Thief
He was turning, and turning, and
turning- and sweet Lili suppressed a smile. She bowed over her lap, pretending to be preoccupied with the contents of her little bag so she would NOT laugh aloud.
None of that mattered to Harold. He was wound up in a thread from his pants leg, and getting hotter under the collar by the second. He stopped abruptly. Reaching into a coat pocket, he withdrew a nail clip. Ignoring the attention smothering his actions-- he snipped the threads in a few places and spread his feet apart. Well! With bitter satisfaction, he picked the fraying thread away, and yanked at his clothing to neaten them.
Harold jumped into the trolley ahead of everyone. Manners be damned! Being in no mood as a gentleman, he took the first empty seat he reached.
By the time Lili gathered her lap into her arms and hurried on, most of the commuters boarded ahead of her. There was the one seat beside mister "turner".
She hesitated.
Casting a side-wise glance, Harold saw the lady with her arms full, gazing longingly at the window seat. But he moved over, resting his arm on the window ledge. "Please", he motioned her to sit on the aisle.
Lili forced a little smile and sat briskly, attentive to her adjustments and baggage. Then she saw the half length of hairy leg. Unable to control it any longer-- Lili began to snigger. Stifle though she may
the noise was thundering- (to her ears) even in the din of traffic.
Harold glared at the reddened girl, scowling with irritability.
"You think it is funny, then?" He rasped.
The more he scowled- the more obvious was the glaring ravel in his clothing- and the harder Lili tried to keep from laughing openly.
After a few uncomfortable gasps, Lili soothed, "Really, I did not know your threads were coming out. I don't think any one else knows either. Please do not be angry at me". She was gaining some control.
He just put his chin on his fist, leaning at the window and shut his eyes. Clearly, he was ignoring her.
Lili fought to keep her eyes away from the gaping pants leg. She concentrated on the unlined face
not too young, but certainly not forty yet. He was tanned a little, nice thick hair, and a manicure. White collar, she reckoned- but not a lot of money. Or he could afford a better suit.
"Now, you are staring?" He opened up his mouth and his eyes at the same time and startled Lili so sharply, she jerked.
Embarrassed, she reddened again, and apologized.
"Oh, who cares anyway", he sighed, and leaned on his fist again. But this time, his eyes were on her.
Harold seemed to forget his plight as he was struck by the dark red ringlets against such clear, fair skin. As she raised the curly lashes to look at him from cat-green eyes; they fairly sparkled as though a flash bulb popped in his face!
Lili speculated softly, "I guess turn about is fair play". "Now, you are staring".
The exchange between them unfurled tight lips and both displayed a white toothed smile. SIGH. It was almost evident to Lili how he relaxed when he forgot his pants rip.
"How far are you going?" , he inquired, his eyes lingering hopefully that he was not getting too personal.
"To Edgewood, that first stop," she answered without hesitation.
"Home?"
"Yes"- Lili saw no reason to be cautious with this cute, polite young man.
Even as she spoke quietly there- she sensed this would not be their last encounter.
As the trolley hissed to a standstill at Edgewood, Lili stood up and turned to formulate some sort of ?'by by'- but- her eyes grew wide as he picked his brief case from the shelf and followed her.
"I did not know you were coming here, too! Why didn't you tell me?" she queried with wondering gaze.
"Actually, I did not know myself," Harold admitted.
With his eyes lowered, he adopted a confessing pose, "You see, I don't really HAVE anywhere to go. And now, my only suit is torn so badly; I can't go to work unless I can find a laundry that tailors."
Feeling sadly sympathetic, Lili's motherly instinct rose to the occasion: "I can mend your trousers, Harold- but I do not know if my Mom would allow me to invite a total stranger into our garage."
"What garage?" asked Harold, trying to not seem frantic.
"Oh, we have a townhouse down the next avenue-- and while we take up the only rooms- Mom and myself-- we do have a cot in the garage where my brother stays." "When he is in town."
