low benches have been tidily put away throwing sparks. Žarko’s face flares from the
underneath. Against the wall, under the heat. He rises and undresses in the middle of
black crucifix, straw mats in a row. On the kitchen. He throws the raincoat into the
them, like on small biers, children’s bodies corner. On the floor lie discarded his dirty
are stretched out, each a hand’s breadth trousers and sweaty, bloody shirt. Onto the
longer than the one next to it. All are asleep flames he first tosses the shirt, then the
except for Mara, the eldest daughter. Next trousers. The fire is momentarily cloaked
to her is an empty mat without a pillow. but blazes into life again in wild flames. The
Mara has been up nights listening. Moth- furnace opening is a red-hot cave. It roars
er’s pained sobbing from her room and the and beckons mercilessly.
unbearable tapping in the roof beams and
window frames. Not even her prayers can In the middle of the night, black smoke
silence them. spirals from the chimney on the house of

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Žarko Kujadin. The night is starry. If any *
soul were awake in the village, they would
see that something unusual was going on Mara is in the plum orchard below the
there. Žarko’s movements are followed only house. She is sitting under a tree with her
by Mara’s half-lidded eyes. Her thoughts are head leaning against the rough, chapped
etched into the walls. In crooked vibrating bark. Heavy branches above. Bending under
silhouettes. their load. Supported by thin, high props.
Pails full of the juicy fruit around her. A sum-
Žarko takes the lantern from the show- mer dress on her, a blackened apron over
case and douses it. The shadows are eaten it. Her legs are naked. Her feet are bare.
by the dark. Mara crosses herself. Her toes are stubbed, chronic wounds. Her
face is turned towards the sun. Her eyes
It’s much colder in Anka’s room. She’s are closed. Her black hair a landing strip for
sleeping on her back under a warm feather bees and butterflies. The same, yellow, but-
quilt. She is peaceful tonight, exhaling in terflies that followed her last summer.
pain from time to time. Žarko crawls into
bed silently. He towers over her like a de- The eyes under the eyelids are restless.
structive storm. She rushes down the slope with Ana. Large
carry baskets on their backs. Rakes dragging
He clamps his hand strongly over her behind them. The grass is tall and only their
mouth. Anka’s eyes widen in horror. With spindly torsos stick out. Their hair is braided.
his other hand he raises her nightgown and Their laughter rings. Beneath the slope of
spreads her thighs. Her body has curved in lady fern. Ominous and hissing. The heap
on itself, like a worm. Wasted and dry. Be- spills from the carry basket. Ana’s knee is
neath his weight it breaks like glass. Some taut and white. It presses into the rustling
drops of bloody sweat from Žarko›s face heap. The snake’s teeth are thin and sharp.
fall into her eyes. Then the warm, thick Two bloody, purple points mark her knee.
seed spreads through her womb. His body They return up the slope slowly. Arm in arm.
relaxes, dripping over hers. Anka moans in The yellow butterflies land on their white
pain. She is trembling. She wipes her misty dresses and hair. Ana’s body is heavy. She
eyes with her sleeve. He rolls onto his side of falls onto the yellowed grass. The butterflies
the bed and falls asleep immediately. Anka fly high and vanish. They returned later and
lowers her nightgown and wipes her crotch landed on the wooden cross.
with its edge. Under the feather quilt there
is a strong odour. With great difficulty she Yoo-hoo!!!
rolls onto her side. Under her pillow there is
a cold scythe. Sharpened. Pointy. She holds She recognises Vranjka Arambašić’s voice.
the handle firmly and closes her eyes.
Mara’s eyes open.
It’s dawn. The fire is completely out.
In the yard, the first frost has fallen onto Yoo-hoo!!!
the chrysanthemums. Mara stands at the
window decorated by ice crystals. She looks The wind rises suddenly and rocks the
across the Lužnica at the Arambašić home. branches. Some of the fruit drops to the
In front of it, covered female heads have ground and rolls down the slope. The sun
gathered. Wailing and howling. disappears for a moment and Mara’s eyes
go dark. They follow Vranjka as she climbs
the Lužnica to Vrelo, the source. Her clothes

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

and a well-bleached laundry bat under her her ears. She sits on the grass and holds on
arm. Old poplar. She is chesty, with shame- to the vegetable garden’s fence. In her eyes,
lessly wide hips. the worms are eating up her tomatoes. The
leaves are speckled and dry. The door has
Mara gets up and stands beneath the been left open. The chickens are feasting on
open window. From within escape smoke the remains.
and children’s crying. She is pressed up
against the wall like a cat. From around the Children’s shrieks come from the house.
corner she peers into her father’s workshop. Mara runs towards them.
Žarko stands at the door, his face bright. A
shot of spirits in his hand. He downs it. He The child is in the wooden playpen with
looks around him a few times and hurries its hands raised high. His tears have moist-
after Vranjka into the forest darkness. ened the dry snot on its cheeks. Its little
legs slosh in the urine that has run out of
Beneath Mara’s feet the grass is ticklish its nappy.
and dry. Painful. Her dress is raised above
her knee. Her legs are thin and bony. Goat’s Boiling soup on the stove. At the bottom
legs. there’s just a little bit of water left and two
yellow chicken legs with the claws cut off.
The Lužnica murmurs louder in the forest. Mara removes the pot from the fire and
It is only disturbed by birdsong. Clean and puts it on a wet board. It smokes and siz-
clear. The air is cold, dispersing into tiny zles. She takes the child in her arms and the
droplets. crying subsides.

At Vrelo, the water courses clear and icy. Anka is lying on the bed, her forehead
Drops thread together on the hairs of her red-hot. She convulses feverishly. Her eyes
arms. The drops contain the forest and the open. Her cheeks damp. Her fists cold and
birds. She can’t see her father or Vranjka, cramped. Mara looks around in a panic with
but she can hear their voices. She follows the child in her arms. She goes out in front
her witch’s laughter mixed with the roar of of the house and sees her father coming
the water current. Mara’s step is soft, cat- down the slope. She beckons him by waving.
like.
The first dark falls. Anka’s body is calm.
Vranjka’s dress is pushed back. Scrunched The sky has gone black. Above the forest it is
up beneath the neck. Her breasts squeezed torn by lightning. It thunders and the earth
by Žarko’s calloused fists. Large rancid shakes.
sweat stains under his armpits. White, firm
female legs crossed across his back. The Vranjka descends from Vrelo with wet
thighs bearing bruises the colour of blood laundry over her arms. She passes by the
sausage. Žarko’s head dives to her throat. Kujadin house. The door is open. In the
Blood thirsty bat. Vranjka smothers her an- house it’s dark. The lanterns haven’t been
imal screeches, but the leaves beneath be- lit yet. Vranjka knocks on the door and goes
tray them by rustling in rhythm. in.

Mara’s legs rush down the forest path “How’s your mother?” she asks Mara, put-
horrified. Fine dust sticks to her wounds, ting down the clothes. Mara doesn’t reply.
thorns prick. Her blood pounds loudly in She looks in on Anka and covers her with
her shadow. Once again lightning strikes

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frightfully and illuminates Vranjka’s face. Her boxes were leaning against the wall of fa-
eyes glisten. ther’s workshop. The first was the coffin for
mother, and the other was a wedding chest
* for you and your rags.

Your time has come, too, Vranjka. I can’t They could barely lay mother out in the
see you from the window, but I know you’re coffin; they had to break her arms and legs.
dragging yourself after the coffin. You And even then, like now, you walked after
couldn’t even wait for the snow to thaw. the coffin. It was carried by my father and
See how the hills are patchy, there’s still three of my brothers. Just like they’re car-
ice in the forest’s shadow. Not even the or- rying yours into our house.
chids have broken the ground. A current of
stinking mud has flown from the slopes into But do you know, Vranjka, what he made
the Lužnica. The little bridge was nearly your chest from? From the same timber with
washed away. which he smashed your husband’s head on
the wagon. The timber is bloodied on the
I wonder what on earth old Rosa said inside. You can’t wash wood. Did you know
to you when you left; did anyone bless you that night that your husband wouldn’t be
on the threshold? Does your son know that coming back, or did you wait for him by the
you never mean to return; did he cry? Father window?
won’t have somebody else’s child under his
roof. My father burnt all of his clothes, I saw
everything. Flames blazed out of the fur-
I knew we were in for bad luck the mo- nace as if from hell.
ment you started roaming around the
house like a bitch. How slyly you beckoned In this house, Vranjka, everything is
to him. He followed you wherever you went. falling apart. It is as hollow as a rotten tooth.
I saw everything, Vranjka. I followed the My fingers press into the window frame. The
two of you like a shadow. You moaned and tapping can’t be heard anymore. Everything
wheezed beneath him like a cow. And later has gone silent. It’s only a question of time
you would enter our house like death. You when the roof is going to come down on us.
were just waiting for mother to die. And Everything is rancid, it still smells of illness.
your disgusting buckets of milk. Just so that That smell cannot be forced out. We open
you know, I spilled them down the privy as windows in vain.
soon as you left.
What are you going to do with so many
You didn’t have to wait long for mother children huddled next to the stove? I don’t
to die. Do you remember how it turned to know what you’re going to feed them. All
snow that day? The acacia pods withered the money went on the alcohol kegs. You
and froze. As twisted as mother’s body. Do should see how big they are, you can live
you know that you can rot inside, and be as in them.
dry as a prune on the outside? When you
got the news that she had died you shrieked Welcome, Vranjka. We’ve got your bridal
with joy. They heard you. Even then two bed ready. Under the pillow a sharpened
scythe awaits you.

