by John Okas
The others laugh.
Gloria steps in front of the guardian, clears her throat and speaks up, “This happens to be Mister Pun Qwats, and he’s a better man than you, Pearly Gates. He’s brought more than fish. He has a letter from my mother that says he’s got power where Laudette’s leaves off. He’s my new legal guardian!” She slams the cold cod down on the counter for emphasis. “And guess who’s coming to dinner tonight?” She shows them the bail tickets. “And another thing, you’re all fired!”
They exchange threatened looks: the bail receipts are real, the handwriting does look an awful lot like the Mrs. But false guardians are one of the tricks Sunset Sam warned them about. “Oh, is that what your Mister Whatsisname here says?” Pearly scoffs. He sizes up Gloria’s visitor as a trouble maker, but physically only a tinkle bell, a pesty little flit he wouldn’t mind swatting. “I think you better tell Wang to beat it, eh, Sis, before I lose my temper. No one told you you could have friends over.”
The outrage! “You can’t talk to me this way and tell me what to do, Pearly Whatsyourname. You’re not my father or related to me in any way. From now on I do what Mister Qwats says, and he says you’re fired.”
Pearly gives Pun the once-over a second time. He’s not so sure this slender, tender boy is all the fairy he’d like to make him out to be.
Suddenly everyone’s attention is drawn to the sound of one fish slapping in the wrapper on the counter. The guardian steps in and takes it before it falls off. It is a miracle: the cod which certainly seemed dead to the world a minute ago now is wiggling and gasping at the gills for water.
Magic! Gloria is delighted. She takes a glass mixing bowl from the shelf, fills with it with water, and submerges the fish in it. The flounderer flips this way and flops that, thrashingly.
“Unless you are reborn, you cannot die correctly,” Pun Qwats says in a mock serious way. Then acting with speed and deftness he takes the sharp cleaver from its hook on the wall in his right hand and the fish from the bowl in his left and in one swift chop—the strike is clean and strong, as if his right arm were on a tight spring and his left hand had a grip of steel—he beheads the wriggling cod. The neat movement sits beautifully with the warrior spirit of Corn Dog, risen in Glory, but makes all the pigeons lose their stools. The coffee drinkers are all on their feet, their taut nervous systems reacting to the spook they see in the stranger.
“Goops!” says Pun Qwats. Fish blood splatters as he squeezes the cod’s intestines into the sink. He is careful not to let a drop on him. Looking as sweet and mild as ever, but still holding the messy cleaver, he turns to the staff and speaks softly but in no uncertain terms. “You must excuse me, but there’s a stranger inside of me who can’t wait to dispatch fishy elements. Now I’ve been told that the opportunities for new rackets on this Freeway are endless …” He starts fishing around up his sleeve again, a gesture which makes all the stool pigeons back up.
“Do you rats get his point?” says Gloria. “I know you called the police, Pearly. You’re a cliché, and it’s time you went somewhere else.”
Without putting down the knife, the guardian now produces four checks, and holds them up, severance pay. The four stooges can see that they are drawn to generous amounts, but signed “Pun Qwats.”
“Those checks are no good.”
“Yes, they are,” Gloria snaps, “because Mummy’s letter guarantees them. Now come and get them while the getting still is good.”
Mona snaps first, “Holy Blessed Mother in Heaven,” she says, crossing herself. “The way he killed that fish, like some heathen priest, some devil-worshipping butcher! I can’t work under conditions like this. And the idea of firing people on the Good Lord’s Birthday, after all we’ve done for you, worked our fingers to the bone ten years for you, you ungrateful Miss! I should have known better than to take a job working where colored blood runs in the family!” With this, her most considered offensive remark said, she flinchingly takes the check and makes for the door.
Shepp, also with a bad case of the jitters, does likewise. Kitty, however, stands by her man. By taking his left elbow she forces him to show her that he is not one to be bullied around just because someone has a knife.
