The Recluse Storyteller

by Mark W. Sasse

  “Red Hat.”

  “That’s right. My father was a Cincinnati fan. I never got out of the habit of wearing one.”

  “Father. Red Hat.”

  “That’s right. Well, have a good day, Margaret.”

  “Red Hat,” she responded in kind.

  Cheevers shook his head a little bit and couldn’t help but wonder about her sanity. Margaret’s door shut tightly as he walked out of sight. The bank waited for her. She saw it vividly. She could hear the policemen from around the corner, trying to get Red Hat to give up. She saw Red Hat smiling like a gambler with an ace up his sleeve. She saw it all, and it all made sense.

  * * *

  “The police had reinforced positions inside and outside the Chester Walz Bank. They confidently told their superiors that the bank had been evacuated and the perpetrator was completely contained inside the vault area. Little did they know.

  “‘All right. We’re coming in. Put down any and all weapons. You have no chance of getting out of here alive unless you do exactly what we say,’ yelled Officer Galley, who had served two terms in the Gulf War and knew a little bit about urban warfare.

  “Red Hat secured the items in a small backpack and took from the safety deposit box a strange looking device—a smooth metal cylinder, which had a flask set into its side. He was ready to make his move.

  “‘Listen up, coppers. I am unarmed but that doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous. You need to drop your weapons, clear a path to a vehicle with keys in it, or you’re going to be in a mess of trouble.’

  “‘Can’t do that. You are not getting out of here alive if you plan to defend yourself. Just drop everything and we will get—’

  “At that moment, Red Hat walked around the corner, startling the two veteran cops, who fastened their guns on his chest.

  “‘Stand down!’ they ordered.

  “Hat did nothing of the kind. He held up the device right at eye level of Officer Galley.

  “‘You see this? This is your worst nightmare. All I need to do is let this drop to the ground and you got a dirty bomb on your hands. Simple as that. Your move, hotshot.’

  “The officers scurried backwards a few feet, keeping their guns aimed at his chest. They didn’t know what to make of the dirty bomb threat, but they weren’t about to take it lightly.

  “‘All right. Just calm down,’ said Galley. ‘You say this is a dirty bomb?’

  “‘That’s right. A micro-dirty bomb that will do a remarkable amount of damage if this flask breaks. So you shoot me, it falls on the floor, and you and your comrades are dead. It’s a quick way to end it. Shoot me if you like.’

  “Galley looked over at his partner, who wavered back and forth, wondering if they should call it in. He glanced briefly at his shoulder-com. Red Hat noticed the glance and encouraged him.

  “‘Go ahead. Call it in. This is something that your superiors are going to want to know. In fact, it won’t be long until the whole city, the whole country knows.’

  “Galley’s partner called it in and began discussing the situation with the outside perimeter. Red Hat wanted to get out of the vault area as quickly as possible, so he kept motioning for them to back up as he held the device over his head in a threatening manner.

  “‘Keep it moving, Officer Galley. You don’t think I want to be trapped in a vault area. This dirty bomb needs that open window to access the outside, just in case you are foolish enough to let it fall to the ground.’

  “‘Okay. Don’t do anything rash. What do you want?’

  “‘Ahhh. Finally, my demands. Very simple. I need a car. I need a lot of space to maneuver. I need you not to follow me, but I understand your air surveillance will have a hard time leaving me alone. But that’s okay, just as long as I have a clear path on the ground.’

  “‘Where do you want to go?’

  “‘All in good time,’ he said, backing them up into the open area of the bank near the resting spot of the Yo-Yo Yoghurt truck, which continued to ooze its contents.”

  * * *

  Margaret jolted herself out of her intense storytelling with the realization that she was standing on the railing, one rung up on her balcony, overlooking the street. She felt terrified looking down, and her head twirled in a vertigo-inspired wave of light-headedness, bringing her closer to the tipping point. The pavement waited for her.

  Johnny, the café owner across the street who often served Red Hat his breakfast, saw Margaret dangling against the railing, playing dangerous games of chance with the stories that consumed her.

  “Hey! Hey! Lady. Watch out!” he called up at her.

  Margaret glanced down at him and gave up. Her body twisted on the way down, hitting the side railing, and as fate could have brought her either way, it decided to plop her backwards onto the tile of her balcony.

  Johnny made some quick calls.

  * * *

  Margaret heard the murmurs before she saw their faces. She was afraid to open her eyes because at least she could pretend to be alone with her eyelids shut. Reality has no bite in the dark, so she lay there as if unresponsive, listening to all they had to say. It was the normal cast and crew from all walks of life, hanging over top of her. She did wonder where she was, but from the feel of the material beneath her, she guessed she was still at home. Or so she hoped.

  Contentedness has no qualms with closed eyes, she thought, realizing that would be a nice phrase in one of her stories.

  “Should we just take her to the hospital?” said Cheevers. She recognized his gravelly voice.

  “Why don’t we see if Dr. Foster is at home down in 1C? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind looking at her,” said Mrs. Johnson. Margaret wondered if the twins were present. She missed them.

  “Well, perhaps we should.”

  Janice paused a moment.

