“Son,” he said, “had a little trouble? Lost something did you? Look in your pocket.” He did and sure enough a wad of bills had appeared. Nicolai counted them. Five! “Caught me. Well, can’t all be wizards.” He reached a hand to Nicolai’s left ear and produced the last hundred. “We square?” Nicolai took the bill and as he did released his pants and they fell again. “OOPS...forgot about this.” He produced Nicolai’s belt from his mouth (not terribly impressive as it was done in profile). “Think you’ve got a couple of drinks in your pocket for a man with a story?”
The old man sipped his bourbon with zeal. In some sense, some tiny, back of the head sense, he reminded Nicolai of Rooka, his eyes, his age. In another he was the complete opposite. For all the vigor that he showed, his body betrayed his age. He looked like he was on his last leg, and it turned out he was, his other having been lost at sea. Sure, he tried to keep up an image of vitality, but intermittent moans and groans belied some hidden pain. Nicolai watched him for a moment and then introduced himself, but the oldster stared at his drink so Nicolai settled himself to watching. A comfortable warmth emanated from somewhere inside the old man, it enveloped him and Nicolai in a world unto themselves, there at the end of that bar, and Nicolai was happy to wait.
The old man began: “Big country America is and she’s hard on a man apt to travel her. Especially those wanting to go by sea. See, from all the way up north to the south of this side of the world, you got land, impassable lumps of rock. Most seafarers here come in two types. You got those that want to stay east and you got those want to stay west. But there’s a third type doesn’t want to stay, but stray. First thing you’ll learn is that most places is about something. England, for example, that’s about tea. Now when I say its about tea I don’t mean that’s all they do there, because they don’t know that’s what its about only they find themselves doing that most because that’s what they‘re best at. The far east, I mean Japan, China and the like, that’s about honor, that’s just how it is. Africa, that’s about earth, hell that is the Earth. Canada, ice naturally. South America, music and dance. France, sockssilly thing to be about, but that’s how it is. Spain, that’s about God; and America, America’s about the sea only like I said they don’t know it. For a long time they didn’t know it, but we got so much of it you can’t deny it. First one to recognize it was old Teddy R.that’s for Roosevelt. He didn’t care what but he was going to build us one big ocean, bring the east and west together so that those in the third group could go from where they was to where they wanted to be and when they get tired of that, go back. Right through the Earth they dug a big old hole and when they was done the water she poured right through. That must have been a beautiful sight.
“So one day I was swabbing the deck of my vessel, America I called her and an angel comes to me. She sits right down on a keg of my best brew and drinks right from the tap, empties that sucker, and she says to me ‘Go west, young man’ even though I wasn’t necessarily no youngster at the time which I take as a compliment and that decided it. So I pulled up anchor and let the angel’s breath blow me right. It was an easy voyage at first. Traveled right down the coast, bathed in the southern sun and before you could whistle Dixiewhich I only done once on a wagerthere I was in Panama ready to heady through. Only do you know what? They got themselves a big old gate down there and a big old sign which says how much you got to pay if you want to go where you got a right to go anyway. Now why on earth I figure would you pay for what’s yours anyway, but I still got that angel breath blowing in my sails and I’m aiming to go west only that angel she don’t got no toll money neither. Well, I figure, they done it before so I intend to keep going down around and up the other side. I figure that’s what they put it there for and it being my right and an angel up my aft. So it’s easy sailing right on down only I notice it’s getting colder all of a sudden and all I heard from the birds is that it’s warm, but low and behold before I see a towering mountain of ice and I look down and all’s ice too. That’s when I got afraid that I might not make it, but that holy lady she take breath and blow with all her might about now. She blow and blow and blow, when suddenly I say ‘Ho now!’ and the wind stops. I’m in a silent dark sea of ice. Well I paddled through that ice, rations running low, hardly enough beer to get drunk anights. Fortunate for me I brought enough along for the trip back because I heard it’s pretty expensive over there. Then one morning I woke with the sun in my eyes and I’ll tell you a man in the dark for so long will not welcome that light and it burned me, but I climbed myself up to deck and the ice was gone and ahead of me lay only the best damn suntan I got this side of the wind. Something else hit me too on account of suddenly I knew something I didn’t before. I stood there, leaning over the mast looking forward and I said only for the angels to hear ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘That’s why they charge so much.’ And god dammit on the way back I paid that toll and I ain’t never been west again. Good enough where I am. Ain’t no room on this earth for them that wants to go where they don’t belong. So I revise my earlier statement. America ain’t about the sea. America’s about the Atlantic and the Pacific. There are those born Atlantic, there are those born Pacific and the two ain’t got no right to meet and I’ll tell you something else: That Teddy Roosevelt...he was a loony.”
