The Din
The Day Before the Incident
Static
Almost a Man
Panic on the Comeback Trail
Alice
Blind-Sided
Intrigue
Finished
Descending and Rising Damp
Why Not?
It's My Belief We're All Crazy
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Din
The television volume was on high, at least 25.
“But, Evelyn, you sleep all the time!”
“Only to avoid the draft from the swinging door.”
“Sweetie,…”
“Don’t touch me. There’s no quickie sex here. No on-again-off-again, got-fifteen-minutes-between-meetings, try-to-keep-her-quiet sex here. Get it from someone else, but, you get it—I go, and the gravy train ends.”
The gigolo undone.
Almost the story of my life, Theresa thought.
“Bull shit. Bull shit,” kept ringing in her ears. Her own words from two hours earlier.
From across the courtyard, the discordant sound of one of the Mexican pop songs being rehearsed by the as yet unprofessional neighbor’s band came to layer itself over Evelyn’s retribution on the television.
Theresa sat watching a tiny bodied, long-legged spider weaving its web in the corner where the windowed wall met the bare one. What a waste of time, she thought, as she could also see the little gecko who would soon make dinner of the spider, only a short distance away. “Bull shit. Bull shit,” still reverberating.
Through the window, with its makeshift curtain tied back, which was on an angle to the living room, she could see Armando’s leg dangling from the couch. He was oblivious to Evelyn’s melodrama. She didn’t know it then, but he had stopped breathing fifteen minutes earlier. She would be told that he had died of alcoholic poisoning by a relative a week later over the telephone.
She thought for tonight she would rather not sleep here and went upstairs to pack a little bag. She would check into the Sheraton near the plaza. In the morning, she would purchase a one-way ticket back to New York on the last of her Mexican pesos.
With her overnighter in hand, she clicked off the television.
On her way out, she noticed Armando was not snoring, but her thoughts turned in another direction as the raucous neighbors finished rehearsing and the sound of crickets filled the courtyard.
“But, Evelyn, you sleep all the time!”
“Only to avoid the draft from the swinging door.”
“Sweetie,…”
“Don’t touch me. There’s no quickie sex here. No on-again-off-again, got-fifteen-minutes-between-meetings, try-to-keep-her-quiet sex here. Get it from someone else, but, you get it—I go, and the gravy train ends.”
The gigolo undone.
Almost the story of my life, Theresa thought.
“Bull shit. Bull shit,” kept ringing in her ears. Her own words from two hours earlier.
From across the courtyard, the discordant sound of one of the Mexican pop songs being rehearsed by the as yet unprofessional neighbor’s band came to layer itself over Evelyn’s retribution on the television.
Theresa sat watching a tiny bodied, long-legged spider weaving its web in the corner where the windowed wall met the bare one. What a waste of time, she thought, as she could also see the little gecko who would soon make dinner of the spider, only a short distance away. “Bull shit. Bull shit,” still reverberating.
Through the window, with its makeshift curtain tied back, which was on an angle to the living room, she could see Armando’s leg dangling from the couch. He was oblivious to Evelyn’s melodrama. She didn’t know it then, but he had stopped breathing fifteen minutes earlier. She would be told that he had died of alcoholic poisoning by a relative a week later over the telephone.
She thought for tonight she would rather not sleep here and went upstairs to pack a little bag. She would check into the Sheraton near the plaza. In the morning, she would purchase a one-way ticket back to New York on the last of her Mexican pesos.
With her overnighter in hand, she clicked off the television.
On her way out, she noticed Armando was not snoring, but her thoughts turned in another direction as the raucous neighbors finished rehearsing and the sound of crickets filled the courtyard.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Almost a Man
Uncle Jack and Marti and I arrived with the children at the Bensons' apartment at about three.
It was going to be a surprise party for my little brother Raymond. Uncle Jack always remembered birthdays just like Mom and Dad used to. On the way up the stairs, I remarked, "I wish someone would do this for me."
Uncle Jack said, "You're almost a man, Philip." I was fourteen. "This one's only four," he added, trying, I guess, not to spoil the surprise for Raymond, who on hearing the word four seemed to know he was being talked about.
Nobody answered the door.
We walked in and the place seemed deserted. It was so quiet.
We soon found everyone sitting around the dining room table or lying on the floor. At first I thought they were all sleeping, which seemed a strange thing to do at a party. The children with colorful hats on sat slumped forward onto the table. I checked their pulses as I had been trained to do in my Phys. Ed. class. They were all right, just unconscious. The two women, Mrs. Benson and her grown daughter Marion also seemed to be comatose. Then I saw a pair of legs. Ernest Benson had no pulse. He lay in the corner against a smaller table, halfway behind the chair in which he usually sat. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn't breathing.
Alison had tears welling, and Marti, with her hand over her mouth, backed out of the room; then ushered Raymond and Alison toward one of the back bedrooms, as there came a knock on the door. Uncle Jack went to see who was knocking and I picked up the telephone to call the police.
Uncle Jack opened the door, but there did not appear to be anyone on the other side. Suddenly, he clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. As the door slammed shut, I could see no one in the hall. I didn't know where Marti had gone with the children and I could not move. I tried to call out Uncle Jack's name, but my throat was dry and produced no sound.
I stood rooted to the spot with the telephone receiver in my hand. Not sure what to do next, I stood there a long time.
Somewhere very far away I heard a voice saying, "There appears to be a receiver off the hook. Please hang up the telephone, then lift the receiver and dial your number...There appears to be a receiver off the hook...
It was going to be a surprise party for my little brother Raymond. Uncle Jack always remembered birthdays just like Mom and Dad used to. On the way up the stairs, I remarked, "I wish someone would do this for me."
Uncle Jack said, "You're almost a man, Philip." I was fourteen. "This one's only four," he added, trying, I guess, not to spoil the surprise for Raymond, who on hearing the word four seemed to know he was being talked about.
Nobody answered the door.
We walked in and the place seemed deserted. It was so quiet.
We soon found everyone sitting around the dining room table or lying on the floor. At first I thought they were all sleeping, which seemed a strange thing to do at a party. The children with colorful hats on sat slumped forward onto the table. I checked their pulses as I had been trained to do in my Phys. Ed. class. They were all right, just unconscious. The two women, Mrs. Benson and her grown daughter Marion also seemed to be comatose. Then I saw a pair of legs. Ernest Benson had no pulse. He lay in the corner against a smaller table, halfway behind the chair in which he usually sat. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn't breathing.
Alison had tears welling, and Marti, with her hand over her mouth, backed out of the room; then ushered Raymond and Alison toward one of the back bedrooms, as there came a knock on the door. Uncle Jack went to see who was knocking and I picked up the telephone to call the police.
Uncle Jack opened the door, but there did not appear to be anyone on the other side. Suddenly, he clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. As the door slammed shut, I could see no one in the hall. I didn't know where Marti had gone with the children and I could not move. I tried to call out Uncle Jack's name, but my throat was dry and produced no sound.
I stood rooted to the spot with the telephone receiver in my hand. Not sure what to do next, I stood there a long time.
Somewhere very far away I heard a voice saying, "There appears to be a receiver off the hook. Please hang up the telephone, then lift the receiver and dial your number...There appears to be a receiver off the hook...
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Panic on the Comeback Trail
Britney, once again on the comeback trail, was attempting to portray Gertrude Quintanilla in a bio-pic with music. Her agent had advised her that if she pulled this one off, she would probably be back in place and not have to worry about her future as an actress.
Gertrude was an English teacher with a method. What she would do is begin her lesson with excess clothing on and casualy remove one item as she presented each grammar point until midway through the lesson she was standing in front of her group in hot pants and a halter. She would then proceed to redress, but her art was in being able to keep the students’ attention while she did so. She knew of no ecdysiast who had followed a strip act by putting on clothes, and in any case, she did not bump and grind in an erotic manner. She was teaching.
She didn’t do her “act” during every lesson. It was always an impromptu thing. So her students, mostly young males, never knew what to expect. Thus, they filled her classes hoping any day would be their lucky day. The price they had to pay was learning. Her exams were extremely detailed and difficult to pass if the topics had not been studied.
And she never stripped on exam days.
She had other “revolutionary” methods that fairly guaranteed a high success rate, but the clothing thing was what she had become known for.
Britney called her current paramour Ryan because he looked like either Ryan Gosling or Ryan Phillipe. She could never remember which one it was actually, but he didn’t seem to mind her nicknaming him because he claimed he wasn’t very attached to his given-name which was Oliver.
Gertrude, now over fifty and no longer in the physical condition to teach using her method, had turned to writing; novels mostly, which sold relatively well, but it was her memoirs that provided the means by which she was able to retire from teaching. She was still quite attractive, and had bridled on first learning that Britney was going to portray her, but could not say much because she had sold the rights to her story. In any case, her initial dissatisfaction had lessened when she took to visiting the set and conversed with Britney. She was so malleable and graciously accepted suggestions on how best to play the character, for that was, after all, what Gertrude had made herself, a character.