“Why, you little beansprout, Pearly Gates doesn’t run from any man, much less a chicken-livered, candy-assed, yellow-brown she-boy. Why, I ought to mop the floor with you …”
But it’s not the boy he’s directly up against. Gloria remains interposed. “One more step, Pearly, and I’ll have you brought up on criminal charges. Now, Mister Qwats says you’re fired and he’s got the power. Get out! Beat it!”
“Hell, Sis, your friend’s lucky it’s Xmas and I’m in a good mood. And we’ll see what’s legal and what’s not in those papers of yours. One thing I know, running people off with a knife, that’s against the law.”
Gloria is quick to her savior’s defense, “I saw this boy kill a fish, that’s all. And if you notice, Pearly Gates, I am the one throwing you out.”
She takes the two remaining checks from Pun Qwats and forces them into the butler’s hand. He snaps his suspenders, turns and takes his time as he walks out of the kitchen, swaggering and dragging his feet in the direction of the servants’ quarters, snapping his fingers for Kitty to come along. “Come on, Kitten, help me clean out my room. And the day after Xmas we’ll see what the bank has to say about the checks.”
“You can’t be gone soon enough, rotten Pearly Shitstraw,” Gloria calls after him, laughing. “You filthy piece of slime!”
She turns to her new friend. “I can’t believe we got rid of them! You’re an angel. Can we really get away with this, live here together and do what we want in this house?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” says the guardian, laughing. “It’s up to us.”
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship,” Gloria says as the two slice potatoes and scale the fish, getting a Feast of Light dinner ready for the tomblings’ return to the museum.
Fish and Chips
When the three arrive, Gloria and her guardian hail them as if they were back from the dead. With the cheer of returning war heroes, Earl and Bones take their bows and thank Pun Qwats profusely for getting them sprung from the can. Laudette, after giving Gloria a big bear hug and a slobbering kiss, wastes no time pecking away at the new guardian, ravenous for news of Sarah. She has a boatload of qualms about the newcomer, whom she understands has some papers saying he is replacing her, and is eager for answers and explanations. Pun smiles and Gloria takes out the photograph. “Lawdy, do you ever remember seeing Mummy smile so?”
Laudette takes a look at the picture and her face brightens. “No. It does my heart good to see Sugar looking so happy. But let’s not jump to conclusions now. You know how out of touch she can be: smiling and happy and at the same time going to the devil.”
Gloria, too, has a few questions of her own to ask. Not only does she want to know about her mother and this boy, but now she is more curious than ever about the Hero with a Thousand Nicknames. Reading in the private collection has made her aware of the figurative existence of the Lord of Death, and now with Pun Qwats, an individual whom she instantly, instinctively, loves and respects, joining her mother, Keinar, and the cast of fruity characters, claiming to have had direct literal experience with the Z God, Gloria wonders if she will soon be going nuts herself. “You say, Angel, that this Hairy Tuna is really flesh and blood? You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of him, would you?”
“No, but I will tell you all about him.”
“Will you?”
“Oh, yes, all in time. There is a saying in my country, ‘An empty stomach will do no listening’. Stories are best told after dinner.”
They take their places in the dining room where the guardian has made a snappy fire in the hearth and lit a witch’s gross of Sarah’s best beeswax candles. The side boards, the serving table, and the mantel shine with light. The mirrors on the walls multiply the flames. There’s no tinsel or holly, but
everybody knows it’s Xmas. Gone to blazes, it’s a rip-roaring Feast of Lights that makes them all feel glad to be safe, warm, and among friends. Pun Qwats invites Gloria to take the head of the table. by holding out the chair for her. Then he takes the place on her left, and from there, standing, he motions Laudette to take the seat next to Glory on the right, across from him. He places Earl on his left, leaving Bones to rest beside the bulky Miss Lord. While they all take their seats, the guardian remains standing. He bows toward Gloria and pours a vintage red from the playboy’s wine cellar into the big Swan-o-grammed goblet at her place. Then he fills everyone’s cup.
“I propose a toast. To Gloria! A light that we will follow anywhere.”
“Me? Really?”
“Hear, hear!” say Earl and Bones.