Nicolai understood nothing in the old man’s words, but never-the-less felt comfortable just sitting there listening to him. His voice carried a familiar melody with it which soothed him. Nicolai bought him another drink hoping for another tale in return, but when the man finished, he rose and beckoned Nicolai over to a corner table where they sat again. He nuzzled close to him, so close that his bristly beard became an irritation on Nicolai’s forearm, but for the moment he said nothing. The man looked up at him and placed a comfortable old hand on his knee. He whispered, “I’ve got something for you.” The thing was in his right pocket, but for some reason he refused to remove the appropriate hand from Nicolai’s knee and was forced to fish for his gift with the left, overall a clumsy process. In the end he plopped a smooth round ring on the table. It was an unimpressive ring with no markings upon it, but with never-the-less the appearance of gold. Nicolai reached out for it and the man used his right hand long enough to slap Nicolai’s before returning it to its most (growing now) irritating resting place. “Not yet. Once taken it’s yours and you might not want it yet. Best to hear what I’ve to say about it first. I know it don’t look like much but this here ring’s got amazing powers. Don’t ask how it came to me, I’ll only say that I saw it forged and I’ll see it destroyed yet. Nothing evil in her, nothing like that mind you, I only say that as a promise that I ain’t done with her yet, far as I know, but that much we shall see. For now though, I think she might do better by a young man like you. Do you like girls my friend?” He squeezed Nicolai’s knee tighter.
“Quite.”
“Good, then you’ll have use for her. Look at her boy, nothing impressive, to your sensibilities. A simple goldalmost anywayring. But to a woman! Lord, I can’t tell you how they go crazy over this thing. She can be used in three ways, but I’d only recommend the first two, and myself I’ve only used the second one once.” He leaned in closer (an act Nicolai thought surely impossible) and dropped his voice until it was barely audible. “Show this ring to any woman, just show it to her, even for a second and she will become sensitive to your every wish, almost. Some women, they got what I call resistance, and the effect wears off and it can only be done once, because they become sensitized to it or something I don’t rightly know. Combine that with that twinkle you got in your eyedownright alluring it isand it ought to get you far enough so as you don’t need the second type of use, which as I said I only done once. Want it?” Nicolai looked at it for a second and figured what the hell. The old man slapped his hand away. “Put this ring on any finger, don’t matter so long as she fits, and the woman you set your sights on will be yours for a night. No need for talk or twinkle at all, just a few simple directions to
your shack and it’s done. As I said though if you do the first right, won’t need the second, at least that’s my experience. Don’t know if anything’s wrong with it, just figure safe as safe be. Want it?” Nicolai did not reach for it this time, his libido interested, but his belief lacking. “Good. Now this I only know from hearing it, but word is, and she was designed for this and as she works for the first two why not the third I figure, so that’s why I tell you don’t tempt it, but put this ring on the finger of a woman and son that woman is yours for life. Don’t know why, don’t know how, can’t even figure why you’d vex a thing works perfectly good only I guess magic she comes in threes so there you are. Want it?” Nicolai again figured what the hell and took the ring, this time unhindered.
