The Graceland Tales

by Donna D. Prescott

  “I remember now. And after he kills her, he cuts off her head and brings it to the judge.” Hmm. Maybe King Arthur really did write his thesis on The Canterbury Tales after all.

  “Dude, we so have to put that in our game,” says Lance-bot.

  Seymour continues, “Anyway, in American culture, a father cannot kill his daughter if she goes against his wishes and dishonors the family, you know what I mean.” He looks to Theresa. “I would like to tell a story about a father who faced such a dilemma.” Not waiting for Theresa’s approval, Seymour moves to the middle of the coach and plunges into his story.

  Seymour

  THE DOCTOR’S TALE

  SEYMOUR: I am not even going to pretend that this story is not about me. It is my story. I come from humble beginnings. My family faced great hardship and danger during my young life. I was born in a German-occupied part of Poland during the time of the Holocaust. My parents managed to flee Poland with my older brother and me into the Soviet Union. As the hostilities intensified, our family headed eastward, finally finding refuge in Shanghai at the Ohel Moshe Synagogue at a time when America and many other countries weren’t accepting Jewish refugees. We were very fortunate to end up there, you know what I mean. Jews were able to live without fear in an enclave. Ultimately, we made it to the United States. My father, a tailor, opened a shop in Baltimore. For years, members of the mob would shake him down, force him to make suits for them. It was degrading, but after escaping the Holocaust he was grateful to be alive.

  (The mood in the coach is somber. Even BELLA is paying attention to SEYMOUR and not tormenting HECTOR.)

  As a boy, I did odd jobs to earn money, mowing lawns or painting houses or running errands for people in the neighborhood. I did some work for a local doctor. Sometimes on Saturdays, Dr. Heitman would sit on his front stoop and talk with me. I was excited that this man took the time to talk with a kid, you know what I mean. He would talk about baseball or sometimes about politics. But I liked it best when he talked about his work. He talked about advances in medicine and how discoveries such as the polio vaccine made such a difference in everyday life. He talked about penicillin and antibiotics and other miracle drugs.

  (The lights in the coach are dim. A few overhead lights spot the coach, but the rural countryside outside the windows offers no streetlights to illuminate SEYMOUR as he speaks.)

  Based on our conversations, I decided that I wanted to become a doctor, maybe even a medical researcher. In high school, Dr. Heitman encouraged me to take as much science, especially chemistry, as possible. For the school science fair, I created a project which looked at viruses in children. Dr. Heitman helped me get into Johns Hopkins and I even got a good scholarship. I became interested in antiviral research particularly, hoping to help children, you know what I mean. As my research progressed, my findings showed potential in the field of retroviral drug research. Since I disapprove of the lifestyles that led to HIV/AIDS, I considered giving this research to an associate and moving in a different direction. Then I realized that my research would benefit innocent people—women and children—who were affected by the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Plus, the financial advantage for me and my lab was hard to give up.

  HUBERT THE BISHOP: That’s quite a dilemma.

  (RUTH is looking at SEYMOUR with mixed emotions, as if she doesn’t know whether to reach out in comfort or sit in skeptical silence.)

  SEYMOUR: My first wife and I had two daughters. We tried to be good parents. We tried to live virtuous lives, to teach by example. One grew up to be a very good girl—our pride and joy. She was smart and made a good marriage, you know what I mean. She gave us two precious granddaughters. Our other daughter was a rebel from birth. If we said yes, she said no. If we said run, she said walk. She challenged us at every turn. In college, she met and fell in love with a man who turned out to be bi-sexual. My wife and I strongly disapproved of this relationship and did everything we could to discourage it. We offered her money and travel and even a new car, but, oy vey, she would have none of it. She found out about my clinical trials of this new drug and that I had not given her boyfriend the opportunity to participate. I didn’t want to encourage their relationship. Ultimately, they got married, anyway. What could we do? So we sat shiva for her. Now she is dead to us, you know what I mean.

  “So what happened to the bi-sexual, her husband?” asks Dmitri the Hacker.