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About the Author

Magdalena Blažević (1982) is short-story writer from Bosnia and Herzegovina. She was born
and grew up in Žepče, a small town in Central Bosnia. She studied English and Croatian
Literature in Mostar where she lives and works. She won several prizes for the best short
story. Her first short-story collection „Celebration“ was published this year.

72

BARISTA BOB

by Lana Ayers

Barista Bob had gotten so used to people The usual lingering aroma of freshly
of Cape Misty calling him Barista Bob, he ground beans and baked goods was re-
sometimes forgot he had any other names. placed with a damp, coppery smell that
made his stomach roil. He’d thrown up once
So, when Detective Peters asked him for already. He swallowed, attempting to keep
his full legal name for the official statement the foul from coming back up. The flashing
regarding the discovery of the dead body in red lights of the cruisers and ambulance
the coffee shop, Bob had to think a minute. whirled in from the parking lot, making him
He rubbed his hands on the freshly laun- a little dizzy too.
dered, striped apron tied around his waist
as if he needed to wipe off something sticky. The hand-scraped, round oak tables
that would normally be packed with the
“Robert Jay Wellington III,” he finally said. weekly regulars enjoying lattes and muffins
remained empty. A county deputy and a po-
Detective Peters was on loan from the lice officer in a uniform with the Woodrow
neighboring city of Woodrow’s police force breast patch strode in and out of the
to assist the Cape Misty Sheriff’s Depart- propped open glass door. They moved with
ment in solving the first murder in their tiny purpose, clomping across the slate floor,
coastal hamlet in more than twenty-five but Bob couldn’t tell what they were doing.
years. That meant Sheriff Dixon himself, on
the job for two decades, had no experience Detective Peters coughed, but continued
investigating a capital crime. to scribble in his notebook. Dressed in a
navy sports coat, white collared shirt, solid
“Robert Jay Wellington III,” Peters re- red tie and charcoal pants, he resembled
peated. He stretched up onto the balls of his every television detective Bob had seen in
feet and back down three times as he jotted his favorite tv shows. His full head of dark
the answer into a small leather-bound note- hair, styled in a side-part crewcut, was going
book. “That’s quite a mouthful.” gray around the temples and sideburns. But
Bob guessed him to be about the same age
Bob didn’t think it was a question, so as himself, thirty-three or so. Wasn’t that
he didn’t say anything. He leaned back young for a detective?
against the front counter for support, and
surveyed the café he’d opened up nearly Bob tried to put himself in Peters’ shoes.
every morning. Fifteen hundred mornings What would his life have been like if he’d
or more.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

chosen a heroic profession instead of run- “It was dark. I had to switch on the kitchen
ning a coffee shop? light.”

Not that serving coffee wasn’t important. Bob waited for another question, but
It could be the best part of someone’s day. none came. He licked his dry lips and went
And that’s what made it so fun for him. That, on.
and he really liked coffee and chatting with
folks. “I was thinking some kids must have
broken in to rob the register. But I take the
Of course, the coffee shop had been a receipts to the bank deposit box every night
distant second choice, behind his boyhood after I close, so it wouldn’t have done them
dream of becoming a major-league pitcher. any good. I looked around the kitchen, but
nothing looked wrong. No drawers open or
Both choices were a huge disappoint- anything. So then, I came in here, switched
ment to his father and grandfather, who on the lights, and checked the register. It
had been attorneys, and later, judges. looked just like you see it now. Closed, elec-
tronics switched off.”
“Tell me about discovering the body,” Pe-
ters said. “Go through it step by step. Don’t Peters was writing furiously. He bounced
leave anything out, even if you think it on the balls of his feet again. Maybe his
means nothing.” shoes pinched.

Bob had already told a faster, much more Bob waited for him to catch up. He
abbreviated versions of discovering the wondered why the detective didn’t use a
body earlier this morning. First, to the dis- recorder. Or have a secretary. But he knew
patcher at the Sheriff’s department shortly from tv, cops had to do all their own paper-
after five AM, and then to Sheriff Dixon him- work.
self when he finally arrived at the café at
about six. Telling what happened over and Before Peters had stopped writing, a
over didn’t get any easier. blue-uniformed state trooper with a distinc-
tive Smokey the bear hat came in through
It was only ten AM and he was feeling the front door.
wrung out. He hadn’t been allowed to
touch anything in his own shop. That meant “Detective Peters?” the trooper said.
he couldn’t make or drink any coffee. As the
barista, he was one his own best customers. “That’s me,” Peters answered, extending
a hand.
“I pulled into the parking lot out back at
five AM, like always,” Bob said. “I had washed The two lawmen shook.
a bunch of aprons at home last night, so I
grabbed those off the passenger seat, and “Sergeant Brandt,” the trooper said, tip-
headed for the back door. It was still dark ping his hat. “Wanted to let you know foren-
out, but when I got within a couple of feet of sics is here. Can they get started?”
the stoop, the motion light came on. That’s
when I saw the back door was open, and the “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need any-
bottom corner glass pane was broken. So—” thing from my men.”

“Were the lights in the café turned on?” “Should be good,” the trooper replied.
Peter’s said, interrupting. “Let us know if there’s anything you want
us to focus on more thoroughly.” Instead of

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waiting for Peters to answer, Brandt went to “You mean you threw up?” Peters said.
the front door and waved.
“Yes, sir. Sorry about the mess. I hope I
In short order, a whole parade of people didn’t spoil the investigation.”
came through. Most wore navy uniforms
that looked janitorial. Some carried equip- “Did you recognize the victim?”
ment cases. One had a reporter-style, fancy
digital camera and immediately began “Couldn’t see a face. So, no.”
flashing pictures.
“All right, Mr. Wellington,” Peters said. “I
If Bob weren’t so worried about what want you to go sit down in your office. Try
was going to happen to him and his café, he not to touch anything. And no more phone
might have actually enjoyed watching the calls. I’ll send an officer in when we need
investigators do their work. But this wasn’t you again.” Peters turned and signaled to
a tv show. And the dead body here was no a uniformed officer. “Murdock, escort Mr.
actor sleeping on set. His place of business Wellington to the back office.”
was the crime scene. For real.
Bob wondered why he needed an escort
“Let’s back to where we were,” Peters to his own office.
said. “Cash register closed.”
The uniformed officer placed a hand
Bob tried to focus his attention on the firmly on the small of Bob’s back and prac-
detective. It was tough with all the activity tically propelled him out of the room.
going on around them.
Bob concentrated on putting one foot
“Right,” Bob said. “So, I looked around the in front of the other and trying not to fall
room a bit, and that’s when I saw a person down.
lying on the floor there, face down.” He
pointed around the corner, to the area that *
lined the bay window. “It looked like a young
person. You know, the body being so small. I Bob had no idea how long he’d been sitting
was so scared, I nearly pissed myself.” there, when officer Murdock entered the
office. He’d been staring at the photo on
“What scared you?” Peters asked. the wall opposite his desk. It was taken the
day he’d opened the café five years ago.
“Well, I thought I was alone. I just wasn’t
expecting anyone to be here. Alive or…” His mother stood with her arm around
him, beaming. She had told him she how
“What did you do next?” proud she was of him. He’d saved up the
money to buy the café from years of working
“I went up close, to see if he was all right. minimum wage jobs, and hadn’t asked his
That’s when I saw the pool of blood.” Bob father for a penny.
had been okay relating the story so far, but
he started to shake. Of course, the place needed a ton of re-
modeling, but he was willing to do every-
“Did you touch him?” thing himself.

“No, I mean that much blood coming In the photo, his father and grandfather
from his head. I figured he couldn’t still be stood off to one side, both scowling, arms
alive. So much blood. That’s when I lost it.” crossed.

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“Come with me,” Murdock said. “Peters But he would know her anywhere.
needs to see if you can ID the body.”
He felt the bile rising at the back of his
This time, Murdock allowed him to walk throat.
ahead on his own. But Bob wasn’t sure he
could. “Do you know this woman?” Peters said.

* “She’s my wife,” Bob said, then threw up
for the second time that morning.
Even before he got close to the body, Bob
could see that someone had turned the *
person over.
Accompanied by Murdock, Peters had al-
The round toes of the smallish brown lowed Bob to go into the restroom to clean
hiking books now pointed toward the ceiling. himself up. He washed his mouth out with
water and rinsed a few times. He splashed
Bob stopped in his tracks. He didn’t want his face with cold water, then wiped himself
to get any closer. He didn’t want to know. off with his apron. This was a nightmare. It
What if it was one of the Miller boys, or couldn’t really be happening.
some other young teenager he knew from
town? He couldn’t bear to see a dead child. *

He felt Murdock’s hand on his back, once Peters was seated at the café table closest
again propelling him forward. to the cash register.

