by Endre Farkas
“Yeah!” Tommy shouted in a way that surprised him. He started to laugh.
“What’s so funny, Wolfie?” The coach stared at him.
Tommy wanted to say “everything,” but didn’t. “Nothing, Coach.”
“Okay, now hustle in.”
Usually, he was exhausted after a practice but tonight he felt refreshed. He was also ravenous and looking forward to supper with Marianne and Naomi.
“You were pretty slow out there,” Coach Hustle said to him after the others went in. “Are you okay? Are you coming down with something?”
“I was? No, I’m okay. Sorry, Coach.”
14
Tommy sat back and patted his stomach. “That was delicious!”
“Sí,” Marianne said and raised her glass of wine.
“Your spaghetti is different from restaurant spaghetti. I always thought it was supposed to be soft.”
“They boil the shit out it and make it limp. I like to make mine al dente and make my own pesto, with lots of garlic.”
He didn’t want to appear stupid, so he didn’t ask Naomi what part of the spaghetti was al dente and what part was pesto. “I’ve never had green spaghetti. It’s really tasty.”
“I guessed that after the third helping,” Naomi said.
“How was practice?”
“Pretty good. Tough. He drove us hard, but the strange thing was that by the end, I didn’t feel as exhausted as I usually do. Coach Hustle thought I was slow, slacking off. He told me that I didn’t hustle like I usually did. But I thought I was busting my ass.”
“Ah, the strange effects of grass.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your sense of time and exertion gets altered. You think you’re doing something one way but it’s really another.”
“I didn’t think I was.”
“You were too stoned to notice.”
“You think?”
“Want to see?”
“How?”
“Let’s smoke again.”
“Can’t you get addicted if you smoke too much?”
“Grass is not addictive.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been smoking for a year or so and I’m not addicted.”
“Are you joking?”
“I like it, but I don’t go looking for it. My body doesn’t go crazy wanting it.”
“But you always seem to have it.”
“Yes, but I don’t need it all the time. And I don’t have withdrawal if I don’t have it.”
“I want some now,” Marianne said and started scratching her arm like a heroin addict. She plopped down cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. In the candlelight, her hair had a halo about it. She fished out a baggie from her army surplus bag that she had recently sewn a peace sign on.
Marianne fished out a green clump and rolled it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She did it the way Tommy’s mother examined a piece of cloth for quality. The crushed leaves and seeds dropped onto the album jacket. She pulled two cigarette papers from her pack of Zig Zags and smoothed their creases. Slowly, she slid one along her tongue in a way he found erotic. But then, he found everything about her erotic. He watched her sprinkle the grass onto the paper and roll it into a joint that was thin at the ends and fat in the middle. It resembled a bean. She twirled one end into a tip, turned the tip toward her mouth and almost swallowed the whole joint, before drawing it out. It glistened. Tommy was hypnotized. He was horny.
She passed it over to Naomi, who was sitting on the floor across from her. Naomi leaned in to the candle flame and drew it in. She took a deep drag and held it.
“Come and join us,” Marianne waved. Naomi exhaled slowly and passed the joint to Marianne. She closed her eyes. What was she seeing that gave her that angelic smile? he wondered. He wanted to reach over and stroke her hair. She opened her eyes, exhaled and passed it to him. It felt like they were touching for the first time again. He took a deep drag. Instantly he began to cough. His throat and lungs felt seared. He couldn’t stop coughing. He tried to talk but couldn’t.
“Oh shit. I should have reminded you to take a smaller toke,” Marianne said.
He tried to say something but all he could do was hack and try to pass the joint to Naomi. It exploded. Surprised, Tommy dropped the joint into his lap. Naomi grabbed for it, missed it and got his crotch instead. He jumped as if he had been kicked. Cross-legged, he levitated and brushed the joint and Naomi’s hand away. The joint flew across the table and landed near Marianne. Marianne and Naomi burst into hysterical laughter. Naomi was on the floor on her back, her feet kicking the air. Marianne was doubled over, convulsing. He was coughing to death.
“What the fuck was that?” he croaked between fits.
“A seed popped,” Naomi said as she tried to contain her laughter. She rolled over and, on all fours, crawled toward the kitchen. She came back, still shaking, trying not to spill the glass of water she was holding out to him.
“Sip slowly,” she said between snorts.
“Now, you might get high sooner than you think,” Marianne said trying not to laugh.
“Coughing creates a head rush.”
“So does crotch burn,” Naomi said and both she and Marianne erupted into laughter again. He was not only coughing but tearing.
“Breathe slowly,” Naomi said after she got hold of herself and relit the joint. She passed it to Marianne, who inhaled, held it for a few seconds, then leaned over and put her lips next to his.
Tommy froze as he felt Marianne’s lips. “Open your mouth,” Naomi said.
He felt Marianne’s lips open and exhale the smoke into his mouth. A warm fluffy cloud entered and filled him.