"Could we ask her" Harold wanted to know. "It would help me a lot, not having to spend my last bucks for a bed."
Lili stopped still on the sidewalk. All of a sudden, Harold realized the lap load she was carrying. "Hey, let me take that for you." "Sorry, I'm such a jerk. I would've gotten it sooner".
"I wanted to ask you," she said shyly, "where have you BEEN staying?" Then she reddened, at this suspicious inquiry.
"Oh", he grinned. "I didn't think how odd this all is. Like I did not THINK to tell you, I was rooming with a guy until yesterday. My stuff is all over there, but he is back from his honeymoon." Harold was smiling broadly at this disclosure.
"Oh". Lili guessed she would ask her Mom, even though she could offer him a little money to get a decent, if not classy room for the night.
"And Lili," he was urging now; "I can pay your Mom what she asks for the cot until I get paid next week. By then, I can find another roomie."
That was OK sounding. Lili decided to do it.
Running by Mom was not a hard thing. Harold was an engaging young man, winsome and polite. He insisted they allow him to use what would have been his hotel money, to take them both out for dinner. (Not too exclusive, he asked).
Mom really did not want to go, proclaiming having eaten early- so the two of them strolled to a diner down the street.
Lili was intrigued by Harold's travels. Seems he'd been everywhere. She told him nothing of herself, demanding that he tell her about himself, all through dinner. She could feel a throbbing in her stomach, and yelled silently to herself, "be still my beating heart, you do not have him yet".
Parting- finally
Harold was very sweet in his ?'goodnight'.
Pressing not at all to be personal, he took her hand and thanked her profusely with lowered eyes.
Lili took his trousers, after loaning him a large robe belonging to her brother- she promised to return them before morning.
Harold laid himself across the cot. "Not bad," he stretched and let himself go limp. He was grinning all over, as he thought of the soft redhead in the room upstairs.
"I oughta slap my dam self, I'm so good," the cad almost said aloud, as he grabbed for the briefcase.
Opening it on the bed, he was careful the large bills did not spill out-
He had NOT had a chance to count it at all, and couldn't even GUESS at the amount. Now, as he counted, he couldn't resist running over his plan in his mind: take the trolley to ?'work'- ride it as far as the taxi stand and grab a cab to the airport. Phyllis would have luggage there for him- and good clothes. She had two tickets too. Chile-- Yeah
rhymes with Lili
Man
I KNOW I'll be back when the heat is off
This work is not completely finished.
I
Once outside the tall wrought iron gate the brown pony had decided to balk. It was on a day of stifling air, with the only clouds being hung in the distant sky, like wispy, ghostly, mountains. The pony's advanced age made it surly, its weakness necessitating Mary's taking a firm hand to its harness to lead it along. For the nearly quarter of a mile she led it. Then, near the river bank, she staked the resentful animal to a spot with tall grass and left it there until after she had dug at the pipeline ditch a while and after she'd loaded the galvanized tank full of water. But first she sat for a time upon the gentle curve of the slope, looking upriver, enjoying the coolness before deciding to leave. It was a roiling water Mary looked upon, tumbling through rocks and breaking to a calm, swift, current, surging past her and beyond, through a flat low land before merging with the sea a hundred miles beyond. Often she came in the early morning to catch a fish or two, simply because she loved this flowing water. Here was her one connect to the mystic side of living, the only thing that stirred her soul, like a poetry of God or nature: the only time she felt truly at peace. The pony resisted its harness when she came to it, but Mary forced the leather upon him. As she brought a switch lightly across the pony's shoulders to get it moving, she chanced to glance back along the river. A long narrow skiff showed itself far upstream, moving in the swift current. It was a murky colored work, exhibiting many months of un-maintained use. Already a man's voice could be heard shouting from it, and the stunned woman saw his arms waving madly. The skiff very nearly crashed against some rocks before gliding through the calmer waters and easing in to the shore. In a panic she urged the pony toward home. Mary's frantic strokes stung the pony, which rebelled and stalled until the woman quit striking him. He moved shakily toward home only after she threw the switch down and began pulling him along. The cart's great wheels and the long downward slope were all that made pulling such a load possible. They arrived at the iron gate and were safely inside by the time the man came on a tear. Having the look of a wild beast, with his uncut hair and great brown beard covering his upper half, he charged until the fence bars abruptly cut short his progress. His bellowing voice, which seemed truly frightful, dissolved into unintelligible blubbering as he sank against the iron down to his knees. Mary watched anxiously for evidence the man held a weapon. When it appeared he did not, she stood silently among the dozen barking watchdogs crowding the fence.