Britney, on the other hand, never saw herself as a character. The papparazzi blitz had long ago ended. Her last few concerts had garnered little praise and less revenue than she had been able to achieve in her prime. Her hair had not grown back so luxuriously after her breakdown stage, and she had taken to wearing wigs. She was always careful to wear underwear these days, even under slacks and bathing attire, though without the surprise photos being snapped it did not seem entirely necessary. There were the children to consider. That was why she took such precaution. Her most enjoyable activity over the last few months was when Ryan took her and the kids somewhere for a day’s outing. These had continued until the movie crew went on location to film Gertrude’s after-teaching life.
Gertrude had accompanied the family on several outings and surprised Britney when she offered to watch the children for the three weeks she would be off filming. Ryan had meetings to attend in Seattle and Portland, and would then join Britney in Texas when those had wrapped up.
Britney sat now in her trailer. She was drinking mineral water and lightly massaging the abdomen of a pet white rat, which lay on its back submitting to her ministrations. The rat had had its tail clipped and resembled a hamster, but the thought passed Britney’s mind that it was still a rat. She worried that at any moment it might suddenly become moody and bite her. The massage was a trust building exercise for both parties. When her cell phone rang, it startled Britney and her longish nails grazed the rat’s belly. Then it did snap at her hand, but she had moved too quickly. Disappointed, the rat scurried away and ran under an endtable. It was watching her in what she considered a sinister fashion as she spoke on the phone.
Gertrude asked how the filming was going and said she anticipated Britney’s return. The children, while she loved them dearly, were quite a handful, and she wasn’t getting any writing done. Having been a teacher, she had assumed she could easily manage youngsters, but perhaps she had misjudged her enthusiasm.
Britney, at a loss for words, looked at the rat, and suddenly panicked. She felt she must stay on the phone, for as long as she did so, she was safe. The rat would maintain its present size and not attack. Where was Ryan when she really needed him? She must say something to maintain her connection with Gertrude. Something. Anything.
So she said, “We’ll be wrapping a little earlier than expected. It seems the producers are looking over their budget and feel money would be better spent on the musical numbers. We still have two more to do, and they can be filmed back in L.A. But Gert, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I didn’t think of it as a problem until I saw it in the script. They have you in a relationship with a much younger former student after your first book was written. How did you go about that? I mean, was that something like a mid-life crisis?”
Gertrude responded, “You said you’d read my book. Do you remember any part about an affair with an ex-student?”
“No, well, I, that’s why I’m asking I guess.”
“That never happened. Sweetie, you didn’t actually read the book, did you?”
“Oh, Gert, I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic and have trouble reading. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid. I knew you didn’t really want me to play you in this movie, and I wanted you to believe I could do it.”
“I wish you had at least listened to an audio version. If you had, you’d know the one thing I value above all else is honesty.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to…You see, this rat is crouching here ready to pounce on me, and I…”
“Well, at least you’re honest with yourself,” Gertrude said. “Listen, dear, I have to go. The children are making a lot of noise up in my bedroom and I have to go investigate. Hurry home, won’t you?”
“Wait. Please don’t hang…” Britney said, but it was too late. Gertrude had disconnected. Britney, maintaining eye contact with the rat, quickly dialled Ryan’s number, but it rang several times and then his message came on. She pretended he had answered anyway, and preceded to make light conversation in her most controlled voice. She didn’t consider herself a great actress, but she had taken several lessons, and she remembered a few things. She just wished the director would call, “Cut.” sooner rather than later. She wanted the rest of the crew to return to the set. Those were always the best moments of the day.
Gertrude was an English teacher with a method. What she would do is begin her lesson with excess clothing on and casualy remove one item as she presented each grammar point until midway through the lesson she was standing in front of her group in hot pants and a halter. She would then proceed to redress, but her art was in being able to keep the students’ attention while she did so. She knew of no ecdysiast who had followed a strip act by putting on clothes, and in any case, she did not bump and grind in an erotic manner. She was teaching.
She didn’t do her “act” during every lesson. It was always an impromptu thing. So her students, mostly young males, never knew what to expect. Thus, they filled her classes hoping any day would be their lucky day. The price they had to pay was learning. Her exams were extremely detailed and difficult to pass if the topics had not been studied.
And she never stripped on exam days.
She had other “revolutionary” methods that fairly guaranteed a high success rate, but the clothing thing was what she had become known for.
Britney called her current paramour Ryan because he looked like either Ryan Gosling or Ryan Phillipe. She could never remember which one it was actually, but he didn’t seem to mind her nicknaming him because he claimed he wasn’t very attached to his given-name which was Oliver.
Gertrude, now over fifty and no longer in the physical condition to teach using her method, had turned to writing; novels mostly, which sold relatively well, but it was her memoirs that provided the means by which she was able to retire from teaching. She was still quite attractive, and had bridled on first learning that Britney was going to portray her, but could not say much because she had sold the rights to her story. In any case, her initial dissatisfaction had lessened when she took to visiting the set and conversed with Britney. She was so malleable and graciously accepted suggestions on how best to play the character, for that was, after all, what Gertrude had made herself, a character.
Britney, on the other hand, never saw herself as a character. The papparazzi blitz had long ago ended. Her last few concerts had garnered little praise and less revenue than she had been able to achieve in her prime. Her hair had not grown back so luxuriously after her breakdown stage, and she had taken to wearing wigs. She was always careful to wear underwear these days, even under slacks and bathing attire, though without the surprise photos being snapped it did not seem entirely necessary. There were the children to consider. That was why she took such precaution. Her most enjoyable activity over the last few months was when Ryan took her and the kids somewhere for a day’s outing. These had continued until the movie crew went on location to film Gertrude’s after-teaching life.
Gertrude had accompanied the family on several outings and surprised Britney when she offered to watch the children for the three weeks she would be off filming. Ryan had meetings to attend in Seattle and Portland, and would then join Britney in Texas when those had wrapped up.
Britney sat now in her trailer. She was drinking mineral water and lightly massaging the abdomen of a pet white rat, which lay on its back submitting to her ministrations. The rat had had its tail clipped and resembled a hamster, but the thought passed Britney’s mind that it was still a rat. She worried that at any moment it might suddenly become moody and bite her. The massage was a trust building exercise for both parties. When her cell phone rang, it startled Britney and her longish nails grazed the rat’s belly. Then it did snap at her hand, but she had moved too quickly. Disappointed, the rat scurried away and ran under an endtable. It was watching her in what she considered a sinister fashion as she spoke on the phone.
Gertrude asked how the filming was going and said she anticipated Britney’s return. The children, while she loved them dearly, were quite a handful, and she wasn’t getting any writing done. Having been a teacher, she had assumed she could easily manage youngsters, but perhaps she had misjudged her enthusiasm.
Britney, at a loss for words, looked at the rat, and suddenly panicked. She felt she must stay on the phone, for as long as she did so, she was safe. The rat would maintain its present size and not attack. Where was Ryan when she really needed him? She must say something to maintain her connection with Gertrude. Something. Anything.
So she said, “We’ll be wrapping a little earlier than expected. It seems the producers are looking over their budget and feel money would be better spent on the musical numbers. We still have two more to do, and they can be filmed back in L.A. But Gert, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I didn’t think of it as a problem until I saw it in the script. They have you in a relationship with a much younger former student after your first book was written. How did you go about that? I mean, was that something like a mid-life crisis?”
Gertrude responded, “You said you’d read my book. Do you remember any part about an affair with an ex-student?”
“No, well, I, that’s why I’m asking I guess.”
“That never happened. Sweetie, you didn’t actually read the book, did you?”
“Oh, Gert, I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic and have trouble reading. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid. I knew you didn’t really want me to play you in this movie, and I wanted you to believe I could do it.”
“I wish you had at least listened to an audio version. If you had, you’d know the one thing I value above all else is honesty.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to…You see, this rat is crouching here ready to pounce on me, and I…”
“Well, at least you’re honest with yourself,” Gertrude said. “Listen, dear, I have to go. The children are making a lot of noise up in my bedroom and I have to go investigate. Hurry home, won’t you?”
“Wait. Please don’t hang…” Britney said, but it was too late. Gertrude had disconnected. Britney, maintaining eye contact with the rat, quickly dialled Ryan’s number, but it rang several times and then his message came on. She pretended he had answered anyway, and preceded to make light conversation in her most controlled voice. She didn’t consider herself a great actress, but she had taken several lessons, and she remembered a few things. She just wished the director would call, “Cut.” sooner rather than later. She wanted the rest of the crew to return to the set. Those were always the best moments of the day.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Alice
“What did you want from me then? What do you want from me now?” She spoke in an even tone. She was not being sarcastic, nor cynical. If anything, she was apologizing.
“It’s always been the same thing,” he said, “I’ve only ever wanted your trust.”
“I gave that readily the first time I saw you. You have it still. It’s just that…”
“I know,” he said, “It’s not about me anymore and what I want.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, I really am. I’m sprouting wings. I thank you for that gift, but now I feel the need to flex. I, I…”
“And so you shall, love. It’s time for you to fly.”
When Tom left, Alice smoked a cigarette and watched motes suspended in the still air of her apartment, wingless motes which tumbled in the smoke she exhaled, tumbled then fell still once again, suspended in place as surely as if they were anchored by tiny invisible threads.
She looked at the bracelet on her wrist, tried to twist it round, but it was too snug. The amber stones no longer shone. She unclasped it and placed it on the newspaper folded on the coffeetable.
