by Chuck Kinder
You must give me my just due. Ralph, in any success you may have in the future, you must not forget what I’ve done for you. You must not forget the hopes and dreams we have shared. Over the long course, Ralph, everything but hope lets you go. Then even that, I suppose, finally loosens its grip. Ralph, why hasn’t there ever been enough of anything in all the long years we’ve shared together? But we have had some sweetness and light in our lives, haven’t we? Ralph? Haven’t we?
I guess.
You once swore you would love only me forever, Ralph. You once gave me a ring and asked for me to come along with you in your life’s journey. You told me I could trust you forever. Things to that effect. You once quoted me something, Ralph. You quoted somebody who said, The world is the world, and it writes no histories that end in love. Do you remember that?
Not really.
Well, anyway, happy birthday, you son-of-a-bitch. Let’s just get this over with, Alice Ann said, and she walked over to Ralph and began to beat on his chest and shoulders with her clenched fists, which Ralph let her do, not even grabbing her wrists or flinching away, until her arms grew weary. And then Ralph had simply stood there, his arms hanging at his sides, as Alice Ann sunk onto her knees in front of him and unzipped his trousers.
3
Jim enlisted the aid of Max Carver, a mutual friend of his and Ralph’s who was this big, burly, red-neck, rhinestone Commie from Texas, to help drag Ralph down the stairs early the next morning and then shove him into the backseat, where they lodged Ralph between them, so that Ralph could not leap from the moving vehicle or make a frantic grab for the wheel as Alice Ann drove, and they set out through the foggy morning south for San Jose and the Superior Court Building for Ralph to face the music.
Ralph alternately whined and mumbled incoherently. What, Ralph? Jim said. What? When he was a little kid, Ralph mumbled, a little, rambunctious boy true, but not evil, his mom had hooked him up into one of those barbaric kiddie-harness affairs, and she had fastened it to a clothesline out in the back yard, where she had left Ralph to spend most of his formative years, a little, lonely fat boy, trotting a trench beneath that clothesline, up and back, up and back, until he was exhausted sometimes with all that effort of running nowhere with all his heart. But by the time that trench was waist-high, Ralph had felt a fierce pride in it, that wonderful hole that held the perfect shape of his determined escape to nowhere but deeper. Well, Jim said, Momma tried.
Ashen, shaking, his trembling legs buckling at every other step, his heart beating visibly beneath his shirt, Ralph still found the strength to resist, and he had to be manhandled into the courthouse by his snickering buddies. Ralph’s oily attorney-of- record took one look at Ralph and strongly recommended again that Ralph simply plead guilty and throw himself upon the mercy of the court. When it became apparent from his opening comments the avenger-asshole of an assistant district attorney had his flinty heart set upon making a white-collar-criminal example out of Ralph, Alice Ann insisted upon taking the stand in a last-ditch effort to save Ralph’s bacon.
Your Honor, sir, Alice Ann said to the judge, a white-haired man who looked like God, let me say first of all that I am prepared to write the court a check on the spot to cover all fines and to make full restitution for the monies my husband in his drunken stupor falsely received from the state. Let me say also that my husband, Mr. Crawford, has two wonderful children at home, who need and love him very much, in spite of all the pain and hardship and general humiliation he has caused them over the years. Please don’t let those wonderful children go through this incarnation with the onus of having a jailbird for a father, I beseech you. Let me say also, sir, that my husband intends to join AA tomorrow, and I will drive him personally to and from meetings. Your Honor, sir, I am not up here to praise my husband, for I am not that foolish, but simply to attempt to save his bacon. I have always believed, sir, that what good one possesses was enough to merit one’s salvation. In spite of all the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, sir, there is some good in my husband, Mr. Crawford. Things I will have to relate to you, sir, are very painful for me. Mr. Crawford would probably prefer I bite my tongue. But no matter how painful, I cannot bite my tongue. To talk about the tragic events of Mr. Crawford’s and my marriage is very painful, how from the beginning we have overexisted, how on too many sad occasions we have been so foolishly operatic in our behavior. Your Honor, I never lie to myself or to others in my heart, so, sir, let me assure you from my heart that the pathetic person you see sitting before you, Mr. Crawford, my husband, is not simply the man who, in order to save a few dollars on dog food, was capable of purloining his children’s puppy, their beloved pet, and driving it to a distant neighborhood, where he tossed the poor thing out to fend for itself. Yes, he was capable of that, and did it, and he was also capable of using such a despicable act as a source of inspiration for a story, and I might add one of his very best stories. Sir, there will always be those rare individuals who must stare into the darkness of themselves in order to really see for us all. My husband, Mr. Crawford, is one of those damned yet blessed individuals who must both suffer and soar because of the gift of that burden. Because of that burden Mr. Crawford drinks like a fish, and lives about half the time in some parallel world of story. It is because of this that my husband has a diminished capacity to recognize and act upon notions of right and wrong in the real world. What happened to him ... no, what has happened to us both, is that we reached that point where the fiction of our lives began to feed on itself. Sir, I would like to offer the fiction of our lives into evidence as exhibit A for the defense, Alice Ann said, and she held up a copy of Ralph’s book of stories for all to see.