  “No, we should just take her to the hospital. Oh, Margaret. What were you doing on the balcony?”

  “It was strange. It was like she was unaware of what was happening. I yelled at her, and she looked at me, and … I thought she was going to fall into the street,” recalled a strange voice.

  Without warning, Margaret sat up quickly, startling everyone in the room. Mrs. Johnson backpedaled and stepped on Cheevers’ foot, which made him swear out loud. Janice nearly knocked over the floor lamp positioned beside the couch. Margaret wanted nothing to do with the hospital.

  “Margaret, are you all right?”

  “Whoa! That was a bit bizarre,” said Johnny the café owner who looked remarkably like Red Hat’s accomplice, Montleone, with a sinister wiry mustache and a jaw sculptured like a brick.

  “Margaret? Does it hurt anywhere?”

  Margaret shook her head, stood up, and walked over to the kitchen sink to get a glass of water. As she pretended that no one else was in the room, the masses gathered by the couch and talked back and forth about what should be done. Johnny was the first to leave, having no real vested interest in the matter. Mrs. Johnson had purposely not told Mrs. Trumble about the incident in fear that another long meeting might break out. Cheevers said his jolly piece and tried to make conversation with Margaret as he left, but even his red hat didn’t seem as interesting for the moment. Margaret stayed by the sink, looking into the wall, sipping water. Janice tried to talk with her repeatedly, but there was no response.

  “I almost saw the light.”

  Margaret turned and peered at Janice and then walked over to the couch where she had formerly been, and sat down like a pupil ready to be scolded by a principal.

  “What light?” Janice remarked skeptically. She was tired of all of these games. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “Standing by the great door. The great divide. Death on one side. Life on the other. She gave herself to the light. For her country. For her family.”

  “Margaret, what are you talking about?”

  She paused and looked around the room, trying to get a small grasp of what Margaret could have meant. She began to think that Margaret needed so
me serious help.

  “Margaret, that’s what I don’t get about you. You barely say two words to anyone, but yet you have this ability to rattle off these quite beautiful and profound sentences which seem unrelated to anything in this world. Perhaps it would be a good idea if we try to get you some help. Would that be all right? Get you some help?”

  No response from Margaret, who saw Janice, clearer and clearer, eyes closed, light descending upon her, blinds closed behind her. It was nearly time for it to end. And she was ready.

  “Margaret!”

  Janice’s voice shook her back to consciousness. Her apartment had never seemed drab before now.

  “Margaret, if you don’t talk with me or work with me on this, I’m going to have to get a court order. Do you understand what that means? I’m going to have to take some steps to insure your safety. I cannot just sit around and worry about you all day. Margaret. Listen to me. Talk now or—”

  “Reverend Davies,” Margaret said abruptly.

  “What about Reverend Davies?”

  “I want to see Reverend Davies.”

  “Okay. That’s better. I think that’s a good idea. I’ll call him immediately. Hopefully, he’ll be able to come right over.”

  Chapter 11

  The First Reveal

  Janice cleared her afternoon schedule with a few strategically placed phone calls and greeted Reverend Davies at the door about an hour after Margaret’s rude awakening.

  Janice whisked him out into the hallway for a minute to brief him on the day’s happenings. Margaret remained on the couch, feet flat on the floor, looking rather unresponsive, still waiting for the principal to show up. The two whisperers eventually came inside, and Janice motioned for the reverend to sit in the easy chair right across from the storyteller. He leaned forward, back straight with arms on his thighs.

  “Margaret, how are you doing? I’m glad your fall didn’t hurt you.”

  She remained completely detached. The reverend glanced over to Janice with a sigh and continued.

  “Your Aunt Janice said you wanted to talk with me. What can I do for you? I’m here to help in any way I can.”

  Nothing but blank resignation from her eyes.

  “Perhaps I should go first. Do want to talk about your mother? She was a wonderful woman.”

  At the word ‘mother’, Margaret slightly flinched her eyes in the reverend’s direction but coiled back just as quickly, hoping no one noticed. But for Margaret, that flinch said a lot and both of her unwanted guests easily picked up on it.

  “Your mother,” he continued. “… well, we go back a long way. We were friends in high school.”

  “Lovers,” Margaret shot back.

  Claws of steel seemed to clench around his chest. Janice lifted her head in a curious display of surprise that revealed something troubling on her heart.

  “Margaret! What on earth?”

  Reverend Davies leaned back in his chair, not sure if he wanted Margaret to elaborate or not. He did feel, however, that he needed to address this.

  “Well, we did date. Yes. I don’t know how you knew that. Your mother must have told you.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause that felt completely normal for this apartment. Janice desperately wanted to change the conversation.

  “Reverend Davies, I noticed the other week that Margaret had quite a collection of correspondence from you.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s right. Actually, Margaret, I sent all those letters and cards to you as a form of encouragement. I sure hope that is what they were to you. You’re still part of our church family. I wish you would come and visit us sometimes.”

  “Reverend Davies, I must tell you that I found the packet of letters all bound up, dating back nearly five years, never opened. She has never read any of them.”

  Reverend Davies sat up quickly, latching onto a thought which scurried through his brain.

