I hadn’t eaten yet so I had the driver drop me off at a diner within walking distance of my motel. I grabbed a couple of newspapers from the kiosk nearby and entered The Sunrise Café through automatic doors. I took seat at a vacant booth and glanced at the papers.
It was unseasonably hot and humid that Olympic Torch Relay day. The newspapers said the temperature was nearly a hundred and the humidity was approaching that same number. The newspapers also said that the US had sent another aircraft carrier into the Mediterranean to rattle the Iranians over their nuclear ambitions; but that the Russians, fearing US underhandedness, were aiming its missiles at the US.
The tanned, blonde waitress began talking fervently to an old man sitting in the booth across from me. She went on and on about a sailor who loved her and was always calling her,
"But the problem is," she explained, "I met a beach artist who lives on a boat. He said we could sail around the world together! He's lovely, I really like him. I don't know if I'm ready for that, but I sure like him. The problem is the sailor!"
The old man listened intently to her, taking his duties as wise elder most seriously. Finally, he leaned toward her, she leaned close,
"The sailor, eh?" he croaked, "I don't think you have much to worry about. There's going to be another war soon, bigger than the one we have now, he'll most likely get killed!"
The waitress backed away. She stood still for a moment and then turned towards me,
"Would you like some coffee?"
"No thanks," I said, "I don't drink coffee."
"Why?" she abruptly asked.
"Health reasons," was my response.
II
My lodging was a nice little pink motel. It was two stories high with twenty-four rooms. I was in Room Eighteen; upstairs with a view. There was a red neon sign that read,
"Vacancy," and an additional twist that flashed, "No, No, No."
I had a reservation. I felt lucky.
My room consisted of a double bed, a desk, a small bedside table and a television mounted on the wall. On the table were two glasses wrapped in paper and a waxy cardboard ice bucket with the word,
"Welcome," printed on it.
The view was nothing extraordinary. From my window I could see a parking lot, a swimming pool too small to swim in, some grass, some palm trees and across the street, the front door to a weight loss clinic. Since my room was air-conditioned and the day so hot and humid, I decided to stay indoors until that evening's seminar. I sat at the window and watched the various people who went in and out of the clinic across the street.
It was a very busy clinic! Twenty-five to thirty people, mostly BIG people, paraded in and out the door every half-hour. I noticed two things in particular about those people; they either had expressions of incredible benigness or incredible sorrow. It was the sorrow that interested me the most.
It was not the usual sorrow. It was not temporary. It was the long, slow sorrow of human weariness. Perhaps, it was the sadness of not being able to jump.
I waited out the day watching people come and go. I reflected on their terrible struggle with food. I saw one woman walk away from the clinic. I imagined her haunted by horrible nightmares in which Death appeared. The Grim Reaper himself, rattling bones and speaking with a white jaw filled with hungry, gruesome teeth. The darkly visitor would extend his skeleton hand and offer her a rich chocolate cheesecake. He would laugh insanely and speak with a huge voice of doom,
"Eat it or die!" he would shout, as a maddening flash lit his hollow yellow eyes. He would swing his scythe recklessly above her head, whisk! whisk! "Eat it now!"
His words rolled in her skull like marbles in an empty can.
She can take it no more. The pressure is too great! She is only human! She is afraid of dying, afraid of the great, black abyss just around the corner! Emptiness whispers to her. The Void calls out. The Void is in her stomach. It growls at her.
How many times did she promise not to give in? How many times did she exclaim?
"Control, I must control myself!"
But the urge is too great, the night too long and her life too vacant. Only the cheesecake can save her! She rolls from the bed and stumbles down the hall. Her little poodle jumps up and leads the way. He knows where they are going; he has seen it all before. She finds her way to the refrigerator and flings open the door. The cool air flows out, soothing her feverish body. The light spills across the floor and counter.
There on the second shelf, the beautiful chrome shelf, sits the cheesecake. It is chocolate and shinning under the clear plastic. She reaches in and takes the cake out. Quickly, urgently she sets it on the counter and grabs a knife. She cuts a piece for herself and a smaller one for the little dog with the fancy haircut. She feels a tingling as she brings the cake toward her. There is a tiny rush of electricity curling through her as she shoves the first creamy bite into her wet, warm mouth.
This is the small moment of pleasure, of safety, a sense of immortality. But it does not last! It is followed by guilt.
The guilt comes on like insects. First singularly, and then in overwhelming hordes; a steady line of arguments and doubts converging on the moment the way ants do on a fallen crumb of cake. The guilt incapacitates her, consumes her. She becomes desperate, exhausted. She weeps, she wails. She stares out her living room window at the dark houses in monotonous rows. She returns to bed and prays to God that she may sleep without anymore nightmares.
III
I watched people come and go from the clinic until three p.m.; I grew weary from the drama. I decided to take a nap so that I would be fresh and alert for that evening's real estate seminar, "HOW TO MAKE A MILLION DOLLARS WITH SOMEONE ELSE'S MONEY!" It sounded like a good idea to me. I didn't want to miss a thing.
The warm, sticky sun pushed lazily through space. The drone of the air conditioner sounded like waves on the shore and lulled me to sleep. I dreamed.
I dreamed I came upon a café in the darkness, it's red neon buzzed in the night. I could see many diners inside, eating and talking. The interior of the café was brightly lit and that white light stretched into the void of my dream like the tentacles of a fluorescent octopus.
I entered the café through automatic doors and took a seat at the crowded counter. The café was noisy with the clatter of voices; cups set on saucers and forks scraping plates. I noticed the café was filled with very anxious people, people who leaned over their plates of eggs and pancakes, concentrating on their food. I grabbed a menu, but before I could read a word, a wave of fear passed through the room. It was followed by a strange silence, and then an extreme acceleration in the pace of the people eating. Everyone was frantically shoving food in their mouths. It was a panic of eating! Syrup dripped from the corners of mouths, catsup hung on noses and French fries tumbled through the air. I looked behind me to see what had provoked this fearful eating. I saw coming through the door; three men dressed entirely in black. They were carrying machine guns. I leaped over the counter and crouched on the black rubber mats. I located a four-slice toaster that revealed the whole café in its bent, chrome reflection.