And, Your Honor, I would like to swear an oath on the lives revealed in this book, Alice Ann said, and placed her right hand upon Ralph’s book, I would like to swear an oath that Mr. Crawford has been rehabilitated by this book and he is full of remorse for the horrific events of his life that he drew upon in order to write this book. He is sick at heart also about all that he has stolen from others for the sake of these stories. I, for instance, Your Honor, am a person who has been living for the record all her adult life. It is not easy, let me assure you, sir, always living for the record. Living for posterity is no picnic, sir. As you may discover after today yourself, Your Honor. For today, sir, you are living for the record according to Ralph. For my husband, even in his stunted state of mind, is playing with these proceedings somewhere deep in his twisted imagination just as he would play a hooked fish into his boat, reeling it into his own sick reality. My husband, Your Honor, will fry us all for dinner if we are not careful. Finally, sir, I would ask you to look closely into that man’s sorry face. Is not his bitter grief, and his shame, yes, that too, are they not apparent and proof enough? Sir, please just look carefully at that pathetic shell of the man who was once Ralph Crawford. Mr. Crawford is clearly not a pretty picture. He needs your compassion and understanding, not punishment. Your Honor, with the court’s kind permission, I would like to enter Mr. Crawford’s wretched personal appearance into evidence for the defense.
Lucky Old Dog
1
Ralph sat in a chair pulled away from the kitchen table, chainsmoking, sipping a glass of what he swore was pure orange juice, glancing back and forth between the cartoons on the television set on the kitchen counter and Jim, who was at the stove churning hash browns about in his favorite heavy cast-iron skillet. Lindsay was moving about the kitchen attempting to make a dent in the previous night’s damage, closing open drawers, dumping the dead soldiers and empty Chinese-food cartons and pizza boxes and overflowing ashtrays into a big plastic bag.
I don’t see how anybody could drink vodka this early in the morning, Jim said over his shoulder.
Hey, Ralph said, I told you already, this is pure OJ. Call it a will of iron, but I, for one, never take a drink before 11 a.m.
You bet, Jim said.
I once met a fellow whose drink of choice was Listerine, Ralph said. He was coming down off Sco
tch. That poor devil still got drunk as a skunk, but he had the freshest breath.
Jim stepped over to the table and picked up the glass in front of Ralph and drank it down.
Hey, there! Ralph said. —No fair!
Jim took a nearly empty bottle of vodka from inside a kitchen cabinet. He waved it at Ralph, then drank it down straight and smacked his lips.
Hey, Ralph said, and looked back at the cartoon chases flickering across the television screen, what am I supposed to do when 11 a.m. rolls around?
There’s a bottle of Listerine in the bathroom, Jim said, as he began breaking eggs into a blue bowl. —Fix yourself a fucken screw-gargle.
Alice Ann swept into the room. She was already dressed and made up for the day. She sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette, which she pointed at Lindsay’s Bloody Mary. —That looks like what the doctor ordered.
I’ll stir you one up in a jiffy, Lindsay said, and took an unopened bottle of vodka from beneath the sink. —You look nice. I’m still dragging around in my ratty old robe.
You’re the hostess with the mostest, Alice Ann said. —I’ve got to get down there and get the kids settled in with Ralph’s mom. Then I have at least a half-dozen rental houses to look at and see about storage and movers.
Me too, please, Ralph said to Lindsay.
Before 11 a.m.? Jim said, then said to Alice Ann, How do you like your eggs?
Scrambled, but I have to run.
Oh, I’ll make an exception this morning to be sociable, Ralph said. —Hey, old Jim, how’s that grub coming, anyway? If I had a horse, I’d eat the nag whole. Alice Ann, do you happen to have any of those little LifeSavers handy? Those little fruity babies you always carry around in your purse.
Nope, I don’t think I do.
But you always have some in your purse. I could really go for one of those little cherry LifeSavers right now. Or an orange one. I like those green ones, too.
Sorry, Alice Ann said, then said, I dreamed about you last night, Lindsay. I dream about you a lot, actually. I don’t remember much about last night’s dream, but you were beautiful in it. I dream exclusively in black and white. Your skin absolutely glows in black and white, Lindsay. Your skin is absolutely luminous in all my dreams, even if they’re bad dreams, horrible dreams, even when they’re my worst nightmares.
Well, hon, Lindsay said, for a girl who grew up with the nickname Pimple Plantation, that is not unwelcome news.
They’ll make the film of my life in black and white, Alice Ann said, blowing a series of perfect smoke rings, while she observed Lindsay’s movements about the kitchen. —Color is too much a record of the world. Black and white takes one beneath the surface to the real mystery of the world. Black and white signals that we are in another world. I want the movie of my life shot in a sort of fragmented black-and-white light. I want the shadows to jerk like fucking war footage. Faye Dunaway will play my beautiful tragic part. And she’ll win an Academy Award. That movie will make people bawl like babies when they see what I’ve had to endure with Ralph. Lindsay, I just hope that in our next incarnations you get stuck with Ralph for a fucking change.