Then, lapsing into silence, the poor soul began to collect himself. For the first time he appeared to be looking through the fence and making sense of what he beheld behind it. He studied Mary, who might have been termed handsome, but for an acne face and long irregular teeth. He possibly wondered why she had not welcomed him with open arms. He made several attempts at speech before forcing a few words over his thick tongue.
"I - 'm Bra-dy. I came - from - California."
He paused, not encouraged by the woman?'s dour face. He studied her impassiveness. His voice continued, persuasively.
"I was s- sick for several weeks at the time they all died. I don't recall seeing anyone die. I just awoke one day and there was no one left, except me: all covered with those great red welts, looking like they were wrapped up in garden hoses almost. I searched all along the coast of California without finding anyone; so, I headed east. After ten years searching I found - just - you. You are going to welcome me, aren't you? My name's Brady. I'm forty-four years old and I'm a healthy man. No chance of infectious illness or anything. What is your name? Aren't you going to welcome me? I dreamed of this day so long; now I don't know what to do. Won't you speak up? I would love to hear another voice besides mine. I used to sing to myself all day long, but, I got tired and got to where instead of speaking I would just growl, like a bear or something. Now, I?'m going to wait out here for you to talk to me. It?'s up to you how long I wait."
And Brady fell silent, as Mary continued to stare, wordlessly. He looked upon her pocked face, sought her eyes, beseeching. But Brady's gaze broke before Mary's withering glare. He looked around, helpless and undecided, but still refusing to depart. After a time, he sat cross-legged in the dirt, covering his face, occasionally moaning slightly.
Mary continued to regard him as though he were a suddenly come upon arachnid, or something worse. She felt grateful for the high wrought iron bars and the protective nature of the dogs. She did not want him here. After a seeming long time she eased toward the house. Turning continually with every step, she gained the entry, and slipped inside. She pushed the door shut behind her. Mary looked around, in a panic, wondering what on Earth to do. She found herself before the bathroom mirror studying her own face. Try as she might she could find nothing there, certainly no person to greet the man calling himself Brady. Something of a hermit by nature, she wanted to be alone: simply left alone.
"Get out of here."
Her voice, practicing for him, was tiny and very frail sounding.
"Just get out of here."
After steeling herself a few moments, she marched purposefully back before the gate and the man still sitting on the dirt. It was her purpose to appear before him as imperious, and commanding. The attempt shattered when her voice bleated out, sounding hysterical and afraid.
"You get out of here. Just go away and let me alone."
Brady raised himself up, holding the bars to steady himself, until the slavering dogs' snapping teeth forced him to back away.
"Come, now. Won't you at least tell me your name? I didn't see at first how you might be afraid of me. I just think, we may be the only people left. If we aren't - well, what's the chance of me finding anyone else after ten years? We ought to become friends, to help and support one another. Come on, lady: What do ya say?"
"I think - Your search is not over. Go back to your boat. Never come here again, because I won't ever let you enter."
"The old skiff has seen its better days. I think I may abandon it. Come on; I saw the way you get your water. With me I could help build a pipeline. Save that old nag. Come on. What do ya say?"