From my hiding place I could see everything. I saw the men go from table to table, put the oily barrels of their guns next to a plate of food and then abruptly strike the diner's chest, forcing them back so the intruders could see the diner's face. I saw all of it in curved chrome! It took only a few minutes before the men got to the counter. They were looking for someone, and somehow, I knew they were looking for me!
I remained hidden and waved frantically at the old man eating directly in front of me to stop staring in my direction. I watched as the men worked their way down the line, their guns and faces curved and bent on the surface of the toaster.
Suddenly a voice shattered everything,
"Hey you!" it said.
"Can I get you anything?" I inquired, as I stood up, "Toast? Coffee?"
"No thanks." One of the assassins said.
"Health reasons!" laughed another.
Then, they all opened fire. They continued to shoot for a very long time. My body jerked and twisted from the impact of the bullets. My arms flailed about, knocking glasses off shelves. The men and women at the counter then leaned extremely close to their food, so close that their noses rubbed their plates!
The bottom half of my body was severed. My legs and torso crumpled into a steaming pool of blood on the rubber mats.
Finally they stopped shooting, the upper half of my body dropped to the floor. I wavered for a moment. My fingers felt the bullet holes in my chest and stomach. I had a revelation! Looking up at my assassins, I revealed my insight to them,
"You know," I said, " these holes feel just like the holes in a bowling ball!"
My body fell face forward onto the floor.
I awoke in a terrible sweat, staring at the ceiling of my motel room. I whispered to myself,
"Pink motels are not good places for naps!"
IV
I took a shower and got myself ready for the big seminar. I had to admit, I was excited. I had seen the television ads with Cole Stanyan sitting behind his desk, huge stacks of twenty and hundred dollar bills in front of him. Leaning forward and speaking sincerely, he would say,
"You can increase your wealth, a hundred, even a thousand-fold. You decide how rich you want to be! With my simple method, I can show you how to master the Universal Laws of Prosperity. Even if you have no money, I can teach you how to buy and sell property for big profits! And best of all, nobody loses! Everybody wins!"
It was my job as a Federal Consumer Protection Agent to check out the likes of a Cole Stanyan, and it wasn't a pleasant job. I was paid to smash false hopes and illusory dreams. I did it for the Public Good.
The hot sun was setting like a bald head as I left my room. I was dressed casually for the seminar; tennis shoes, a pair of Levi's and a cotton shirt. Experience had taught me that such seminars often got fairly physical. I also didn't want to look like a Federal Agent.
I wasn't opposed to those kinds of seminars; in fact I often found them inspiring. A great gathering of enthusiastic and hopeful people, people brought together for a new destiny. In America, destiny and money are inexorably tied.
I had called a taxi. It was on time. It was waiting at the curb when I descended the stairs from my room. As I climbed into the back seat, I noticed the driver had a picture of Travis Bickle on his sun-visor.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"The Convention Center," I said.
As he drove through the streets that Olympic Torch Relay evening, I marveled at the beauty of the fading orange sunlight as it silhouetted the palm trees and buildings. For a moment I was reminded of the sunsets in Barre de la Navidad in Mexico. My dreaminess was shattered as the driver pointed out a drug transaction taking place in a darkening alley,
"One day a real rain is going to come and wash all the filth off the streets!"
"Yes, yes, that's right," was all I said.
The driver turned down the car dispatch radio and clicked on the old transistor hanging from the rear-view mirror. The newscaster had a worried tone to her voice as she reported on the Mediterranean Missile stand-off,
"The President will make an announcement this evening regarding the crisis."
CRISIS—the word hung in my mind for a long time. I tried it out in paint and neon. It was like the name of a café or something.
"This is it!" the cabbie exclaimed.
V
The Convention Center was extremely crowded. It was a bustle of all sorts of people. We all wore nametags that read,
"HI! MY NAME IS______."
The air was electric with excitement. It was the thrill of people on the edge of a new life. There were many young men and women whose eyes flashed with dreams, with concrete hopes of acquisition. They were driven to climb that social ladder to that penthouse in the sky.
But there were many, many more of other types of people also; innocent old women who sought a way to invest their life's savings and make a little more to give to their beloved grandchildren, middle-aged people who were weary with the heavy lives of factories and boiler rooms; their faces were assembly lines of sadness that even Cole Stanyan couldn't heal.
We took our seats among the rows of folding chairs. After a small moment, a man came onto the stage and announced,
"Ladies and gentleman, I give you America's most helpful, most useful, most positive, most loved teacher of Economics! Ladies and gentlemen, Cole Stanyan!!
There he was, Cole! The crowd went crazy! Everyone leapt to their feet and applauded with incredible vigor. I couldn't help myself; I stood and applauded too.
Cole bounced and pranced about the stage, talking rapidly and pointing to chalk boards that were pushed on and off the stage behind him. The chalkboards had graphs drawn on them. There were colored arrows, percentages and single words written in large letters like,
GOALS, HOPES, INCENTIVES.
The curtain suddenly opened as the lights on the audience dimmed. Soft music began to play as a huge screen descended from the rafters. Then, the great slogan appeared. It said,
"THEIR TIME, THEIR MONEY, YOUR PROFIT. NOBODY LOSES!!! EVERYBODY WINS!!!
Cole paced back and forth on the stage like a master evangelist, one hand holding the microphone, the other free to wave and point,
"Say it with me," he would shout, "their time, their money, my profit! Everybody wins!" He would then go into statistical rampages about loans and second mortgages, "You will make a lot of money, as much as you want!" He would shout, "Money! Spell that beautiful word with me; M-O-N-E-Y!"
We spelled it with him, again and again; we would spell, recite and answer his questions,
"Do you want more from life?" he would ask.
"Yes! We want more!" we would answer.