  “Who knows? They are both dead to us,” says Seymour.

  Ruth looks at Seymour. “You are a monster!” she cries and runs from the coach.

  Seymour stoically watches the doors close behind her before returning to his seat.

  Kirk the Evangelist says, “I had to preach a funeral once for a grandmother and her two grandchildren. The woman’s son was running around on his wife. He stayed out late at the bars. In our small community, everyone knew about it. It was such a shame. It was especially hard on the kids. The family situation became so unpleasant that the grandmother had the kids one day and drove in front of a freight train—not the best way to deal with family problems.”

  “So did he straighten out and sober up?” asks John the Pastor.

  “No,” says Kirk. “After the funerals, his wife divorced him and he just kept carrying on. Shameful.”

  Alice the Widow stands up. Her eyes look even more large and soft behind the big lenses of her glasses. “I, too, have a personal story about an estrangement between a parent and a child.” She wobbles with the motion of the train down the aisle past the middle to the row where Linda the Humanitarian Worker is seated in the window seat and struggles to sing, “Do you know who I am, yes it’s been quite a while.”

  Linda gasps. “Mother? Oh my heavens!” She tries to stand but falls back into her seat.

  “Yes, Linda.”

  The whole coach falls into curious silence. Egad, what a revelation! I guess it explains why Alice has been avoiding Linda.

  “I didn’t recognize you! You cut your hair! And you’re wearing slacks! What are you doing here? I mean, what a surprise. You see, I don’t know what to say after all this time.”

  “When I saw you at the reception at Union Station, I thought of leaving the tour, sugar. But dangy, dangy, I’ve been looking forward to going to Graceland since—well, for a piece. I got on the train thinking I could keep hiding from you but directly I realized I couldn’t. I didn’t know what else to do. Honey, I want to apologize to you.”

  Linda sits, stunned, staring at the back of the seat in front of her. I wish I had some water to offer her. Oriel the Hotel Manager holds up Rose the Waitress’s flask. “Linda, you want some of this?” Linda shakes her head no. John the Pastor, seated across from Linda, calls back, “She says no thanks.”

  Alice speaks beseechingly to the pilgrims. “I want y’all to know that I was not a bad mother.” Then, she turns her attention back to Linda. “I reckon people don’t know what goes on between a husband and wife in private. Even their children, their own flesh and blood, don’t know. I lost my virginity to your father on our wedding night. I reckon I was a good wife. I did my duty, paid my marriage debt, if you know what I mean. We decided to use the rhythm method for birth control, and I ended up with a passel of children before I could say ‘hold your horses!’”

  Bella the Academic breaks in, “You know the old joke about what you call people who practice rhythm? Parents!” She laughs raucously. Alice scowls.

  “I finally put my foot down and said no more kids, which was difficult for me, sugar, because I took my wedding vows seriously to honor and obey my husband. Since my children came so quick, and I was only a housewife, my life was very limited. My big outing each week was loading y’all kids up in the station wagon and doing the grocery shopping. I was so happy when we first married, but once you kids started coming, heavens to Betsy, everything changed. Honey, I reckon your father was a good provider and he loved y’all, but I was miserable.”

  Ernest the Businessman, suddenly interested in the conversation, moves back to the ai
sle seat.

  “I went through months where I woke up every morning and said to myself, dang, sad that I woke up at all. I reckon I never would’ve harmed myself, but I wished time and time again that some freak accident, like a stray bullet falling from the sky, would kill me. Every now and then, you hear of someone being killed that way, you know. Other times, sugar, I wished I would contract some awful disease, but nothing like that ever happened, either. Finally, our family doctor prescribed some Valium for me. I came to depend upon ‘mother’s little helper,’ I reckon.”

  Senator Pam breaks in, “The woman who lived next door to us when I was growing up faced a similar situation. Her family doctor solved her problem in the same way. Later, her doctor was arrested for overprescribing Valium to women. He really had no idea that what he was doing was wrong. In his experience, how else were these women going to deal with their unhappy lives? I’m glad attitudes have changed about women and depression.”