“Close your eyes and hold it,” Marianne said softly. A calmness nested in him, a pleasant lightness. He was floating.
“Now pass it to Noni,” she said. He opened his eyes. Naomi was leaning towards him. Her delicate oval face, piercing green eyes and small open mouth were waiting. He pulled his head back for an instant. “Do it,” Marianne encouraged him. He moved his head toward her, put his lips next to hers, opened them and breathed into her mouth. He turned toward Marianne, who was smiling at him.
“Like that,” she said.
Naomi sighed and exhaled.
“And now,” Naomi said, reaching for the LP on the coffee table, “listen to this. I got it today at Phantasmagoria.”
“What is it?”
“Just listen.”
A drum exploded. He almost jumped. It was followed quickly by a weird piano sound that made him think of a merry-go-round. And then, the voice.
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn’t get much higher
Come on baby light my fire
Come on baby light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
Tommy was swept away by the pulsing of the drums, the swirl of the piano that wasn’t a piano and that husky voice that wasn’t a voice. A hypnotic haunting, erotic sensation flowed from the singer to and through him. Song, singer and Tommy were one. He was on a journey with the voice. Marianne’s lips were on his. He opened his eyes. They weren’t there. She was off in her own space. So was Naomi. He watched them sway to the song. The flame joined them. And the song went on forever. The hard drive of the drums, the curlicues of the weird piano. They headed off in two different directions but were somehow in harmony. Tommy felt the same way. The music went on and on and on. Finally, it slowed down to let the singer back onto the ride. They set the night on fire.
“Wow!” Marianne said when it was over. “Who was that?”
“The Doors.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“Jim Morrison.”
“Yeah!”
“What kind of piano was that?” Tommy asked.
“Harpsichord,” Naomi said reading the album jacket.
“It felt like it was an hour long.”
“Seven minutes. See?” Naomi said.
“What?” said Tommy.
“Time’s not fixed, it floats, it runs, it stretches for miles and miles and miles when you’re having fun.”
They stared at him as if waiting for an answer.
“Yes?” he said making his answer a question. They all burst out laughing.
They listened to the whole album again. It was close to midnight when he left.
“Are you staying?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah. I told my parents that I would. It’s Friday night, so I don’t have to work tomorrow.”
At the bus stop, he stood humming, thinking that something was different, something was happening, but he didn’t know what it was. He saw his reflection in the art gallery window. For a moment he didn’t recognize himself. It was a really stoned Tommy Wolfstein, who kissed two girls, sort of, and…the paintings were gone.
“Shit.” He remembered that he had forgotten to ask Marianne his question and had forgotten to ask her to call him. He had been too caught up in the smoke, songs and lips. “Cool,” he said out loud and smiled.
15
“Hey, Wolfie. Have you seen Marianne lately?” Speedy asked after practice.
“Huh?”
“Have you seen Marianne lately?”
He was glad that he was bent over unlacing his cleats. “No. Why would I? Why? What’s up?”
“She keeps going out at night, coming home late and staying at Naomi’s a lot.”
“So?”
“Wasn’t she in one of your classes?”
“Yeah, but I don’t hang out with her,” he said and walked off to the shower.
Speedy joined him. “My parents are worried. They’ve never met this Naomi. They don’t know what kind of person she is.”
“Why don’t you ask Marianne?”
“I did and she just says that it’s none of my business and that they’re friends and like to hang out together.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“She wasn’t like that until she met Naomi.”
“Like what?”
“Like going out so much. She’s acting different, dressing different and talking about things like women’s lib.”
“Maybe Naomi’s a lesbian,” Tommy said as they left the shower. It had once crossed his mind but after his last visit he didn’t think so.
“Fuck off. Is Naomi a lezzie?”
“How would I know?”
“They think that she’s seeing someone.” Speedy’s chiselled face with protruding chin reminded him of Dick Tracy. He smiled.
“What the fuck you smiling at?” Speedy asked.
“Nothing. Can’t a guy smile? You sound like her father instead of her brother. And isn’t Marianne old enough to date who she likes? She works, so can’t she do what she wants?”
“It’s what a brother does,” he said. “Until she gets married she should sleep at home. And until she gets married, parents have a right to know what she’s up to.”
Tommy didn’t want to rile Speedy. He had the typical hot Latin temper. Tommy had seen it on the field whenever someone pissed him off. He was the most carded guy on the team.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” Tommy asked as he began to dress.
“She’s not supposed to. So, if you hear anything, let me know.”
“Sure, but how would I know anything about her life?”
Speedy clapped his hands together. “Okay, enough of this, let’s go to El Gitano for some vino.”
“Sí,” Tommy said a little too quickly.
“We play our first game next week, against Hungaria. What do you think, Wolfie? You think we can beat those guys?” Schmutz asked as Tommy got in the car.
“I don’t know. They’re tough and they can be rough. Those guys are older and more experienced.”