Then Cole became quiet, philosophical. He talked to us in almost a whisper; somehow, he looked into all our eyes,
"You deserve more, you've worked hard, you've earned it!" He would then shout, "Think prosperity! God wants you to be rich!" Cole then walked to a podium and grabbed a large book, "Now turn to page fourteen in my 'Cole Stanyan Book of Success.'" Cole guided us through 'Plan A and Plan B for Success;' "For you hardheads," he chuckled, "let's look at 'Plan C.' He told us how these schemes, "Work in accordance with the Universal Mind."
Then a new chalkboard was pushed on behind him, Cole gave us a 'Cosmological Outline of Reality' to explain the, "Truth about existence in simple terms so any layman can understand."
We were then spelling M-O-N-E-Y! again, we were reciting, "Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins!" It continued for hours. Slowly the laws settled into us. We were being transformed. We were being given the tools, both philosophical and practical, to gain a new destiny; to make a fortune in accordance with the Universal Mind. Cole Stanyan showed us how nobody loses, everybody wins.
Then, it was time for the 'witnessing.' One by one, they rose out of the crowd and made their way to the stage. They told tragic tales of repossessed cars and property foreclosures. They sketched an apocalyptic vision of small businesses collapsing and Grandmothers losing their homes. Their backs hunched and their arms dangled listlessly by their sides as they recalled those dire days. But then Cole 'laid hands on them,'
"Then what happened?" he asked, creating the space for their transformation.
"I took the COLE STANYAN EVERYBODY WINS SEMINAR!" they shouted in answer.
"And then what happened?" Cole prodded them.
"My life changed!" they exclaimed.
"How did it change?" he questioned.
"In every way!"
Then came the details; stories of 'Plan A' or 'Plan B,' how they began buying property without any money. They spoke excitedly as their backs straightened and their arms became alive with movement,
"We own three houses now!"
Or,
"All our bills are paid and we're going to Hawaii for a vacation!"
The audience went wild, cheering and applauding; each person calculating in their own minds how such a 'miracle' could happen to them, how 'creative financing' could save their lives. They spoke of sending their children to University; they spoke of affording a kidney transplant for a dying Aunt.
"See what you can do!" Cole shouted to us, "You must feel good about this! You see," he continued, "Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins!!"
VI
The phrase echoed in my head, "Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins!" It was a nice sentiment, I thought to myself, as I stepped out to the street. I had decided to walk back to my motel room. The fresh air would do me good after such a crowded evening.
Between the Convention Center and my motel, were twenty city blocks. They were like city blocks anywhere. I came upon corners where prostitutes stood about, waving to the passing cars. I passed a young black woman dressed in a short tight skirt and a leather bathing suit top,
"Looking for some companionship?" she asked.
"No, sorry," is all I said.
Her eyes glimmered like stars in a dark sky, but only for a moment. When I said, 'no, sorry,' everything in her withdrew. She became blank and her friendly smile dissolved. She turned her attention to the passing cars. I watched as she approached an Oldsmobile Delta 88 that pulled to curbside. She got in and rode away, her pretty face staring out the window at the warm night.
Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins.
Several blocks further, I came upon a liquor store to buy a soda. The only places open at that time of night were bars, liquor stores and doughnut shops. In the store, a small Asian man sat on a stool behind the counter. He was watching television. The news show, Lou Dobbs’ America, filled the store. Dobbs was speaking with a General in Washington D.C., who knew all about what was happening in the Mediterranean,
"The President is speaking with the Joint Chiefs of Staff at this very moment, then he will decide what our next move will be," the General said.
"Is it possible we will attack Iran?" Dobbs asked.
"I will not come on National Television and discuss tactics, but it certainly is possible I can't rule that out!" the General answered.
The Asian man rang up my soda while he was shaking his head,
"Madmen," he said, "madmen rule the world!"
I found no fallacy in his argument. As he handed my change back, I noticed behind him, sitting on a shelf next to a bottle of Jack Daniel's, was a small statue of the Buddha and a blue book entitled, "The Heart Sutra."
I walked past many bars on my way back to my room. They were like shadowy, smoke-filled caves. In the corners, jukeboxes and cigarette machines glowed. Lighted beer signs hung behind the bar, depicting the great outdoors. They were like the kind of electric signs that tried to capture the sparkling movement of rivers and waterfalls.
Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins.
As I turned the corner to my motel, I stumbled over a young man passed out on the sidewalk. I nudged him slightly with my foot to see if he was still alive. He was. He moaned in a language strangely similar to Latin or French. I couldn't tell which.
Nobody Loses, Everybody Wins.
When I got to my motel room, I noticed I had locked my keys inside. Since it was very late, and the Manager's lights were out, I decided to force open my room window. It was easy. But before I could climb in, a bright light hit me in the eyes. A voice commanded,
"Don't move!"
I didn't.
But it was my lucky night! It turned out the Policeman had been at the Cole Stanyan Seminar and he recognized me! He seemed more interested in talking about Cole and our future fortunes than in seeing my I.D., that when he finally did see it, and my Federal Investigator Badge as well, he asked,
"Do you have any business in town?"
"Yes," I said, " you see, I'm with Consumer Protection. I'm investigating Mr. Stanyan."
The Police Officer was appalled,
"What for?" he asked in a shocked voice.
"Fraud!" I said sternly, knowing how impressed some local police are with the Feds.
"That's hard to believe," Officer McCourt said, "I've known Cole Stanyan for over ten years, he got his start right here in town. He's done a lot of people a lot of good!"
"We don't really have anything on him so far," I said, rescinding a bit; feeling bad about my initial sternness, "It's just routine so far," I continued, "he looks harmless to me at this point."
"Harmless?!" Officer McCourt said indignantly, "Cole Stanyan is a Saint!"
VII
That night I dreamed again. Some beds are made of feathers or cotton, that bed was stuffed with dreams.
I dreamed I was in Ethiopia, walking across the plains with a multitude of starving people. Their bellies were round and bloated huge from hunger. Their eyes seemed just as round and protruding from their faces. The children were so small and shrunken; their bodies seemed to be merely vessels on which those huge sets of eyes moved about. Those eyes stared at me, but they stared through me too. They were looking at Death. Death was coming across the plains, getting closer with each passing moment.