"I have begun my pipeline, thank you. I have everything I need. As you see, I don't need any help. I don't need a thing. Good-bye, Brady."
Mary commenced to ignore the plaintive man by the fence and began distributing the water. First, to her chickens, who provided her with eggs and meat, then to the garden, where cabbages and peas spread their leaves in thirsty supplication, and corn stood in bedraggled rows, not well suited to the soil. The animals crowded to their trough, lapping the water as Mary poured them some. There was barely a gallon for herself. She drained it in a glass bottle and took it inside, aware the whole time of the eyes following her from outside the fence.
"Damn him. Why don't he just go away?"
She set the precious water in the sink, without drinking any. All at once she became self conscious about her clothing, which consisted of a tee shirt barely concealing her breasts, and comfortable shorts accentuating strong, graceful, legs, high up her smooth thighs. It had been a selection based on the intense summer heat. Mary searched the closet, sought out the loosest fitting jeans in there, and put them on. She donned a bra and a long sleeved shirt with buttons up the front. She would henceforth bear the heat. In her normal routine, she would by now have gone out to hoe in the garden and make sure the chickens were getting plenty to eat. Instead, she opened her book and sat by the window to read. But, it was no good. Soon she cast the tiresome novel aside and lay still to rest. Throughout the day she waited. She spent much of the time reviewing her own past - recalling her menial job in Longtine's Nursery, her bleak apartment near the Heights, where she used to spend her free time staring at a tiny television screen - then slipping into the days of her childhood, re-experiencing the remoteness of her parents. What long days those of childhood were: Her father forever slapping her hands. Her mother slipping into dementia. No one who noticed her in school. Mary sighed. In the long shadows of late afternoon, she went out to examine the fence for flaws. She would not let Brady get ahead of her. She walked the whole perimeter of the property, with the dogs prowling before her, and came away feeling much safer. The man would not get inside, unbidden. Throughout her stroll Mary had looked beyond the fence line, wondering where Brady had taken himself. It was her fervent wish he had resumed his journey down the river, but she dared not believe it. She was certain he would turn up at the most inopportune moment.
As the night came on, sultry, peacefully, Mary listened through the open window to the crickets, serenading, beneath the pale sliver of a moon. Sometime in the late hours, the woman slept. She awoke with a dry mouth, as the sun cracked the night, and the crowing of the roosters began. Her eyes bore the residue of sleep. She drank several ounces of water, splashed some on her face, smelled the odor from her own body.
"Definitely need a bath," she muttered.
It was the first time she had spoken to herself in several years. She felt a flash of anger toward Brady, for she knew he had changed her life forever. Mary felt besieged, with no way out. There would be no baths at the river until Brady had gone. She busied herself pulling the meat from some stewed chickens, then fired a small pit with charcoal and set the pot of meat on it to heat. This would be breakfast for the dogs. After spritzing her hands with a solution of water and Everclear grain alcohol, the woman tied her hair behind her head, then drank a tall glass of water before she carried the meat outside. New, darker clouds were threatening rain. After feeding the dogs, Mary placed two wading pools beneath the eaves to fill with roof water. Perhaps a bath might be within the realm of possibility after all. As Mary made her way to the chicken pen, she jumped at the sound of Brady's voice, calling from outside the property.
"Good morning, neighbor. I've just moved into the house next door. Today, I'm going to help you dig your pipeline."
His voice was lost after that, smothered by the barking dogs, with Mary running back to the house and harboring in there until mid afternoon, huddled in her favorite chair.
"Why won't he leave?"
