Harvey interrupted. “Victor, Carmelita thinks your sperm bank theory might have somethin’ to it.”
“Well,” said Vice, frowning and thinking, “Maybe Oswald had his assassination all planned out, but he knew he could die when it happened or spend lots of years in prison.”
“That’s just what Carmelita said!” exclaimed Harvey.
“Actually, it’s even kind of logical.”
“So what d’we do?” Harvey asked.
“I’d say we better check the yellow pages for sperm banks.”
16. ASA BARNACLE’S APOTHECARY SHOP
They went about the search on Monday afternoon, the next day. In the lounge, they searched the yellow pages for “sperm banks”. There were three listed. One was at the Baylor University Medical Center.
“That’s out on Gaston Avenue,” said Victor. “Probably about the 3000 block.”
“How do you know that?” asked Carmelita.
“He knows where everything is,” Harvey told her. “He’s really good with directions.”
“There’s another one at St. Paul Medical Center,” said Harvey.
“That’s way out on Harvey Hines Boulevard.”
The third listing was the weirdest. It was called Barnacle’s Apothecary & Notions shop. “What’s apothecary mean?” Harvey asked.
“It’s an old fashioned name for drug store.”
“Okay, so what does notions mean?”
“It’s kind of like a gift shop,” said Carmelita. “You know, things like small gifts, knick-knacks, jewelry, that sort of thing.”
“Oh great. That’s just great.”
“Hey,” she said, “I like that kind of stuff.”
“But why,” Harvey asked, “would it be here under sperm banks?”
Victor was shaking his head. “I have no idea. It just sounds nuts.”
Harvey used Victor’s cell phone to make the first call, to the Baylor University Medical center. When a woman answered the phone, he said, “I would like to talk to the sperm bank.”
“Please hold while I transfer your call.”
Another woman picked up and said, “This is Nurse Gould. How may I help you?”
“Have you got a list of your donors?”
“Well, we have all of our holdings in our computer system.”
“I’d like to come out and have a look at your list. How would that be?”
“For what purpose?”
“I’m just curious I guess.”
“Young man, are you over 21?”
“Who, me? Not even close. Why?”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t show you anything. This is a certified sperm bank, not a baseball card shop. All of our information in our system is strictly private.”
“Okay, what if I was 21? Then what?”
“Even then you’d have to fill out an application form that meets with our staff approval.”
“That’s it, then?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Nurse Gould, hanging up.
Harvey reported the conversation to Carmelita and Victor. “That’s about what I expected,” said Victor.
“It’s a bummer though,” said Harvey. Then he called the St. Paul Medical Center. The conversation was nearly identical to the one he’d had with Baylor. He turned off the phone. “I think we’re at the dead end,” he said.
“But what about Barnacle’s shop?”
“That just sounds crazy.”
“I’d still like to see it,” said Carmelita. “Even if it’s not what we want.”
“It’s not far,” said Victor. “It’s just over here on Grand Avenue.”
“Let’s go, Harv, come on.”
“Oh okay. But it sounds like lost-cause city, know what I mean?”
“Well, it wouldn’t take long to find out,” Victor pointed out.
“Oh good! Maybe I can find a necklace or a ring.”
“What the hell?” said Harvey. “Maybe they’ll even tattoo you.”
“I’ve already got two tattoos, I don’t intend to get any more.”
“Where are they?”
“In places you’ll never see,” she smiled.
God help me, Harvey thought.
In the comfort of the Lexus, they glided all the way to Barnacle’s Apothecary and Notions shop. It was in a very old brick building which was also narrow. There was an alley next to it.
They pushed the front door open, which caused a bell to ring. It was dark and musty inside, because no lights were on and the small windows were too filthy to let in much light. The crooked old floorboards were worn. They were even wavy. Display cases were dusty.
Right away, Carmelita started looking at the woven handbags and the stained-glass sun catchers. “What are those?” asked Harvey.