Then I heard a familiar voice. Turning, I saw Cole Stanyan walking toward us, followed by a small group of well-dressed Americans. They were wearing neatly ironed clothes, smoking cigarettes and carrying cameras. Cole was speaking to them as they stepped over starving people,
"Think positive!" he cried out, "Nothing is impossible!" Cole was selling a weight loss program. Pointing to starving people, he suggested to his followers, "You too can enjoy a thin and active life by joining my, COLE STANYAN EVERYBODY LOSES WEIGHT LOSS CLINIC!"
Lou Dobbs made his way to the front of the crowd and asked,
"Cole, do you think I can lose too?"
Suddenly, everything rushed away. The starving Ethiopians, Cole Stanyan and his followers all became tiny figures on the dusty, orange horizon.
I found myself standing barefoot beside a kneeling man,
"What's wrong?" I asked, reaching down to touch his shoulder. I felt a warmth move up my arm and into my heart, as the man looked up at me.
I saw that he was Jesus. I knew he was Jesus from all the paintings I had seen. He was holding a tiny, dead lamb against his chest. The lamb appeared to have been shot. The man stood and faced me. Blood trickled onto his bare stomach,
"I feel it all!" he said, "All of it! Nothing passes that does not pass through me!"
The man continued to cry for a very long time. I felt water rise up to my ankles and over my knees. When the water had gotten to our waists the man looked about himself and let out a painful groan,
"I must go now!" he said, "I must go! I cannot stay in one place for very long or my tears will drown the Earth! Bless you," he said, as he turned and walked away.
VIII
That morning in the Sunrise Café, I could not help but be reminded of the starving children and the dead lamb; the dream kept coming back to me.
While sitting at the counter and watching reflections in the malt machine, I saw the same young woman who had served me the day before. Her nametag read,
"Kristen, At Your Service!"
She stood talking to a young man in a military uniform,
"You don't have to," she said in a soft voice, "until next week."
"What would you have me do?" he retorted, "My Country calls, I must go!" He leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek and walked out.
"What a jerk." She whispered as a tear slipped from her eye. Kristen walked toward me with a pot of coffee in her hand. Raising it she asked,
"More?"
"I don't drink coffee, remember?"
"Oh, health reasons, right?"
"Right, uh, yes." Was my only response. When I said, 'yes,' I meant something like, 'Kristen, you're beautiful, could we have dinner together?' All Kristen heard was, 'yes, health reasons.' I had to try again.
I stared at her for a moment as she stood with her back to me. Her orange and white waitress dress fit tightly on her trim hips. Nothing like a woman in uniform, I thought to myself. Then I suddenly called out her name,
"Kristen?"
She walked toward me,
"Yes sir?"
"Do you think coffee is bad for you?"
"I don't know, but why ask me?"
"You look so healthy, you look radiant!" I answered with a smile. I had regained my confidence. I went on, "I mean, you look so beautiful, and if you drink coffee, someone as beautiful as you, well, it's got to be good for people!"
"I don't drink coffee, though," she said.
"You mean, your beauty is natural?!" I stood as I spoke, my arms outstretched and my hands open. I must have looked like an Evangelist. I certainly had learned something from Cole Stanyan.
"Yes, yes I guess." She answered in embarrassment.
"I've got to get to the bottom of this! Such beauty!" I exclaimed a little too loudly. Kristen was frozen in self-consciousness. Her cheeks turned red as she smiled slightly at me. I leaned toward her and spoke softly, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, but you're lovely." I looked her in the eyes as I spoke, "Will you meet me at the Beach when you're off work?"
"Sure," she said, "what's your name?"
"Jacques," I answered, "Jacques Fontaine."
I felt very lucky!
IX
As I was leaving the Sunrise Café, I bumped into Officer McCourt. He was coming through the door with Cole Stanyan,
"Look here Cole, this is that Federal Investigator I was telling you about."
Cole shook my hand for a very long time. A big smile frozen on his face revealed a set of slightly yellowed teeth.
"Pleased to meet you," Cole said. He was wearing a wrinkled, brown suit, "This is our lucky day!"
"It's my lucky day, that's for sure." I responded, thinking of Kristen.
"Well, thank you!" Cole exclaimed, assuming I had complimented him. Cole had that uncanny ability to think that everything and everyone was always complimenting him. Cole was winning, no doubt. Maybe Officer McCourt was right; maybe Cole was a Saint, "You must join us! Have some of the pie!" he continued with great sincerity, "you can't lose with the Apple. Anyway, the price is right, it's on me!"
His smile stretched across his face. I was unable to say no to Cole Stanyan.
During my pie, Cole ate eggs and bacon. He managed to smoke three cigarettes and explain how to refinance the house I didn't even own. Cole was winning and insisting the whole time that Officer McCourt and I were winning also.
"Isn't Cole something!?" Officer McCourt would gush.
"Yes, something." I would respond.
Cole wanted to know what 'my game was.' He wanted to know if I thought he was a 'fraud.' But he never let me answer. He would butt in and say something like, 'I know you're just doing your job!' or 'I'm glad you're here, because I know there are those who would mislead the public.'
There I sat, a former high school history teacher, turned a decreasingly idealistic bureaucrat, at a table with a man who never lost at anything. A man, who kept calling me a real 'winner,' and every time he said that, I felt like I was losing. I finally had enough,
"Cole," I said forcefully, "I think you give people false hope!"
Cole's mouth dropped open, he furrowed his eyebrows,
"False hope," he said sadly, "false hope!" he said angrily, "false hope!!" he shouted.
I was afraid he was going to ask me to spell it.
"False hope." I repeated.
Officer McCourt was stunned. He couldn't believe I had challenged the credibility of Saint Stanyan; the Patron Saint of Real Estate Deals. Cole leaned very close to me,
"You call it, 'false hope,'" he said, regaining his composure, "I have changed people's lives." He reached across the table and put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I give them the hope, the faith to become what they long to be!"
Cole sat back as Officer McCourt said, "That's it! That's what he does!"
"Mr. Fontaine," Cole said, "I know you understand me, because you're an ordinary man, a hard-working and honest man. And you want more, don't you?"