The angry woman could not fathom a man who just kept hanging on, even after being informed he was not wanted. She felt trapped, stir crazy. The animals needed more water. The garden soon would be wilting for want of moisture. What on Earth was she going to do? After brooding on it, she hatched a sort of plan. She would go after the water in the normal way, but the pony would carry the greatest knife she could find, affixed to the harness. Just as she butchered chickens and the occasional goat when the need arose, she would cut Brady's throat without hesitation. Once decided, Mary readied herself, then she marched beside the cart, like a soldier. The pony had stoically accepted its harness and now pulled in quiet submission, its belly hanging low, its little legs plodding methodically. They went quietly along, until they neared the river. Then Mary saw him, digging away at her ditch - with his upper torso bare to the sun, and his muscled arms throwing the dirt far from the hole. He tossed a shovel full high into the wind, then spun as he caught a sidewise glimpse of woman, cart and pony. Brady broke into a grin that spread across his entire face.
"Neighbor!"
Brady instantly lost the shovel and sprung from the hole. His hair and beard gave him the comical look of a orangutan, walking in mock imitation of a man. He loomed so quick and large, Mary lost her nerve and retreated along the path, failing to grab the knife as she moved away from the pony. Even after she understood that he was not attempting to overtake her, Mary didn't slow until she had locked herself within the confines of the iron fence. She nearly cried then, as she stood there, mentally cursing the loss of the cart and coming home with no water. As if to drive home the point some of the dogs began licking the bottom of the empty trough, while the rest milled around, apparently wondering why the human had returned emptyhanded.
The situation was intolerable. Mary brooded on it all day long. In the end only one solution seemed practical: the abandonment of the property; beginning life anew, elsewhere. Once resolved, Mary planned her escape. She filled a back pack with essentials and left it by the door. She would not carry food and water, figuring that if she traveled on Brady's skiff she would be able to live off the river. In the full dark of the as yet moonless night, Mary put on the back pack and went out to reconnoiter. When at last satisfied Brady did not lurk in waiting, she slipped out the gate. Almost immediately she bumped into something that should not have been there. Her hand encountered a curve, then a metal edge. She recognized the cart, with the tub on it. And then the pony, which snorted in surprise. She pulled both into the yard, aware of water sloshing with the cart?'s movement. Brady had done this for her. Mary dipped her hand in the water. She wondered what other surprises Brady might have under all that hair.
2
She hastened to turn off the faucet. She had forgotten, and, in the meanwhile, as she busied herself elsewhere, water had flowed over the rim of the watering trough, flooding the garden. Although she did not recognize it as such, the incident was symptomatic of how comfortable life had gotten in the four months since forming a partnership with Brady. In return for his building the pipeline, as well as supplying incidentals, such as paper cups holding newly sprouted vegetables for the garden, jars of honey, and a mountain of shoes, Mary gave Brady cooked meat and vegetables. They had worked out a system whereby the items would be left outside the gate, and only retrieved after the donor had been given five minutes to get clear. And though she cringed each time he spoke through the fence, Mary found Brady's presence tolerable - until one day, when Brady came to the fence, stumbling drunk. She had gotten used to his rambling monologues to the point where Brady's voice had become a part of the landscape, like the mockingbirds and the crows, like the smell of the chickens and goats, and the sighing wind coming from the direction of the river. In short, she scarcely was aware of him anymore. It dawned on her this morning, as she worked at tacking a patch of metal over a hole in the siding, that Brady's voice had been getting louder the longer he talked. It was then she looked out and saw his drunken mannerisms, his glazed rolling eyes. Mary threw a hand on her hip, not sure how to react. At that very moment Brady pitched forward in the dirt. He was stone cold out. Too disgusted for words, she left him lying there.
After that Brady would become drunk numerous times, but he would just rant through the fence until he grew tired and went home to sleep it off. Mary became adept at ignoring his antics - That is, until one day, when Brady rode up to the gate on a bicycle built for two, three sheets in the wind, wearing his hair and beard drastically shorter, entirely nude. Whereas he had always been very civil in the past, he came this day sporting a whole different set of epithets.
"Hey-o," he came shouting. "It's me: the last man on Earth, came calling on the last woman on Earth."
