The Graceland Tales

by Donna D. Prescott

  Word works its way back that someone driving a black Crown Vic, one of those old cop cars, tried to beat the train but the train won. This crossing has no crossing bars, just a yield sign. Rumor has it that the driver, the lone occupant, did not survive. Someone who got near to the car said that Bruce Springsteen was still blaring from the audio system. Who knows, maybe the driver just did not hear the train because of the music.

  Theresa herds us together. As best as I can tell, only Kirk and Ernest have been taken to the hospital.

  “I’m making arrangements for transportation into Carbondale. I should be able to get us to Memphis only a little later than planned,” Theresa informs us.

  At least, it is a warm, clear night. We are far enough north of Carbondale that we can easily see the stars. I do not remember my college astronomy very well so I cannot identify any constellations, just enjoy the sparkling of the stars, but “Blue Moon Over Kentucky” runs through my head, and I swear the blue moon is blue.

  CARBONDALE

  Our group arrives at a hotel near the Amtrak station in Carbondale a little after 1:30 a.m., where we get rooms for the rest of the morning. At the hotel, Oriel settles Rose in a comfy chair in the lobby and then she goes to work helping Theresa with logistics. Oriel’s connections as a hotel manager help smooth the process. Those of us who are travelling alone have to share a double room. As we mill around waiting for room assignments, I look for Gita, hoping to share a room with her. I would like to hear more about her sweetheart in India. However, Gita is nowhere to be found. She has melted away like a gob of ghee in a hot pan.

  Instead, I find Elaine a Techie, and she agrees to share a room. She gets to the room first because I step out of the hotel for a moment, breathing deeply and looking up and down the street. In a college town even at this hour of the morning, people dot the street, some heading into their day, some heading out of their night. When I get to the room, Elaine is in the bathroom, completing her pre-sleep ablutions. She has taken the bed nearer the bathroom, much to my dismay, since I have a bladder of a certain age. I unpack my toiletries, pajamas, and bedtime reading while she finishes.

  As she exits the bathroom, I am struck by her long, dark, thick hair, now free of the hijab. As I move towards the bathroom, she says, “Good night.” I say, “Your hair is beautiful.” She smiles and says thank you. ”You’re welcome,” I say. “By the way, do you have any idea what happened to Gita?” In the dim light, Elaine hesitates. “No. No, I don’t. Good night,” and she gets into bed. I continue, “Good night,” although I am hoping for a little conversation about her life as a female coder in the male-dominated tech industry before sleep. The program she went through for female coders sounds interesting. Sadly, when I finish my toilette, her bed side lamp is off and she is breathing lightly and regularly. I open up my book—I decided to reread The Canterbury Tales on this trip—but the Tale of Melibeus puts me right to sleep.

  Later that morning when I wake up, Elaine and her possessions are gone. Disappointed, I dress and step into the hall. I see a door ajar a few rooms away, so I stand aside to see what I can hear. Joyce the Evangelist’s Wife says with conviction, “Honey, I want to go on to Graceland. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for ages!”

  Kirk says, “But I need to go home and get well.”

  Joyce says, “You can rest in the hotel in Memphis. You don’t have to be at our house to recover.”

  Kirk says, “My injuries are more than physical. I need time to reflect on what has happened to us, to me, and I want to go home.”

  Dwight says, “I can go to Graceland with Joyce and look after her, Brother Kirk. Why don’t you go on home and we’ll see you there after the tour.”

  A pause. John says, “Yes, Brother Kirk, why don’t you let Dwight and Joyce continue on. You can stay with my wife and me for a few days. We’ll see that you rest and get back home.” Words pass that I cannot hear. Joyce grabs a travel pack of tissues from beside the television and drops it in her purse. Then Dwight and Joyce leave the room quickly, as if they are among the money changers whom Jesus drove out from the temple, and head for the elevator.

  Kirk says, “Brother John, I know that if I had died on that train this morning, the Lord would have welcomed me into heaven. But I’m also sure that St. Peter would have given me quite a tongue-lashing. The scales have fallen from my eyes and they’ve been opened to my failings as a Christian and as a minister. You and your sweet wife are doing me a great favor by taking care of me now. But I have one more favor to ask of you.”

  “I’ll do what I can for you, Brother Kirk.”