As Cole was posing the question, I was watching Kristen,
"Yes, I do want more." I said, and I did too. I wanted more pie, more time, more money and all of Kristen!
"You see, Mr. Fontaine," Cole said intensely, "I want to help you get more! I want you to be a winner!"
Officer McCourt was nodding frantically. Finally, he could restrain himself no longer,
"You'll be a winner," he pointed a finger in my face, "whether you like it or not!"
How reassuring some Police are.
"I saw you looking at that waitress," Cole said with a wink, "I think we understand each other. I'm going to send you a little gift, one that walks and talks." Cole winked again, "If you get my meaning!"
"No, no thanks." I responded, still watching Kristen.
"Come on!" Cole said, " Nobody gets hurt, everybody wins!" Cole paused for a moment, then continued, "I'm talking about tanned, young, town girls, what's wrong with that?"
I did think about it. It didn't sound too bad. But, I still only replied,
"No thanks, Mr. Stanyan."
X
I had almost four hours to kill before my date on the beach with Kristen. I began to wander the town’s streets. I walked sidewalks lined with palm trees and through old neighborhoods of white wooden houses with big wooden porches. I heard the sounds of televisions waft from the cool shadowy darkness behind screen doors.
On one porch, I saw a woman with her hair in rollers. She was talking with a Mailman,
"It's getting scary now!" she exclaimed, "Bill O’Reilly’s been on all day. I worry about my grandkids!"
"Damn those Iranians!" the Mailman said as he handed her a large stack of mail.
"Oh, look!" the Woman said, "Coupons!"
I came upon a great trailer park, a seemingly endless labyrinth of one-way roads weaving around tiny trailers with neat, little yards. Most of the yards were covered with colored stones and pots of dusty, plastic flowers along the borders and on the porch. Low maintenance, I suppose.
Then I was out of the neighborhoods and into the business district; street after street of shops, parking lots, cafes and bookstores. I came upon a newsstand and read the headlines,
"IRANIANS WON’T BACK DOWN!"
"NAVY ON RED ALERT!"
"MISSILES POINTED AT U.S.?"
"PUTIN DARES PRESIDENT!"
"U.S. WON'T BE PUSHED!"
"PREZ TO PUTIN: ‘BRING IT ON!’"
There was only one paper that didn't seem interested in the crisis. It's headline read,
"TWO-HEADED BABY BORN TO LOUISIANA COUPLE!"
By noon the sun was very hot. It hung overhead; white and glaring like a 220-watt light bulb in a small empty room. The oily, black pavement steamed in the heat as the tourists continued their trudging from shop to shop.
As I walked about, thinking of Cole Stanyan, Ethiopia, the Iranians, the Russian missiles and Kristen, I came upon a large convalescent hospital,
"The Shalom Rest Home For The Elders."
A nice name for a place where people got rid of their grandmothers and grandfathers.
Through the windows, I saw the small rooms the old people lived in; bland white rooms with power beds and televisions mounted on the walls. Each room had a small dresser table covered with a lace doily. Upon that sat a trinket or two, and many photographs. They were the Altars of the Old.
Outside on the well-trimmed lawns, dozens of seniors sat in lawn chairs. There was one very old man in a wheel chair, his legs covered with a blanket and his baldhead shinning in the hot sun. He was unshaven with gray and white whiskers sticking out of his wrinkled face. His eyes were milky white as he stared into the distance.
As I walked by, the old man raised a spotted and shaky hand; he was pointing at me and began to groan,
"Wooo...woo....woooooooo!"
"What is it Mr. Goldman?!" a skinny white-haired woman called out from a nearby lawn chair.
"I saw Him!" Mr. Goldman said, "I saw Him!"
"Who?" the old woman asked.
"Death maybe. Or, or maybe God!"
The seniors gazed at Mr. Goldman with wide eyes. Among these old folks, such visions were taken very seriously.
"Was He close?" a man asked.
"Yes, very close!" Mr. Goldman replied.
"What did He look like?" another man questioned.
"He, He was tall and shiny," Mr. Goldman stuttered, "He looked like, He looked like Abraham Lincoln from, from off the copper penny!"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some change. I located a penny and stared at it for a moment. When I looked up, I saw Mr. Goldman’s head had fallen forward, his chin rested against his chest. A young nurse leaned very close to him, her hand holding his wrist, checking for a pulse. After a moment, she looked up and exclaimed,
"He's dead!"
There were a couple of slight gasps from the seniors, and the old woman said,
"Bless you. Bless you Mr. Goldman!"
As I walked away, I heard another senior say,
"I'll be damned! Abraham Lincoln!"
XI
Kristen was four minutes and twenty-six seconds late. I only kept count because I was afraid she wouldn't show at all.
We walked on the beach until sunset. Kristen told me about the sailor and then the beach artist who offered her a trip around the world. She told me he lived on a forty-eight foot schooner at the marina.
"There is a problem," she said, "I dropped in on him last night, uninvited, and I found him in bed with an older man who looked a little familiar. Like someone I've seen at the café."
Kristen went on telling me about her life. She was originally from Ohio and had moved to town with her mother only seven months earlier. They lived in a big house with a basement full of survival goods.
"Survival goods?" I asked.
"Yes, you know," she said, "canned food, bottled water, chemical and radiation detectors, bio-suits and flashlights. My mother thinks it's the end of the world, she's stocking up! What are you doing in town?" she asked.
"Business," I answered.
"What kind?"
"Consumer protection," I said, "you could say, I work for the People."
"Oh, good! You're not a sailor or an artist!" she continued, "How'd you get into that line of work?"
I knew Kristen was just being polite, making conversation. But I had a Heroic Tale to tell, and she asked the perfect question,
"Well, it begins like this," I said, "about fourteen years ago, I was teaching high school history in Orange County, California, and I fell in love with one of my students. I was twenty-five and she had just turned eighteen. She fell in love with me also, the whole thing was secret of course!"
"Of course!" Kristen said.