“They’re sun catchers,” she answered. “Haven’t you ever seen them before?”
“I don’t think so. What are they good for?”
“Well, you use this suction cup here and stick it on one of your windows. When the sun shines through the stained glass, it’s real pretty.”
Harvey didn’t have much interest. An old pudgy woman with her white hair tied in a bun came bouncing up. She was small, but very bouncy. “Those are all hand-made,” she told Carmelita, “by actual Indians. Most of them come from over around Nacogdoches.”
“Oh yeah?” Carmelita replied with a smile.
Harvey asked her, “Are you Mrs. Barnacle?”
“I am.”
“Well it said in the yellow pages this place was a sperm bank.”
“We used to be in that business too,” answered Mrs. Barnacle, whose first name was Nelda. “I don’t know why they keep listing us there. About 20 years ago, the state of Texas came up with a whole new set of rules and regulations. We just didn’t have all the money the big hospitals have. The rules and regulations were too expensive; there’s no way we could have afforded it. You’d have to talk to my husband to get any more information on that.”
“You mean Asa?” Victor asked. He was looking through an old book. On that side of the store were huge book cases filled with old, worn-out looking books.
“Yes,” said Nelda Barnacle with a smile as well as a look of surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Well, his name is right there in the yellow pages, Asa Barnacle.”
“Of course,” she laughed. “I should have known. But do come back and meet him. Maybe he’ll have better information about the sperm bank history.”
What’s the point? Harvey asked himself. If they’re out of the business, why should I talk to Asa? But he followed her anyway, as she bounced her way to the back of the store. It was even darker here, but Asa Barnacle had a desk lamp on. He was doing some paperwork. He was old and thin and very white.
“Asa, this young man would like to talk to you about our old sperm bank. What’s your name, young man?”
“Harvey Porter.”
“Harvey, meet Asa.” Asa Barnacle pushed his glasses back up on his nose before he stood up to shake Harvey’s hand. The hand was cold. Asa was old and tall, but he kind of hunched his shoulders. He had the habit of rubbing his long white hands together as he spoke. His voice was soft. He said, “I suppose Nelda told you why we were forced out of that business.”
“Yeah, she did.” The longer Harvey looked at him, the more he looked like an older, male version of Ingrid Finch. Except he was low-key when he talked, and most important of all, he smelled good. He smelled like incense.
Nelda left them to go back to the front of the store where Victor and Carmelita were still examining jewelry and old books. She figured if there were any actual buyers in this group, it would be these two and not Harvey Porter.
Asa Barnacle told Harvey, “We just couldn’t afford to meet all the new state regulations. I’ve only got a couple of dozen vials left, and they’re down the basement.”
“You have some left?” asked Harvey.
“It’s like I said. Just a few.”
“Do you have a list of
the donors?”
Asa rubbed his hands a little faster. “No, but all the vials are labeled with names. They’re even dated.”
“Oh yeah?” Harvey was only slightly interested.
“If you’d like, I could take you downstairs and show you.”
Harvey shrugged. “Oh well, why not? It couldn’t hurt.”
Asa pulled on an overhead light chain so they could see their way. Harvey followed him slowly, since that’s how Asa was walking. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Asa pulled another light bulb chain so they could find their way.
It was the basement Harvey expected: Cool, damp, clammy, and lots of mildew on the walls. The floor was uneven, dirty concrete. On the far wall was a chest-style freezer. He noticed there was another pull-chain light bulb just above it. You practically had to fight your way through all the cobwebs.
“Were you looking for anything in particular?” asked Barnacle as he headed across the room.
“Well, yeah,” Harvey admitted. “But it’s kind of like, well, embarrassing, know what I mean?”
“Oh don’t be embarrassed,” said Barnacle, smiling for the first time. He had a lot of missing teeth. “I’m kind of embarrassed for hanging on to these things over so many years. Just tell me what you were looking for.”