  “When we get to your home church, would you baptize me again, please? I want to go back to my church a different man, less concerned with the business of the Lord and more concerned with the Lord’s business.”

  “Brother Kirk, I’d be honored.”

  I decide now is the time to walk past their door to the elevator and head down to brunch. I saunter by the door, cutting my eyes discreetly to look in the room. I see two double beds, both disturbed. Evidently, Dwight shared the room with Joyce and Kirk.

  In the restaurant, I see several hotel warming pans filled with scrambled eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Sounds of people raising the lids on the pans mingle with the enticing aromas of the food, but I know those tantalizing smells are deceptive so I move on. A line has formed at the waffle-making machine. Beside it, I spot a counter with various pastries. I grab a napkin and reach for a cheese Danish and then head for the coffee urn.

  After everyone has gotten food, Theresa stands and clinks her glass. “I am, um, thankful that no one on our tour—or on the train—suffered significant injuries. I’ve been able to arrange a bus to Memphis, leaving here at 1:00 p.m., um, partially thanks to Oriel’s very capable assistance. Thank you, Oriel.” A smattering of applause ripples through the area. “Those who want to go on to Graceland, um, will be in Memphis in plenty of time to attend the Candlelight Vigil this evening at 8:30. For those of you who would prefer to go home and recover from this, um, unfortunate incident, you will receive refunds for the Memphis part of the trip.” A murmur runs through the group. “Please let me know your decision as soon as possible.”

  After Theresa delivers this information, I decide to circulate around the restaurant to hear each traveler’s intention for the remainder of the pilgrimage. I already know that Joyce and Dwight will go on to Graceland, while Kirk, John, and John’s wife—I never did learn her name—will return home to Kentucky. Alice the Widow, with a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and biscuits, occupies a small table with Linda the Humanitarian Worker, munching on a muffin. They chat quietly and do not offer me a seat. “So, are you going on to Graceland?” I query.

  Alice continues to chew while Linda says, “Yes. On the train, Mom and I began the process of reconciliation, but especially after the wreck, we want some quality time together to begin healing. Where better to begin than at Graceland?”

  “I guess it’s a case of ‘It’s Now or Never.’” I smile. Linda touches her necklace and turns her attention back to her muffin. I decide to move on to the next table where to my surprise I find Bella the Academic and Ernest the Businessman sharing brunch with Rene/e the Transgender Woman, Dmitri the Hacker, and Jack the Immigrant Merchant. “Good morning,” I say, smiling. “May I join you for a moment?”

  “Actually, no, Donna, you may not,” says Bella. I feel like I have been slapped in the face with a cold fish. “Alright, I guess I will move on then.”

  As I look around for another table, I hear Bella whisper sotto voce to Rene/e, “That Nosey Parker wants us to think she means well, but I don’t trust her meddling for a minute.”

  “Who knows,” whispers Rene/e in return, “Maybe she’s writing a book and wants to put us in it.” They giggle and resume eating.

  I munch my cheese Danish and look around for Gita with no luck. All five Techies are at a table. After Elaine gave me the slip this morning, I decide to let them be. I head back to the past
ry shelf to decide if I want a second pastry. The poppy seed muffin looks palatable. Rene/e nudges into me. “Sorry to dis you earlier, cher, but us girls can be catty sometimes, you know.” She grins. “Don’t take it personally,” she adds. “I sure don’t want to get on Bella’s bad side, especially since I’m travelling on with her.” Even though she is right about Bella, I cannot completely forgive the slight.

  I stretch my lips thin in an attempt at a smile. “Thanks, Rene/e. So you and Bella are going on to Graceland?”

  “Yes, cher. As you can see, Ernest is out of the hospital. He wasn’t hurt much. Just a heart scare. He’ll join us on the bus. Whoa, sister, would you believe that Ernest and Bella are becoming—how shall I say it? You know some French. They would like to prête à baiser. And you know that baiser can mean a lot more than just kiss.” She winks and elbows me gently. “Those two will definitely need their own room in Memphis.”

  “What about the others at your table,” I press, “If I may ask.”

  “As fellow immigrants, Jack and Dmitri are bonding, sort of. Maybe Dmitri can help Jack jumpstart his business. Jack and I bonded on the train over our grandmamans. And Dmitri, that boy could use a good woman in his life to straighten him out.” She winks and elbows me a little more insistently this time. “So, all of us from that table are going on together.”