Peters stood next to the body. “Sit down, son.” The detective was hardly
old enough to be his father, but Bob appre-
A forensics investigator stood next to Pe- ciated his kindly manner. “You said the de-
ters, camera aimed toward Bob, instead of ceased is your wife? What is her name?”
the person on the ground.
“Sally Jenkins. She was my wife,” Bob
Finally, Bob was close enough to see the said. “Married less than four days. We were
face. sixteen, ran off to Vegas on a Greyhound,
eloped in one of those Elvis chapels. But my
Bob heard a high-pitched squeal. It had dad tracked us down with a PI who hauled
come from his own mouth. us back here. To Woodrow, I mean. And my
grandpa, he was a judge at the time, pulled
A camera flash went off and burned light some strings and got the marriage annulled
in Bob’s eyes, but still he saw the face. right away.”

The dead person wasn’t a teenager after “Now, I know where I heard that Wel-
all. lington name,” Peters said. “Your grand-
father was judge Wellington. The famous
Or a boy. hanging judge. And then your father fol-
lowed in his footsteps. You didn’t like the
She was a young, petite woman. Her hair family business, huh?”
had been cut short, like a boy’s.
Bob shrugged his shoulders. Now Peters
But her hair had been long the last time really did sound like his father.
he’d seen her, seventeen years ago. Down
to her waist.

And then, she didn’t have a bullet hole in
the middle of her forehead. Or blood caked
on her face.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“So she wasn’t your wife at the time she “In the drawer under the register.”
died.”
Peters pointed at Murdock. “Someone
“Not technically. But I never quit loving give him some gloves,” he shouted.
her.” Bob felt tears drop from the corners
of his eyes. “Our families separated us after In a few seconds, Murdock called from
Vegas. I’m pretty sure my dad paid to make behind the counter. “No gun here, sir.”
her family move away. I never heard from
Sally again. That was probably part of the “Do you keep the drawer secured?” Pe-
deal. Dad didn’t think she was good enough ters asked.
for me. Her father was a fisherman. Her
mother, a Polish immigrant, didn’t speak “Drawer doesn’t even have a lock,” Bob
English. I got sent off to military school for said. “This is Cape Misty.”
the rest of high school.”
“When did you last see the weapon?”
“So when was the last time you saw Ms.
Jenkins?” Peters said. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Bob felt a
caffeine deprivation headache coming on.
“The day the PI brought us back from Las
Vegas. That was over seventeen years ago. “Who else knew about the gun?” Peters
She hasn’t changed though. I mean except said.
for the bullet…” Bob choked up and couldn’t
finish. He hung his head as the tears came “I mean it wasn’t a secret. Ginny and Dave
faster. probably knew. Those are my employees.”

Murdock patted him on the back, then “But you never told them about the
handed him a paper cup of water. weapon?”

Bob wiped his eyes with his palm, and “I don’t think so,” Bob said.
took a sip.
“Murdock,” Peters said, “see if the team
“You say you attended military school, outside has found a twenty-two.”
Robert. So, you know how to use firearms,
don’t you?” “Yes sir,” Murdock said.

Peters couldn’t think he had anything to “The bullet wound in your ex-wife’s fore-
do with her death, could he? head appears to be small caliber. Probably
a twenty-two.” Peters stood. “Robert, I’m
“They trained us on pellet rifles at Clarkson going to have one of the uniforms escort
Academy. But I haven’t fired a weapon since you to the Sheriff’s station. Merely a for-
graduation.” mality. We’re not charging you with any-
thing yet.”
“And do you own any weapons, son?”
“Sir,” Murdock said, coming in from
Bob didn’t like where this was going. outside. They found a twenty-two-caliber
“Yeah. I bought a twenty-two for protection weapon in Wellington’s car. In the glove box.
for the café.” Recently fired.”

“And where is that weapon now?” Peters Bob stood, his knees wobbly. “I didn’t
said. kill her,” he said. “You’ve got to believe me.”
But that’s what all the killers on tv said. And
the innocent ones too, who got sent up.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* Bob couldn’t get comfortable in the seat.
It felt too stiff. Maybe that was the point.
Outside the café, the air smelled like rain. His wrists were okay. But his shoulders were
The smoky gray sky threatened, but with- starting to ache from the unnatural position
held. It was typical Cape Misty weather. of his arms, not to mention the ghost of the
Somehow, it seemed more like the end of labrum injury he suffered in high school that
the world, to Bob. had never been right again.

Murdock cuffed him, hands behind his The Sheriff started the car and “Hey Jude”
back, and pushed him forward to Sheriff started. Dixon hummed along. The Sheriff’s
Dixon’s cruiser. Then, the officer frisked him Department was about a two-minute drive
up and down, in his crotch. Murdock’s taps from the café. They wouldn’t even get to
were harder than they looked on tv. hear the end of the song.

“I can take it from here, officer,” Dixon said, Bob didn’t think police were allowed
in his slow, methodical way. He never usu- to listen to music in their cars. And he’d
ally wore the Smokey hat that went with the never figured Dixon for a Beatles fan. But
beige uniform, but right then, he had it on. then again, The Beatles were probably just
coming into their own when the Sheriff was
Bob had always liked the sheriff. They ex- a young man.
changed pleasantries about goings on in the
town whenever Dixon came in for coffee— The lyrics flowed over Bob, and his tears
tall, black, extra sugar. started up again. Poor Sally. Where had she
been all these years? Had she married? Did
“Bob’s not gonna give me any trouble.” she have kids of her own?
Dixon said.
*
Bob wasn’t sure who the Sheriff was
talking to. Murdock had gone back inside Bob had been to the Cape Misty Sheriff’s De-
the café. Maybe Dixon was giving him some partment building once, a while back, to see
kind of sideways warning. about getting a clamming license. He hadn’t
gone clamming for a couple of years, though.
The Sheriff opened the back door to the
cruiser and took Bob by the elbow, gently The front room of the Department was
guiding him forward. Dixon’s ample pot mainly a waiting area with a counter, though
belly brushed his backside as he bent his there was a big bulletin board with lots of
knees to get in. town information and a few flyers showing
wanted criminals. Like most offices, it was
Attempting to enter the backseat of a over-lit with too-bright fluorescents.
car with hands cuffed behind your back was
awkward. Bob couldn’t gage exactly where The light hurt Bob’s teary eyes as Dixon
his butt was, and thought he might end up led him through the front room to the se-
on the floor instead of the seat. Somehow, curity door next to the counter, and into a
he managed. private office with a metal table with wood-
look Formica top in the middle, and a few
The Sheriff’s car smelled like tuna fish metal folding chairs scattered all round it.
and cinnamon spice pipe tobacco, though A dented gray waste basket sat in the far
he’d never seen Dixon with a pipe. Or eating corner.
tuna fish, for that matter.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

The Sheriff helped him into one of the Professional courtesy and all, I’m gonna call
chairs. him myself. How’s that?”

“We’re gonna fingerprint you, Bob, in a bit. That was just fine with Bob. The less he
Just routine. First, I got to go do a little paper- had to say to the man himself, the better.
work. You wait here a minute, okay?”
*
Dixon left and shut the door behind him.
After he’d been fingerprinted by pim-
The bare white walls of the square room ply-faced Deputy Barnes, the youngest offi-
were marred with black marks and odd- cer in the department, he’d been put in a cell.
shaped yellow stains. A typed sheet, with
print too small to read from where he sat, At least he didn’t have to wear the cuffs
was tacked up near the wastebasket. The any longer.
room had no windows, Bob realized.
Seated on the thin mattress of the
His shoulders hurt, his head ached, his bottom bunk, he rotated and rubbed his
eyes burned, and his stomach felt jumpy. shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. His
All he wanted was to blot everything out. fingers still smelled of ink and alcohol, but
All feeling. All thoughts. He closed his eyes. the cell itself reeked of bleach. At least that
Bob tried not to see Sally’s dead face in his meant it had been cleaned recently.
head, but it was no use.
He took advantage of the lidless, stain-
* less steel toilet to relieve himself. He hadn’t
realized how badly he needed to go.
After what felt like a long time, the door
opened and Sheriff Dixon returned. He had Once back on the bunk, he studied the
a clipboard in his hand. “Bob, Detective Pe- walls. The peeling, greenish-gray paint had
ters is going to need contact information been scratched, kicked, bitten, and graffi-
for Ginny and Dave. Just needs to dot all tied by previous occupants. Nothing very
the I’s. and cross all the T’s. I figured you clever or original was written there. Mostly
got all that in your office in the café.” negative sentiments about police, women,
or parts of women’s bodies. There were
“I have a folder on the computer labeled a few unrealistic drawings of penises too.
‘Personnel.’ Everything’s in there. But he Why did men like to draw penises, anyway?
needs a password to log on. Password is What was the point? Maybe it was like a
good beans, one word, all caps.” peeing dog marking its territory. And where
had those he came before him gotten pens,
“Thanks, son. We’ll get that to the detec- anyhow? Everything in his pockets had
tive right away.” been taken away before the fingerprinting.
It hadn’t been much—his wallet, his phone,
Bob was everybody’s son today. He a comb. But nothing to write with.
didn’t think that was such a good thing. But
it reminded him. “Can I make a phone call?” Deputy Barnes came by with a paper cup
of water and handed it though a slightly
“Who do you want to call?” Dixon asked. wider opening in the bars.

