Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “I wish you luck.”

  Wolf thanked her and turned to go. He wanted to embrace her. The feelings were there, but the rightness of the situation was not. He couldn’t read her. She appeared so cool and secure. But she had always been thus: it was what had attracted him to her. That was what he needed to learn from her, but never allowed himself to acknowledge until now. Julie had made some difficult decisions in her life, many of them involving him. She was good with them. She took the responsibility, made the decisions, and then acted on them with confidence. And all the while she had stood as a shining example, he had put up walls, lied to himself, and abused everyone that got in his way. He had really screwed up.

  On the drive to the college, Wolf ’s mind raced. She had been right, he could get a few clients and work them himself. He knew plenty of qualified free-lancers. Why not? By the time he arrived for his interview, he was so pumped up about his own potential he could have blown it off. But he went through with the interview anyhow, to follow through on his commitment.

  He left the office confident that he had given his best interview ever. He truly expected to get offered the job, even though the three people he interviewed with had each explained that they had to conduct several more interviews prior to making a final decision.

  Wolf drove home in a great mood. He stopped into a neighborhood restaurant, The Hurley House, to have dinner, then went home. He’d worn his suit all day, so it was nice to get it off, especially the tie, which was beginning to block his throat. There was a phone message from Joe inviting him to dinner the next week, and one from Frank requesting that they meet to reconsider their working relationship.

  Wolf understood what Frank’s message meant, and he appreciated the compliment. Still, he wasn’t about to get back into that situation. He felt the need to move on. He jotted Frank’s name onto a note pad near the phone. He intended to return the call as a courtesy. He called Joe’s house and left the message that he’d be glad to come over for dinner. He tuned to one of New York’s soft rock stations and sat down to relax.

  The adventure he had in New Mexico—his vision quest—seemed long past at the moment. But, in looking over the changes in his life, Wolf knew how much it had truly affected him. And the trial, as well, had wrought changes in the way he perceived himself. It all seemed like a dream. He hardly knew what had gone on. Gary had taken charge, saved his life in a lot of ways—literally, if he considered what prison would have been like. And then Joe had saved his life psychologically. He had been about to go off the deep end. He had walked along the edge of a high, sheer cliff.

  Wolf closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He recalled the four Indians he had met. He remembered in a haze how they had come into the courtroom. There was the medicine wheel, the four elements, the hawk that fed him a snake. It was all so bizarre and unbelievable. The further from the events, the more they became only memory, yet the more deeply they seemed to affect his life, his decision-making.

  He fell asleep on the sofa, his neck craned back, his arms in his lap. It wasn’t until around two a.m. that he awoke, neck stiff and head aching.

  He stood slowly, stretching from side to side, rubbing his neck. In the kitchen, he made a small pot of coffee, then took a cup of it back into the living room and turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, Wolf stopped at an old Danny Kay movie and watched it until the end. Then he hit the sack for a few hours.

  By the time he got up the next morning, it was unusually late. Lunch would have been more appropriate than breakfast. The telephone had awakened him, but Wolf showered and dressed before he listened to the message.

  It was Frank again. Wolf lifted the receiver and dialed. “Hi, Milly,” Wolf said.

  “Oh, it’s you. I’ll patch you through.” She was blunt and quick, off the line before Wolf could say another word.

  “Hey, glad you called. How’s it going? I’m sorry about your friend. Heard through the grapevine. Thanks for returning the call. I thought we’d get together and talk. Lunch good? It’s almost that now.”

  “I’m doing fine,” Wolf said.

  “Huh? What’s that?”

  “In answer to your first question, I’m fine. That’s how I’m doing.”

  Frank laughed. “Oh, fuckin’ with me, huh? Well, that’s great. So, how about lunch, then? We’re on?”

  “I’m afraid not, Frank.”

  “Listen, Wolf, if this is some kind of shit you’re giving me, let’s get to it. I really don’t have time...”

  “Neither do I,” Wolf interrupted.

  Frank’s chair squeaked in the background and Wolf imagined him leaning forward in his seat. “Hey, I know you’re not working. You need a job, and things are tough out there.”

  “I don’t need a job that I don’t want. And I don’t want to work there anymore.”

  “Dick!” Frank said. “I’m doing this as a favor. I was going to offer you your job back, but I don’t know now.”

  Childish bull shit, Wolf thought. “I’ll save you the concern. No.”

  “No?”

  Wolf smiled into the phone. “No. But thank you for the offer.”

  “I didn’t offer,” Frank said. “I offered to talk. But, fuck it, I’m not talking now. You can just forget it.”

  “I will, Frank. I’ll pretend you never called.”

  “Asshole,” Frank said as he slammed down the phone.

  Shaking his head, Wolf let the handset fall into the receiver. That call was the support he needed. He had thought he was good before, but that could have been his ego talking. Now, he had Frank’s confirmation. Maybe Julie was right; he could do it on his own.

  Wolf spent the next few days writing and laying out his own brochure. He called a few old clients, ones he’d lost a few years back. Only one bit the hook, a small company that wanted only print and radio ads. Good product though, their own brand of lights and lighting fixtures. Honest people. He had an appointment at the end of the following week. He needed to do some research, get his brochure finished and printed, and plan a campaign in a week: almost impossible. Almost.