"Anyway," I went on, "Marie had moved with her family from France the previous year. She was an exceptional woman. One night she was leaving my house very late. Driving home, alone, she suddenly turned off the road and drove into the wall of our local bowling alley. She was killed!"
"That's horrible!" Kristen exclaimed.
"I went into shock over Marie's death. I thought it was my fault, until the Coroner's Report came in."
"What did it say?" Kristen asked.
"The Coroner found traces of a rare hallucinogenic drug on Marie's tongue and teeth," I continued, "and I knew Marie never used any kind of drugs!"
"And?" Kristen asked, she was truly interested in my story!
"And I began to poke around," I continued, "to make a long story short, I discovered that the drug was used as an emulsifier in a finger-nail polish that Marie wore. Marie chewed her nails!"
"That's awful!" Kristen declared, looking at her hands.
"So I wrote a report and filed it with the Federal Consumer Protection Agency, they offered me a job!"
"What cosmetic company is it?" Kristen asked, continuing to stare at her nails.
"You mean, 'was it,' you see Kristen, after my report, the company was sued out of existence. Though with all the appeals, it took almost twelve years."
"What company was it, then? I might have some of the stuff around the house." Kristen said.
"DIGIT PALLÉ," I answered, "a little company in San Ramon, California. It was owned by three Iraqi brothers."
"Three Iraqi brothers from San Ramon!?" she shouted, her face turning white.
"Yes, why?" I asked, "are you Iraqi?
"No," she responded, beginning to cry.
"Have you been to San Ramon?"
"No," she sobbed.
"What is it then?" I asked tenderly, seeing how my story had so deeply affected her.
"I think they're here!" she blurted out, "and I think they're looking for you!"
"What!?" I said in a surprised voice.
"There were three men today, dressed all in black and wearing finger-nail polish," she mumbled between sobs, "they came into the café and walked around slowly looking at people as they ate. When I asked if I could help them, one said, 'no thanks,' and another said, 'stay out of our way lady, we're looking for somebody!'"
"Kristen," I said, "that doesn't mean they're looking for me."
"There's more!" she interrupted, "when they left, the got into a new Lexus with California plates, a little Iraqi flag on the back window and a bumper sticker that read, I LOVE SAN RAMON!"
It didn't look good, yet it didn't matter. There I was, on a moonlit beach with beautiful Kristen, her arms around me, looking into my eyes and saying,
"You poor man, you poor man."
No, even though my history was catching up with me, even though it was intending to deliver a mortal message, I still felt lucky! I felt like I was winning! In that moment, I felt like I could never lose again!
But, moments pass.
XII
The next morning, Kristen and I awoke leisurely in my motel room. Since my life was in danger, we decided it was best for me to lay low for a couple of days. Kristen decided to lay low with me.
By three p.m., we had called out for a large order of Oyaku Donburi and Zaru Soba. We watched dozens of overweight people come and go from the clinic across the street. We turned the television on twice, only to find special news reports about the Dalai Lama staying in town after the Olympic torch moved on and many news specials about the crisis. On one of those specials, Lou Dobbs described the room in which a meeting had taken place between the Russian Ambassador and the preceding President. The current President had appointed him as a Peace Negotiator,
"These are the chairs they sat in," Dobbs intoned, "they are made of mahogany and leather and are very comfortable!" Dobbs moved to a small table next to one of the chairs, "And here is where the note tablet sat as the Former President took down the pertinent information."
It was later revealed that the former President hadn't taken any notes at all, but he had doodled extensively. Primarily, simplistic pictures of nude women, made up of circles, hourglasses and little V's.
As it was growing dark, a loud knock sounded on the door.
"The Iraqi's?" Kristen whispered with wide eyes.
"Mr. Fontaine? It's Nikki! Cole Stanyan sent me," a woman's voice said from beyond the door.
"Oh shit!" I said.
"I recognize that voice!" Kristen said as she climbed for the bed and ran to the door. She opened the door and squealed in a high, shrill voice, "Nikki! It's really you!"
"Kristen, what the hell?" Nikki responded, looking Kristen up and down, "I never thought I'd see you again!"
"Oh, baby!" Kristen said as the two hugged each other, "I can't believe it! Are you still a...?"
"Sure am, darlin'," Nikki replied, "it's just a job! Who's the john?"
"Oh!" Kristen said, "This is Jacques. We're falling in lo..., well, like! Anyway, he may only have a few days to live. Some guys are looking for him!"
"That's too bad!" Nikki said.
"We're friends from Ohio," Kristen said as she closed the door, "we haven't seen each other for almost four years! Jacques, I don't want to shock you, but Nikki and I used to be lovers!"
Nikki began to undress. She unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped the short skirt she wore. It dropped to the floor and revealed some very fancy undergarments.
"Very nice!" Kristen said.
"Very, very nice!" I agreed.
Nikki was a tall woman with long red hair that roamed down her shoulders and her firm, yet ample breasts. Her hands were long with deep red fingernails.
"That's not DIGIT PALLÉ nail polish, is it?" Kristen asked.
Nikki and Kristen sat on the bed and began to kiss passionately. Soon they were lying side by side with their arms and legs entwined, their red and blond hair mixing together.
That night I lived in moonlight. I lived in the land of tongues touching and red lips laughing. There were no victories or defeats. There were night winds blowing, palm trees bowing and roomful of whispers. There were seashell ears and dark rivers of hair. There was the salty taste of warm hips.
By four a.m. we lay quietly in bed. We did not speak at all. We listened to the wind blow leaves on the street. We slept and did not dream.
XIII
In the morning we were awakened by someone pounding on the door.
"Maybe the Iraqi's?" Kristen whispered.
"You're so vigilant!" I smiled.
Nikki climbed from the bed and peeked out the window,
"It's only Cole!" she exclaimed, and opened the door.
"Nikki, you're supposed to be with Officer McCourt!" Cole said in a scolding tone.
"I know, but I ran into a friend!" Nikki said.
"Pleased to meet..." Cole stopped at mid-sentence as he stared in at Kristen.
"That's the man who was with Sean the Artist on his boat!" Kristen said, pointing at Cole Stanyan.