There was no other choice. “My father,” “Any way I could get a cup of coffee in-
Bob said. stead?” Bob said.

“Judge Wellington’s gonna want to
hear about this. Of course. His own son.

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“You wouldn’t want it,” Barnes said. seventy-two hours for ballistics to come
“There’s a reason we all come to your place back. So Detective Peters is willing to have
for joe. I don’t think the pot here’s been the Sheriff’s department release you into
washed in the history of the department.” my custody.”

“Still, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Bob “Thanks, Dad.” Bob said. He wondered if
said. “I could use the caffeine.” he’d be better off just waiting in the cell. At
least he wouldn’t have to be lectured at and
“I sure hope you’re not guilty, Bob. Be a continually reminded what a disappoint-
shame for Three Rivers to shut down. Truth ment he was.
is, I don’t think half the town would func-
tion without your coffee.” *

Even if Bob managed to convince the po- Bob’s parents’ house was in the finest sec-
lice of his innocence, he realized he might tion of Woodrow. Though not a gated com-
never be able to go back to his old life. The munity, it still had all the trappings of the
woman he loved had been killed in the café upper crust—double acre home sites, long
he loved. One trumped the other, didn’t it? driveways, lit-up fountains.

* He still thought of the house there as
his mom’s too. Her cheerful presence re-
Bob startled awake to the sound of his fa- mained everywhere in the way the home
ther’s voice. It took him a minute to figure was decorated, from the tasteful botanical
out where he was. He hadn’t remembered curtains, to the comfortable sofas, to the
dozing off. pretty lead crystal spheres she collected, to
the bright landscape paintings on the walls.
“You know better than to talk to anyone
without a lawyer,” his dad said, speech He missed his mother even more when
preachy and booming as always. he came home. He sat in the spot on the
couch she had always favored. Bob imagined
But the retired Honorable Judge Wel- he could still smell her lavender perfume.
lington Jr. didn’t have to open his mouth to
intimidate anyone. His father wore a pre- His Mom’s face beamed up at him from
cisely-tailored, black pin-striped suit—a de- the framed photo on the end table. It had
signer label that cost more than Bob earned been taken on Mother’s Day, the year be-
in several months. And looked every penny fore she’d been diagnosed with cancer.
of it. The man stood half a foot taller than
Bob, who was just shy of six feet. He had “It is in our best interest,” his dad said,
a strong jaw and a long, straight nose that settling into the oversized wing chair where
made it easy to look down on folks. he still presided over the living room like a
judge his courtroom, “to set you up with
“I’m glad you’re here, Dad,” If it was a Ralph Higgins. I’ve already left him an ur-
friendly face Bob had hoped for, his father’s gent message.”
was not it. He couldn’t remember seeing
anything but a scowl when he was in his Higgins, Bob knew, was a golfing buddy
dad’s presence. Even before his mother of his dad’s who specialized in criminal law.
died three years ago. “I haven’t been charged with anything yet,”
Bob said. “Isn’t it premature?”
“They didn’t get any prints off the gun
found in your glove box. It will take at least

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“That’s you to a tee, boy. A day late and a been a Quaker before she married his dad.
thousand dollars short,” He chuckled, likely She lived her life as a vessel of peace and
entertained by his new twist on the cliché. light and love. Bob had taken in all that pos-
“When your dream of becoming a baseball itivity and reverence from her.
player didn’t pan out, did you have any sort
of a back-up plan? Nope, not my son.” If he did hit his dad, his mother would
have been disappointed in him. And he’d
Didn’t his father ever tire of the same only be angry at himself. Bob forced himself
arguments? “Dad, that’s not fair,” Bob said. to walk away.
“I had great prospects until my injury. Some
of the hottest college pitching scouts came *
to my games and chatted me up. And I still
might have had a career in the minors if I’d Bob woke in the dark in his old bedroom to
healed better after the surgeries.” the sound of an alarm.

His father sat up straighter. “The law is a At first, he thought it must be the smoke
career. Baseball is a pastime.” detector.

Bob couldn’t listen to any more. “Dad, it’s He rushed out of bed, turned on lights,
been a grueling day. I’m going to go lay down.” and ran through the hallway of the bed-
room wing of the house, expecting to en-
“Sure, go sleep away your troubles. And counter smoke. There was none.
don’t forget, it’s that same trailer-trash girl
we saved you from in high school who got He called out for his dad but there was
you into this mess.” no answer. So he kept searching until he
found him in the living room.
Bob sprang up from the sofa, adrenalin
surging, fists balled. He shook with anger. Bob froze.

His father must have been taken aback His father was not alone.
by his son’s sudden energy. He clamped on
to the arms of the wingchair as if he were “Stay right where you are,” the intruder
on a plane about to crash. Not only that, he ordered, waving a gun at him. The man’s
shut his mouth. other arm was clenched around his father’s
throat. Not as tall as his dad, but with the
It took every ounce of self-control in his physique of a bodybuilder, the man cer-
body for Bob not to haul off and pummel his tainly had his father out-muscled.
father. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone as
much as he did in that moment. “Take whatever you want, and go. That
burglar alarm alerts the police. They’ll be
A girl he loved once had been senselessly here any minute,” Bob said.
murdered. Even if his father cared nothing
about his emotions, Sally was a person. A “They’re gonna find the son went on a
human being. She had a life. How could his killing spree,” the man said. “First, he did in
father be so heartless? his ex-wife, then murdered his own father,
the asshole judge who sent me up twen-
But violence was never the answer. Even ty-five years ago.” The man took his eyes off
though he was not raised with any sort of Bob for a second to look at his dad’s face.
strict religious upbringing, his mother had “Your son’s gonna get two life sentences.
How do you like that, judge?”

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Bob was aware that to the right, on His wonderful employees had even al-
the console table behind him, on a tall, ready programmed the register so that ten
hand-carved stand, sat his mother’s prized percent of every sale was automatically set
one-hundred-percent lead crystal sphere. It aside for the non-profit college scholarship
was just about the size of a baseball. program that Bob had founded with the help
of his dad’s expert legal advice—The Sally
Bob leaned back, grabbed the crystal, Jenkins Memorial College Fund for Girls.
wound up, took aim, and let it fly. He didn’t
even feel the pain of his rotator cuff tearing Bob arrived at work late morning, after
until much later. his doctor’s appointment, to the smell of
freshly ground coffee beans. He stood in
There were two thuds—the glass sphere the kitchen a long while and breathed in
hitting the man right between the eyes and the scent like pure oxygen.
the man’s body hitting the floor, uncon-
scious. Down for the count. He entered the front of the café to find
it filled with his loyal Cape Misty customers.
* His doctor, Sheriff Dixon, and Deputy Barnes
stood among them.
Bob, though healed from the surgery, still
had weeks of physical therapy ahead of A cheer rose from the crowd. “Welcome
him, when his doctor finally cleared him to back, Barista Bob,” they chanted, over and
go back to work at Three Rivers Café. over.

Ginny and Dave had re-opened the place Barista Bob was certain there was no job
for him a few weeks back, as soon as the in the world that could top his, not even
crime scene clean-up team had finished. pitching for the major leagues.

About the Author

Lana Ayers has shepherded over eighty poetry collections
into the world in her role as managing editor at three small
presses. She holds MFAs in Poetry and Popular Fiction, and
has authored nine poetry collections of her own, as well as
a time travel novel. She lives on the Oregon coast where
she enjoys the near constant plink of rain on the roof and
the sea’s steady whoosh.

82

LUCKY CHARMS

by Ed Meek

I had hitched down to L.A. to visit my friend that I found out that Spear had brought
Paul back in the 70s when all you needed this hooker out from Boston with him. I
to get someplace was a thumb. I was go- had heard that Spear used to hang out in a
ing to school at U of Montana in Missoula. strip joint called the 2 O’Clock in the combat
I had a week off in the spring so I caught zone in Boston. I don’t know what the girl’s
a lift to Seattle and then from there, three real name was; she went by Star. She was
rides all the way down the coast. Paul was 19, attractive although not exactly pretty.
living in the valley, sharing a house with a Her face was too angular and her hair was
guy named Spear. Spear’s real name was a brassy bottle blond. She had a tattoo of a
Spheros, he was Greek, but everyone called snake running around one of her arms and
him Spear. He was going to law school. back then, nice girls didn’t sport tattoos.
She leaned against the kitchen counter
Spear was one of those guys whose dad drinking coffee in white high heels, tight
bought him a new corvette each year in high jeans, a tee shirt and no bra the first time I
school. He was a couple of years older than met her. Spear had told her to move out of
Paul and me; a wiry guy with slick black hair her bedroom and onto the couch so I could
and sharp cheekbones. His smile was a little stay in her room. I told him I was fine on
scary; it was as if he was getting you com- the couch but he insisted so she resented
fortable but was ready to stab you with the me right off.
knife he always carried if you said the wrong
thing. We all thought Spear was really cool. “Unless you want her in there,” Spear
Paul and I were actually friends with Spear’s said to me with that edgy smile of his.
younger brother Chuckie, a much nicer guy,
but when Paul found out that Spear was “No, that’s okay,” I said.
living outside of LA and had plenty of room,
he jumped at the opportunity and drove his “Just don’t fuck with my shit,” she said
Mustang out from Boston. We were all from glaring at me.
Milton, a suburb south of Boston. Paul gave
me a call at school telling me come visit The next morning when I got up, Paul was
during spring break. I couldn’t wait to get sitting in the kitchen, eating some cereal.
there. “Help yourself man,” he said.