“Okay,” said Harvey, and he just blurted it out: “I was lookin’ for a Lee Harvey Oswald specimen. I know that sounds pretty bogus.”
But then, to Harvey’s great astonishment, Asa Barnacle nodded his head up and down. “I have one left.”
Harvey could hardly believe his ears. How weird was this? Asa pulled the chain above the freezer and suddenly the area was very bright. “That must be a hundred-watt bulb up there.”
“It is indeed,” said Asa. “This area needs to be bright if we expect to read small labels on small vials.” He was rubbing his hands together rapidly again.
Harvey said, “Before you open that thing up, can you repeat what you said to me?”
“I said I have one specimen left from the great assassin.”
“We’re talkin’ Oswald here, as in Lee Harvey?”
“None other.” Then Asa opened the top of the chest. The cold air come rolling out so fast it looked like smoke. Harvey felt his pulse getting rapid. He even had a little dry-mouth. What was this guy bringin’ out? he wondered.
What Asa brought out of the freezer were two frozen metal trays with handles on top. They gave off so much cold air that they too were like smoke. Barnacle closed the chest and set the two trays on top. He tried to wave away some of the frosty air.
He turned to Harvey and said, “It’s very cold in there. Much colder than the freezers people have in their homes.”
“I can believe it,” said Harvey. Enough of the frosty air dispersed so he could see inside the trays. The vials looked like tiny test tubes. Each one had a screw-on glass top as well. Barnacle took out one of the small tubes and used his thumb to rub off enough of the frost so you could read the label. Harvey and Barnacle both peered closely. The label said, Elton John, 7/72.
“Isn’t he like a famous person or somethin’?” asked Harvey.
“Yes he is. He’s very important in the popular music industry.”
“What’s the 7/72 mean?”
“That means we banked the specimen in July of 1972.”
He rubbed one off that said, Don Meredith, 4/63. “He was very famous too,” explained Barnacle. He was a big star for the Cowboys years ago.”
“I never heard of him,” said Harvey.
“After he retired, he was quite the television star. He was one of the announcers on Monday Night Football.”
“I still never heard of him.” Harvey was getting restless; this was going nowhere. “So whatta you have, like all famous people in here?”
“Oh no. Most of these specimens were banked by ordinary men.” Barnacle began taking out the vials and rubbing the labels clear. “It’s the date on the Meredith one that interests me; that had to be about the same time we banked the Oswald specimens.”
“You mean you have more than one?”
“Not now. I used to have two. I sold one to a woman.” Then Barnacle found the vial he was looking for. After he rubbed the label clean, he said to Harvey. “Here’s the one we’re looking for.”
Harvey looked at it closely. Then even closer. Sure enough, it said L.H. Oswald, 4/63. “Isn’t that amazing?” said Barnacle. “April of 1963—the very same month we banked the Don Meredith sample.”
“What’s amazing,” said Harvey, is that you’ve got an actual Oswald. You know what this could be worth on a place like eBay?”
“What’s eBay?”
“It’s an online auction place. You know, on the internet.”
“Oh you must mean computers,” said Barnacle. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Aybay.”
“eBay,” Harvey corrected him. “I’ve got some advice for you, Mr. Barnacle. It would be worth your while to find out. My friend Victor upstairs could tell you all about it. When it comes to computers, he’s really prime.”
“Maybe I’ll look into that. eBay, you say.”
“Yeah. Check it out. But you said you sold your other one. Can you remember who bought it?”
“Indeed I can. I’ll never forget it.”
Harvey could feel his pulse beat faster again. “How’s come?”
Barnacle had cracked a wide smile and began rubbing the long white hands faster. “Well, Harvey, I’ll tell you why. In the first place, it’s the last sample I ever sold. It was back sometime during the ’80s. The exact year I can’t remember. But the woman herself is someone I’ll never forget.”
Harvey started breathing so fast he was almost dizzy. “So? So tell me about the woman,” he pleaded.