Later, when she herself was going, it was one of the things she left behind.
Alice was sitting in a corner of the room. She was watching people enjoy themselves. The only people she knew there were Norma and her husband. She worked with Norma in a bank. Norma was an older woman who took a motherly interest in Alice and had invited her to the party.
The house was full and everyone was talking and laughing. Everyone, that is, except Alice. There was a young man standing near her. He looked over at her several times and smiled. Alice pretended not to notice him. When he wasn’t looking, she glanced at him shyly. But when he looked at her again, she acted as if she were interested in the pattern of the carpet.
Just then, Norma came into the room and walked over to her. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s a great party.”
“Really? You don’t seem to be talking to anyone.”
“Oh, that’s because I…I prefer to sit and listen for a while,” Alice answered.
“But you can’t do that all evening, honey. Come on! Let me introduce you to a few friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Norma. I’ll be all right. I will, really!”
Norma looked at her doubtfully. Then her husband shouted something to her from the kitchen, and she hurried back to help him bring more food into the room.
An hour later, Alice was still sitting in the corner of the room. The young man was now talking to another person. Alice kept looking at the door, hoping that someone else she knew would come in. After a while, she got up and went into the kitchen, where Norma was joking and laughing in the middle of a crowd of people.
“Well?” she asked. “Met any interesting people?”
“Oh, yes. It’s really been a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me,” Alice said, looking at her watch.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Norma asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have to. I’m expecting a phone call from a friend. I told him I’d be home by ten.”
“Well, all right, then. You take care, dear,” Norma said and kissed her on the cheek.
Alice got off the number seven bus and began walking towards her apartment building. On the way, she stopped to buy some food at one of the stores on her street. It was run by a Korean family, and although the prices were a little higher than in the supermarket further down the street, she did a lot of her shopping there. The vegetables were fresher and they had a number of things she couldn’t get anywhere else. Mr. Kim, the owner of the store, was checking through a list, but smiled, as he always did, when he saw her come in.
“How’s Mrs. Kim today?” she asked.
“Oh, much better. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital soon,” Mr. Kim said.
“Oh, I’m so glad!”
She picked up a basket and walked toward the back of the store, where the rice and grains were kept. The store was divided by three long aisles, with rows of shelves crammed with all sorts of things. Except for her and Mr. Kim, there were only two other people there, two young men with boyish faces. They were standing at the end of one of the aisles. She glanced at them as she passed. They were both wearing long, old-fashioned raincoats and she thought they looked a little ridiculous because the coats were too big and it wasn’t raining outside. But big coats were popular with some of the teenagers that season.
“Watch out, stupid,” she heard one of them whisper to the other.
She walked on to the next aisle and found the rice she was looking for. Then she heard something else. It sounded like a can falling on the floor. She peered through a gap in the shelf and caught a glimpse of one of the boys bending over. She saw him pick up a can of food, but instead of putting it in his shopping basket or back on the shelf, he dropped it into the inside pocket of his long raincoat. Alice glanced back down the aisle. She could see Mr. Kim at the cash register, still checking through his list. Then she looked through the gap in the shelf again, but the boys had their backs to her.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she heard one of them say and they moved. At the same time, she saw one of them put another can in his raincoat pocket. They moved further away from her. She could no longer see what they were doing or hear what they were saying.
When she got to the cash register, the two boys were in front of her. She watched them pay for the few things they had in the basket. They had both buttoned their coats and fastened them with their belts. Mr. Kim did not seem suspicious at all. He even smiled at them as they were about to leave. Alice opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was the sound of hesitation, which Mr. Kim mistook for a sigh or a yawn.
“You need to get some rest,” he said.
“That’s all I do,” she thought, and paid for her rice with a twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Kim, preoccupied with his list, gave her change for a ten. She did not bring the error to his attention. “Thank you,” she said, “Have a good night. I hope to see Mrs. Kim real soon.”
She heard the telephone ringing as she put her key into the lock on the door. On entering, she placed her purchase on the little table under her father’s photograph and walked over to answer the phone.
“Alice, it’s Norma. Listen, dear, you left something here. We found your bracelet between the cushions on the sofa.”
Alice looked down at her empty right wrist.
“I, er, how…” she began.
“Don’t worry, dear. It turns out one of the guests lives very near your place and he’s offered to drop it off on his way home. Will that be all right, or shall I bring it to the office Monday?”
“I didn’t even know I’d lost it. My father gave me that bracelet when I was a teenager. I guess…”
“I know. You’ve always worn it. Listen, dear, Tom is a good soul and trustworthy. I’m going to send it over with him. You take care and I’ll see you Monday. By the way, did you get the call you were expecting?”
“Yes, yes, I did,” Alice said, “Thank you, Norma.”
She changed into more casual clothes and carefully hung her one good dress back on its padded hanger in her bedroom closet. She brushed her hair and sprayed some mouthwash into her dry throat. Then she poured some cherry liqueur into an aperitif glass and downed it quickly. She poured another and put the glass and the decanter on the table while she went to spray her throat again.
She was feeling dizzy with good luck and believed Norma was a true friend, the only kind worth keeping.
As she replaced the mouthwash in the medicine chest, she heard her buzzer ring.
She responded without asking who it was.
Two minutes later she was disappointed on opening her door and discovering that Tom was not the person she had been expecting. An older man, whom she had not noticed at the party, was standing there.
“Alice?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I’m Tom Sellers. Norma asked me to return this to you.” In his extended hand was her bracelet, partially wrapped in a tissue.
“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you so much. Can I offer you a nightcap for your kindness?”
“How sweet of you to offer, but I’m afraid I mustn’t take you up on it. I’m in recovery, you see. Perhaps,…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wanted another chance to speak to you.”
“How’s that?”
“I saw you sitting on Norma’s sofa and realized you were there alone. I tried to screw up the courage to say something several times, but I just couldn’t get past my shyness. Here now, with an excuse to speak, I’ve gotten past that hurdle. Do you think we might have dinner together some time?”
He really was rather handsome. Alice regretted not having been introduced to him at the party, but then she had been distracted by the younger man to whom she herself had been too shy to speak.
On a Wednesday when it was raining heavily and there was very little traffic at the bank, Norma and Alice had lunch together. Norma, as always, looked regal with her hair swept up. She was was wearing an emerald green business suit. Alice too looked regal and Norma commented on the change.
“You’re looking marvelous these days. Life seems to be treating you right.”
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done,” Alice said.
“What I’ve done? Why, I haven’t done anything. You’ve just awakened to your surroundings, dear.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t fate that placed both Tom and myself at your party.”
“How are things going between the two of you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Two salads lay untouched between them.
“He’s a wonderful companion,” Alice said. “We have been all over the city together. We went to the Chagall exhibit last week. I’ve been doing things and going to places I haven’t been since my father passed away. He’s really helped me get out of the rut I was falling into.”
“I can see changes,” Norma said. “Do you think it might be serious between you?”
“Well, he took me to meet his mother over the weekend. She’s a tiny woman, nearly seventy she must be, but very lively.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“We hit it off, but something, I don’t know, something didn’t feel right. She offered me a glass of wine with dinner. She had Tom pour one for her. He had soda and so I did also. But the decanter was near him and his mother kept glancing at it. I couldn’t tell if she was longing for another but didn’t like to be the only one drinking or if she didn’t trust her son, as if at any moment he might cave and fill his glass. He’s in recovery, you know.”
“Yes,” Norma said, “And I believe he’s very faithful to his principles. I’ve never seen him drinking and we’ve been friends for about nine years.”
“You seem more sure of him than his mother does.”
Norma leaned forward and said in a low voice, “She does drink a bit.” Then, sitting upright again, she added, “But hey, she’s seventy.”
A couple were taking seats at the table next to Norma and Alice. The young woman was fashionably attired and had her blond hair perfectly coiffed. She was wearing a brooch that looked like an eagle in flight pinned to her jacket. Alice felt she recognized her escort as he held out her chair for her. He looked so familiar, but Alice couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Then he sat parallel to her and she couldn’t see his face without turning around in an obvious manner to look at him.
“So,” she said to Norma, “You don’t think it was a matter of trust?”
“No. A little wine with dinner never hurt anyone. Anyone who doesn’t have a problem with alcohol, that is. Tom never did succumb, right.?”
The blond at the next table looked over at them and Alice began to feel uncomfortable. “Umh, no,” she said, “No, he didn’t.” Perhaps Norma had responded in a tone that had evoked the young woman’s interest.
Shortly afterward, the waiter took away their uneaten salads and brought their check. When they rose to leave, Alice had another chance to see the young man’s face. She was astounded when she realized where she knew him from. This young man, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly combed, with a flawless complexion, looking for all the world like some successful young executive taking his fiance to a nice restaurant for lunch was one of the kids in oversized raincoats she had seen robbing canned goods from Mr. Kim! They caught each other’s eyes but there was no sign of recognition in his. He merely smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to return the smile but said, “Provecho,” in a low voice.
Norma looked sideways when she heard that. “You are full of surprises these days,” she said.
That evening she told Tom that she had decided to go to Mexico for her month’s vacation. He asked her if this was a sudden decision because she had never mentioned it earlier.