“Well there you are, sale made and final. Wait now.” He bent under the table and fiddled with something. “Here you are. Obviously can’t go around wearing it on your finger and I don’t trust it in your pocket from that hole in your belt. You’re a man what loses things.” He looped the ring onto a strand of shoe string, which he’d taken from his sneaker, and put it around Nicolai’s neck. “Believe if believe will, but I tell you the damn thing works but good.”
Nicolai was beginning to trust in the old man’s yarn, but in any case had decided to accept the gift from the first and if it did work, oh boy! Nicolai noted that his knee had been suddenly released and the man was shimmying away. Strangely, for all the supposed comfort he assumed it would provide, he felt cold now and abandoned. “Where are you going?”
The old man stopped halfway between rising and sitting and looked softly, sadly into the distance. He spoke such:
“Wandering mind where wilt thou go stray?
Beyond the doldrums of every day
Into the wide world.
Maddening mind to where dost thou go?
Over hill and dale covered with snow
Into the wide world.
Ever grating brain where is thy mind?
Out it has gone, its own kind to find
Into the wide world.
Wishing heart when will thy beating stop?
Soon I’ll voyage to the mountain top
Out of the wide world.
Traveling spirit when comes thy end?
Beyond the spheres I’m ever to tend
To the woes of the wide world.”
Nicolai was touched but corrected his query, “No, no, where are you going now?”
“To the pisser.” And he left.
The old man was obviously either insane or extremely lonely. The latter was something Nicolai could relate to, the former he hoped he never would. The bar was bustling now with people enjoying an after work libation (overheard word, not Nicolai’s). He looked at the televisionnot to watch but to simply look busya commercial flashed pictures of rich, sandy beaches (there was no sound) and smiling waiters delivering fruity drinks to tanned beauties. At the end a camera panned to waving tourists on an ocean liner (which he did not know was The Gramercy completing its westward voyage) and the slogan “Panama, a world away...from the world” filled the screen. Where was the old man? Nicolai wondered how he spent his days. How many times has the image of that same angel been evoked? How many times, in how many ways, has she drunk from that keg filled with how many variations of libations? This ring, he took it out as he pondered, I wonder, if it works, could provide some well needed distraction and might help in preventing any repeats of his latest foiled frolic. He considered testing it on someone in the bar. Every woman there was already matched up with one of the many look-alike men. Wonderful haircut you all have. There though, in that group of threethree womena short, chubby one, voluptuous in his eyes, but so damn cute and sipping a fruity drink, the perfect candidate. The old nut wouldn’t mind, probably giving me time to try it out by taking so long. His heart raced thump, thump, thump, thump, thump (try saying that three times fast) as he caught her glance. A single draw on the first two fingers of his right hand was all it took to initiate a slow gait on her part toward him. Don’t forget to say tadoo little fox, for thy foot is but in the teeth of the trap. He smiled broadly as she came, bobbing his head to the music, shimmying shoulders swaying from side to side. He played his card (here goes nothing). Unfortunately, his trust in the man’s yarn was misplaced, for as he revealed the ring, arm outstretched just a tad too much, the shoelace snapped and the thing (the ring) flew with great velocity (ferocity) at her nose, rebounding and rolling toward (unknown to Nicolai) a septic tank in the corner. Thoughts turned to the lost gift, he dropped and pursued, catching it in the air under the floor as it began its fall into the muck of a thousand flushed toilets. Ill fate perhaps, that is or was at least Nicolai’s first thought until he looked up from where he lay to find himself positioned directly beneath a woman’s skirt. She abruptly stepped aside and dismay overcame him as her purple panties were replaced by a purple faced ruffian. He showed off the ring, but its spell was not designed for the likes of this and he was presently ejected sans femme.
Abrupt and well deserved cut to a speeding train, Brooklyn bound. If any twenty-four hours anywhere held the promise for as much disaster as the last, Nicolai had his plan: a speedy plane heading east across time zones, he would leave quickly and arrive exactly one day later in some far off place having traded twenty-four for perhaps six, a seventy-five percent gain, in not time, but sanity. As it was, the subway brought him fast enough toward his unappealing destination.