  A small smile flits across my face. Oh, my, I think. What a group that combination of personalities will make. I picture Ernest as a knight in shining armor and Bella as a damsel in distress who suddenly turns into a witch once he rescues her.

  “By the way,” I venture, “Dmitri sat by Gita for a while. She sketched the entire time. By any chance, does he know what she was sketching?”

  “He said she was sketching a man, her lover maybe?” says Rene/e. “And what about you? Are you going on?”

  “I do not know. I am still cogitating.” Rene/e hugs my neck.

  “Good luck, cher. Maybe I’ll see you around,” she says, as she reaches around me for the last poppy seed muffin, the very one I had my eye on.

  I settle for a cranberry almond muffin instead and start to head back to my room to grab my belongings. As I pass the lobby door, I see the charter bus parked out front, waiting for those who are going on. Blanche and Franklin board. I guess they are getting on a little early so they can make out before the bus fills up since they no longer have their sleeper car. Blanche looks stunning in her black leggings, leopard Rockabilly shirt—now buttoned appropriately—and brown platform boots, black eyeliner perfect. Even her Rod Stewart-style hair is nicely spiked. One would never know that she has spent a night in train travel. The Techies follow Blanche and Franklin onto the bus.

  Hector and Sandra are sitting in chairs across from each other in the lobby. “Hey, Hector,” I say. “Surely, you are going on to Graceland.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiles. “And this young lady sitting across from me, my new BFF Sandra, is joining me.”

  “I would rather have Hector as my keeper than Adam,” says Sandra. “Hector and I had a lot of time to talk in the bar car before the wreck. He’s a savvy guy.”

  “What about your mom?” I ask.

  “Oh, since I made friends with Hector, she decided not waste this time trying to bond with me. She and Adam are going back home to focus on her re-election campaign. It’s just as well.” She sighs.

  “Aren’t you being a little harsh?” asks Hector.

  “No, I’m not. She’s a terrible mother but a great politician.”

  “What about you, Donna? What’re you going to do?” asks Hector.

  “I have not yet decided.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to make a decision soon,” says Sandra, looking over at Theresa and Oriel, behind the check-in desk, deep in serious conversation, scratching on a sheet of paper. Rose is once again seated in the same chair where Oriel had left her earlier, plunking on her ukulele. I think I hear strains of “All Shook Up.”

  I approach her. “Rose, I assume you and Oriel are going on to Graceland since Oriel has been so helpful to Theresa in making arrangements after the wreck?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m going!” says Rose, stopping her strumming. “You forget, I’m going to Memphis for my MMA bout, not to mope around for some dead rock ‘n’ roll star. Oriel can do whatever she wants.” I smile to myself, knowing full well that Oriel will never let Rose go on to Memphis without her—and that Elvis truly lives.

  As I near the elevators, I see Sean and Hubert huddled off to the side. Hubert says, “We have to decide now, Sean, and I want to go on to Graceland. This will be my last hurrah for a while.”

  “Sir,” says Sean, “You know your back is against the wall. Word is leaking out that you knew of certain allegations years ago. People on this tour know who you are. It will look even worse if word gets out that you were on this vacation instead of attending to matters at the diocese while the scandal is heating up, especially with your reputation for wine and golf.”

  Hubert leans back in his chair and covers his face with his hands. Sean continues, “It could mean your job. You’re already under increasing scrutiny. Your reputation is already at risk. I think it would be a bad decision to continue on to Graceland now. It wasn’t the best decision to sign on to this trip in the first place.”

  Hubert drops his hands to his lap. “So the wreck was God’s message to me to go home and face the music?”

  “If you want to look at it that way, then yes. You’re caught in a trap of a different sort than Elvis sang about.” Hubert glowers, looks Sean in the eyes, and nods. Sean stands and heads to Theresa and Oriel at the check-in desk. I punch the elevator button to go up and gather my belongings.

  As for myself, I still have a few days before I must be back in Upstate New York for the beginning of the fall semester. I think I will forego the rest of the trip to Memphis and hang out in Carbondale for a few days. After all, I believe Elvis lives so why go to Death Week, really? Besides, Carbondale is not such a bad little town.