Cole turned slightly pale and got that same look he had when I suggested he gave people false hope. Bad news could strip Cole of his appearance; it could show his weakness. It could pull off his mask, and the worst thing that could happen to Cole, was that people saw him as he really was. Cole stepped into the room and closed the door,
"Perhaps we could make a deal," Cole pleaded, "Listen, I've got a wife and two kids in high school. This can't get around!"
"Don't worry, it's ok," Kristen said with great sincerity, "you must learn to live with yourself."
"Cole, it's ok, these are my friends." Nikki said.
"Your private, intimate life is not part of my investigation," I assured him, "Consumer Protection operates within the Rules of Privacy!"
Cole began to leave, ill at ease. He was not accustomed to trusting people or losing face. He was naked in our eyes and no amount of fast-talking could clothe him again. He backed out the door apologizing and saying,
"Nikki, take the day off. I'll handle Officer McCourt!"
We all smiled at that remark.
"That's not what I meant!" Cole Stanyan objected.
XIV
Kristen and Nikki left in the afternoon together.
"See you tomorrow," Kristen said as Nikki kissed me goodbye, "Nikki and I will keep an eye out for those cosmetic creeps!"
XV
Another day had passed. The day had come and gone like a tourist in a hurry.
I did push-ups that day. I did sit-ups. I sat at the window and watched people come and go from the weight loss clinic. I read the article about the two-headed baby and called out for an order of Soba Noodles. I read about the Dalai Lama and I watched Cole Stanyan’s T.V. commercials,
"Nobody loses, everybody wins!" he said, as he leaned towards the camera.
I wondered if Kristen was a lesbian or a bisexual and if the three men in black would find me.
I prayed a peculiar prayer that night. I prayed it aloud in my darkened motel room,
"Dear God, or whatever you’re called," I began, "please forgive me for my gluttony, and please ease the pain in the world. Please help the President, the Iranians and Putin to relax, and, if it’s your will, please let Kristen be bisexual! Thank you, Amen!"
XVI
I fell asleep and that bed was at it again! I dreamed!
I dreamed I was in a Jetliner, flying very low to the ground. It was gliding over a huge graveyard, a field of green lawns and white crosses. Lying on top of the graves were many newly purchased consumer items. There were blenders and hair dryers, new clothes and shoes. There were bicycles and hats, toy guns and recliner chairs. There were televisions and personal computers.
Suddenly, the graves burst open at invisible seams! Brown earth was turned up as gray, rotting hands pushed upward from the ground. Clods of soil spilled from the hands as they strained toward the sky.
Each hand was holding a credit card. They all waved them back and forth in unison as a heavenly chorus began to sing,
"So otherworldly, so welcome! Don’t leave Earth without it!"
I gazed from the jet window at the wild display, but I noticed we were flying ever faster and ever closer to the ground. Looking ahead, I saw a giant human skull with its mouth gaping apart. We were flying into it!
Just as we entered the jaw, I saw Bill O’Reilly interviewing the President, the Former President and Vladimir Putin. They were all dressed completely in black. O’Reilly was asking about the fingernail polish the three leaders were wearing!
Once inside the skull, the singing chorus and the images of the interview faded. The interior of the skull became a thick, dense blackness. Then in the distance, I could see the tiny glows of fires. I could see smoke rising and twisting, reflecting the orange light of the flames. Slowly the fires grew bigger and brighter. The light revealed the ruins of a whole city in flames. The sky was a dome of soot and smoke. The ground was a chaos of blazing rubble.
Then I was out of the jet and standing on the ground. Everywhere about me were ruins. I saw a man kneeling in the rubble. His head was bowed and He cried loudly. I walked up to Him and put my hand on His shoulder. He turned and gazed at me. He held a dead child in His arms,
"I feel all of it!" he cried, "Nothing passes that does not pass through me!"
His tears ran like a river down his face, when the tears struck the ground, they turned into a sizzling steam. Then, from out of nowhere, a large dog-like creature with wrinkled, leather skin approached us. It stood on its hind legs and pulled a spear from behind its ear. The monster then pushed the spear through the kneeling man and lifted Him high into the air. The man cried out,
"I feel it all!"
I turned and ran in terror. I ran through a bizarre landscape of moaning and screaming people. I saw men with arms torn off and headless women dancing. I saw newborn babies eaten by gigantic grasshoppers. Among the ruins, starving dogs prowled, occasionally pulling body parts from the deluge. I saw a neon sign flashing on a collapsed wall,
"We accept MasterCard!" it read.
A very tall figure leaned out of the sky toward me. It stood on crab legs and had the torso of a woman. It had the face of a goat with a crown of dice on its head. It opened its mouth and revealed rows of needle-like teeth. Lying on its tongue were the mutilated bodies of Kristen and Nikki.
I turned and ran again. I ran very hard. Everywhere I saw animals holding peculiar mechanical devices; devices made up of gears, chains and red-hot blades.
I saw a large white rabbit apply a huge thorn-covered vice-grip to the skull of an old man. As the rabbit squeezed, the old man’s skull collapsed and his eyes shot from his head. A hairy, dwarf-like creature sprang from the shadows and stuffed the old man’s eyes into its mouth.
I saw a giant crow with spectacles on its beak; press a hot drill into the soft belly of a naked woman. Each time the crow pressed the drill in, it said,
"Don’t worry, only a million more times!"
Cole Stanyan was in my dream. His legs and arms were cut off and he was being whipped with snakes by a group of grotesquely disfigured clowns. He mumbled over and over,
"Everybody wins!" as blood gurgled from his mouth.
Then a six-foot tall poodle appeared from the smoky sky; a shiny, pink ribbon tied around its neck. Saliva bubbled from its mouth as it licked its chops. As it got closer and closer, I became smaller and smaller until I was eye level with its manicured toenails. A white light washed across the world. I looked up and saw a gigantic refrigerator door swing open. Cold air poured out and formed a thick cloud cover above me. The ground rumbled as a booming voice said,
"Here Fifi, this is for you!"
