*****
Bonus Story:
Death and His Daughter
"Welcome to Earth, gateway to Hell, doorstep of the Abyss," old Moe declaimed, waving grandly at the blank wall before us. He was thin and old and dressed in rags, but he still had a voice like a cello playing. The sound vibrated off the brick walls of the alley we lay in, a sound too rich for this place.
I snatched the bottle back out of his hand. It was my bottle, after all; I'd panhandled all day to get money for the red. The swig I took was warm as blood and just as cheap. I belched like a bullfrog and leaned back with a sigh against my comfortable pile of trash bags. It was one of those summer nights when the heat rolls down on you like a woman in need. The air quivered with the dead-fish stink of the dock nearby and the sharp tang of fresh rat shit in my alley. My alley lies near the docks in Seattle, just beyond the pretty piers where the tourists gather.
"Pretty goddamn flamboyant, ain't you?" I growled at Moe. The wine went down like battery acid, and my voice was nearly gone.
"Flamboyant? Who you to call a man flamboyant, Mr. Professional Basketball Player?"
"That's what I am —was. Now, cut the crap and tell me what you saw."
I shifted my leg, my one leg. The other was gone, and I'd found out the hard way that with it went speed and power, money, and status. They'd cut off everything I valued when they cut off that leg.
"I saw darkness and delight," the old man crooned as he fumbled at something inside his shirt. "I saw Death and His daughter."
"You mean you saw a pimp and his whore," I corrected, "cruising on Second Avenue. Happens all the time. That's not even worth a shot, let alone half my bottle." I moved a little away from him. Whatever had Moe scratching might have a bite or a sting.
"I know what I saw," Moe said. "I know what I saw."
I shook my head and settled back among the bags of garbage. It was clean garbage —office waste paper and stuff. It crackled with a nice, crisp sound, all that thrown-away work done up in green plastic. Yeah, it was clean; I still had my standards, even if I was a bum.
Funny, that. I used to think of people who lived on the streets as bums, crazies, and druggies. Now, I was one of them. I was still the same man I'd always been; still had the same desires, same needs. Tonight, I needed entertainment. That's what old Moe was supposed to provide. For an old man with no home, no family, no education, and no money; he had quite a reputation among us dwellers in the dark. People told me Moe had stories that scared them so bad, it made their mouths dry and their pants wet. That's pretty hard to do with the bunch that hangs around here on the streets. So, I'd offered to share my bottle with Moe if he'd tell me some stories that would beat the dull-evening blues. So far, all I'd got were dark hints and rambling.
"They was walking down the street," Moe said in his fine and musical voice. "Death, he had on a big hat, like a cowboy hat."
"A Stetson."
"Yeah. One of them. He was dressed fine. He had him a new suit, all white, and a shiny gold shirt. Death had a cane, black with a gold head. Not that he limped, he used the cane, gestured with it, like so."
Moe's hand went out and closed around the bottle. What the Hell, I let him have it. I drank to be sociable and because there was nothing else to do. If that cheap slop would buy me an hour of forgetfulness, old Moe could have a swig. Anyway, I had some real good stuff in my stash, and I wasn't sharing a drop of that with anybody.
"Ah, that's better." Moe wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. I could tell by the stains on his shirt that such was his habit. "Now, the daughter, her name that day was Leala."
"Just that day?"
"She changes it all the time," Moe explained, "like a mortal woman changes her clothes. Can't nobody say her real name without her daddy claim him, so she calls herself anything she please. Only trouble is, if a man asks her name, Death's daughter has to tell him."
"Wait a minute," I said. "That sounds like she doesn't want her daddy to catch them."
"Yes. You so right. Who does a woman tell her name to, hey? She tell her lover. But when her lover learn this lady's name, Death take him—on the spot."
"Ah, she suffered from a possessive father."
I knew about those. That's how I lost my leg. Somebody's daddy had a shotgun. Yeah, somebody. Tonight, I couldn't even remember her name.
"That's right. Death wasn't going to lose her to no mortal man. He kept close by her. He kept his hand on her arm when they walked. Leala was a dark girl that day—"
"She changed her color like her clothes, too?"
"Of course, she did. You think only one color of folks die? That day, Leala chose dark."
He paused and drank deeply. His eyes had a far away look, like a young man's eyes feasting on a girl as beautiful as Death's daughter. I shivered. Moe was at least eighty, but I knew then what he'd looked like at twenty.
"Well, then what happened?"
"What happened? When I saw Death's daughter, I fell in love with her, of course. No man who saw Leala could help that. It's the way that sweet child's made. Yes, indeed, she had hair like a sweep of night and eyes like moonlight on water. And her breath had that warm smell that comes off a shot of good whiskey just before you throw him back."