  He’d always been able to keep three things going at once. By alternating his focus between all his projects, he kept himself from burning out. Everything moved along more smoothly.

  He spent several late nights at the printers negotiating delayed payments and maintaining a firm grip on just what he could and could not do with art, four-color work, and bleeds, that would allow him to produce and print his brochure by the time he met with Simpson Lighting.

  Wolf didn’t forget Michael, his number one priority. That Sunday Wolf drove to New Jersey to pick up his son.

  Something in Wolf ’s gut tightened as he pulled up to Julie and Sam’s house. Julie came out with Michael, who let go of her hand and ran to Wolf.

  “Dad!”

  “Hey, buddy. How you doing?”

  “Great!”

  “Are you bringing him home late or tomorrow?” Julie asked.

  “Do you have a preference?”

  “Tonight,” she said.

  “Mommmmm, please let me stay overnight. Dad, tell her it’s okay.” Michael looked up and into Wolf ’s face.

  Wolf kneeled next to him. Looking up at Julie, he said, “No. Your mom’s the boss. I’ll bring you back tonight. It may be late, though,” he said to her.

  “Before eleven?”

  “Sure.”

  That day, Wolf paid attention to nothing but his son. Even when a thought came to him concerning Simpson Lighting, he squelched it, set it aside, and turned renewed attention and interest to Michael.

  The zoo—Michael’s choice—was fun when shared so intimately. The animals seemed to be sensitive to Wolf and Michael. A monkey in the monkey house came right over to the window where Michael stood. The two of them, one on either side of the glass, each lifted a hand and placed it against the other’s hand, as though the whole thing was choreographed. It was very touching to watch.
A woman behind Wolf let out a long, “Ahhhh,” and sighed, when it happened. Michael turned with joy in his eyes. The whole day, Wolf felt emotions he had never realized possible.

  At lunch, Michael did nothing but talk about what they’d seen that day. He insisted on sitting on the same side of the table as Wolf, and repeatedly put his hand on Wolf ’s arm, as though testing the truth of his presence.

  Wolf felt honored and ashamed at the same time. Had his presence been missing in Michael’s life that long? He knew the answer even before the question appeared in full. Yes. He had been a jerk, even to his own son. What was the fear anyway? He couldn’t even grasp it fully. Julie? Shame? Hate? Revenge? Which mattered to Michael?

  Looking into his son’s face, Wolf realized that Michael had done nothing to deserve his absence and indifference. Even if he didn’t know what to do or how to act around his son, ignoring him was not the answer.

  Wolf placed his arm around Michael. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” he said, forcing the words out through the tiny opening that his mouth had become.

  Hearing Wolf ’s voice crack, Michael said, “Don’t be sad, Daddy. It’s all right.”

  Wolf bent over and hugged Michael, who didn’t seem to quite understand what was going on. But he hugged his father back anyhow, placing his head sideways against Wolf ’s chest. Wolf said, “I love you,” tears building in his eyes. Wiping his face quickly with the back of his hand, Wolf tried to recover, knowing that Michael was becoming confused.

  “Did I do something?”

  “No,” Wolf said. “You’ve been great all day. I’m really glad we’ve spent this time together.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Now let’s finish our lunch and go see some lions.”

  “Yeah.” Michael ate quickly. They played like friends the rest of the day, seldom separating for more than the moment it took for Michael to run ahead to the next exhibit.

  After a fast-food dinner, Wolf drove Michael home. Julie came out to greet them, obviously concerned how the day had gone. Michael ran to her, all the while explaining how much fun he had. “It was great. We saw elephants, lions, and this monkey put his hand right next to mine.”

  Julie looked up at Wolf, who had walked up behind the excited Michael. “You didn’t let him touch a monkey, did you?”

  “No. Not at all. It was in the monkey house. There was glass between them.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “It was pretty amazing though. The monkey came right up to him, even with all those other people there.”

  Michael’s neck was craned upward. “It was so cool, Mom.”

  “I bet it was,” she said to him, and reached out to touch his head. To Wolf, she said, “He never tires of going to the zoo. It’s his favorite place to visit.”

  “Good. Well, look….” Wolf began.

  “I know. Thank you. You’re sticking to your word.”

  “I’m not the same man,” Wolf said.

  “I’m beginning to see that, even though I’m still not sure I understand what happened.”

  “A lot of things. Some day I’ll let you read my statement to Gary. It’s pretty psychotic in places, I’ll bet, but it may explain a lot. Until then, Joe can probably fill in some details I still haven’t told you.”

  “I don’t know if it matters, anyway. The process is most often private, no matter what facts are there, and no matter what comes out our mouths. Change happens much deeper than language can reach.” She touched his forearm and looked into his eyes. “Thank you again from Michael and me.”

  Wolf looked down at his son. “Okay, buddy, I gotta go.”

  “Will you be back? Soon?”

  “You bet I will.” Wolf kneeled in front of his son and held his shoulders. I’ll call tomorrow and we’ll plan our next visit together.”