“Sort of,” she said. “I haven’t traveled anywhere in years. My parents used to take me on cruises when I was a child. I always thought I’d like to continue traveling when I grew up, but then my mother died and my father was sick for a long time. After he died, I guess I lost interest. Lately, I’ve been reading about South America and Mexico and thought I’d like to explore a bit – try something new.”
She was getting ready to go to the theater with him when he arrived and now she was just putting on the finishing touches. She picked up her bracelet with the little onyx stones on it and started to put it on her wrist, when he said, “Wait a minute.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “I brought this for you. I guess now we can consider it a bon voyage present.”
She opened the box. Inside was a bracelet of shiny amber. He took it out and put it round her wrist and clasped it with a bit of difficulty as the length was not so great as her one made of onyx. “Oh, Tom,” she said, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, but…” She placed the onyx bracelet in the box and put it on the table.
“I know the other one is important to you,” he said. “I know you wear it all the time. I just thought you might like to change off now and then.”
“My father gave me that one on the last trip we took as a family. It was for my sixteenth birthday. I guess I have been wearing it all this time for sentimental reasons. But this one is beautiful. Thank you so much.” She kissed him in sincere gratitude but was inwardly disappointed that she felt nothing more than that.
She put the box with her father’s bracelet in it away in a drawer and wore only Tom’s gift for the next two weeks whenever they went out somewhere together. She was wearing it on the Friday evening, her last day of work before she was set to travel.
She had made up her mind that she wanted to tell Tom not to wait for her to come back from Mexico. She wanted her future to be open.
When she broached the subject, he was a little upset but not angry. He told her he knew how she had been feeling prior to her voicing it. He said he felt their separation was predestined. He’d known it the first night he’d come to her apartment. He had felt her love was out of his reach when he spotted her at Norma’s party, her love, but not affection. That he knew was attainable. He had made his belated moves with only the simplest goal in mind.
“It’s always been the same thing,” he said, “I’ve only ever wanted your trust.”
“I gave that readily the first time I saw you. You have it still. It’s just that…”
“I know,” he said, “It’s not about me anymore and what I want.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, I really am. I’m sprouting wings. I thank you for that gift, but now I feel the need to flex. I, I…”
“And so you shall, love. It’s time for you to fly.”
When Tom left, Alice smoked a cigarette and watched motes suspended in the still air of her apartment, wingless motes which tumbled in the smoke she exhaled, tumbled then fell still once again, suspended in place as surely as if they were anchored by tiny invisible threads.
She looked at the bracelet on her wrist, tried to twist it round, but it was too snug. The amber stones no longer shone. She unclasped it and placed it on the newspaper folded on the coffeetable.
Later, when she herself was going, it was one of the things she left behind.
Alice was sitting in a corner of the room. She was watching people enjoy themselves. The only people she knew there were Norma and her husband. She worked with Norma in a bank. Norma was an older woman who took a motherly interest in Alice and had invited her to the party.
The house was full and everyone was talking and laughing. Everyone, that is, except Alice. There was a young man standing near her. He looked over at her several times and smiled. Alice pretended not to notice him. When he wasn’t looking, she glanced at him shyly. But when he looked at her again, she acted as if she were interested in the pattern of the carpet.
Just then, Norma came into the room and walked over to her. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s a great party.”
“Really? You don’t seem to be talking to anyone.”
“Oh, that’s because I…I prefer to sit and listen for a while,” Alice answered.
“But you can’t do that all evening, honey. Come on! Let me introduce you to a few friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Norma. I’ll be all right. I will, really!”
Norma looked at her doubtfully. Then her husband shouted something to her from the kitchen, and she hurried back to help him bring more food into the room.
An hour later, Alice was still sitting in the corner of the room. The young man was now talking to another person. Alice kept looking at the door, hoping that someone else she knew would come in. After a while, she got up and went into the kitchen, where Norma was joking and laughing in the middle of a crowd of people.
“Well?” she asked. “Met any interesting people?”
“Oh, yes. It’s really been a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me,” Alice said, looking at her watch.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Norma asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have to. I’m expecting a phone call from a friend. I told him I’d be home by ten.”
“Well, all right, then. You take care, dear,” Norma said and kissed her on the cheek.
Alice got off the number seven bus and began walking towards her apartment building. On the way, she stopped to buy some food at one of the stores on her street. It was run by a Korean family, and although the prices were a little higher than in the supermarket further down the street, she did a lot of her shopping there. The vegetables were fresher and they had a number of things she couldn’t get anywhere else. Mr. Kim, the owner of the store, was checking through a list, but smiled, as he always did, when he saw her come in.
“How’s Mrs. Kim today?” she asked.
“Oh, much better. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital soon,” Mr. Kim said.
“Oh, I’m so glad!”
She picked up a basket and walked toward the back of the store, where the rice and grains were kept. The store was divided by three long aisles, with rows of shelves crammed with all sorts of things. Except for her and Mr. Kim, there were only two other people there, two young men with boyish faces. They were standing at the end of one of the aisles. She glanced at them as she passed. They were both wearing long, old-fashioned raincoats and she thought they looked a little ridiculous because the coats were too big and it wasn’t raining outside. But big coats were popular with some of the teenagers that season.
“Watch out, stupid,” she heard one of them whisper to the other.
She walked on to the next aisle and found the rice she was looking for. Then she heard something else. It sounded like a can falling on the floor. She peered through a gap in the shelf and caught a glimpse of one of the boys bending over. She saw him pick up a can of food, but instead of putting it in his shopping basket or back on the shelf, he dropped it into the inside pocket of his long raincoat. Alice glanced back down the aisle. She could see Mr. Kim at the cash register, still checking through his list. Then she looked through the gap in the shelf again, but the boys had their backs to her.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she heard one of them say and they moved. At the same time, she saw one of them put another can in his raincoat pocket. They moved further away from her. She could no longer see what they were doing or hear what they were saying.
When she got to the cash register, the two boys were in front of her. She watched them pay for the few things they had in the basket. They had both buttoned their coats and fastened them with their belts. Mr. Kim did not seem suspicious at all. He even smiled at them as they were about to leave. Alice opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was the sound of hesitation, which Mr. Kim mistook for a sigh or a yawn.
“You need to get some rest,” he said.
“That’s all I do,” she thought, and paid for her rice with a twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Kim, preoccupied with his list, gave her change for a ten. She did not bring the error to his attention. “Thank you,” she said, “Have a good night. I hope to see Mrs. Kim real soon.”
She heard the telephone ringing as she put her key into the lock on the door. On entering, she placed her purchase on the little table under her father’s photograph and walked over to answer the phone.
“Alice, it’s Norma. Listen, dear, you left something here. We found your bracelet between the cushions on the sofa.”
Alice looked down at her empty right wrist.
“I, er, how…” she began.
“Don’t worry, dear. It turns out one of the guests lives very near your place and he’s offered to drop it off on his way home. Will that be all right, or shall I bring it to the office Monday?”
“I didn’t even know I’d lost it. My father gave me that bracelet when I was a teenager. I guess…”
“I know. You’ve always worn it. Listen, dear, Tom is a good soul and trustworthy. I’m going to send it over with him. You take care and I’ll see you Monday. By the way, did you get the call you were expecting?”
“Yes, yes, I did,” Alice said, “Thank you, Norma.”
She changed into more casual clothes and carefully hung her one good dress back on its padded hanger in her bedroom closet. She brushed her hair and sprayed some mouthwash into her dry throat. Then she poured some cherry liqueur into an aperitif glass and downed it quickly. She poured another and put the glass and the decanter on the table while she went to spray her throat again.
She was feeling dizzy with good luck and believed Norma was a true friend, the only kind worth keeping.
As she replaced the mouthwash in the medicine chest, she heard her buzzer ring.
She responded without asking who it was.
Two minutes later she was disappointed on opening her door and discovering that Tom was not the person she had been expecting. An older man, whom she had not noticed at the party, was standing there.
“Alice?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I’m Tom Sellers. Norma asked me to return this to you.” In his extended hand was her bracelet, partially wrapped in a tissue.
“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you so much. Can I offer you a nightcap for your kindness?”
“How sweet of you to offer, but I’m afraid I mustn’t take you up on it. I’m in recovery, you see. Perhaps,…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wanted another chance to speak to you.”
“How’s that?”
“I saw you sitting on Norma’s sofa and realized you were there alone. I tried to screw up the courage to say something several times, but I just couldn’t get past my shyness. Here now, with an excuse to speak, I’ve gotten past that hurdle. Do you think we might have dinner together some time?”
He really was rather handsome. Alice regretted not having been introduced to him at the party, but then she had been distracted by the younger man to whom she herself had been too shy to speak.
On a Wednesday when it was raining heavily and there was very little traffic at the bank, Norma and Alice had lunch together. Norma, as always, looked regal with her hair swept up. She was was wearing an emerald green business suit. Alice too looked regal and Norma commented on the change.
“You’re looking marvelous these days. Life seems to be treating you right.”
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done,” Alice said.
“What I’ve done? Why, I haven’t done anything. You’ve just awakened to your surroundings, dear.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t fate that placed both Tom and myself at your party.”
“How are things going between the two of you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Two salads lay untouched between them.
“He’s a wonderful companion,” Alice said. “We have been all over the city together. We went to the Chagall exhibit last week. I’ve been doing things and going to places I haven’t been since my father passed away. He’s really helped me get out of the rut I was falling into.”
