Shotgun Wedding: Unfinished Stories With Not Much in Common

by Kevin Tilley

  Seems we've happened upon a lost episode. One of many.

  The theme music, along with the superimposed title, fades. The episode's name filters across the screen, formed by the smoke of the Stranger's trademark imported cigarillo.

  "A Voice from Yesterday"

  Everything goes dark. For a second or two.

  And our hero ventures forth into another installment. With that dog nipping at his heels.

  Act One:

  Two figures are standing in the shade of an old oak tree. A retreating train whistle can be heard. The Stranger strikes a haunting pose and a wooden match. Lighting up as he tosses a weary look to the dog. Each dubious of the chances they might find a decent place to get some much needed rest at this end of the line. Having pulled off one of their many patented narrow escapes only hours before; getting themselves mistaken for a couple wayward missionaries out to corrupt the youth of a rather eccentric coal mining village. Showing up on the eve of the annual ceremonial sacrifice. Men with blackened faces forming a circle around a group of mortified youngsters.

  Our dynamic duo looking sincerely out of place as they came stumbling toward the proceedings. Thinking they may still be in time for the what looked to be a rollicking minstrel show. The Stranger rummaging through pockets for loose change while the dog, being a long time fan of genre, stands on hind legs and emits an almost human howl.

  Needless to say a good deal of mayhem ensued. The stains of whisky and blood still drying on their coats. Both in serious need of some soap and water. Freshen up for the next round of coming attractions. Oh well...a splash of cologne should do the trick.

  We now see the Stranger walking toward the picture postcard town. As he crosses the border a large sign welcomes him to Big Deal; the number indicating the population has been painted over. Hmmm, for good reason as no signs of life seem evident. In fact, the town has taken on a slightly macabre feel. Nothing our hero can put his finger on. A close up of the dog's tail between its legs, accompanied by a dramatic bit of soundtrack, confirms the sense of dread -- too early to tell whether it's on the way or if it already arrived on an earlier train (or however this particular dark power gets around).

  The perspective shifts to that of the Stranger's as he surveys the scene. What seemed from a distance to be a decent, upstanding village has now transformed, upon closer inspection, to a carefully constructed two-dimensional replica of its former self. Meticulously designed facades with no interiors. As if the very essence of the place had been ripped out and those having done the ripping decided to leave the image intact, perhaps as some sort of warning...or just a sick joke. The Stranger, struggling to comprehend this visual absence, begins to hear the sound of a harmonica. An upbeat tune. Coming from behind that tavern front up ahead. Who knows...those gut-wrenching marauders might have left a bottle or two. Sharing one of those 'what the heck' glances, the two conclude it's worth a look.

  Act Two:

  The Stranger flings open the all-too-obvious swinging doors of the disestablished establishment. With both hands. Never having been one for subtle entrances. The dog scurrying past, eager to beat his partner to the punch (damn well better be spiked). Once inside, the camera seems to project an other-worldly sort of haze on everything it comes across. Which is not to say that the Stranger and pal have actually entered a walled off arena. No. Just more empty space. But not entirely. For, hunkered over a pathetic campfire, is the nearly transparent semblance of a man. An old man. With beard, clay pipe and crooked smile.

  "About time you showed up."

  What a strange life this is, the Stranger thinks to himself (rendered in a sort of metallic voice-over).

  "Uh", replies the Stranger, shoulders slumped -- all too aware of his disheartening lack of elegance. "Isn't there supposed to be a bar somewhere around here?" An interrogatory phrase which manages to get the old man cackling for about half a minute (an eye-rollingly common break in the action serving to leave quite a few subsequent viewers to wonder how the show managed to go on as long as it did).

  The elderly fellow eventually gathers himself and gets down to business. Inviting his guests to take a seat. Which they do with noticeable unease.

  Old Man: I used to be a regular here. I'd sit in the very spot day after day. The other patrons would laugh at me and toss me nickels. I'd look into their heartless eyes and know one day I'd have the last laugh. (Another cackle, not nearly as long as the prior one.) I could see their destiny and sometimes I'd try to warn 'em. But they only laughed harder. Oh well, now I've got the place to myself (spreading his arms wide).

  The Stranger: Hope you don't mind our intrusion. We just happened to be passing through and heard the music.

  O.M.: We? (looking around and noticing the dog) Oh. I'm more than happy to share these humble digs with any person, or canine for that matter, as long as they be polite. Which you two thankfully seem to be. Unfortunately I have nothing to offer but my company.

  T.S.: So, what exactly happened here?

  O.M.: You didn't hear? I figured you were one of them sightseers that drop by every now and then. Getting a glimpse of the aftermath.

  T.S.: (Shooting a confused look at the old man.) Aftermath?

  O.M.: Where you been pardner? Don't you read the news?

  T.S.: We've been traveling. Staying light on our toes. We generally don't stay anywhere long enough to get word from the world at large.

  (The old man's mouth forms the kind of grin that will stay with many a child viewer for years to come -- as if to convey to the Stranger and audience member alike that he's all too aware of what is keeping this character on the run.)