  Michael stood quietly.

  “I love you,” Wolf said.

  Michael hugged Wolf around the neck. “I love you too, Dad.”

  “Mind your mother. And Sam,” he added.

  “I will.”

  Wolf stood and said good-bye to Julie, then left. On his way home, he replayed the day in his mind. He had had a good time. He missed Michael already.

  Giver of Gifts

  Terry Persun

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle WA 2011

  Copyright 2006, 2011 Terry Persun

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Cover Design: Simanson Design (simansondesign.com)

  Edited by: Robert W. Fulton

  Previously published by Palmland Publishing

  All characters in this novella are fictional. Similarities between characters and real individuals, living or dead, are coincidental

  ISBN 978-1-935961-10-9

  Epub ISBN 978-1-62015-016-0

  DISCOUNTS OR CUSTOMIZED EDITIONS MAY BE AVAILABLE FOR EDUCATIONAL AND OTHER GROUPS BASED ON BULK PURCHASE.

  For further information please contact info@booktrope.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011903948

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My gratitude goes first to Robert Fulton of RiverGeezer Editing for his initial editing of this novella. Thanks, also, to Jerani Queen for her proofreading skills. Further acknowledgment goes next to Lynn Park, the editor who honed this story into a fine piece of writing. And finally, I thank my dear, sweet wife, Catherine, for her continuous belief in me and my ability to create.

  CHAPTER 1

  EVERYTHING LOOKED DIFFERENT NOW. That included the side hill, the snow, the fallen fence, the weeds, and the husk of the farmhouse. Jim ran his gloved hand along the window frame from top to bottom and let the paint peel and fall. A small breeze rounded the corner of the house and blew the chips across the porch. Then the air fell quiet again. The deer must have hidden well. Jim seldom bothered to load his rifle anymore, and always felt bad for the buck when Ed or Mel got lucky.

  The wind picked up and whistled through the window. Spider webs, torn curtains, and frayed cloth from an abandoned sofa fluttered as Jim’s eyes adjusted to the dark interior. He tucked his head deeper into the neck of his coat to keep warm. He leaned his rifle against the window frame and pushed the glass and dirt from the lip. With some difficulty, he stepped over the high sill and lowered his head to get in through the broken window. Everything lay dusty, drenched in shadow and unused. The stair railing toppled over at the bottom. A chandelier tipped slightly, hanging from frayed wires. He first looked around the living room. There were the tattered sofa and two side chairs. One for him and one for her. Hers was more delicate. His was worn through at the armrests. A broken lamp lay on a desk against the wall. Jim tried the drawers—all empty. The children, or the beneficiaries if children weren't in the picture, would have emptied the drawers. That thought saddened him. No children. Why, a farm needed children, if not to carry on after the parents were gone, then to liven the air with laughter. Jim thought how the children had brought happiness into his and Becky’s home, until Connie died. Since that time, even Brad had become more serious about his life and more protective of his own wife.

  Closer to the stairs, Jim found evidence of nests. Squirrel, rat, raccoon—he had no idea, but something had been piling stuffing from the furniture, mixing it with leaves, grass, and dust balls. The first set of stairs led to a landing, a turn, and more stairs. Jim tested every other step, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. At the landing, he unzipped his coat halfway. The still air of the stairwell felt warm
despite the broken window downstairs. A thick, sweet odor hung in the air. Ahead of him another broken window, a crust of sparkling white all the way across the sill where the snow, warmed from the sun, had frozen through the night.

  Jim explored two of the bedrooms quickly, but felt a rush of anxiety, a sense of intrusion, when he stepped into the master bedroom. Two lives, he thought, two bodies had lived, loved, and died beneath a hand-embroidered quilt that still lay across the bed. Couldn't the children bear to remove it? Couldn't anyone? Were the farmer and his wife in love or merely in commitment? He decided, because of the quilt alone, that they had been lovers, deep, passionate lovers. Jim touched the quilt and it felt warm, even through his glove. He jerked his hand away.

  He had always wanted to explore the place, and now he had. Maybe he'd come back, go inside the barn. He could do anything now that he was dying, would die. The thought notched a feeling of resolve into him. He could handle death, even his own. It was life he had had problems with. But now, even his life was all right.

  After he climbed back out of the window, Jim picked up the rifle he’d left on the porch. He would follow the stone fence into the north field, then enter the woods, and make his way around the mountain back to the hunting cabin.

  It was a brilliant day. The sun perched above the trees and spread a warm glow along the side of the hill, pushing shadows mixed with patched of brilliance deep into the woods. The cold wind off the snow became less biting along the length of the fence, which shielded Jim from the wind’s full force. He heard snow clumps drop from trees, as the wind passed through. The woods were dense with snow, although the snow in the clearings and the expanse of field he walked through had melted down to form a thin crust that sparkled in the sun just like the snow on the second-story window ledge.

  Jim climbed over the fence, careful not to topple any of the stones, and headed into the woods along the back of the hill. The walk around would give him time to think. He was hungry. He could already sense the warmth of the fire against his face.