“I can see changes,” Norma said. “Do you think it might be serious between you?”
“Well, he took me to meet his mother over the weekend. She’s a tiny woman, nearly seventy she must be, but very lively.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“We hit it off, but something, I don’t know, something didn’t feel right. She offered me a glass of wine with dinner. She had Tom pour one for her. He had soda and so I did also. But the decanter was near him and his mother kept glancing at it. I couldn’t tell if she was longing for another but didn’t like to be the only one drinking or if she didn’t trust her son, as if at any moment he might cave and fill his glass. He’s in recovery, you know.”
“Yes,” Norma said, “And I believe he’s very faithful to his principles. I’ve never seen him drinking and we’ve been friends for about nine years.”
“You seem more sure of him than his mother does.”
Norma leaned forward and said in a low voice, “She does drink a bit.” Then, sitting upright again, she added, “But hey, she’s seventy.”
A couple were taking seats at the table next to Norma and Alice. The young woman was fashionably attired and had her blond hair perfectly coiffed. She was wearing a brooch that looked like an eagle in flight pinned to her jacket. Alice felt she recognized her escort as he held out her chair for her. He looked so familiar, but Alice couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Then he sat parallel to her and she couldn’t see his face without turning around in an obvious manner to look at him.
“So,” she said to Norma, “You don’t think it was a matter of trust?”
“No. A little wine with dinner never hurt anyone. Anyone who doesn’t have a problem with alcohol, that is. Tom never did succumb, right.?”
The blond at the next table looked over at them and Alice began to feel uncomfortable. “Umh, no,” she said, “No, he didn’t.” Perhaps Norma had responded in a tone that had evoked the young woman’s interest.
Shortly afterward, the waiter took away their uneaten salads and brought their check. When they rose to leave, Alice had another chance to see the young man’s face. She was astounded when she realized where she knew him from. This young man, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly combed, with a flawless complexion, looking for all the world like some successful young executive taking his fiance to a nice restaurant for lunch was one of the kids in oversized raincoats she had seen robbing canned goods from Mr. Kim! They caught each other’s eyes but there was no sign of recognition in his. He merely smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to return the smile but said, “Provecho,” in a low voice.
Norma looked sideways when she heard that. “You are full of surprises these days,” she said.
That evening she told Tom that she had decided to go to Mexico for her month’s vacation. He asked her if this was a sudden decision because she had never mentioned it earlier.
“Sort of,” she said. “I haven’t traveled anywhere in years. My parents used to take me on cruises when I was a child. I always thought I’d like to continue traveling when I grew up, but then my mother died and my father was sick for a long time. After he died, I guess I lost interest. Lately, I’ve been reading about South America and Mexico and thought I’d like to explore a bit – try something new.”
She was getting ready to go to the theater with him when he arrived and now she was just putting on the finishing touches. She picked up her bracelet with the little onyx stones on it and started to put it on her wrist, when he said, “Wait a minute.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “I brought this for you. I guess now we can consider it a bon voyage present.”
She opened the box. Inside was a bracelet of shiny amber. He took it out and put it round her wrist and clasped it with a bit of difficulty as the length was not so great as her one made of onyx. “Oh, Tom,” she said, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, but…” She placed the onyx bracelet in the box and put it on the table.
“I know the other one is important to you,” he said. “I know you wear it all the time. I just thought you might like to change off now and then.”
“My father gave me that one on the last trip we took as a family. It was for my sixteenth birthday. I guess I have been wearing it all this time for sentimental reasons. But this one is beautiful. Thank you so much.” She kissed him in sincere gratitude but was inwardly disappointed that she felt nothing more than that.
She put the box with her father’s bracelet in it away in a drawer and wore only Tom’s gift for the next two weeks whenever they went out somewhere together. She was wearing it on the Friday evening, her last day of work before she was set to travel.
She had made up her mind that she wanted to tell Tom not to wait for her to come back from Mexico. She wanted her future to be open.
When she broached the subject, he was a little upset but not angry. He told her he knew how she had been feeling prior to her voicing it. He said he felt their separation was predestined. He’d known it the first night he’d come to her apartment. He had felt her love was out of his reach when he spotted her at Norma’s party, her love, but not affection. That he knew was attainable. He had made his belated moves with only the simplest goal in mind.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Reading is an Essential Skill
There is an excellent online magazine en español called eLe which has recently started up. It promotes reading as a pleasurable pastime. It presents all topics in bite-size chunks and in an attractive format. Says one of its promoters, "eLe es un espacio que contiene fragmentos de libros, comentarios, recomendaciones, concursos, humor, textos de autor y algunos contenidos experimentales, todo ello elegido con ganas de divertirse y demostrar que leer es un placer." Check it out.
Another great site (blog) that I frequently enjoy reading is Scott Esposito's Conversational Reading. This one is in English, but there is much commentary on books in translation of diverse provenance.
I guess I spend so much time reading that I don't get around to doing as much writing as I'd like, but reading is research, no?
Another great site (blog) that I frequently enjoy reading is Scott Esposito's Conversational Reading. This one is in English, but there is much commentary on books in translation of diverse provenance.
I guess I spend so much time reading that I don't get around to doing as much writing as I'd like, but reading is research, no?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Coming Back to Work
Anyone can see that this is the slowest developing thing I've ever tried to do. I just keep getting sidetracked. Hopefully, this semester will be more productive.
So envious of my friend who posts a review at Cinematronics everytime he goes to the movies . He just keeps slugging away; building up an archive of info he can always refer to later.
I'm handwriting little notes and using MS Office One-Note all the time, but never seem to get around to the blog.
Well, that'll change.
So envious of my friend who posts a review at Cinematronics everytime he goes to the movies . He just keeps slugging away; building up an archive of info he can always refer to later.
I'm handwriting little notes and using MS Office One-Note all the time, but never seem to get around to the blog.
Well, that'll change.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Intrigue
Walking through the marketplace, I noticed the couple I had met at the hotel, both dressed more appropriately for a vacation on the Hawaiian islands rather than this place. They were arguing over the price of gold trinkets. There was another couple—elderly, more sedately dressed—sitting at a table in the outdoor café. When I passed them, I heard the woman say something about there being “only a little while to wait.” Suffering the annoying buzz of a slight hangover, I stopped at a fruit stall and bought a pear.
While I ate my breakfast and observed the activities and listened to the sounds of the crowded market, I ruminated over the consequences I would soon face as a result of my article having been published in the morning edition of The Gazette.
I needed to see Raoul. I needed to speak to him before Dana called Beto.
And there was the matter of the newlyweds, Sarah and Ivan, their problem and what they had discovered. If Captain Balthazar interrogated them, the wrong answers could land all of us in deep trouble.
Balthazar has been in this place a long time, long enough to have achieved a position of authority. Some would say he’s been here too long—that he’s a tired old man in need of a vacation. But isn’t that the reason many people have come here? He told me he wouldn’t rest until he brings all the wrongdoers in these parts to justice. He believes in his mission and he will see it through, even if it takes another ten years.
Whatever anyone wants or needs can be gotten on the black market. Somebody runs it, but nobody’s talking.
Raoul is on Balthazar’s list. Dana too. And Beto. Sometimes it seems like everyone is on his list. For that matter I, myself, may be one of his targets, although he often gives the impression that he’s confiding in me. I investigate situations, yet I know of nothing any of the others have done that could be considered wrong. But then, I guess that depends on who’s considering their actions and what point of view one has.
Sarah and Ivan seem too naïve to be involved in anything illicit. They came here on their honeymoon. They’ve stayed, however, for more than five months. That’s the longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of.
I had just finished eating my fruit and was about to go for a cup of coffee when two men in uniform tore through the marketplace in a jeep, creating a great disturbance among the merchants and pedestrians. No one appeared to know who they were, but that was only the first mysterious occurrence in a string of events that were about to unfold. Nobody could have predicted what happened in the next few weeks.
“Beto,” Dana said, “Be there with the money at two-thirty, don’t fail me.”
When did I ever fail her? he thought. He derived special pleasure from seeing her smile when he performed his role correctly. It was his theory that a happy Dana was a significant factor in the success of their operation.
The financial rewards involved were relevant to their continued partnership.
The telephone rang. Beto used considerable restraint in hiding his enthusiasm upon answering but then realized it wasn’t Dana calling back. The voice on the other end was deep and gruff.
Balthazar had told me that he was going to call Beto, but feeling insecure, I attempted to contact him first.
“Beto,” I said to him, “The captain will be calling on you. Please be careful in what you say to him.”
“I am aware of this, O’Brien,” he said, “As a matter of fact, I have just spoken to him.” I could tell he was trying to give the impression of being on top of the situation, but he sounded confused. Then he said, “You know, a person wanting to be a smuggler has to be more careful.”
I played dumb, and he hung up on me before I had a chance to ask where I might reach Dana.
I felt relieved because all these people were going down.
Ivan flicked some lint off the lapel of his white jacket, adjusted his handkerchief, and smiled at his wife. Sarah was very happy because they were finally getting out of there.