They all laugh and raises their glasses except Laudette. She makes a funny face. Being in a cell block for seven weeks with prostitutes and tom girls, and all the while feeling guilty as sin herself, scared the hell into her. She has sworn to return to being stuffy. But fresh from the can, she is sorely tempted to have a drink. She hopes and prays for the grace to keep her resolution, but there are just too many things, some to celebrate, others she wants to forget, on her mind. For starters she has both positive and negative feelings about this Mister Pun Qwats. On the plus side, he has given her a present she’ll always remember. By getting those fancy lawyers, she and her friends are free and, their lawyers assure them, they are going to stay that way. Because of the illegal detention and evidence of police corruption, it is certain that the charges against them will be dropped. She is grateful from the bottom of her big heart that Pun Qwats sailed in from never-never land and found the right wheels to grease so that justice was done. She really wouldn’t mind a little toast to him!
By the same token, on the other side of the coin, Pun Qwats seems an awfully smooth operator for such a young boy. It worries her, what with Gloria a full-grown woman in every physical respect. As for his fayness, Miss Lord knows, if anyone could make a man out of a sissy, it’s Doll Baby.
Most emphatically, Laudette can’t find anything to celebrate in the royal way he treats her, kowtowing to her, and allowing, actually encouraging, her to drink. It’s a bad beginning, she thinks, for a new guardian on his first day on the job. More than anything, it burns her up to look at Gloria, a fourteen-year-old girl, sitting at the head of the table, her pug nose stuck-up in the air, her mouth half-cocked in queenly perfection, and holding up a glass of wine as if she owned the place.
It hits home for Laudette: Gloria does own the place, and I’ve been replaced. I’m yesterday’s bath water.
She can’t overlook her own sins. A sitter who gets stoned, exposes the baby to illicit drugs and gets arrested for it should be the last to talk about propriety. Even with the charges being dropped, word travels. There’s already gossip about this incident, associating me with hot stuff and being accused of contributing to the delinquency of a minor left in my care. It’s not going to help me find a new job. I’ll probably be forced to go on home relief.
Everyone can see Laudette’s reluctance to indulge in the toast. Wise Gloria guesses what’s on her mind. “Don’t worry, Lawdy, you’ll still have a job here.”
“Oh yes, Miss Lord,” says Pun Qwats, “I was hoping to have you as my advisor. I’m new in this country and there are many things I don’t know. And there will be a raise in salary, in appreciation for your years of selfless service, if that’s all right with Gloria.”
“Angel,” Gloria says to her guardian, “you can take her advice when it comes to your life, but swear to me you won’t be listening to her about how you’re going to mind me.”
“For what it’s worth, I give you my word,” says Pun Qwats with a soft laugh and a wink that reassures her he’s a boy after her own heart, one for whom truth and honesty are relative.
Laudette blubbers, “Oh, thank you, Mister Qwats, but I know where I’m not wanted. You two young people don’t want this old bag around. I don’t see how I can stay and take your charity.”
“It’s not charity, I assure you. I’m being completely selfish.” Pun Qwats turns to her. “We need you. There are so many things here I don’t understand. You may have the answers. And Gloria would be lost without you. Really.”
Laudette tries not to appear too anxious, then dries her eyes on her sleeve, blows her nose into a napkin, and says, “All right, since you put it that way, I’ll stay.”
“Let’s drink to that!” says Gloria, recklessly, and the company, including Laudette, raise their glasses again, this time the five clink together and bring the toast to their lips.
The sight of a home-cooked meal makes Laudette forget her cares and equivocations. She digs in. The fine kettle of fish and chips that Pun and Gloria whipped up seem to slide off the plate and into her mouth. Laudette is glad to see that Gloria only sips at her wine and does not drain her glass the way Earl and Bones do. Pun Qwats obliges them by opening a second bottle, and drives Laudette mad by also topping off Gloria’s glass. The hungry jailbirds all take second and third helpings. Anxiety makes Laudette go for a fourth. As she gobbles up the remaining pieces of fish, her big triple chin filling up like a pelican’s, Pun Qwats opens a third bottle and proposes another toast. “To satisfaction! To fulfullment! To abundance!”