  Key to Tale Correlations

  Pam the Senator’s Tale = Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale, updated, set in 1960’s America

  Rose the Waitress’s Tale = an original story

  Oriel the Hotel Manager’s Tale = Chaucer’s Reeve’s Tale, updated, set in contemporary suburban Chicago

  Gita the Cook’s Tale = Chaucer’s Cook’s Tale is an unfinished fragment (as opposed to an interrupted fragment), so I had Gita become emotional and unable to finish her tale.

  Joyce the Evangelist’s Wife’s Tale = Chaucer’s Second Nun’s Tale, the tale of St. Cecilia and protecting virginity, updated, set in contemporary America

  Linda the Humanitarian Worker’s Tale = African folk tale, adapted

  John the Pastor’s Tale = not directly derived from any of Chaucer’s tales, but it is an illustrative example of the sort used in sermons or exempla. In fact, I first heard a variation of this story as a child in a sermon. Clearly, it stuck with me.

  Seymour the Doctor’s Tale = Chaucer’s Physician’s Tale, in which a father kills his daughter—with her permission—to protect her honor from a corrupt judge, updated, set in contemporary America

  Alice the Widow’s Tale = Marie de Frances’ “Lanval,” updated, set in contemporary America in an unnamed northeastern city

  Donna the Narrator’s Tale = Chaucer the Pilgrim first begins an insipid tale of Sir Topas. Harry Bailey—Theresa Tourneau the tour organizer’s counterpart—interrupts this “rym dogerel” which is “not worth a turd.” Bailey asks for a tale in prose if Chaucer insists on telling another tale. Chaucer follows with the mind-numbing Tale of Melibeus. Donna the Narrator begins with a similar “rym dogerel” from the dregs of Donna the Narrator’s youthful rhyming. When Theresa interrupts Donna the Narrator, Donna then shifts to an original brief, light-hearted story, sparing the listeners further misery.

  Hector the Elvis Tribute Artist’s Tale = Marie de France’s “Milun” updated, set in contemporary America

&
nbsp; Bella the Academic’s Tale = Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale, updated, set in contemporary America, substituting a yoga studio for the pear tree in the garden

  Ernest the Businessman’s Tale = Chaucer’s Shipman’s Tale, updated, set in contemporary times in the Dallas suburbs, with a gender role reversal regarding Felicia, Peter, and Frank

  Kirk the Evangelist’s Tale = Chaucer’s Parson’s Tale, a sermon on the Seven Deadly Sins, adapted for contemporary times

  Sandra the Senator’s Daughter Speaks = Chaucer’s Squire’s Tale is an unfinished fragment, so I had Senator Pam become embarrassed by her daughter’s ideas and shut her down.

  Rene/e the Transgender Woman’s Tale = Chaucer’s Friar’s Tale, adapted as a Cajun folk tale

  Dmitri the Hacker’s Tale = urban legends

  Jack the Immigrant Merchant’s Tale = Chinese folk tale, adapted

  Blanche the Lawyer’s Tale = Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale (Patient Griselda), loosely updated with gender role reversals from the original tale. Instead of a husband sadistically tormenting his wife to test her faithfulness, I have a wife much more gently testing her husband.

  Franklin the Real Estate Magnate’s Tale = Chaucer’s Franklin’s Tale (the damsel’s rash promise), updated, set in America during the 1950’s peace time draft

  Dwight the Lay Preacher’s Tale = in medieval times, variations of this tale—where the husband and wife make a bet over who will speak first, with dire (or foolish) results—show up in Middle English lyrics and in Asian folk lore. This updated version is set in contemporary America.

  Sean the Deacon’s Tale = Chretien de Troyes “Yvain,” updated, set in contemporary America, beginning on the West Coast

  Hubert the Bishop’s Tale = Chaucer’s Monk’s Tale, updated, to reflect American history. Chaucer’s Monk tells a series of grim anecdotes about noble people throughout history who have fallen from positions of power because of character flaws. Chaucer’s Knight interrupts the Monk’s stories because of their depressing subject matter. His dignity damaged, the Monk chooses not to attempt another story. Sean the Deacon interrupts Hubert’s pontificating when it seems he is about to betray the sanctity of confession. A conversation among the travelers ensues, depriving Hubert of the chance to tell another story.