"Wait a minute, how do you know what her breath smelled like? You just saw her walking down the street."
"That was in the morning. I saw Leala, and Leala saw me. And that was all she wrote. Me and Leala snuck away from her daddy. We held hands, we talked, and then we found a quiet place with nobody else around—"
"Are you asking me to believe that an old wino like you—"
"I wasn't no old wino, then, boy. This was a lot of years ago. I was tall then, with a fine, shining face and hard muscles from working on the docks. And I was hung like a bull, too. I tell you, boy, I was like a god then, and I got what a god deserves. Leala loved me. She loved me good.
"We loved all that day and all that night, and then morning came.
"'I have to go now,' sweet Leala say. 'Or my daddy will come looking for me.'
"'But we only had one day and one night together,' I say. 'Stay with me, girl! I'll make you happy every day you live.'
"'I know that, darling man, but I can't stay.'
"So, I thought to myself, if only I know this girl's true name, I can find her again. And I asked the question.
"'Leala, what's your real name? Your true name? I want the name you answer to when your daddy speaks.'
"Then, she look at me with tears in her eyes," Moe said. "And I ask her, 'What's wrong, woman? Why do you weep?'
"Leala say, 'I'm Death's daughter. You ask me my name, and I'm bound to tell. But, soon as you say it, you'll die. Speak my name just once, and my daddy will claim you.'
"'Then, I be silent forever,' I say, 'It never leave my mouth.'
"But Leala looked at me sad, her eyes full of grave-side grief.
'You're mortal, love of my heart. If you hear it, you'll speak; it's the way you're made.
"'Wait then,' I tell her, 'don't speak it. Just write it down. Put it here on this piece of paper, and then fold it up and hide it in your locket.' She wore a fine little gold locket 'round her pretty neck. 'I'll keep that locket on me, but I won't read the paper.'
"Then, Leala, she laughed. She hugged me and kissed me real good. Then she wrote her name down, just like I said, and put it inside that gold locket. Then, she put the locket 'round my neck.
"'Now, darling, you wear this always. And whenever some other man reads my name, you cover your ears when he speaks. My daddy will come for him and not for you. Then, you and I can have another sweet night together.'
"So, I did what she said. See, here it is."
Moe pulled open the plaid wool shirt he wore, then the two cotton shirts, the tee-shirt, the long johns, and finally, there on the wrinkled skin of his neck, lay a beautiful little gold locket. It was as dainty a piece of jewelry as I'd ever seen. The chain was long, and as fine as a hai
r. The locket itself sparkled with a row of tiny diamonds. I thought I could get at least fifty bucks for it at the pawn shop.
"This is Leala's locket, hey?"
"Sure is," Moe said proudly. "Pretty, ain't it?"
"Yeah. Why don't you take it off, and let me have a closer look?"
"You like it?"
"Sure."
Moe laughed a little. He didn't seem to have any idea what I intended. As for me, I was sweating. Fifty bucks would buy me a bath and a shave. It would buy food and phone calls and, maybe, a way out of this damn alley.
"Let's make a deal," he offered, "you read the name inside, and I'll give you the locket —if you can still take it."
"Read?"
"That's right. You read her name."
This time, I laughed myself. The old fool was working that story for all it was worth. Still, I'd get more for the necklace if the chain wasn't broken. Why not humor him?
"Okay," I said, "it's a deal. Open it up for me."
So, Moe slid his thumbnail behind the tiny catch, and the little golden heart broke open. Carefully, Moe pulled out a yellowed slip of paper and handed it to me.
"Open it and read," he said, smiling as he put his hands over his ears. "Read it out loud."
It occurred to me that he'd probably written some dirty joke on the paper. People around here have that kind of sense of humor. I unrolled the paper and stared at what was written there. It was a lovely name, beautiful, fresh, like the first opening of the buds of spring. I spoke it just to taste the sweetness of the sound on my lips. The name woke an echo, a sound of footsteps nearby.
"Who's there?" I said.
Someone had entered my alley. Well, I think of the place as mine, barren as it is. I raised my eyes and saw a man, a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed Stetson hat. There was a girl behind him. Oh, yes, she was the lady of delights. My heart ached just to look at her; I knew she had to go with that name. Then, Moe stepped forward. Only, he was transfigured, transformed; he was handsome and strong —like a young god. The girl laughed and ran to him. The man with her didn't seem to see her or Moe. He looked only at me.
Death pointed his cane at me, and beckoned.
The End
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*****
About the Author
I've been a writer for most of my life, beginning with illustrated stories in grade school, and continuing with works in the science-fiction, fantasy, and horror genres. I live in Seattle with my cat, Baby, who frequently puts paw to keyboard to help with the story.
Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you will take the time to write a review.
Claudette
April 2012
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Gods and Demons in Love Page 19