He coasted to a standstill. Dismounting, he posed in all his naked splendor, keeping the bike standing-by by keeping a tight grip on the forward seat.
"See this? It's a bicycle-for-two. For me 'n' you. Me and you: Get it? Now, take your clothes off and join me out here. You heard me, woman. You're all there is and I'm all there is and I want to have children by you. Not to mention I'm horny as a goat. Aw, damn it; I'm the last man on Earth and I can't get to first base with you, you son-of-a-bitch. I'm horny. You ought to be too!"
Mary angrily snatched a stone from off the ground and in the same motion flung it as hard as she could. The stone struck Brady below the ribs, on his right side. Though he doubled over in obvious pain, he laughed as if he had been treated to the best joke ever.
"Good one, lady - whoever you are; whatever your name is."
He was getting shakily over his bike and getting off to a wobbly start, when a chunk of a busted up cinder block bounced off his butt cheek. Man and bike fell and spilled over on the driveway. Brady bounced up, running at the fence with all his might.
"A-a-argh-h-h!" he bellowed, beating the iron bars with his fists, wailing until they bled. He was forced to retreat before an onslaught of rocks and cinder block chunks, leaving the bicycle to a fate of its own.
After that, every time Mary had a glimpse of Brady he was naked. She became indifferent to his antics, then, treating him like one of the animals. On one fateful day she heard him moaning from right across the fence. Thinking him drunk, Mary went about her business of harvesting the snap beans, which hung in long strings from the green, well watered vines. Then she moved on to other chores. After about two hours the moaning subsided. Something about the silence impressed Mary more than any noises from Brady. She became curious enough to sidle up to the fence. A few of the dogs were sniffing near the bars, looking at the still body in the dirt. Mary could see right away he was dead.
The great welts upon Brady called to mind all the corpses she had seen in the early days after the people all died. The welts stood out like bright red water hoses, haphazard in their patterns, covering Brady's entire body and head. Mary put on rubber gloves and tied a length of cloth over her mouth before fastening a rope to his leg. Then she caused the pony to drag Brady's corpse to the river. After towing him to a promontory above the rapidly flowing current, she used the rope to roll him off it. The body made a splash and was engulfed by the water. Mary looked after it for a long time before letting go the rope. After watching as the rope simultaneously moved downstream and slowly sank, she led the pony homeward.
3
At first, Mary could not shake Brady out of her thought, no matter how she tried. His visage, hairy and naked, followed her, kite-like, twenty four hours a day. And when finally that image did slowly fade she began to recall Brady's exhortation that "I want to have children by you." After that she imagined she had a child, ruddy and swarthy like Brady, but having ringlets of wispy white hair all over her head. The child's arms were continually reaching out for Mary. To fight it, Mary tippled bottles of wine, yet continued sinking ever into depression. On the morning of the fiftieth day after Brady died the pony died. Great welts covered its body. By the same day's afternoon the rest of the animals too were dead. In a panic, Mary ran from the home, hoping to outpace death. She trotted along the riverbank, seeing that great flowing stream as the one possible route to salvation. Eventually, exhaustion pulled her down. She lay near a pool crowded with bulrushes, feeling desperate to cool her feet in the still water, but unable to summon the movement required to place them in it. She fretted at first about being discovered by wild animals; then it occurred to her that there may be no animals any longer. So reflecting, she fell into a deep slumber.
The overhead stars were bright, the brightest they had been since the advent of the industrial revolution. The moon hung near the horizon, looking near enough to jump upon. Had she been aware, the sound of crickets might have reassured Mary. The movement of a fox or two would have disconcerted but comforted her. Mary wept as she dreamed, for there were great spiders in the dreams, and dear dead friends, getting killed once more by these. Mary awoke when the clear blue sky appeared and the sun peeped in her face. She aroused, feeling hungry. But one look at her arms threw her into terror and all thought of food became forgotten. Welts had begun appearing in haphazard patterns and she now felt sensations as if the welts were crawling like snakes inside her flesh.