“Are you interested in buying this sample?”
“No, but I’m dyin’ to hear more about the woman.”
Barnacle put the sample trays back inside the freezer before he answered. Harvey was restless and apprehensive. Barnacle began by saying, “Well, to begin with, I think she was an Indian, probably a Cherokee.”
“Probably a Cherokee?”
“I can’t be certain,” said Barnacle, deep in thought, rubbing his hands much more slowly. “There were so many tribes over there around Nacogdoches that all got mixed up together over the years. But since the Cherokee was the biggest tribe and so important, I just tend to call all Indians Cherokee.”
“The tribe doesn’t matter,” said Harvey impatiently. “Are you sure she was an Indian?”
“Oh yes,” Asa answered. “I can’t say she was pure Indian, but you could tell she was mostly.”
“Okay, okay, but you said she was someone you’d never forget. It couldn’t just be that she was an Indian. We all see Indians, all the time.”
“Let me tell you the rest. She wasn’t young; I’d say she was probably about fifty, but you can never be quite certain.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I asked her why she wanted a baby at her age. She said she didn’t have a husband but wanted a baby while she still could.” Asa reached up and pulled the chain, turning off bright overhead light. Now it really did seem mysterious, since they were in the half-dark. Barnacle continued, “Well, there wasn’t much I could say back to that. But here’s the strangest part.”
“So tell me. Tell me.”
“She said she wanted the Oswald sample.”
“Did she say why?”
“Yes, she did. I can remember the two reasons she gave me like it was only yesterday.” Barnacle turned to check that the freezer door was tightly shut. Harvey tried to be patient; he shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other.
“Her first reason was because Oswald was a Communist. She liked that.”
“A Communist?” asked Harvey? “Lee Oswald was a Communist?”
“Lots of people thought he was. As for me, I don’t know and I don’t care. But it seemed to impress her.”
“Okay, what was the othe
r reason?”
“When Oswald was in the Marines, he scored so high on his rifle tests that he earned the title of sharpshooter. He was officially designated as a Marine Sharpshooter.”
“That’s it? He was a communist and a sharpshooter?”
Barnacle shrugged his shoulders and gave his tired hands a rest. “It was good enough for her, that’s all I can say.”
“Her name, though,” Harvey urged. “What was her name?”
“The name she gave me was Margaret Soft Feet.”
“Oh my God.” said Harvey, his stomach all in turmoil. “Can you say that again?”
“She told me her name was Margaret Soft Feet.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what she said?”
“Quite sure. There’s a sad end to the tale though, Harvey. Word came back that after she had the baby she didn’t want it after all. She ended up wrapping it in a blanket and leaving it on some stoop or porch over in Nacogdoches.”
“Oh my God,” Harvey said again. He was shaking his head back and forth.
“Are you okay, Harvey? I hope I haven’t said anything to upset you, but you look a little pale.”
“I look pale? How can you tell that? We’re standin’ in the dark here.”
“My eyes are used to dark places.”
Harvey’s emotions were all bubbling like a boiling pot, only in several directions at the same time. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he said to Asa.
“Surely.”
Harvey headed for the stairway, but after four steps he stopped. He had one more question for Asa Barnacle. “Do you remember if she was wearin’ a necklace?”
“She was. It was a large tooth on a rawhide strip. I’d say it was probably a wolf’s tooth.”
Harvey didn’t answer. He didn’t want—or need—to hear any more. He headed up the stairs with Barnacle right behind him.
Carmelita had bought a small Cherokee sun catcher. Victor had bought an old book on the history of the New York City subway system. The three of them sat on the curb outside while Harvey told them the whole story. All of it. Even the part about the little girl in the old photograph who Mrs. Mushrush’s mother had called soft feet.
“Wow!” said Victor. “You really found out a lot.”
Carmelita said, “So you finally know who your parents were. Are you satisfied now?”
Harvey Porter Does Dallas Page 11