“Hear, hear,” say the boys.
“And now to the suppression of Nastis and Kimrakazis in whatever form they take. May the good guys always win.”
“Hear, hear!”
Pun says a few words about the progress of the higher intelligence campaign in the war. “The eviction of Pearly Wheatstraw and the rest of the spies from the museum is another step in the right direction. Cleaning the enemy out of our own house is one of the most important things we can do. On the fruited plane we clearly foresee a victory for the allied cause. But victory is never without loss. As I understand it, there was a casualty in this house.”
“Yes,” says Gloria, warming up with the wine to the cryptic explanation of things, “Madam Keinar says Daddy-o was a war hero.”
“I understand he gave his life for love, so your mother could be happy. What greater love has any man? Let’s drink to Harry Swan Junior!”
Even Laudette will take a sip for “Sir Harry.”
Then Pun, seeing the toast so generally well-received, says, “And now to the Freeway! Where else but the Melting Pot can a hermit like me from the remotest corner of the world get to run a household for a beautiful multi-millionairess?”
Earl and Bones choke on that salute. “To us, it’s no free country, Mister Qwats,” says Earl, “but a white rat race. No one’s asking us to step up. Unless it’s for a kick in the can. Too many times we’ve seen that prejudice has everything to do with undue process and improper procedures from the police and the courts, and when it comes to jobs and housing, there’s no fundamental fairness anywhere.”
The chip he has on his shoulder is seconded by Bones. “That’s right. Some smart pants white man said that the pen can be a mightier pain in the ass than the sword. I never knew what he meant until I got stuck in it for an unspecified sentence.”
The guardian’s smoky eyes shine. “My compliments to you, Mister Bonet, on the playful way you put that. It helps me to see your point.”
The commendation softens the lanky sax man. With plenty of holiday spirit already in him, Bones has a hard time refusing more. “Well, well, Mister Qwats, Frere Earl, what say we fill our cups with brotherly love even for those who oppress us? And the last thing we want to do is insult the white and half-white people here present at this table.” He nods to Laudette respectfully. “Great white Mama, we have no argument with you.” Then he turns to the deadly beautiful mulatto and chuckles, “My brother Bones and I don’t mind drinking to the Freeway so long as the Melting Pot is represented by you, Glory Bee.”
They drain their cups and fill them again, going overboard with their toasting and getting as high and flighty as geese, silly as fruits and nut
s. “Now let’s drink to the smelting pot!” Earl jokes and Bones honks and hees and haws. Gloria takes a sip every time her uncles go bottoms up. Laudette tries to interfere. She says “Shush” in a gruff whisper to the noisy boys and at the same time puts her palm over the rim of Gloria’s glass so the guardian can’t pour any more.
“You have to excuse your uncles for making fools of themselves,” she says to Gloria. “You see, the person who drinks all night and doesn’t act drunk is the same as the person with money who doesn’t act rich. The moral thing to do is act naturally with your money, don’t be ashamed to be the person of quality you are, and you don’t need drinking to go fattening up your head.”
“I’ll drink to that!” says Gloria, giggling and getting into the spirit of things. She pulls her glass out of Laudette’s hands and pushes it towards her guardian for the refill.
Thwarted in taking control, Laudette gnashes her teeth on dessert: puff-pastries stuffed with pistachio-honey paste. When she has finished them all, she raises her voice and her sticky hands and says, “All right now. I think it’s about time we heard from you, Mister Qwats, about the whereabouts of Sugar and how she’s doing. Give us the whole story behind that picture you came with.”
He humbly begs her pardon. “Before I tell you what has become of Lady Bharani, I would like to tell you how my path crossed with hers, and to appreciate how that happened you must first understand something of the path I’ve been on. And surely my life’s story will not be completely comprehensible unless you know something about my people, the stock that was there before I was born, and my culture. And it is traditional in my country for story tellers, before beginning, to do some chanting, paying lip service to the infinite regress behind all tales. And what kind of rude story-teller would I be if I didn’t, before everything else, pray for the health and well-being of my audience and their families?”