The poodle’s feet rose and fell in excitement. Its yelping voice screamed through the air. Then, I heard a whistling sound, the sound of something falling. It grew louder and louder. I looked up in terror, from out of the clouds, a huge black and white block was falling. It plopped right in front of me, shaking the floor. Moist pieces exploded in all directions! I was hit in the face by a chunk of chocolate cheesecake; whipped cream smeared my eyes!
The poodle began to jump about again. I heard the whistling again. It grew louder and louder. It became a screeching! It became a siren!
XVI
I awoke in my dark motel room. I shook my head to stop the sound. It did not stop; the sound was in the air about me. I climbed from the bed, dazed and shaken from my dream. I flipped on the T.V.,
"This is not a test! This is not a test! Tune to your local stations for civil defense directives! This is not a test!"
I fumbled in the darkness for the lamp. Turning it on, I found Kristen’s phone number and dialed it quickly,
"Kristen? Kristen, is that you?"
"Yes Jacques! Come over now! Hurry!"
Kristen gave me directions to her house. I jotted them down on the inside cover of the Gideon Bible.
XVII
The streets were almost empty. The few people I saw were in a great hurry except for the young drunk who was passed out near my motel a few nights earlier. He was leaning against a phone post. As I walked past, he called out to me,
"Hey! Do you like Baudelaire?"
"I guess," I responded.
"This is Baudelaire," he announced and began to recite,
"Who but the devil pulls our walking strings?
Abominations lure us to their side
Each day we take another step to hell
Descending through the stench
Unhorrified."
His voice faded as I continued to walk. I was walking fast as I could when I heard a horn honk behind me. Looking back, I saw a taxi pull to the curb,
"Want a ride?" a voice called from inside the car.
"Jesus, thanks!" I said as I climbed in. It was the same driver who had taken me to the seminar. "I didn't think any taxis would be running tonight!"
"You kiddin’? I wouldn’t miss this for anything! Where you headin’?" he asked.
I told him where I was going and he stepped on the gas. He began driving very fast,
"No laws tonight!" he said as we rolled through a red light.
It was strange to see the streets of the town without any people on them. Right before we turned onto Kristen’s street, the driver let out a loud laugh. He was watching me in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were sparkling,
"It’s gonna rain" he said.
XVIII
Kristen met me at the front door. The whole house was dark.
"This way to the cellar!" she said. As we descended the stairs I could hear many voices and the radio rising from below.
In the cellar, I met Kristen’s Mother. Officer McCourt and Cole Stanyan were there also.
"That’s Sean," Kristen said, pointing out a tall blonde man. Then, leaning close, she whispered, He’s the artist who lives on the boat."
Nikki was there also; she ran up and kissed me. In the corner, a small Asian man sat quietly. Kristen said,
"Oh, that’s Mr. Shen, he runs a liquor store in town."
Mr. Shen nodded and softly said,
"Pleased to meet you."
His voice sounded familiar to me.
We all then turned our attention to the radio. The newscaster told us that the Russians had armed their nuclear missiles and those missiles were pointed our way. We all gasped. The newscaster went on to report,
"U.S. Nuclear Submarines are very close to the enemy!"
"Enemy?" I questioned.
"Madmen rule the world," Mr. Shen said.
Then the newscaster began to shout,
"Oh, God! No God!!" Her voice faded into static and all the lights went out.
When one is in a room full of people who are about to die, anything can happen. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard many strange sounds. I heard whispers. I heard the sounds of mouths. I heard Cole Stanyan say,
"Right here, Sean."
I heard Kristen’s mother also, she was saying,
"Poor baby! Poor baby!"
Kristen and Nikki found me in the darkness. I realized they hadn’t any clothes on.
Mr. Shen’s voice rose out of the dark, he sounded very strong as he began to recite the Heart Sutra,
"All phenomena are merely empty, having no characteristics.
They are not produced and they do not cease."
I heard many strange, wet sounds throughout the room. I moved gently away from Kristen and Nikki and continued to listen to Mr. Shen,
"There is no aging and death.
There is no exhaustion of aging and death.
There is no suffering, no origin, no cessation, no path.
No exalted wisdom, no attainment and no non-attainment."
Suddenly, the lights came on, and so did the radio. The newscaster shouted,
"We got them! We shot them down! Ladies and gentlemen, this is a great moment in the history of..."
We all looked about the room. Mr. Shen and I were the only ones fully clothed. Kristen and Nikki clung tightly to each other, though their grasp loosened when Kristen’s mother stared their way. Officer McCourt, pale-white, was still suckling the large exposed breasts of Kirsten’s mother! Cole Stanyan knelt before Sean, whose pants were down around his ankles. It was a moment of profound embarrassment! Everyone wished they were dead.
Lucky for me, there was a knock at the front door,
"I’ll get it!" I said, and ran upstairs. I happily opened the door; glad to be relieved of the pressure in the cellar. My happiness did not last long. There, on the front porch, stood three men dressed entirely in black. They were pointing machine guns at me.
IXX
There are worse things then being dead!
Then, there was a great flash from a great light, followed almost instantaneously by a greater darkness. I could feel myself floating and I knew I was not alone.
One of the Russian missiles got through!
XX
There is a merciful God, and He does watch over us. We were all freed from the burdens of our lives! We were all liberated from embarrassment!
XXI
There was a long road made of clouds and lined with palm trees. Many tourists traveled on the road, wearing Bermuda shorts and carrying cameras. Often, they stopped to photograph the pearly gates.
Kristen and Nikki, Cole Stanyan, even the Dalai Lama and old Mr. Goldman were there. In fact, everybody was there!
I even saw many fat people, and they had again acquired the ability to jump!
I didn’t know if I was in Heaven or just another consumer fraud, but I intended to find out. It was then that I heard the voice.
It was calling from behind. It said,
"You’re free! You’re free! You don’t have to live like that anymore! I have set you free!"
I turned about, and then I saw Him. He was tall and polished. His beard was well trimmed. He was shinning and made of copper.
He was Abraham Lincoln from off the copper penny!
© 2008 by Justice Putnam
and Mechanisches-Strophe Verlagswesen