  Alice picks up, “Sometimes, I wished your father would die in a car accident while out on a sales trip. But he always came home alive. And the sadness would come again, dang it.”

  “How is Dad? Why isn’t he with you on the tour?”

  “Well, I finally got my wish and he passed away.”

  “What? Dad is gone? Oh, Mama!” Linda’s eyes tear up. Alice digs around in a pocket and hands her a tissue. “When? Why didn’t you contact me?”

  Oriel holds up the flask and offers again, “Linda, you sure you don’t want a swig?” Linda sobs and shakes her head no. Again, John calls back, “She said no, thanks.”

  “Honey, you went through such a tough time after you lost Tom. So much distance had come between us since you chose to go overseas. It was just easier not to call you. And then time got away. I’m mightily sorry, sugar.”

  “How did it happen?” asks Linda, blowing her nose. Dwight, as if in sympathy, pulls out his handkerchief and offers an emphatic counterpoint to Linda’s sniffled melody. Bella leans into the aisle and gives him the evil eye.

  “Well, I reckon he’d been feeling poorly for several days. I thought it was just stress from work. Sales had fallen and all that driving was wearing on him as he got older. Plus, he drank more RC Cola than he really should’ve. Although, I truly think it was the pimento cheese that finally did him in. Dang, I reckon he ate that stuff on everything, even ice cream. Sugar, you remember how he loved it and how he insisted that I make it from scratch? I began to hate the stuff. He’d been suffering from upset stomach for a few days, but do you think he stopped drinking RC’s and laid off the pimento cheese? No, sirreee. Not one bit. One evening after supper, he sat down directly to watch his game shows while I cleaned up the kitchen and he died in his chair.”

  “Yowzah! That must’ve been one exciting edition of ‘Jeopardy!’” says Ernest.

  People near Ernest shake their heads. “Not funny,” says Adam the Senator’s Aide.

  “Did you have an autopsy done?” asks Linda.

  “No, honey, I didn’t see any reason to. It was clear to me that he died as a result of his own bad habits.”

  “Why didn’t you just divorce him if you were so unhappy?” Ernest asks.

  Hubert the Bishop answers, “Divorce is forbidden by the Catholic Church. No marriage should end in divorce.”

  Hector the Elvis Tribute Artist says, “Yeah, I read a story in the newspaper awhile back about a woman who was arrested for murdering her husband. When asked why she killed him, she said that she wanted a divorce but divorce was forbidden in the Catholic Church.”

  Rene/e the Transgender Woman snorts, “But murder is OK?”

  Hector says, “Well, I guess she didn’t expect to get caught.”

  Alice says, “I’m not Catholic, but I made my marriage vows to God as well as to my husband.”

  Theresa stands and breaks in. “Alice, um, why don’t you and Linda go somewhere more private and catch up?”

  “I reckon we might should ought to do that, but I would like to tell a story first.”

  Theresa hesitates. “Well, if you really want to.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it would please me mightily.” Theresa nods and sits. Linda continues to stare blankly at the seat in front of her. Alice moves to the middle of the coach.

  Alice

  THE WIDOW’S TALE

  ALICE: My tale is set in a big city somewhere in the North. The hero of my story—Percy, short for Percival—took a job at some large company, something like an advertising agency or law firm. Since he was raised in the South, it was quite an adjustment for this fellow to move to Yankeeland. His new co-workers didn’t always cotton to his courteous behavior, his slow manner of speaking, and even some of the food he ate.

  BLANCHE THE LAWYER: It’s amazing how many people are truly puzzled by grits.

  DONNA THE NARRATOR: And forget about trying to serve or explain okra.