It seemed everyone had decided to come to the bazaar. Sarah and Ivan were waiting for the soldiers to come. Everything was fairly quiet for about half an hour, and there was a palpable sense of expectation hanging in the dense and torpid air. Only the bargaining of a couple of gaudily dressed tourists rose above the silence. Apparently they did not know what everyone else knew.
Soon the soldiers did come in a jeep and they immediately started to register the entire place.
In the end, hopefully, everyone who should be would be behind bars and the newlyweds would be able to return home.
When they entered the cafe, they saw a lot of people. Sarah remarked that these people were very strange, but Ivan wasn’t one to assess the minor players. And nobody appeared odder than those tourists, haranguing about the prices of things which would eventually be confiscated. They sat down at a table and waited.
They had arrived for a honeymoon, but it was not long before Ivan became aware of the black market. They, or he at least, had seen some things. Shortly thereafter, they were contacted by a person named “Raoul”. He told them not to say a word and not to try to leave. These were dangerous times, especially for travelers. They were scared but acted normally, and for a while it seemed no one noticed there presence.
Raoul told them about Balthazar, who was investigating illegal operations, and he said that they mustn’t talk to him.
Ivan, due to Sarah’s prompting, had talked to Balthazar. He told him someone had called, though he did not know who, asking them for favors which would involve them in a black market. He realized too late that that had been a mistake for though he tried to convince the captain that they were not involved in anything illegal and had no intentions of becoming so, Balthazar likewise advised them that they should not leave until the investigation was completed.
Weeks grew into months.
Now they sat watching and waiting for something definitive to happen.
There was a great hubbub at the stalls. They had seen this kind of thing before. It usually ended with the arrest of one or two people and then investigations continued. This time promised to be different, conclusive in some way. Ivan capitulated to Sarah’s hopeful expectations.
He placed his hand over hers and their rings clacked. At least they still had each other.
Raoul, peering through the shades of a nearby window, watched the uniformed men roughing up a drunk. The soldiers could always count on getting some useless tidbit of information from a drunk to report back to Balthazar, either for the price of a cup of wine or by force depending on the degree of the witness’s inebriation.
He also noticed the young couple sitting nearly unfazed in the café. He read their look of slight concern as one of resignation more than for their own well-being. He knew then that he had lost them to the other side. He had foolishly believed they might be helpful when they arrived, but so many things had occurred in the last few months. He would not make a mistake like that again.
The black market was the main source of money for all these people.
Ernest Savage and his wife Eleanor were upset. Shopping was the only thing they had planned for the day. Now, as the soldiers intervened, that was put on hold. Their only other option was lunch and then back to the hotel where Eleanor would write in her journal and then take a nap while Ernest sat in the bar.
“That couple that came five months ago, they’re somewhat suspicious characters, don’t you think?” Eleanor asked. “I mean how much time do you need for a honeymoon? Young people nowadays are just crazy.
“Last night I heard them arguing about something they did wrong. They were saying something about a procedure they had messed up. Now do you see my point?
“A procedure?!? The main question is: Did they really come here for honeymoon? I don’t think so.
“This morning, they passed near me heading towards the village. They were talking, no, no, no, whispering! It’s obvious that they didn’t want me to hear what they were saying.”
Ernest nodded. paying scant attention to his wife’s ranting. His mind was elsewhere. He was thinking how much he used to complain about his job at the factory back in the States before retiring to this godforsaken place, and how he’d give anything to be back there now complaining or not. One can never recapture the excitement and enthusiasm of a first vacation. Times change.
“Are you listening to me?” Eleanor asked.
“I told you last night,” he said, “That wasn’t their room you were eavesdropping on. That’s the room where the dark-haired philly is staying.”
“Dark-haired philly! Ernest, you’re impossible,” she snapped, “I wasn’t eavesdropping. They were arguing very audibly. And I didn’t imagine them purposefully dropping their voices when I passed them this morning.”
Beto on his way to meet Dana and with several hundred thousand euros in his briefcase saw the young couple as they exited the bazaar. Strange he thought why are they going into Balthazar’s office? He despised his gruff manner. Hadn’t he ever heard that one could win more flies with honey than with vinegar?
Balthazar was the dominant personality in this community. Someone wanting authority here only had to seize it. Balthazar had already questioned Dana and Beto about their activities, which is why they both avoided him if they could. They always maintained sufficient space between them.
Now the sounds of shouting and weeping were coming from the big man’s office. Uh oh, thought Beto, more victims added to the tyrant’s list.
“There are some who prefer to wallow in their miseries and misfortunes, surrounding themselves with dark influences at times when their lives are equally black,” Dana said, “But if you prefer to look up at the stars when you're lying in a gutter, you’ll pick yourself up, get in a car and drive to the nearest empty field you know. Bring a bottle of wine or an ice-cream cone. Park in that field, sit on the ground, and let music play from your open car doors. Loudly. And then you'll know what Raoul knows. Everything is going to be all right.”
That was her way, to speak in parables. I had no idea why she trusted so much in Raoul. He seemed barely able to keep himself out of the hands of the law. And yet, somehow, he always managed to do just that.
While I ate my breakfast and observed the activities and listened to the sounds of the crowded market, I ruminated over the consequences I would soon face as a result of my article having been published in the morning edition of The Gazette.
I needed to see Raoul. I needed to speak to him before Dana called Beto.
And there was the matter of the newlyweds, Sarah and Ivan, their problem and what they had discovered. If Captain Balthazar interrogated them, the wrong answers could land all of us in deep trouble.
Balthazar has been in this place a long time, long enough to have achieved a position of authority. Some would say he’s been here too long—that he’s a tired old man in need of a vacation. But isn’t that the reason many people have come here? He told me he wouldn’t rest until he brings all the wrongdoers in these parts to justice. He believes in his mission and he will see it through, even if it takes another ten years.
Whatever anyone wants or needs can be gotten on the black market. Somebody runs it, but nobody’s talking.
Raoul is on Balthazar’s list. Dana too. And Beto. Sometimes it seems like everyone is on his list. For that matter I, myself, may be one of his targets, although he often gives the impression that he’s confiding in me. I investigate situations, yet I know of nothing any of the others have done that could be considered wrong. But then, I guess that depends on who’s considering their actions and what point of view one has.
Sarah and Ivan seem too naïve to be involved in anything illicit. They came here on their honeymoon. They’ve stayed, however, for more than five months. That’s the longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of.
I had just finished eating my fruit and was about to go for a cup of coffee when two men in uniform tore through the marketplace in a jeep, creating a great disturbance among the merchants and pedestrians. No one appeared to know who they were, but that was only the first mysterious occurrence in a string of events that were about to unfold. Nobody could have predicted what happened in the next few weeks.
“Beto,” Dana said, “Be there with the money at two-thirty, don’t fail me.”
When did I ever fail her? he thought. He derived special pleasure from seeing her smile when he performed his role correctly. It was his theory that a happy Dana was a significant factor in the success of their operation.
The financial rewards involved were relevant to their continued partnership.
The telephone rang. Beto used considerable restraint in hiding his enthusiasm upon answering but then realized it wasn’t Dana calling back. The voice on the other end was deep and gruff.
Balthazar had told me that he was going to call Beto, but feeling insecure, I attempted to contact him first.
“Beto,” I said to him, “The captain will be calling on you. Please be careful in what you say to him.”
“I am aware of this, O’Brien,” he said, “As a matter of fact, I have just spoken to him.” I could tell he was trying to give the impression of being on top of the situation, but he sounded confused. Then he said, “You know, a person wanting to be a smuggler has to be more careful.”
I played dumb, and he hung up on me before I had a chance to ask where I might reach Dana.
I felt relieved because all these people were going down.
Ivan flicked some lint off the lapel of his white jacket, adjusted his handkerchief, and smiled at his wife. Sarah was very happy because they were finally getting out of there.
It seemed everyone had decided to come to the bazaar. Sarah and Ivan were waiting for the soldiers to come. Everything was fairly quiet for about half an hour, and there was a palpable sense of expectation hanging in the dense and torpid air. Only the bargaining of a couple of gaudily dressed tourists rose above the silence. Apparently they did not know what everyone else knew.
Soon the soldiers did come in a jeep and they immediately started to register the entire place.
In the end, hopefully, everyone who should be would be behind bars and the newlyweds would be able to return home.
When they entered the cafe, they saw a lot of people. Sarah remarked that these people were very strange, but Ivan wasn’t one to assess the minor players. And nobody appeared odder than those tourists, haranguing about the prices of things which would eventually be confiscated. They sat down at a table and waited.
They had arrived for a honeymoon, but it was not long before Ivan became aware of the black market. They, or he at least, had seen some things. Shortly thereafter, they were contacted by a person named “Raoul”. He told them not to say a word and not to try to leave. These were dangerous times, especially for travelers. They were scared but acted normally, and for a while it seemed no one noticed there presence.
Raoul told them about Balthazar, who was investigating illegal operations, and he said that they mustn’t talk to him.
Ivan, due to Sarah’s prompting, had talked to Balthazar. He told him someone had called, though he did not know who, asking them for favors which would involve them in a black market. He realized too late that that had been a mistake for though he tried to convince the captain that they were not involved in anything illegal and had no intentions of becoming so, Balthazar likewise advised them that they should not leave until the investigation was completed.
Weeks grew into months.
Now they sat watching and waiting for something definitive to happen.