  “You mean she never opened any of them?”

  “No. Not a one.”

  He let out a big sigh and once again cushioned himself against the back of the chair.

  “So you see, Reverend …” she said, looking at Margaret, insinuating that something has to be done.

  “Margaret, can we talk about your mother?”

  “Father,” she said unexpectedly.

  “Father?”

  Margaret leaned back and closed her eyes, once again becoming invisible to those around her, although she felt their presence, as closely and intensely as she also felt his. Stronger than usual.

  “Nicki and Quan arrived back in the village after the two-hour, rigorous motorbike ride deep into the jungle. The village seemed vacant, for even the small tea-stand stood unattended. They pulled up outside the house-on-stilts where Reverend Taylor had entered to meet Quan’s father.”

  Reverend Davies sat up in his chair.

  “Reverend Taylor? Nicki? What?” asked Reverend Davies.

  * * *

  “Nicki followed Quan up the wobbly, unvarnished wooden steps into the rather large room, which was packed with villagers sitting on the floor. They turned frantically when hearing the youngsters enter. Reverend Taylor caught his daughter’s eye immediately, and he stood up and jumped over the crowd like he was running through a basic training tire course. He stopped in front of her, grabbed her hands, and looked straight into her eyes.

  “‘I’m sorry,’ he started, tears streaming down.

  “They hugged and the room buzzed with excitement. On the backside of the hug, Reverend Taylor reached out for Quan’s hand and mouthed words of appreciation.”

  * * *

  “Margaret,” interrupted Reverend Davies.

  Margaret had stopped talking but kept her head back and eyes closed.

  “Taylor was her father’s name,” clarified Janice.

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “I’m getting the feeling we are both about to find out.”

  Janice looked at him strangely, and then glanced back at the storyteller, resting herself with words spinning in her mind.

  “Go ahead, Margaret. We’d like to hear your story.”

  Margaret lip’s smacked together once, and then she let out a deep sigh.

  * * *

  “‘Nicki, come. Sit down. I want you to meet someone,” Reverend Taylor offered.

  “‘Quan’s father?’

  “‘That’s right. Did he tell you?’

  “‘Only that much. I don’t know what this is about.’

  “Three elderly men, rivals in helping the foreign damsel sit down, stood and shuffled around the whole length of the room, so Nicki could sit beside Ong, Quan’s father. Quan came up and sat on the other side of Ong, with Reverend Taylor beside his daughter.

  “‘You know, Nicki, that I was here that night, and—’

  “‘I know, Dad. It was war. It’s not important.’

  “Ong sensed some tension between them, so he began talking. Quan translated.

  “‘I’m a Christian,’ he began. ‘But I wasn’t always a Christian. Your father is a brave man. Very brave man to come back into this village. We know what he did here. I was there. I was in the ditch, hiding with my family and neighbors. I remember him standing on the ridge holding his gun and staring down at us. He was scared. Maybe he thought we were the enemy. But he started shooting. I shall never forget it.’

  “Reverend Taylor wept uncontrollably at Nicki’s side. She reached over and caressed his hand. She, too, was visibly shaken.

  “‘I was so angry,’ continued the translation. ‘Angry at the Americans; angry at the war; angry with everything. I lost my father, my sister, and my grandmother that day. My two uncles had died previously in the war. It was unbearable. About a week after the incident, I was drunk. Very drunk on rice wine, and I stole the only village motorbike and ran it into the nearest town—near Phan Rang. I knew there were Americans there during the day. I saw a s
oldier standing on the side of the street, and I drove as fast as I could right into him, knocking him and myself onto the ground. He was badly hurt, but I stood up in my drunkenness and began beating him. Then I took his pistol and shot him in the leg. I nearly killed him.’

  “The room was full of tears as everyone listened carefully.”

  * * *

  Reverend Davies and Janice sat riveted to her tale. Janice for its literary quality. Reverend Davies for a completely different reason.

  * * *

  “‘Three Americans immediately grabbed me. They bound my hands, and one of them wanted to kill me, but another stepped in and stopped him. They took me to the local authorities and threw me into prison until they could decide what to do with me. I was a man condemned to die. Actually, I wanted to die.’

  “Quan paused his translation as his father wore layers of emotion on his face.

  “‘Why is he doing this?’ whispered Nicki to her barely functioning father.

  “‘You’ll understand. Just wait.’

  “The father continued.

  “‘We were thrown into a filthy cell, no toilet, no running water. There were several other inmates, all of whom looked hungry and disoriented. I knew I would die there. I was in the cell for a few hours, lonely and afraid, when I first heard his voice. The loud voice of a small man. He only came up to my shoulders, and I’m a very short man to begin with. His name was Vinh. He came to rescue us.’”

  * * *

  Janice marveled at the inspiration rolling right off of Margaret’s tongue. If only Milton’s daughter was transcribing, it could be saved for the ages. Reverend Davies listened intently with a strange belief that he had heard this all before, but the pieces just weren’t fitting.

  Margaret rolled her neck back and forth releasing all tension. She was completely lost in the moment. She saw the scene beautifully and put her description in a tight prose.

  * * *