  ALICE: His move North had eaten up most of his savings, I reckon, so he didn’t go out much, which made it even more difficult for him to try and get to know his co-workers. Plus, big companies are very competitive, making other employees even more suspicious of their fellows. The owner of the business, Tristan, was a nice man, generous with his bonuses and quick to recognize achievement. Still, Percy mostly kept to himself. In his free time, he took to riding his bicycle around the city. He had a favorite route which took him along a canal and through a park. One day, Percy noticed a fork that he had never noticed before in the bike path, so he decided to take it. This path meandered away from the main path. After riding a spell, he came across three women sharing a picnic. He said, ‘Good afternoon, ladies, as he rode past.’ They returned his greeting and asked him if he would like to join them. Not wanting to be rude, he stopped. (ALICE pauses, walks to the empty aisle seat next to LINDA, and sits down.)

  I never told you kids about how your father and I would go on picnics when we were courting. We would load up a few couples in a car and pack some pimento cheese sandwiches and RC Colas. We would spread out blankets and stretch out in the sun, side by side, only our hands touching. Those were hopeful, innocent, days. (LINDA shrinks away from ALICE, who gets up, returns to the middle of the coach, and resumes her tale.)

  The first lady offered Percy a piece of fried chicken and some potato salad, which he gladly accepted. The second offered him a glass of sweet tea. The third lady, the most beautiful of the three, engaged him in pleasant conversation. Before he knew it, shadows fell on their picnic. He apologized for keeping the ladies out so late and offered to escort them safely out of the park. The third lady thanked Percy, but said no, they stayed nearby. He spied a white lilac tree close at hand. On a whim, he picked a lilac and handed it to the third lady, saying ‘Beauty for a beauty.’ She tucked the flower behind her ear, smiled, and thanked him. He told her his name was Percy.

  (GITA THE COOK puts her sketching materials in the seatback pocket in front of her and listens closely.)

  Percy got on his bike and said he was pleased to make their acquaintance and maybe they would meet again soon in the park. As he headed to the main path, he looked back only to find the ladies had vanished. Percy shook his head, wondering how they could have disappeared so quickly. It must’ve been a trick of the shadows. That night, he tossed and turned, like an unbalanced washing machine, thinking of the third lady and her grace and beauty. (And, he had to admit to himself, the delicious fried chicken.) It was a few days, I reckon, before Percy had a chance to take another bike ride. He rode out at about the same time of day as he had before, hoping the three ladies would be back at their picnic spot. He stopped at the point where the path broke off from the canal and noticed a penny, heads up. He bent down and picked it up before pedaling into the woods.

  When he spotted the women with their picnic spread out, he was as happy as a dog in a meat packing factory. Again, they passed the afternoon amiably, enjoying the fried chicken, the sweet tea, and the chit-chat. Again, time passed and gloam settled. Again, Percy offered to escort them safely out
of the park. Again, the lady said no, she and her companions lived close and they would manage by themselves. In parting, Percy gave the penny to the lady saying, ‘It was a lucky day for me when I first met you. Here’s a lucky penny I found on the path.’ She said she was mighty obliged and offered her hand, which he kissed. ‘Maybe we will meet again,’ he said as they parted. This time, she said perhaps. Again, the three women disappeared in the blink of an eye. Again, that night, Percy’s flaming brain kept him awake with vision of the lady and her grace and beauty.

  (At the back of the coach, ROSE THE WAITRESS, in her drunken stupor snorts. ORIEL THE HOTEL MANAGER pats her arm.)

  A few days later, Percy decided to take another bike ride, once more hoping to come across the three ladies. This time, though, when he got to the point where he remembered the path branching off, he couldn’t find the fork. He rode back to the canal and I reckon he rode back and forth a ways, looking for the branch. As discouraged as a hound dog with a clogged smeller, he rode back to the point where the path veered off from the canal. He got off his bike, leaned against the railing, and pondered the situation. As he was fixing to get back on his bike, the two companions of the lady approached him. The first handed him an envelope. He opened it to find a formal invitation for him to dine with the lady the next night at La Pomme d’Or. He caught his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever eaten at such a fancy restaurant. The second friend pressed him for an answer. He didn’t have much time to think about it. He knew he would be a fool to pass up the opportunity, so he borrowed an ink pen from the first lady and marked that he would be there.