It wasn’t till I got to the house (my last “Lucky charms?”
ride was nice enough to drop me there)
“There’s other stuff up there.” He mo-
tioned with his head.

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I opened one of the cabinets and pulled Now I was getting hard and with my gym
down a box of Frosted Flakes. shorts on, it was obvious.

“Ah, those are Star’s,” Paul said. “Take a “You may not want me but your dick
look in that cabinet.” seems to,” she laughed again and looked at
Spear. “Who does he look like?”
I looked back. It was like a little corner
store with sugar, coffee, salt and pepper, ce- “I don’t know, who?” Spear rubbed his
real, peanuts, bread, a kind of survival kit. neck.

“She keeps all her own food in there. In “The cowboy on Rawhide,” she said.
fact, she had a lock on it for a couple of
weeks until I convinced her I wasn’t going “You’re right, he looks like Rowdy Yates.
to take any of it.” I’m taking a shower,” Spear said going into
the bathroom.
I put the tiger back and poured myself
some Lucky Charms. When I put milk on Star took her top off and cupped her
them, the milk turned green and blue from breasts. I took a couple of awkward steps
the dyed chunks of marshmallow. towards her.

Paul had to go to work. He drove a de- “No way are you getting any of this
livery truck for a construction company. I Rowdy,” she said. She walked across the
was putting my bowl in the sink when Spear room in her panties and into the bathroom
came out of his room. with Spear.

“Find something to eat?” he asked me. I went back into Star’s room, closed the
door and flopped on the bed. I needed a
I nodded. “How’s the corvette running?” couple of hours more of sleep. I hadn’t slept
I asked. hardly at all getting there and now I was
wondering if I’d made a mistake taking Paul
“Spends more time in the shop than up on his invitation. I didn’t know what to
out of it,” he said. He looked over at Star make of Star and I couldn’t figure out why
who was still asleep on the couch. “Do you Spear would want her there. Nonetheless,
want a blow job?” he said to me. He wasn’t I fell asleep envisioning sex with Star. We’d
smiling. It appeared to be a straight forward start out standing up and move to various
question. pieces of furniture: the bureau, the chair,
the couch. I imagined she knew a few tech-
I hesitated. I wanted to say no but I niques I had never even heard of. I had to
didn’t want to appear ungrateful. roll onto my back to get to sleep.

“Not from me,” he said smiling, “from her.” When I woke up it was noon. The house
was empty. I guessed that Spear had left
“No, I’m good,” I said. for class. His car was not in the driveway. I
walked down the street and found a little
Star sat up. “Your friend thinks he’s too Mexican restaurant where I had a veggie
good for me.” She stretched and yawned. burrito and a Corona. Three Coronas later
Her nipples were sticking out. She caught I meandered back to the house a little un-
me looking. steady. I found a lounge chair in the yard

“They do that in the morning,” she said
and laughed.

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and dozed in the sun. The rumbling sound The bar was a huge sprawling three
of Paul’s Mustang GT shook me awake. story surrounded by parking lots. We found
a spot for the pony in back. Paul pointed
He had picked up some steaks. He threw out Spear’s red corvette parked between a
them on the grill and we were just fin- string of pick-ups.
ishing them up when Spear pulled into the
driveway. The place was packed. I was surprised
to see a lot of women. Paul told me the
“Where’s Star?” I asked when he got out. strippers worked the top floor. We climbed
the stairs and found Spear at a table. He
“You like Star?” he asked narrowing his had shots of tequila, a salt shaker and lime
eyes. wedges, and a couple of bottles of Bud
waiting for us.
“No I was just curious.”
I wanted to ask where Star was but I
“Hey,” Spear said, “she’s yours for the didn’t want Spear to get on my case so I
taking amigo. I wish I’d never brought her kept my mouth shut and downed the te-
out here, believe me. I thought she was quila. I was chasing it with the Bud while
going to make me some money but it turns watching a cute blond take off her police
out that she doesn’t even like to turn tricks. officer outfit.
She wants to get out of the life.” Spear
laughed. “Why don’t you take her back to “I’ll bet you the next round you can’t
school with you when you leave?” choke me,” Spear said to me.

Paul seemed to be getting a big kick out I did not know what to say.
of this. “She’s at this bar down the street,
the Roadhouse,” he said. She’s a waitress “He locks his throat,” Paul said. “Try it.
there.” You can’t hurt him.”

“She’s trying to get on as a stripper,” Spear I was going to get the next round anyway
said. “We’ll go there. Maybe she can give so I put my beer down while Spear turned
you a lap dance.” his chair so I could stand in front of him.
“Tell me to stop if it hurts,” I said.
“She’s pretty good,” Paul said. “She’s
been practicing on me.” He gave me the finger. I proceeded to
put my hands, claw-like, around his throat
“She sucks,” Spear spit on the ground, and choke him. I squeezed as hard as I could.
pulled out a pack of Camels and fired one up. A crowd began to gather around. They
egged me on. I wasn’t getting anywhere
A couple of hours later Spear left in his and my hands were beginning to cramp. I
car. I asked Paul if he wanted a beer for the wondered if I could get arrested for assault.
road. Spear would sue me. I’d be in debt to him
for the rest of my life. I let go. There was a
“Have to be careful drinking and driving moan from the crowd. The choking seemed
around here,” Paul said. “I’ve been arrested to have no effect whatsoever on Spear.
twice for D.U.I. Second time I had to pay a “Jose Gold,” he said.
thousand bucks and take a class. Next time
they yank my license.” In a couple of hours Paul was pretty
wasted. I had stopped drinking after the
“Just one before we go,” I said tossing him
a Bud tall boy.

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third round. Spear had said he wanted to “You drive,” he said to me. I couldn’t be-
take a look around and he disappeared into lieve our luck.
the crowd. At some point Star appeared.
She seemed to be dressed up as a French About a mile down the road, Paul asked
maid. She looked pretty sexy. She pushed me to pull over. He got out and threw up.
me into an empty chair near the bar, sat on
my lap and blew in my ear. I was not entirely When he got back in he said: “I can’t be-
immune to her charms. lieve he let us go. I’ve got to get out of this
state. If he had looked me up, he definitely
“Do you want a lap dance?” she said to would have taken me in. They’d be booking
me. me right now.”

I thought about how much money I had. The road was empty. I took it up to sixty
“Not tonight,” I said. in first gear. The big engine roared with
power and the wide tires gripped the road
She stood up. “Back to the grind,” she but in second gear, going ninety through an
said. S turn, the car turned sideways and skidded
off the road to the edge of a cliff overlooking
Paul and I decided to leave. On the way a canyon.
out, we bumped into Spear holding hands
with a tall, thin beauty with long blond hair. We got out and stared over the edge.
She wavered on her heels. He held his car
keys up in front of him. “Let me take your “Fuckin A,” Paul said and laughed.
Mustang,” he said to Paul. “I might need the
back seat.” I reached in put it in neutral and we
backed the car up to the shoulder.
Paul took the keys to the corvette and
gave Spear the keys to the Mustang. “You all right to drive?” Paul asked.

“So we get to drive the Corvette, cool,” I “Yeah, it was just a little more power than
said as we searched the parking lot. “Was I expected.”
that chick drunk, or what?”
The Mustang was in the driveway. I
“He picks them up and gives them delau- pulled in beside it. I grabbed a couple of Co-
dids,” Paul said. ronas from the fridge as Paul turned on the
TV. He found a classic games channel that
“What are delaudids?” was playing the Celtics/LA game where Wilt
scored a hundred points. He lit a joint and
“They’re downs, really strong. The girls passed it to me. I was just falling into a nod
love them,” Paul laughed. when the door to Spear’s room opened and
Spear walked out in his boxers, propping up
I noticed he was swaying. “Lemme drive,” the beautiful blond. She looked like a scare-
I said. crow without any clothes on. He pulled her
into the living room and when he let go of
“I’m all right,” Paul said smiling. her arm, she slumped to the floor on her
hands and knees. Her beautiful hair cas-
We were pulled over just as we drove caded over her head.
out of the parking lot. The cop had us both
get out of the car. He shined a flashlight on “You guys want to do her?” Spear asked.
our licenses and had us walk, count back-
wards and touch our nose with one finger.

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Paul looked at me. This was not my idea “That’s my fucking room!” she said. “First
of cool. Not me. You go ahead,” I said. you give it to this asshole and now Paul is
banging some skank in there.”
“My room’s a mess,” Paul said to Spear.
Spear looked at me with his eyebrows up.
“Use Star’s room,” Spear said. He found this pretty funny and I could see
he was about to laugh. Then he did laugh.
Paul lifted the girl to her feet. “What’s
her name?” he said to Spear. “Fuck you,” Star said. She marched over
to her room and opened the door. “Get out!”
Spear ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit,” she yelled.
he said. “Can’t remember, Jenine, something
like that.” We heard a drawer open and shut.