There was a great hubbub at the stalls. They had seen this kind of thing before. It usually ended with the arrest of one or two people and then investigations continued. This time promised to be different, conclusive in some way. Ivan capitulated to Sarah’s hopeful expectations.
He placed his hand over hers and their rings clacked. At least they still had each other.
Raoul, peering through the shades of a nearby window, watched the uniformed men roughing up a drunk. The soldiers could always count on getting some useless tidbit of information from a drunk to report back to Balthazar, either for the price of a cup of wine or by force depending on the degree of the witness’s inebriation.
He also noticed the young couple sitting nearly unfazed in the café. He read their look of slight concern as one of resignation more than for their own well-being. He knew then that he had lost them to the other side. He had foolishly believed they might be helpful when they arrived, but so many things had occurred in the last few months. He would not make a mistake like that again.
The black market was the main source of money for all these people.
Ernest Savage and his wife Eleanor were upset. Shopping was the only thing they had planned for the day. Now, as the soldiers intervened, that was put on hold. Their only other option was lunch and then back to the hotel where Eleanor would write in her journal and then take a nap while Ernest sat in the bar.
“That couple that came five months ago, they’re somewhat suspicious characters, don’t you think?” Eleanor asked. “I mean how much time do you need for a honeymoon? Young people nowadays are just crazy.
“Last night I heard them arguing about something they did wrong. They were saying something about a procedure they had messed up. Now do you see my point?
“A procedure?!? The main question is: Did they really come here for honeymoon? I don’t think so.
“This morning, they passed near me heading towards the village. They were talking, no, no, no, whispering! It’s obvious that they didn’t want me to hear what they were saying.”
Ernest nodded. paying scant attention to his wife’s ranting. His mind was elsewhere. He was thinking how much he used to complain about his job at the factory back in the States before retiring to this godforsaken place, and how he’d give anything to be back there now complaining or not. One can never recapture the excitement and enthusiasm of a first vacation. Times change.
“Are you listening to me?” Eleanor asked.
“I told you last night,” he said, “That wasn’t their room you were eavesdropping on. That’s the room where the dark-haired philly is staying.”
“Dark-haired philly! Ernest, you’re impossible,” she snapped, “I wasn’t eavesdropping. They were arguing very audibly. And I didn’t imagine them purposefully dropping their voices when I passed them this morning.”
Beto on his way to meet Dana and with several hundred thousand euros in his briefcase saw the young couple as they exited the bazaar. Strange he thought why are they going into Balthazar’s office? He despised his gruff manner. Hadn’t he ever heard that one could win more flies with honey than with vinegar?
Balthazar was the dominant personality in this community. Someone wanting authority here only had to seize it. Balthazar had already questioned Dana and Beto about their activities, which is why they both avoided him if they could. They always maintained sufficient space between them.
Now the sounds of shouting and weeping were coming from the big man’s office. Uh oh, thought Beto, more victims added to the tyrant’s list.
“There are some who prefer to wallow in their miseries and misfortunes, surrounding themselves with dark influences at times when their lives are equally black,” Dana said, “But if you prefer to look up at the stars when you're lying in a gutter, you’ll pick yourself up, get in a car and drive to the nearest empty field you know. Bring a bottle of wine or an ice-cream cone. Park in that field, sit on the ground, and let music play from your open car doors. Loudly. And then you'll know what Raoul knows. Everything is going to be all right.”
That was her way, to speak in parables. I had no idea why she trusted so much in Raoul. He seemed barely able to keep himself out of the hands of the law. And yet, somehow, he always managed to do just that.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
While We Were on Hiatus...
I would like to think I'm productive and had full intentions of using the break from work to post some new entries on this blog, but truly I'm one of the great procrastinators!
Meanwhile, my friend Álvaro has been blogging away, doing a good job reviewing movies, recent and old, on his blog Cinematronics and I'm impressed by how quickly he reacts to everything he views.
I will probably use this space to essay on fiction and its creators, if I can only get myself in gear and start producing.
This post is a segue.
The voice I am seeking is almost within my grasp. That is to say, I am seeking to find my writing voice. One by which my readers will immediately recognize me, and hopefully will appreciate what I am trying to say.
I say it is almost within my grasp because lately I am beginning to garner reviews for things I have written and these reviews are telling me I am proceeding in the right direction.
As I near a landmark birthday, I am thinking, it is about time I have arrived at something manageable and repeatable. Too often in the past I wandered aimlessly among sandlike prose of my own distribution. Perhaps like fantasy castles at the beach, while wet these sand edifices stood and were perhaps admired, more often disdained, but were always of only temporary strength. The waves of fortune and taste came, lapped at the base of my architecture and after having weakened its foundations, one good surge would wash it away, leaving not even rubble, but only a hole where briefly my creation had stood.
Now others are telling me they hear my voice and it is allowing me to strengthen my buildings. I am getting some idea where to insert hard things like shells and pebbles, when to wrap in seaweed, which when dried in the sunshine will prevent disaster.
And I feel prolific. It is no matter whether this is warranted or otherwise. I feel it, therefore I can work with it.
My voice.
A friend told me, "Even when you get to thinking that it has all been said and written before, remember no one can tell it from exactly the same viewpoint as you can nor in the same tone of voice unless they parody you, and if you are parodied that is proof positive that you have a voice distinctive enough to be imitated."
My voice is beginning to sound in the night. I sure hope it will guide me to a resolution. I keep my fingers crossed that I will not be taken in by the sound of my own voice nor be misled by false compliments.
Meanwhile, my friend Álvaro has been blogging away, doing a good job reviewing movies, recent and old, on his blog Cinematronics and I'm impressed by how quickly he reacts to everything he views.
I will probably use this space to essay on fiction and its creators, if I can only get myself in gear and start producing.
This post is a segue.
The voice I am seeking is almost within my grasp. That is to say, I am seeking to find my writing voice. One by which my readers will immediately recognize me, and hopefully will appreciate what I am trying to say.
I say it is almost within my grasp because lately I am beginning to garner reviews for things I have written and these reviews are telling me I am proceeding in the right direction.
As I near a landmark birthday, I am thinking, it is about time I have arrived at something manageable and repeatable. Too often in the past I wandered aimlessly among sandlike prose of my own distribution. Perhaps like fantasy castles at the beach, while wet these sand edifices stood and were perhaps admired, more often disdained, but were always of only temporary strength. The waves of fortune and taste came, lapped at the base of my architecture and after having weakened its foundations, one good surge would wash it away, leaving not even rubble, but only a hole where briefly my creation had stood.
Now others are telling me they hear my voice and it is allowing me to strengthen my buildings. I am getting some idea where to insert hard things like shells and pebbles, when to wrap in seaweed, which when dried in the sunshine will prevent disaster.
And I feel prolific. It is no matter whether this is warranted or otherwise. I feel it, therefore I can work with it.
My voice.
A friend told me, "Even when you get to thinking that it has all been said and written before, remember no one can tell it from exactly the same viewpoint as you can nor in the same tone of voice unless they parody you, and if you are parodied that is proof positive that you have a voice distinctive enough to be imitated."
My voice is beginning to sound in the night. I sure hope it will guide me to a resolution. I keep my fingers crossed that I will not be taken in by the sound of my own voice nor be misled by false compliments.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Descending and Rising Damp
On a Wednesday evening at his dining room table in a rented house in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Michael took his Palm and portable keyboard out of his black school bag.
Something was wrong with the keyboard because no matter what he tried, including replacing the batteries, he couldn't get it to work.
He was feeling old and tired from too long summer hours in classes; parts of his body were aching and the keyboard problem just added to his frustration, which had arisen from his not having completed, nor yet started, his students' third partial reports.
He decided to go online with his laptop and see if he could find a solution on the Palm site.
As he started to go upstairs to get his laptop, he discovered there was water all over the living room floor, water that had run down the stairs due to flooding on the upper floor.
He mopped up most of the water, but by the time he was finished he felt as if it had seeped into his bones, and rather than retrieve the laptop from the upstairs closet, he tried once again to get the keyboard and Palm to work.
He smelled the dankness in the air and it made him think a miasma had settled on his house causing everything to react erratically including his usually reliable little keyboard.
Lighting a cigarette added to the stale barroom ambiance, but in that moment it was all he could think of doing-to smoke and reflect on life's vicissitudes.
He could replace the keyboard if it truly wouldn't come back to action, if he responded to the General Director's request for particular English lessons, which would mean extra money.
Yes, that was how he would resolve his problem by taking on more work, which would leave him too tired to enjoy the use of his electronic toy, but also keep him out of the house for a greater part of his days.
He lit another cigarette, gulped some Light Coke directly from the two-liter bottle, noted it was half-past midnight and there were still the reports to write up and he pretended the wetness didn't bother him.
Something was wrong with the keyboard because no matter what he tried, including replacing the batteries, he couldn't get it to work.
He was feeling old and tired from too long summer hours in classes; parts of his body were aching and the keyboard problem just added to his frustration, which had arisen from his not having completed, nor yet started, his students' third partial reports.
He decided to go online with his laptop and see if he could find a solution on the Palm site.
As he started to go upstairs to get his laptop, he discovered there was water all over the living room floor, water that had run down the stairs due to flooding on the upper floor.