She raced like a deer along the river bank, breathing hard, her chest aching. Still Mary plodded on, until at last aware of approaching Spelltown. She did not want to die in a town, but chose instead the river's watery confines. She had gotten off on a trail that took her slightly away from the water. As Mary cut across through tall grass and clutching brush she came on a small boat dock, with four handsome boats tied up close. They seemed amazingly well preserved. Mary went beyond the boats to the end piling and stood looking into the swift current.
"I don't want to die just yet," she thought. "I will just sit on the edge and watch it flow for a while."
She let herself down on the rough plank and lazed in the sun as the snakes slowly crawled.
"Oh God. Oh God," she said.
The woman started when an unexpected dog snout thrust against her. It proved to be a puppy, small, brown, with a wide grinning mouth. It immediately rolled on its back, expecting Mary to rub its tummy. But instead of rubbing its tummy, Mary began to look around for the pup's mother. Then she saw the man standing at the start of the planking, looking down the pier at her. The man's slightly disheveled dark hair and robust mustache made her think of the 20th Century actor, Clark Gable. But, whereas Gable might have been smiling, or even leering slightly, this one wore a frown.
"Hey, now," the man said. "You're the first woman I've seen in ten years."
He appeared to be about forty, ten years older than Mary. The man was strapping, and anyway had her cut off. Mary saw the futility of resisting. She held up her arms, displaying the welts that had doubled in size since morning. The man nodded sympathetically.
"I lost my family to that," he said. "Lost everyone I knew, except old Frank. Old Frank stayed around 'til about last November. Then he died; choked on a fish bone. That's his dog's pup there."
The man approached. He walked with long confident strides. Taking Mary by the wrists, he lifted the unresisting woman to her feet. He steadied her until she stood on her own.
"I know how to cure that," he said, running a palm over some of the welts. "At least I know what saved me 'n' Frank.Oh, yeah - My name is Joker. I'm gonna be your host. Let's go get you cured up."
The feelings of snakes writhing were giving way to sensations of anguish and pain. It was all Mary could do to keep her feet beneath her. She moaned lightly with every step.
"Let me help you along, darlin'," Joker said, seizing Mary in a hug and walking her along, with one hand firmly upon her breast.
"Don't," she responded weakly.
"Now, now," he said, his both hands now roaming freely. "I won't hurt you, darlin'. I want to help you. I'm goin' to save your life."
4
"It's a girl," Joker roared triumphantly. "Gimp, we got us a girl to go along with our boy."
Mary worked to clean herself while Joker danced madly about the room with the newest baby in his arms.
"Got us a girl, got us a girl. Annie. How about Annie, Gimp? Got us a girl named Annie. Girl named Annie."
The children grew much faster than Mary could have imagined. After all, for her, growing had been an interminable process. What seemed days ago were in actuality months and then years. Joseph at age six appeared quite the little man, and Annie at four became such a charmer. Mary kept the precious imps with her in the vegetable garden, where she pruned and weeded among the squash, tomato and okra plants. Her strokes with the little hoe were awkward, for the disease with the welts had left her disfigured and misshapen. Work was difficult, but inaction unthinkable. And, Joker was so demanding. Mary turned to order the children to follow her to the shady trees by the river, it being so hot for them. She had not known that Joker stuck close by and that he had taken Annie to the side, in the bushes. As she moved the last bush aside she stopped in her tracks. Shock and horror turned her at first to stone, then to an avenging angel. She descended on Joker with the hoe, flailing and beating him, until the end of it broke off, leaving but a short stick in her hand. Joker waved it off, then stood calmly as he zipped up his pants. There was a rip in the shirt he wore, with a trace of blood in the fabric. Aside from that, nothing. He shoved Mary until she stumbled over backward. He at first started to leave, but a sudden impulse had him taking Mary by the hair, forcing her to the ground.