Paul took the girl into Star’s room. I “Oh no,” Spear said.
couldn’t believe it. What was he thinking?
Was having sex with that girl even legal? When she emerged from her room, she
Spear sat down on the couch and we was holding a gun, a .38. Her hands were
watched the game. shaking.

“So,” Spear said to me, “how’s it goin?” I ducked and Spear stood up.

“It’s goin all right,” I said although, ac- “Baby,” Spear said. He had his hands in
tually, I wasn’t feeling too comfy. In fact, I front of him.
was beginning to think I should get the hell
out the next day before something went I peeked over the top of the couch. Then
seriously awry. Spear was not as cool as I I realized that a couch would not do much
thought he was. He was sort of a psycho. to protect me and I sat up. She turned the
gun toward me.
We heard a truck pull into the driveway.
“Sweetie,” Spear said taking a step to-
“Shit,” Spear said, “that’s Star. She gets a ward her.
ride from one of the other girls.
An ad came on with a couple of blonds
Star came in through the kitchen door. selling Budweiser. She pointed the gun at
She stood beside us staring at the TV. We the television and shot it. She’d put a hole
heard a series of thumps emanating from right in the middle of the screen; the televi-
her room. We all turned and looked at the sion kept going for a few seconds and then
door. died.

Star walked around the couch in front of “Nice shot,” Paul said. Paul stood behind
Spear. “Who the fuck is in my room?” she said. Star in the doorway to her room with a
sheet draped around him. He looked like
“Shut up and grab a beer,” Spear said. a guest at a toga party. Meanwhile Jenine,
nude, had staggered out to the kitchen sink.
“Look, you bring girls home, okay. I get She seemed to be after some water.
that. I don’t exactly expect you to marry me.”
Star dropped the gun to her side and
Spear scoffed and stood up. “You want began sobbing. Spear gave her a hug. “It’s
another?” he said to me. okay, doll,” he said relieving her of the gun.
He turned and winked at me.
Star pushed him back down onto the
couch.

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I was shaking but at the same time I felt “A friend of mine was doing it and making
sorry for Star and for the girl at the sink and I money.”
didn’t like being winked at by Spear who ap-
parently thought I shared his point of view. “Paul told me you’re from South Boston.”

I was suddenly exhausted and I lay back “D Street projects.” She turned away from
on the couch and fell asleep. About an hour me. “At least Spear got me out of there.”
later I woke up. It was quiet and the lights
had been turned out. Everyone had gone I thought about that for a minute. “What
to bed apparently. I wondered if Star would do you want to do?”
mind if I crashed with her. I didn’t want to
get her angry, but the couch was pretty un- She snorted. “I don’t know what Spear
comfortable and I thought she might even was thinking but I told him I didn’t want to
appreciate a little company. turn tricks for him when I came out here.
I thought maybe I could go to hairdressing
Her door was unlocked. She was lying school. There’s one not too far from here.
face down under a single sheet. I pulled my I’ve already applied. Hey, I’m just trying to
shirt off and dropped my jeans and climbed follow the American dream and be happy
in beside her. She opened one eye. “You’ve just like everyone else.”
got a lot of balls,” she said.
The American dream? Happy? Was she se-
I ran my hand down her spine. rious? I wanted to ask her but she had turned
on her side and seemed to want to go to sleep.
“Turn over on your back,” she said.
When I woke up I could hear Star and
There was just enough light to see the Spear arguing but I couldn’t make out what
outline of her head. I heard her tear some- they were saying. I got up, pulled on my
thing plastic and then felt her mouth slip a jeans and walked into the kitchen where
ring over my dick. I felt the sleeve and the Spear was drinking coffee.
pressure of her mouth. I was already hard.
I poured myself a cup.
“Can I put it in?” I asked.
“Help yourself,” Spear said, but he didn’t
She rolled over and I climbed on and en- sound friendly. “You owe Star a hundred
tered her. It didn’t take me long to come. bucks,” he said. “That’s her rate.”

“You can give me the money in the morning,” I just nodded. I pulled out my wallet and
she said. looked inside. I had exactly 108 dollars. I
took out four twenties and two tens and
“What?” I said, “give me a break.” handed them to Star.

“Spear will know. He’ll make me get the “Thanks,” she said. She gave me a look
money from you. If it were up to me, be- that was supposed to mean something but
lieve me, I wouldn’t charge you.” I wasn’t sure what. She gave half the money
to Spear.
“How’d you get into this business?” I
propped myself up on one elbow and looked He put the fifty bucks in his top pocket.
at her. She looked a lot younger in the dim “No freebies unless I say so,” he said. He
light. It was as if she had removed that hard looked at his Rolex. “If you want a ride,” he
shell she always wore. said to Star, “we better get a move on.”

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For a second I wondered where Star was An hour later, Paul pulled his car over
going but I shook it off. I didn’t want to care just after the onramp to the highway. “Let
about her, and I’d had just about enough of me give you some money,” he said reaching
Spear. She went into her room to change. I for his wallet.
drank my coffee on the couch while staring at
the hole in the television screen. I suddenly “I’m all right,” I said.
wished I had brought a camera with me. It
would have made a cool picture. When Star “I’ve got to get out of here too,” he said.
came out she handed me my shirt. “Maybe I’ll see you back in Milton this summer.”

Paul got up just after they left. I asked I got out and stretched. I watched Paul
him if he’d drop me at the entrance to drive off. It was already hot and hazy and it
the highway. It was about twenty minutes was only 11:00. With luck I’d be out of Cali-
away. fornia by dawn. It would be cooler up north.
I was anxious to get back to school, back
“Heading back early?” He was looking in onto the solid ground of the plains where
the cabinets. things made a little more sense. It was a
little too edgy in California. In a couple of
“I’m out of money,” I said. months, Spear would be getting out of law
school and opening his own practice. The
“I can lend you a few bucks,” he said. thought of it just made me shudder. That’s
when I noticed the folded-up bill in my shirt
I asked Paul what happened to the thin pocket. Star must have put it in my pocket
blond. before she handed the shirt to me. I took
the bill out and turned it over—Ben Franklin
“Spear called her a cab. Shit,” he said, “I’m stared back at me. He was not happy.
out of Lucky Charms.”

About the Author

Ed Meek has had stories in The North American Review,
Cream City Review, Fiction International, Hobart and
Adelaide.

89

WINTER’S CALL

by Brian Schulz

It has been snowing for eight days. Steady *
snow, constant, hour after hour. Sometimes
heavy, occasionally just in wisps. The wind Rex came into my life nearly two years ago,
has come up a couple of times and stirred at the insistence of my daughter, Hannah.
things, whipping the snow, coaxing it into We’d been over my decision to move up
a blizzard. But mostly it just keeps coming. here a half-dozen times, maybe more, and
I should go out into it every few hours to Hannah was in the final stages of accept-
keep the path clear to the woodshed, the ing what I was going to do. Perhaps she
latrine, down to the lake. Snow tends to was also realizing what it meant: that her
drift up under the porch roof and collect mother’s and my decision to separate was
against the front door. Wait too long and unalterable.
you can’t push it away.
“I’ll never get it, Dad. Of all places. It’s des-
I’m finding it hard to muster the fortitude olate.”
to tend to this necessary chore; I gave up on
the woodshed yesterday. I was tired and cold “It’s a couple of hundred miles. Three
and wet, and the snow was falling sideways hours. Four with weather. Not that far.”
but in big, sloppy flakes that coated my parka,
sat on my lashes, the kind that usually means “Well, it’s not like people can just drop in.
it’s almost done. Now I’m rationing the last I can’t. Or, is that the point?”
load of wood I’d gathered and stacked on
the floor inside the door. I put one stick on “No, Hannah. No.” The truth in her ques-
the fire just before the last flame sinks into tion stung me. How could I make her see that,
the glowing coals. I watch my breathe, now, yes, that was part of the point, to make some
as a puff from my nose and mouth that dis- space, find the quiet to discern what my
appears into the cold air of the cabin, then own voice was telling me? But that it wasn’t
regathers itself as a sheen of ice on the in- about her. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
side of the window by my bed. My gut is
unsettled, roiling in an ache that is not from “Try. Explain it to me, Dad. What will you
hunger. I stay in my sleeping bag except to do with yourself?”
pee in the bucket, and to stoke the fire.
She had grown into a perceptive young
I miss Rex. My dog. We came out here to- woman, disinclined to simply accept any-
gether to live simply. He’s been gone four days. thing of importance at face-value. The fa-
ther she had known got up every day and
drove an hour to work to write ad copy for

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eight hours, then drove twice that to get “Stop, Hannah. Just stop.” I knew full well
home. On weekends he had run her around what her mother thought. Judy had never
to soccer games and gone to parties with taken my yearning for something - call it god
her mother. She’d lived with him and her or grace - seriously. Nor my need for silence.
mother in three houses, each bigger than To her I was at best sentimental. That was a
the last. What would that man do alone in a quaint idea, but you’ve grown up she’d said
small cabin in the woods? It was a fair ques- when I told her that I’d flirted with a voca-
tion, and I knew she truly sought to under- tion as a Trappist before we met. Don’t be
stand my motives. But I was impatient and silly, she’d scolded when I raised the idea
wanted her to simply accept my choice. of downsizing and taking a less stressful job
closer to home, and using our precious time
“Hannah, look. I’ve put things off that more reverently, look at all you have! Damn
I want to do. Study. Some writing. Other fool had been her final judgement, though
things. We’ve been through this.” she’d pronounced it with tears, I hoped, fi-
nally, of recognition.
“Right. Other things. Play lumberjack?
Navel gaze?” Hannah rolled her lips between “That’s it, isn’t it?” Hannah’s eyes soft-
her teeth and raised her eye brows. “You ened, her chin trembled. “You have to do
don’t have to go up there to be a writer, Dad.” this.”