  O.M.: Not much to tell really. Them bastards just destroyed it all. Got carried away. Thought they could do whatever they wanted and damn the consequences. Money. Greed. Vanity. No regard for nothing of real value. Love, nature, family, community -- none of it meant a thing. Just power. Mean, mean power. Look around young fella...see what power yields. It's all gone. They're all gone. We're all gone. Nothing left but the surface -- the only thing they truly cared about. The only thing built strong enough to remain standing.

  T.S.: But what about you? You're still here.

  O.M.: Not quite. (Flashing another one of those grins, this one a bit more wide-toothed, although there's not many teeth left in there). Not quite...

  The old man proceeds to tell a story about a group of ragged carnival folk that passed this way some months ago. Set up camp just over yonder. Taking advantage of the tourist trade. One of their troupe, a certain Milo the Mesmerist, claimed to be able to conjure the deceased of Big Deal. Once enough tickets were sold the crowd gathered around Milo's Cabinet of Wonder and the show began. Milo tapping that cabinet with a big cane and summoning one or another of Big Deal’s former citizens. Out they'd step from the cabinet, looking surprised as hell, sometimes coherent enough to regale the crowd with their version of events. Each story different from another. Pretty entertaining really. Then they'd step back in the cabinet and the crowd would burst into applause.

  Well, one day Milo conjured up the old man. Only the old man had no intention of stepping back in the cabinet once he'd lectured the crowd for some three hours. Instead he just gave a big bow and ran away. Milo left standing there beside the cabinet, his mouth agape. The crowd disbursing in a frenzy. Quite the scene.

  O.M.: Didn't know where else to go so I came here. I figure, I spent the better part of my life here, why not my afterlife. Sure could use a drink though.

  T.S.: (Naturally dazed at the old man's story) You and me both.

  The Dog: Don't forget me! (really just a bark but that's what it meant)

  The Old Man and the Stranger share a laugh.

  Act Three:

  With nobody around to beat up and no booze to be had, the final five minutes of the show are spent in a heart-breaking echo of silence. The Stranger and his dog. Playing fetch. Running to and fro with a sort of controlled reckless abandon. Laying in the grass. K
illing time -- the only violent act left to perpetrate. Finally, with a few seconds before the final credits roll, the Stranger rises and addresses nobody in particular.

  "Guess we'd best check out that Carnival."

  The dog looks up.

  Fade to black.

  Existence mixes with the dewy maelstrom of resistant dystopia. Harmonica chords rise into the sky.

  "You know...", I say to the dog, "how about we go check out that Carnival."

  Stretching the kinks out of my back as the steeple clock strikes the noon hour. At least that still works. It's time I leave this weird two-dimensional town and its ghostly inhabitants. Such a strange place to find one of these relics. Must have been transported here from the desert. A reminder of a time not so far away. Built by an occupying force to simulate normalcy. Almost like a movie set. But not quite. Just so they could line it up in their sights and push the button.

  My stomach rumbles. And the dog's stomach answers.

  I sure hope that Carnival has a food stand.

  …

  Day Two, Part Eight: Vantage Point

  What's with these weirdoes? Running up ahead like idiots. Doing somersaults, forming human pyramids which never manage to stay erect for more than a few seconds, staging impromptu tea parties. Always scattering at my pending approach. I've given them more than enough time to skeedaddle for good. Oh well, if they want to play then I'm game. I am just going to assume they know I'm in no mood to observe any obligatory rules.

  Must be emissaries from that Carnival. Leading me on. Toward the one thing I've been sent out here to discover. Like a book left on a bench, opened to a seemingly random page. A matter of coincidence. But you've been around the block enough times to understand that things are never quite that simple. There are certain pieces of information which must be gathered before moving on to the next phase. There is something beckoning me to its revelation. Calling to me. Out of thin air. It's the whisper on the wind. The gentle touch of a feather. The song of a bird fluttering by. The click of a Zippo. The hammer as it strikes its metal cohort -- the release from an empty chamber.

  The stubborn old thoughts of a displaced shadow.

  Storm clouds are threatening. An imposing hint of things to come. The cynic in me. Always looking for signs in the landscape. Reaping what we have sewn. The distorted circle of life. I can hear the thundering laughter, the joyous clapping of a vagabond audience. Holed up in decaying mansions. Far from the barest idea of home. Snakes and roaches and sickly rats. A disturbance in the ancient realm of unholy peace.

  Gates ripped from hastily fastened mounts. Cruelly tamed horses running wild. Blinded by fire. Drinking from poisoned streams. A voice of doubt ringing through the valley. Rusted bells sounding smoky residue. The sands of time mixing with the coastal yellow brine. Mighty sailors buried deep beneath cold waves.

  Our shores are meeting in the shallow wasteland of a sulfured declaration. You'd think the houses of light were forming a constellation of truth...but you're not looking at them from here. The placements have all gone meticulously astray. And we have been officially charged to let them go.