Later, Mary collected her children and led them to cottage they called home. As they approached the idyllic little dwelling, the rains began.
It came down in buckets, for days. It was a system that had drifted from upriver and then ceased to move. On the fifth morning a storm grew out of it, waking Mary from a sound sleep. She stood in awe of the slamming wind, as her children slept nearby. Bolts of lightning seemed to hang, like jungle vines, in blinding, ear splitting display. Mary fully expected to die in this storm; but she did not. As at last it began subsiding, one final errant lightning bolt lit up the swollen river, revealing something drifting in the raging current. The something grazed the pier, swung around it, and became entrapped in the calmer water near the river bank. Darkness swallowed the object from view, but Mary thought she had recognized it. She could hardly wait on the sun to reveal it for what she thought it to be: The skiff Brady had left upriver all those years ago.
Mary knew she would not be able to use that old beaten vessel, but its appearance stirred her to thinking, to reassessing her life situation. It stoked her desire to escape. She contemplated Joker, presently holed up in his house behind the gas station. He had moved in there, as he candidly admitted, to thwart any plan "the gimp" might have for murdering him in his sleep. Mary grimaced, thinking how Joker used her physically, but allowed her less dignity than a dog. She thought of her innocent Annie, how Joker had sought to defile her. The thought hit like an explosion in Mary's brain. In that instant she formulated her plan to do away with Joker. It was a thing she ought to have planned and executed long ago. She lay back on the mattress, suddenly calm. For the first time in many weeks she knew restful slumber.
I think the time is right for me to introduce a little romance to this thread. The following story was written by my alter ego, Vilhelm Flugheim. It is based on a true story; the tale of my first encounter with my beloved Gertrude. It will probably cause you to weep, and for this I ask you forgiveness. But hopefully the tears will dry and you will sigh as you think of the passion which unfolded in the barn on that fateful day.
And now...
Gertrude
by Vilhelm Flugheim
It wasn't the most pleasant job. I was lying in mud underneath my manure spreader, fixing a broken chain. I tightened the bolt gingerly; causing the slightest movement would cause bits of manure to break free from the bed and drop into my eyes, or worse, my mouth. Several times I had spit out the foul-tasting material.
Finally, the job was complete. I grabbed the underside of the manure spreader and quickly pulled myself free from the hellish cramped quarters which had confined me for the better part of an hour.
My head bumped something. Something soft and pudgy. An ankle. I looked up to see two enormous white legs climbing upward into what appeared to be and enormous polka dot tent.
I rolled to the side and looked up to see Gertrude, the plump waitress from "Rocky's Diner" staring down at me. She was holding an apple pie. And smiling.
"Hello, Vilhelm," she said, "I saw you working on your manure spreader when I was leaving work, so I ran back to the restaurant and grabbed you an apple pie. I cooked it myself."
I was stunned. I could tell by the look in her eye that she was attracted to me. I had never noticed that before. Oh sure, I had noticed her alright, waltzing around the restaurant with platters of food, laughing, joking with the customers, her flesh jiggling on the underside of her arms as she whisked through the double doors into the kitchen. But I had never, in my wildest dreams, thought that I may one day have the opportunity to bed down this plump creature in the polka dot dress.
I stood up and said, "Why thank you, Gertrude, I am a bit hungry."
Gazing into each others eyes for an eternity we both had the sensation of drowning in the other's soul. It was an electric moment. Eventually the spell was broken and we began the long walk toward the picnic table.
We ate the pie with our arms interlocked, feeding each other as we gazed dreamily, knowing that soon we would be in the throes of passion. Soon the polka dot dress would be draped over one of the stalls in the haybarn and the horses and cows would fidget nervously as the strange guttural sounds emanated from the haypile in the corner.
But for now we fed each other. And our desire burned like a slow fire in a peat bog.
(i mean, really! It is a stirring story!