Behind Hannah, framed by the curtain- I shuddered at the expression of my
less window over the sink, far distant but need, Hannah’s realization of it, on her face.
visible, golden bands of autumn aspen were I could only nod yes.
woven into the green of the low slopes of
the foothills. My heart beat hard, then sank “You can’t leave. Dad. You can’t. You’ll be
heavily in my chest. I did not look at Hannah. alone.” Hannah took my hand and fixed her
sharp green eyes on mine.
“I’m almost sixty. I don’t want to be a
writer. I just want to write.” “What would you have me do?”

Write myself into being, I wanted to say. *
I had lived too many years in a state of un-
being, an egg emptied of yolk and colorfully We agreed on a dog. Hannah made her case
painted over, dangling like an ornament, and our discussion was short. A dog would
with no life inside. provide a measure of safety, she argued.
Against what I was unsure. And it might be
How would that sound to Hannah? I pressed into service as a beast of burden, a
turned back to her. Fine strands of straw-col- sled dog. I was bemused by her arguments,
ored hair had pulled free from her short po- and touched by the earnestness with which
nytail and floated in a wispy mess from her she made them. In the end all it really came
temples. She was a child again, disheveled down to was that I could not be alone, for
and confused. I felt a welling at the base of her sake. As for me, the idea of companion-
my throat and swallowed hard. I had felt ship without the demands of conversation
full once, known a sense of being, when or the need for explanations came to feel
Hannah was born. comforting, alleviating a misgiving I’d not,
until then, recognized or, perhaps, been
A mask of her mother’s exasperation willing to admit.
crept over Hannah’s face. “What then? The
prayer stuff? You know what Mom thinks.”

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I didn’t want a puppy. I knew that I The dog, now out of his cage, perked up
wouldn’t have the patience for training a dog his ears and pressed close to Hannah. He
in the woods. Hannah agreed and insisted nuzzled my hand with his snout, then stood
on a rescue dog. We went to the shelter and back, looking pleased. “Rex,” I said, kneeling
before I had finished introductions Hannah down beside Hannah and pulling the both
had found a dog, or it had found her. She close. “Yes.”
was on her knees; he had finagled his head
through the widely spaced bars of the en- *
closure he shared with three other dogs,
pushing hard onto her hands, which held We lived with Hannah for nearly five
him firm but tenderly. She scratched his months while I searched out and closed on
ears; he whimpered and waggled. my cabin in the mountains. Those months
together passed quickly and, like a green
“Dad, it’s him. What do you think?” As flash at sunset, before we were ready we
I approached the dog pulled back a tad, were gone. Rex had grown comfortable in
dropped his rump slightly, and slowed his Hannah’s home, staying closer to her than
wagging tail. He watched me, not quite to me. The truth is, I had grown comfort-
warily but, still, a little unsure. able too. My decisions behind me, I felt
a hint of peace in our transient existence,
“There. You are handsome. You really and the din in my head was muffled, my
are.” With one hand Hannah stroked the urgency less strong. Still, I was wary of this
dog’s ear, his neck and under his chin. He comfort and the trap that it represented. I
raised his brows, alternating first one then had set out my path and was resolved to
the other, and cocked his head. With her take it. We had to go.
other hand Hannah took mine, guiding it to
the dog’s head, and together we rubbed the Hannah and I spoke little in that time, not
length of his neck and shoulder. out of malice or expectation, but because
everything had been said and we were sat-
He really was handsome, and good na- isfied with our accommodation. What she
tured. He had a thick coat, straw-colored wanted me to know she told to Rex.
and mottled with black, and cropped ears
that he held up proudly. The rescue folks al- “Come back, Rex. Sometime. Please,” she
most never know for sure what breed a dog told him, holding his snout and locking her
is that they get, or their age. The woman eyes to his when the time came for us to
at the shelter guessed he was about three leave. “Ok? You belong here.”
years old and mostly shepherd, maybe with
some black Lab or something else. It didn’t She sent us along, each with a kerchief
matter. What mattered was that this dog she’d sewn.
and I would learn what we were together.
*
“What’s his name, Dad? What should we
call him?” Rex took to the woods easily. It was as
though he’d been raised in the forest, the
“His name? I don’t know. I don’t know way he seemed to intuit his way around, fol-
what to name him.” lowed the smells, knew what to chase and
what not to. Once, while we were scouting
Hannah contemplated the dog for a few the property boundaries he’d raised up
moments. “He’s Rex,” she told me, and then
to the dog: “Yes. That’s who you are. Rex.”

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stiff, alert to something I couldn’t see, then heart I warmed with an extra dose or two of
backed up, twitched his nose back over his bourbon and Hannah’s letters. She’s written
shoulder, directing me. I moved back and me every month. But there was nothing
he stepped forward, in front, chest high, to be done about the incessant gray that
ears perked, nostrils pulsing. Then we both seemed to settle down out of the winter
saw it, at the edge of the woods far down sky and into my head, shrouding my soul,
the trail where it bends east, a lone wolf. making me feel as ashen as my gaunt face
A quiver shook me and I reached for Rex’s had become. I’d hoped that the slackened
collar. The beast locked its gaze on Rex, and pace of winter would afford me the time I’d
Rex leaned hard in its direction, spellbound sought for myself; but I found it hard to con-
and tense. He took a step and I reflexively centrate, to write, read, or even to pray. The
pulled hard on his collar. “No! Rex. Stay!” desperate need that drove me here seemed
He stopped, looked up at me, his eyes dis- irrelevant or, when relevant, too difficult to
tant. When we both looked back up the ponder, and to what end? Instead I day-
trail the wolf was gone. dreamed, or remembered. Those months
with Hannah and Rex; Hannah as a child.
Nothing in Rex’s life on macadam and ce- Sometimes, even Judy. Those dreams, or
ment streets or caged in pounds prepared memories, were pleasant, and yet they left
him for the woods. No more than mine me weary and wondering, tight with angst.
spent in the same city, boxed in steel and In the cold my notebooks remained stacked
glass high-rise offices, could have prepared on my writing table beside unopened vol-
me for how to live in silence. Here together, umes - Eckhart and Suzuki and Merton, my
free of the impositions of our old worlds, it guides to grace - all awaiting attention that
was Rex who was knowing and unhesitant. I may never come.
was still figuring out what to chase.
Rex didn’t like the cold without snow
Once in a while, at night, when the wolves’ either. He hesitated to go out. I couldn’t
low, sad groans seemed close, Rex would lift blame him. Each foray left his paws raw
his head, pull back his ears, and look past me and cracked by the cold and rough ground,
through the long window over the sink. his snout encased in his breath. But Rex
stuck with me, and we labored together on
* our routine of chores: twice weekly trips
to Landry’s General Store for milk, cereal,
This winter has been penetrating: cold, bread, whatever passed for fresh vegeta-
sharp, and dry. The ground, granite hard bles, stock, sundries, the mail; a couple of
and brown and dead. Until now each day days each week sectioning felled lumber,
had been flat, the sky murky, always tempt- then splitting and stacking firewood, for-
ing with a possibility of snow, for which I aging for kindling; and, daily, fetching water
prayed. Blessed snow. Grace. Pure white from the lake. None of it easy. All of it satis-
to cover the detritus of fall, the remnants fying in ways I’d not expected, and I caught
of summer’s passing. But the snow didn’t myself wondering if, perhaps, it was in this
come and the nights cleared, and what work that the justification I sought would
little warmth the day generated the night be found.
sucked away. And with it my ambition.
Still, I hoped for snow.
I managed to assuage early winter’s cold
sting on my face and hands by the fire; my