“So, if they’re older, we should be able to outhustle them.”
“I’ve seen them play and they’re good.”
“So what? We’re Canadian university champions!” Schmutz slapped the wheel.
“Yeah. We are,” said Speedy.
“Yeah.” Schmutz echoed and cranked up the radio. “All You Need Is Love” came blasting out at them.
“She only dances on weekends. But not every weekend,” Speedy told him when he asked whether there was going to be music and dancing.
They went to the back. The waiter brought their wine in water glasses and put Cokes and Pepsis on the table in case the cops decided to pay a visit. Speedy’s uncle didn’t want to get caught serving minors.
“Gracias, Hayzeus.” Speedy slipped him fifty cents.
“Did you just called him Zeus?” Tommy asked.
“No, I called him Hayzeus. It’s how you say Jesus in Spanish.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Jesus bringing us wine? Don’t you get it?”
“It’s a common Spanish name.”
“Is Jesus a Gypsy?” Schmutz asked.
“No. He’s Spanish.”
“Aren’t you guys Gypsies?” Tommy asked. “I thought I heard Marianne say it to my mother at Passover.”
“Yeah.”
“I had a friend in Hungary who was a Gypsy. His name was Frog.”
“Really?”
“It wasn’t his real name, but everybody called him Frog, even his mother.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Maybe because he always had a frog in his pocket.”
“That’s weird.”
“I remember once we were playing pickup soccer against these bullies and the leader got the ball kicked into his nuts and as he lay on the ground holding his crotch, Frog bent over him to see how he was doing and a frog jumped out of his shirt pocket and landed on his face. The bully started slapping his own face to get the frog off of him. It was a riot.”
“How come your family left, anyway?”
Tommy took a drink. “It’s a long story. The short version is that there was a revolution and in my town, they beat up the Jews and burned down their houses.”
“Why did they beat up Jews?”
“Because we killed Christ.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what Carrot told me.”
“You had a talking carrot?” Schmutz joked.
“It was another friend’s nickname.”
“Your friends sure had weird nicknames.”
“Yeah, Schmutz.” Speedy punched Schmutz and laughed.
“Maybe, when we go back, if I meet him, I’ll tell him that Jesus is alive and well and working at El Gitano as a waiter. So they can stop blaming us.”
“That’d be really funny,” Schmutz said.
“Were your parents in the war?” Speedy asked.
His parents discouraged him from talking about it to outsiders, the goyim. He took another drink.
“Yeah, they were in concentration camps.”
“Holy shit! No kidding.”
“How did they survive it?”
“That’s another long story, maybe a whole novel, but my mother and her sister escaped. And my father was in a camp that the Germans ran away from when they heard that the Americans were coming.”
“Shit,” Speedy said.
“Hey, did you know that the Danish king wore the Star of David?”
“What’s that?” Speedy asked.
“The Star of David is the Jewish cross, except that they were forced to wear it.”
“When the Germans invaded Denmark, they made the Jews wear a yellow S
tar of David. But the king said that Danes were Danes and if one had to wear the star, they all had to. So, he wore one too.”
“Wow. That’s brave. The Hungarians sure didn’t. I’ll have to tell my mother that. She’s always telling me that you can’t trust anybody who isn’t a Jew.”
“Hey, Speedy, what do you know about your people, Gypsies?”
“Not much, except we’re great musicians and the greatest soccer players.”
“In your dreams. But you have great dancers,” Tommy said.
“And the word gyp comes from Gypsy.” Schmutz laughed.
Speedy threw him a sharp look and stuck out his Dick Tracy chin. “Fuck off.”
16
Tommy extended his hand. Horvath, the Hungaria captain, trapped the tips of his fingers and squeezed.
“Ahhh!” Tommy squealed.
“Welcome to the men’s league.” Horvath smiled. So did the referee.
He stared at Horvath, shook his fingers and smiled. Speedy was ready and stuck his hand hard into Horvath’s. “Sí. Gracias,” he said.
As they lined up for the kickoff, Tommy glanced into the stands. On one side were about 200 Hungaria fans hooting and hollering instructions in Hungarian as to what to do to the college boys, some of them gross but funny. On the other side were the boys’ fathers and a few girlfriends, a Babel of tongues shouting their support. He spotted Marianne sitting next to Speedy’s father.
“What’s your sister doing here?” Tommy asked, smiling.
“She said that she wanted to support her little brother,” Speedy said and waved to her.
Hungaria’s style was slow and fast. They played a controlled game, passing the ball back to their halfbacks and fullbacks that drew the Internationals upfield, then quickly sending long lead passes to their wingers, who had speed and good control. The Internationals were not used to this kind of play or pace and kept getting trapped. Only Derek’s heroic goaltending kept the game scoreless. But his heroics could only last so long. Twenty-three minutes in, Hungaria struck with a centring pass from the left wing that was headed into the top right corner.