Would Rifka know of Rooka’s passing? Certainly he had not mentioned it to her. Would she make a play for some of his money? Fight Nicolai’s claim on what rightfully belonged to him? Silly, what right would she have to it, though she (once at least) had achieved an intimacy with the devil that Nicolai never (repeat: never) had. Did she mourn? Did she mourn the passing of time the same as others or had unkind time passed her by, forgotten in the bowels of Brooklyn? What majesty that would be: her house a refuge from the refuse of age. Four walls behind which he could hide, trapped in a moment, safe for the present. A step outside for the paper adds a second. A walk around the block, how much, a day? Would immortality mean he was safe from food? And if not, how much a trip to the market? No, even so time must pass, will pass. For reasons to travel, to leave the frozen place, will be planted in him even before he enters it; subterfuge. No, he decided, dreams of Rifka’s youth are just that, she will be wrinkled and old, worn and tired, in a world where even Rooka, dear old Uncle Rooka, could only circumvent the end temporarily.
Nicolai shook off his mood. What thoughts of the end when he was only at the beginning, a life of prosperity and (here he thought of his newly obtained Fine Female Device, so named by him) promiscuity lay ahead of him. “I fart upon thee, Death!” was the greatest threat he could muster before falling immediately back into melancholy.
1964 Avenue K was yellow. The house was set apart from its neighbors by a chainlink which left barely enough room to pass. Stepping to the side, Nicolai looked up to the second story window on the right of the house and envied its occupant, for directly across and close (Oh, so close!) was another, unshaded window. He stepped center again and looked up the one, two, three, four, five step staircase leading to the front door. She must be the only occupant since no mention had been made of an apartment number. This is the place, he affirmed looking at the scrap of paper, and moved closer. One step, definitely the place. Two more in one bound, it certainly is, Ollie. That’s three, and four, and five. Into the fire, is where I aspire. He rang the doorbell. Well, he pushed the doorbell at any rate, but it made no sound. “Hello?” He pushed it again. Nothing more disconcerting than having to knock at a door. The knocker was visible behind a plastic screen which he had to opencreak, creakin order to reach. The knock resounded over an area of about one square foot and then died. Doubtful if anyone heard that, but in a second locks were being undone. “Rifka!” It was true, her day had not yet turned to evil night. Young and beautiful, and young, she stood before him in the doorway. Sweet thin T-shirt, co
mfortable panties, big feet, still so. “Rifka.” She was suddenly robbed from him by a shirtless man who came swooping in from somewhere off-stage left. She cackled as he pulled her away and said,
“Naughty, naughty, naughty.”
Replaced she was by a huge creature, hulking in from another room, making slow progress toward the door, a cane in its left hand, a gimp in its right leg. If the glare of Rifka’s unstained beauty had not captivated him so, he would have noticed that even as he examined untamed hairs creeping from the masked gorgeosity of her nameless treasure that behind that sun, that shore, that pale mountain of pristine snow, this massive tidal wave of flesh neared to overcome him.
“Nicolai? Little Nicky?” The voice was mechanical and came not from a mouth but from a small (the only thing that presently was) white box attached to the throat where the flesh had been pulled aside to make a niche for it. Oh sad, sad day. This thing, this creature, this elemental was now revealed to be his beloved. He greeted her, but could not bring himself to cast her (yet) with the sacred name.
He gave in quickly, “Aunt Rifka?”. She touched him.
“Oh...so long, yes? There are so few left. Come, come.” The inside of the house was as comfortable and inviting as the outside. It was old though and either it or she gave off an unpleasant though nostalgic stench. Rifka farted as he followed her into the parlor (Death’s final say). She sat in a specially built (must have been) chair which was very large and adorned with a console of buttons on one arm. It rose to receive her.
“Rifka, age has not touched you.”
“I want you to meet someone.” From behind the chair she lifted a microphone to her speech box. “Simon come here.” The call filled the air and a pleasure filled sigh responded immediately followed by Simon’s? voice.
I Thought My Uncle Was A Vampire, But He Was Just A Creep Page 7