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* pitched, singing. Then the rest. The quiet
of winter dusk shrinks distance, I know, but
It finally came, eight days ago, and it has they felt close. I thought I could smell their
not stopped. On the fourth day I woke ear- musk and the dank of their snow-soaked fur
ly, crawled out of my bag and heated some on the wind. The howling stopped. I looked
coffee on the stove. Outside the snow had to Rex, off the trail by a few feet, forelegs
slowed a little. I had not yet tired of it, and up on a drift-covered stump, ears back. His
was eager to get started clearing the path head cocked, first to one side and then the
down to the lake and to the woodshed. I other, listening. And then they started again,
pulled on snow pants over my long johns, pitifully, in need, it seemed, calling out. I
slid on my parka, and laced up my boots, glanced back toward the cabin, uneasiness
warm from sitting by the edge of the fire. welling low in my belly; my heart strained,
Then I roused Rex from his spot by the fire. beating hard, preparing me to flee. I fixed my
He raised his head wearily and gave me a gaze on Rex. He turned his head toward me,
look I saw as indignation, but he made no his eyes wide. In a single, beautiful, terrifying
sound; then he twitched his tail as though motion he leapt from the stump, over it, into
shrugging off his irritation. We both need- the shoulder-high snow, toward the howls.
ed to pee. He trailed behind me as I pushed
back the snow from the door. The forest “Rex! Back,” I shouted, trembling but
was silent and nearly devoid of color or trying to be firm and controlled, “Rex. Here.
smell. Only a hint of motion in the gentle Back!” I lunged off the path into the powder,
downward float of snow flakes; the wind stumbled, got up and then could only watch
had slowed and the air was soft. Despite as he strove against the white mass, pulled
the low, gray sky the woods were bright. along by the wolves’ cries and not mine,
I dug the shovel into the drifts and piles, until he dipped over the crest of the hollow,
working steadily, warming with the labor, and out of sight.
Rex beside me, sniffing and nuzzling the
snow, flipping it up into plumes around his “No! No. Hannah. Rex.” My jaw tightened,
head, challenging the sky to make a flurry and my chest. I felt the sting of tears. The
as thick as his. His tail wagged. Occasionally cold. It was still and dark. I listened. The
he pranced off the path, leaping wildly then howls receded into the night. “Rex. Please.
falling, hidden beneath the fluff, only the Come. Please.” The words stuck in my throat.
black tip of his nose visible, a lone blemish
on the unbroken white. I breathed a deep, Alone, I made my way back to the cabin.
satisfied breath. Hannah had been right:
what joy I’d found in life up here was in the *
sharing of it, if only with Rex.
I’m running low on food. Henry down at
Dusk was descending. I was almost to the Landry’s told me to stock up when I went
shed. I was tired but glad to know that sleep for the mail. He told me, it’s gonna be a
would come easily when I finally crawled big one and you’ll be glad you did. I should
into my sleeping bag. The snow was quick- have listened to Henry, but even he hadn’t
ening, as was the wind. That’s when I heard thought eight days.
them howl. First one, then a second in a
long mournful pull, and then a third, higher So I’m making do with what I have. Some
cans of chicken broth and an onion. Cereal
and rice. No milk. No meat. A few cans of

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Revista Literária Adelaide

black beans, which I don’t even like. Funny. . . . Your last letter was a little sparse.
This little cabin. My old house, too big and
filled with things I didn’t want, didn’t know I know that you like it up there. . . I’ve
how I got, and my life slipping past before respected your wish to have some time, but
it’d been really lived. Empty, I thought. I I would like to see you and can’t get there
thought I was starving then. I don’t know. until spring. . . I want you to meet Paul. He’s
And Judy, I couldn’t make her see how hol- terrific. I know you and Rex would love him.
lowed out I felt by the chasing of it. I do.

I finished my bottle of bourbon two days There are a million things that I’d like
ago. to tell you, but they are everyday things. . .
Dad, I am worried about you and want you
My sleep is fitful now, gray and laced and Rex to come home. Come home before
with fragments of a passed life. In the si- winter really sets in. We can all go back up
lence of the cabin I hear echoing the hiss of together in the spring.
a teapot on the kitchen stove of our home
in the city, low tones of the kitchen radio Love,
and Judy’s humming along. I hear Hannah’s
banter, their singing together. I hear Hannah H.
call for me, greet me at the front door at the
end of my work day with a hug and a giggle. I take the letter with me and crawl into
I’d not heard those things, then, above the my sleeping bag.
murmurs and groans of my own head. Not
what I wanted, I’d thought, but not empty. I go to the door every couple of hours to
clear away the snow. Nothing more. Maybe
The snow I’d dreamt of has come, but tomorrow I’ll put on snowshoes, unbury
not the grace for which I’d prayed. the toboggan, and try for Landry’s. It’s hard
without Rex.
I roll over. Crawl out of bed to stoke the
fire. On the table, my stack of letters. I read Or Hannah. I wonder, can she come to
from Hannah’s last letter. understand her father? How can I tell her
about Rex? I hope I will see her in the spring.
Dear Dad, Her mother was right.

Thank you for your letter. . . Is there no I should know better, but each time I
cell coverage up there? Or anywhere you open up that door I pray to see Rex there,
could go to do email?. . . it would be so looking up at me, matted and wet, shivering,
much better if we could “talk” more often. glad to be home. I can see him there, am
sure he will be there, in that instant before
It sounds like it has been terribly cold I pull the door open. I call for him and then
up there. How are you and Rex doing with listen. But the winter air swallows my cries
that?. . . Are you doing any writing? What and the falling snow buries my hope. There
of all those books we packed, which are you is silence. I haven’t heard the wolves in days.
reading now? I’d like to know.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Brian Schulz lives in north-central Massachusetts where, when not biking or walking its
country roads and woodland trails, he consults with young entrepreneurs and writes fiction
and poetry. He can be found at www.brianschulz.com.

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PANOPTICON

by Cat Sole

It was quiet under the water. “You have exceeded your recommended
bath time. To avoid dehydration, exit the
The tepid bathwater made Mina feel bath now.”
weightless. Her hands bobbed next to her,
not touching her skin, not feeling the shape “I’ll just shave my legs, Kiri.”
of her stomach or her hips or her thighs.
Peace. She allowed herself to relax, even She reached for the pink razor sitting on
as her body started to remind her of the the side of the bath. The silver blades were
oxygen in the world above. Her body, con- clogged with hair. Mina unwrapped a new
stantly betraying her. one and began to shave. Her calves were ac-
tually beginning to look nice, toned without
Just a little bit longer… being too big. If only her thighs would…

Mina erupted from the water with a “Ouch!”
gasp. Her body crashed into the bottom of
the tub, sending a wave splashing the edge, Drops of blood spilled into the water as
and allowing the all too familiar voice of Kiri the razor bit into the skin.
to creep back in to her ears.
Mina wrapped herself in a towel that
“Edmond Sullivan liked your post. David had long since needed replacing, angling
Souvide liked your post. Dotty Hedgeshaw her body so she didn’t see the mirror. She
liked your post.” wasn’t sure which days were worse; the
days where she didn’t have the strength to
“Total number of likes?” look, or the ones where she lingered.

“249.” “Eleanore Lalchere wished you a Happy
Birthday.”
“How does that rank?”
“Who’s Eleanore?”
“Kiri recommends that your focus should
be on connecting with friends and family.” “Eleanore Lalchere has 3,489 followers.
She has liked fifty-one of your posts.”
“How does that rank?”
Mina pounded the bottom of a bottle of
“Your profile is in the top sixty-three per expensive moisturiser, willing out the last
cent.” of the product. “Public reply: ‘Thanks Elea-
nore! Love seeing what you’re doing. Kisses,
Mina went to put her head back under Mina.’ Who else?”
the water.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Arnold Versal wished you a Happy “Yes. Live-stream workout.”
Birthday. He has fifty-two followers and has
liked thirteen of your posts.” Then, a new voice. “Happy Birthday to you.”

“Skip. Next?” “Kiri, stop playing Happy Birthday.”

* “I don’t understand your request. Please
repeat.”
The birthday cake on Mina’s dining table
was chocolate and swirls. The note next to it “Happy Birthday to you.”
read, “Happy Birthday, little sister! Love and
kisses, Lucy.” The voice was coming from outside of
Mina’s headphones. It was floating through
“Warning: high calorie count. Estimated the wall of her tiny apartment. Mina pressed
534.29 calories per slice.” an ear to the flaking wall-paper, hampered
by the crooked headphone.
Mina fiddled with one of the Kiri’s head-
phones. It had been implanted slightly “Happy Birthday, Mr. President.”
crooked, not enough to warrant a second
surgery, but enough to remind Mina that The voice was breathy and soft and
it was always present. The Kiris were sup- sweet. Until it wasn’t.
posed to be convenient; a surgically installed
combination of headphones and glasses to “Fuck. Nope, that wasn’t it. Happy
replace devices that could be lost, broken, or Birthday to you…”
stolen. “A game-changer,” they had branded
it. “The next stage in human evolution.” The voice floated away like leaves on the
wind, and it took Mina’s breath with it. She
Mina looked down at the cake. Surely, didn’t even realise she was holding it until-
she could have a taste. After all, it was her
birthday. She should be allowed to treat “Victoria Evans is live-streaming now.
herself on her birthday. And she could do a Would you like to join this stream?”
little extra in the morning to burn it off.
Mina backed away from the wall, turning
“Kiri, set Victoria Evans’ Workout Level 5 up the volume on her Kiri to block out the
for an hour from now.” singing. “Yes. Join live stream.”

“This workout is not recommended for your The graphics in front of Mina’s eyes
level of fitness. Kiri recommends: Level 4.” swooshed into a construction of blonde
hair and perfectly toned muscles. “Hey
“Set Level 5.” my loyal followers!” said a pair of glossed
lips. “Victoria here, helping you get to your
“Would you like to live-stream this best self! But sometimes that can be hard.
workout?” We’re driven by all the things that are bad
for us, that we know we shouldn’t do, like
Mina looked at the birthday cake on the skip a workout or have that extra cookie
table. with our morning latte. And sometimes will
power just isn’t enough. So, I’m launching a
“Live-streams increase your followers’ brand new product that will take all of those
overall interaction with your profile by sixty roadblocks away! Tune in tomorrow for the
per Panopticon 3 cent.” big surprise! And remember, never stop
reaching for the best you!”

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