  I'm crossing a thousand borders with every step I take. Royal testaments to our inability to learn from our mistakes. That's what these fools must be all about. Out here to mock my last-ditch effort to escape the rooted evil welling up all around. Sewn into the very soil I've been treading since I learned to crawl. Here long before we ever showed up at the party. Going to be here long after we have worn out our welcome.

  Eh, pooch? Scratching away with its hind leg at a pesky flea.

  Must be quite a trip when all you know is instinct. None of this limited reasoning to mess you up. A little knowledge can go a long way. Along the path of destruction. That's what we'll have to show for our efforts at the end of the day. Pride. Heh... Quite the caretakers we turned out to be. Hey, thanks for the wonderful place to stay, don't worry about a thing, we'll be responsible. Like to see the look on that landlord's face when he shows up with an eviction notice.

  -- What made you think you had the right to trash my home?

  Going to be hell to pay. You can believe that. The tickets are already being printed for that ball. Come one, come all. Nobody's a stranger here...

  Very inviting.

  I should try to get to that Carnival before the storm hits. Not that I'm afraid of getting wet. I just don't want them to close down the hot attractions.

  As long as nothing else gets in my way...

  Approaching a crossing trail. Appearing out of nowhere. Must be making it up as I go along. A storied reflex. The living tapestry of a demented aphorism. The words scrawl across the sky. Bleeding their lines into the heavens. And what do we have here? A picnic table. But I admit it is not the first thing that grabs my attention. A long dark-haired beauty in a harlequin outfit is seated at the table, on one side of a chess board. Moving a black rook as I move headlong toward her. Rubbing my hands at the prospect. About time things got interesting.

  And I take my place across from this welcome break in the day.

  Our gaze meeting in the middle of a matching of wits. Literally. As it seems I have sat down in the midst of a game already well under way. How was I to know my moves were being charted all the while? Might have been a bit more cautious. But where would that lave led me? Best to go forth along uninhibited courses of action. What the hell...

  I make a quick mental note to suppress any inclination to engage this growingly arresting vision in anything resembling small talk. Wondering to myself if she knows how closely her features remind me of Marlene Dietrich. Could anything in the imagination of this grand comedy of errors ever top that perfect symbol of allure? I wonder. Well, this newfound competitor is certainly giving that line of inquiry a run for its money.

  Which raises a notable question... What exactly what is being wagered here? How high (or low, for that matter) are the stakes? And what set of disagreeable minds have laid their cleverly disguised odds?

  Bringing us to this raven haired vixen now seated opposite. Hiding her true regards. Her face masked in several layers of professionally applied make-up. Each level tearing away one more scrap of my resistance. Nobody knows what it means to be forever searching for that ideal idea of happiness. When you've lost all concept of hope it sure ain't difficult to become a hopeless romantic. Why not?...

  For goodness sake.

  I guess this is where the sad music comes kicking in. But who has the budget for such luxuries? I'll just have to gain what measure of strength I can from the one friend I have left. That shaggy beast I can't seem to shake. Could be worse. And that's not so bad.

  A move or two away from kind absolution. I close my eyes and feel the shifting wind. What force inside me is keeping me from accepting my miserable fate? I don't mind the challenge of going toe to toe with the very Devil himself (not that gender is an issue of concern). If not me, then who?

  All I've got is this chick. This tempting substitute presently keeping my company. Take what you can get kid. Hey...I'll take 'em all. Sitting myself upright with a calculated 'give me your best shot' bravado. And quit batting them velvet pools. With lashes that could sweep the floor of the last elevator stop. On the clearest day of the year. Don't toy with me, sister. I'm as weak as the next fellow. Believe you me.

  What a neat nest you've built here. I know I've made my share of poorly devised motions. Cornering myself with my own wistful neglect. Are you going to hold it against me? I do have a few charms still up my sleeve. After all... You're the one who showed up to freeze my thawing out. Not that I'm being ungrateful. I just want us to be sure our cards are showing.

  I know you're just another manifestation. But what else do I have to hold on to?...on this bitter afternoon.

  The heat of my blood is holding its own. Are you in the market for a Champion? Or are you just out scouting for a gullible chump? Not that it matters. I can fill whatever position you've got to offer. Sweetheart. />
  I guess I should focus my attention on the matter at hand. Is it my move? Have I told you lately?...

  My heart strengthens and I swing my arm across the board. Demolishing the trap I've laid for myself. Them pieces flying every which way. A chaotic dance of lifelong allies and sworn enemies. One or two ricocheting off that pretty forehead and toppling her three corner hat from its perch. Smooth move. You do have a way with the ladies.

  She just smiles and puts the hat back in place. Slipping me a coy look. Naughty boy. Fully expecting a firm crack on the cheek she raises a delicate hand. But instead of doling out my just punishment she extends her arm and takes my hand in hers. And we walk off. Me, my angel and my friend. A motley group who have found one another. Eight legs continuing onward. At least two knees more than a little shaky. And one heart...