He mopped up most of the water, but by the time he was finished he felt as if it had seeped into his bones, and rather than retrieve the laptop from the upstairs closet, he tried once again to get the keyboard and Palm to work.
He smelled the dankness in the air and it made him think a miasma had settled on his house causing everything to react erratically including his usually reliable little keyboard.
Lighting a cigarette added to the stale barroom ambiance, but in that moment it was all he could think of doing-to smoke and reflect on life's vicissitudes.
He could replace the keyboard if it truly wouldn't come back to action, if he responded to the General Director's request for particular English lessons, which would mean extra money.
Yes, that was how he would resolve his problem by taking on more work, which would leave him too tired to enjoy the use of his electronic toy, but also keep him out of the house for a greater part of his days.
He lit another cigarette, gulped some Light Coke directly from the two-liter bottle, noted it was half-past midnight and there were still the reports to write up and he pretended the wetness didn't bother him.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Why Not?
Because it's not allowed.
Because it's not good for you.
Because your eyes will stay that way.
Because we didn't have that luxury in my day.
Because it isn't fair to the rest.
Because no one's ever done it.
Because it's too hard or too easy.
Because once you do it you won't want to stop.
Because in all likelihood you'll find it isn't what you'd imagined it to be, but by then it will be too late to undo it.
Because it's uncouth or uncool or it shows bad breeding, or too much in-breeding, or it's not being clever. In any case, it's just not done.
Because 'Y' is a crooked letter.
Go ask your mother, or conversely, go ask your father. If s/he says it's all right, then it's all right with me.
You'll understand when you're older.
Because you're not a kid anymore.
You just shouldn't.
No, really, you should.
I don't see why not.
Because it's not good for you.
Because your eyes will stay that way.
Because we didn't have that luxury in my day.
Because it isn't fair to the rest.
Because no one's ever done it.
Because it's too hard or too easy.
Because once you do it you won't want to stop.
Because in all likelihood you'll find it isn't what you'd imagined it to be, but by then it will be too late to undo it.
Because it's uncouth or uncool or it shows bad breeding, or too much in-breeding, or it's not being clever. In any case, it's just not done.
Because 'Y' is a crooked letter.
Go ask your mother, or conversely, go ask your father. If s/he says it's all right, then it's all right with me.
You'll understand when you're older.
Because you're not a kid anymore.
You just shouldn't.
No, really, you should.
I don't see why not.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Chimera
Volumes where the golden insect crawled fetch glory by the yard, but there is no communication between the ink and the eye, for try as they might, libraries cannot express the depth of what they lack in emotion. Sharp-toothed keys assist the explorer in gaining entry to a world renowned for its emptiness, but there is never any action in the quotidian balance. Read, read, read, they said. However, he was left alone to ponder the fruitlessness of his desperation. Sadly, Hugo observed the declination of reason as three virgins giggled and proceeded to retain their innocence, which, by the way, was neither innocent nor retainable. They must have known what was on offer without the experience, he calculated, for there was guile in their laughter. One of them, she of the radiant halo, dipped and scooped up the golden spider leaving only its latest unreadable tome in a web of silky verbosity. Virgin or muse, he could not tell. Still, he was news once again without the slightest perception of validation. Everything he touched glowed and shimmered in an ephemeral way. Yet, he never doubted all was at their behest.
Popping, he shriveled almost immediately and shortly thereafter he noticed he was losing hair again and there were liver spots.
Popping, he shriveled almost immediately and shortly thereafter he noticed he was losing hair again and there were liver spots.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
It's My Belief We're All Crazy
It's my belief we're all crazy. I think we have to be to survive without scars.
There is no point in trying to deny the healthy aspects of approaching the game from the other end of the terminal. If you try to play by the rules, someone with a wider perspective will find reason to oust you. Take the limited but keep an ear to the conductor's announcements. There is more to be found at the next stop.
Sun comes up. Sun goes down. That's all you need to remember.
Don't make long term plans, but do listen to the weather report. It's only guesswork.
Seventh son of a seventh son. No reason to think you're blest in any degree.
Meet the regulars. Say hello. Don't give out more information required than enough to get you a seat. It's a long ride and you will grow tired standing. But again, be adaptable. As often as things are capable of change, they probably will. Keep your eyes peeled for an available seat, but if after three stops none becomes available, make your own. Sit on the floor.
Two men walk into a bar. That's a different story.
If the sun doesn't rise tomorrow, forget the preceding and go with Plan B.
Keep watching this space for further updates.
The Man is not on your side. He works alone. Notice his flawless skin? No scars? Think he's sane? Could be He's playing a different game. Maybe, though, He's been playing this one so long, the rules do not apply. Plan B involves living long enough to make your own rules.
Plan C is a combo situation and requires quick stepping back and forth between the previous two. It is inadvisable due to the wear and tear it affords. There is some scarring. There is no Plan D. Best to proceed until a roadblock presents the need to decide; do so rapidly and take another shot. Don't vacillate. There is never much to be gained.
Veterans achieve a measure of immortality but never beyond the measure of the species.
Best to you each morning. Sun comes up. Get dressed. Otherwise, plan your funeral. Don't bother with obituaries. Most people don't read them. And those that do, well, isn't it obvious why they do?
Try spot remover and remember laughter causes lines but it's the least painful course. Listen for the whistle. Have your ticket ready and hop on.
Nobody here but us chickens.
There is no point in trying to deny the healthy aspects of approaching the game from the other end of the terminal. If you try to play by the rules, someone with a wider perspective will find reason to oust you. Take the limited but keep an ear to the conductor's announcements. There is more to be found at the next stop.
Sun comes up. Sun goes down. That's all you need to remember.
Don't make long term plans, but do listen to the weather report. It's only guesswork.
Seventh son of a seventh son. No reason to think you're blest in any degree.
Meet the regulars. Say hello. Don't give out more information required than enough to get you a seat. It's a long ride and you will grow tired standing. But again, be adaptable. As often as things are capable of change, they probably will. Keep your eyes peeled for an available seat, but if after three stops none becomes available, make your own. Sit on the floor.
Two men walk into a bar. That's a different story.
If the sun doesn't rise tomorrow, forget the preceding and go with Plan B.
Keep watching this space for further updates.
The Man is not on your side. He works alone. Notice his flawless skin? No scars? Think he's sane? Could be He's playing a different game. Maybe, though, He's been playing this one so long, the rules do not apply. Plan B involves living long enough to make your own rules.
Plan C is a combo situation and requires quick stepping back and forth between the previous two. It is inadvisable due to the wear and tear it affords. There is some scarring. There is no Plan D. Best to proceed until a roadblock presents the need to decide; do so rapidly and take another shot. Don't vacillate. There is never much to be gained.
Veterans achieve a measure of immortality but never beyond the measure of the species.
Best to you each morning. Sun comes up. Get dressed. Otherwise, plan your funeral. Don't bother with obituaries. Most people don't read them. And those that do, well, isn't it obvious why they do?
Try spot remover and remember laughter causes lines but it's the least painful course. Listen for the whistle. Have your ticket ready and hop on.
Nobody here but us chickens.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Resolution
A few minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve, with the sound of fireworks preventing his usual attempt to sleep through the curve, Michael sat looking at the ball clock on the small table in the corner of his dining room. His cell phone was charging and it was unlikely anyone else would call with wishes for prosperity as he had earlier spoken to his sister back home; his MP3 player, filled with soothing New Age music, which might have helped drown out the celebrants, was also charging in another socket, so he stared at the clock to try catching the changing display in the act of inaugurating the new year. He was not yet bored with his responsibilities, nor those to come, but was aware that inertia was a heartbeat away.
At 12:00, the clock's display wished him a Happy New Year, and that was his only resolution - to be happy no matter how often he might find himself running on a treadmill during the coming semester. Be happy and keep in shape; maintain good health - prosperity was out of the question on a teacher's salary. Save enough money, however, to go to England in the spring.
He said a silent thank you to the clock, and its green, glowing numbers and letters moving around inside the sphere seemed to twinkle in appreciation.
It did not require charging and ran consistently on observatory time. It had been programmed so even if there were a blackout, it would pick up the correct time when power returned.
Perhaps, Michael thought, he would visit his family in New York in April and cut the London trip short by a few days. He was such a long way from home, and hadn't seen any of them face-to-face in over eighteen months. Yes, that was what he would do, and he would gift his sister and brother with clocks like his. Time knows no location. It can't be bound in place.
At 12:00, the clock's display wished him a Happy New Year, and that was his only resolution - to be happy no matter how often he might find himself running on a treadmill during the coming semester. Be happy and keep in shape; maintain good health - prosperity was out of the question on a teacher's salary. Save enough money, however, to go to England in the spring.
He said a silent thank you to the clock, and its green, glowing numbers and letters moving around inside the sphere seemed to twinkle in appreciation.
It did not require charging and ran consistently on observatory time. It had been programmed so even if there were a blackout, it would pick up the correct time when power returned.
Perhaps, Michael thought, he would visit his family in New York in April and cut the London trip short by a few days. He was such a long way from home, and hadn't seen any of them face-to-face in over eighteen months. Yes, that was what he would do, and he would gift his sister and brother with clocks like his. Time knows no location. It can't be bound in place.
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