Hey, Ralph said, what did I do around here? How come you’re picking on me so early in the morning, Alice Ann?
On the television a mouse made its hole, barely. A cartoon cat crazy with anger and frustration and desire banged its head against a wall.
You called me by another woman’s name again last night, Ralph, Alice Ann said. —So what else is new? I’m nobody’s fool, you fuck. I can read the handwriting on the wall. I’ve been living under the illusion that while Ralph’s and my marriage has sustained serious damage over the years, it was still, oh, maneuver- able. Maneuverable, as on Star Trek, when Spock radios Captain Kirk that while the Enterprise has sustained serious damage, it is still maneuverable. Well, folks, I have to run, Alice Ann said, and dunked her cigarette in her unfinished drink. —I’ll be late as it is. I’ll see you guys this evening if I don’t die in a car wreck or something. Don’t anybody do anything I wouldn’t do, she said, and hurried from the room.
Hey, old Jim, can I have Alice Ann’s eggs? Ralph said.
You may or may not get any grub, you old dog, Jim said over his shoulder from the stove. —I ain’t decided yet. Plus I gotta meet Shorty and I’m running late, too.
I’ll fix Ralph some eggs, Lindsay said.
Well, I, for one, don’t have to take this ongoing abuse. I, for one, will be up on the deck minding my own business if anybody cares to bring me some breakfast sometime today, Ralph said, and snatched the bottle of vodka and headed out the back door.
Okeydokey, Jim said to Lindsay. —You fix Ralph’s fucken eggs. I gotta roll.
And why are you in such a rotten mood, too? Lindsay said.
Never mind, Jim said.
And just what are you and Shorty up to today, anyway? Lindsay said, and sat down at the table.
We got a couple of little errands.
How long will these little errands take? Five or ten years in prison?
So just who do you love, anyway? Jim said. —Have you figured that one out?
So just who do you love? Lindsay said. —That’s the real question around here.
The fuck it is, Jim said, and tossed his spatula onto the stove and strode from the room.
2
Lindsay walked up the back stairs carrying a plate of eggs and hash browns, and she noted the particulars of her immediate life with a feeling vaguely like penitence. In the shade of a soaring pine below in the next courtyard several Chinese women squatted while they sliced vegetables into a wide white bowl. When Lindsay smiled at them they looked away, and she was suddenly filled with an aching sadness. Wind chimes tinkled in a slight breeze that smelled of bread baking and fresh wash hung out on lines strung on the surrounding flat rooftops, and tears flooded Lindsay’s eyes. As though seen through a lens, or in a fever, the colors of the vegetables in the white bowl far below, luminous in a shifting flush of light, the greens and reds of peppers, snowpeas, stringbeans, mushrooms white as pebbles, were pure enough to blind. Here I am in San Francisco and I am carrying Ralph’s eggs up to him, Lindsay told herself, and looked at eggs so yellow they hurt her eyes. This was the intense, timeless light Lindsay had waited in for her childhood to end. As she had felt her body change cell by cell. Atom by atom.
Is that my plate? Ralph said. He was sitting in a chair beside the round glass-topped table on the far side of the deck. Ralph’s expression was anxious, vaguely baffled. He looked so helpless somehow, sitting almost crouched, smoking intently, pinching a cigarette against his lips with those huge, hairy fingers Lindsay had sucked on.
Lindsay placed the plate she carried in front of Ralph, who finished his butt and pulled his chair up to the table.
Where’s yours? Ralph said, as he shoveled eggs into his mouth.
I’m not hungry, Lindsay said, and sat down at the table.
Where’s your husband?
He took off in a huff, not unlike your wife.
That man you’re married to is a nut, Ralph said, chewing mightily. —Jim Stark is crazy. Just plain crazy. Jim and Alice Ann are like two peas in a pod, a padded pod. Whoever sold them their tickets from Mars ought to be arrested.
Ralph, don’t start up, Lindsay said. A foghorn sounded from the Bay and the chimes from Saint Peter-Paul’s Cathedral rang forth, and Lindsay gazed for a moment more lightheartedly over her glorious postcard of a view. Although she couldn’t see Sausalito yet, the sun had burned most of the morning fog off, and already the white sails of boats flicked about in the dark green water. Rising above the trees of Washington Square Park down the hill, the cathedral’s spires looked white as bones in the clear, washed light. But all of this was lost to Lindsay, now that Jim loved another woman.
What did Jim say about that Mary Mississippi business? Ralph said, as though reading Lindsay’s mind. —You didn’t tell him who tipped you off, did you?
I didn’t tell him anything, Ral
ph. I haven’t even mentioned it. I haven’t found the right time. I don’t know. Right now I try to put it out of my mind. For the time being, anyway.
Do you know something? This is about the first time in weeks we’ve even been alone. I’m amazed Jim actually left us alone. Sometimes, too, I’ve had the impression you were trying to avoid being alone with me.
Don’t be paranoid, Ralph.
