The Cellar

by Peter Fugazzotto

  "A shit hole," said Jay.

  I nodded. "Maybe we can just spread the ashes today and find a motel back down the highway."

  "Let's at least look at the inside," said Lipsky.

  The inside was a little better.

  17

  When I stepped through the door of the cabin, I was flooded with memories and overwhelmed with the stench of mildew and stale beer. The air was so thick that it was nearly impossible to take in a full breath without gagging. But it was those smells, the mildew, the stale beer, the heavy dust that also brought me back more than thirty years to those summer days and nights at the cabin.

  While the outside of the cabin had been ravaged by time and the elements, the inside felt as if it had been preserved, at least in its outward form.

  It was as though we were stepping back in time.

  "Look at this place," said Lipsky dropping his two bags by the door. "It hasn't changed."

  And it looked like it had not, at least not on the surface. The same plaid couch squatted in the center of the main room facing the windows and doors that opened towards the forest and glimpses of the lake. The walls were lined with all sorts of bear-related knickknacks that Dave's mother had collected over the years. Bear shot glasses and steins. Porcelain mama bears and her cubs. A bear cuckoo clock. Framed photos and illustrations of bears. Carved wooden bears.

  Tug vaulted the back of the couch and landed hard in a prone position. "He's got a flat screen up here so all is not lost."

  Jay dabbed at his nose with his knuckles and sniffled. "We need to open some doors in here." He drew an inhaler from his coat and shook it vigorously.

  "Ain't so bad now that we're in here," said Tug. "Just like old times."

  "Not quite," I said. And the others also caught themselves looking around, waiting for Dave to appear on the other side of the kitchen isle, his fingers laced around shot glasses, his deep laughter inviting us into the spiral of booze.

  "He's here in spirit," said Tug. "And that's why we're here. One last time together even if he is only ashes. One last time, my brothers."

  He and Jay returned to the car to get their bags, the liquor, and the food.

  "We should see each other more often," said Lipsky. He hid his teary eyes by fiddling with his glasses and dragging his wrist across his eyes.

  "I know. We shouldn't just get together for times like this. We're old now. Where did it all go?"

  He shook his head. "I don't really feel old yet. Well, my back does, and stairs always seem steeper. But for Dave to die? For one of us to have died already? It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem real. Seems like it shouldn't have happened yet. Like we missed out on something and are now trying to desperately get it back. How did that happen?"

  I opened the back doors. The air was cold and shocking, but refreshing. I hoped the cross breeze would clear the air out some. Sleeping in that miasma would mean painful headaches in the morning.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket. No signal. I walked out towards the lake to a slight knoll. Nothing.

  It would probably be good to be away from work, family, everything for a weekend. Time to honor Dave and reset.

  18

  Half an hour later, Tug sprawled on his bed and handed the joint to me.

  I shook my head. "This latest shit with Liz. Don't trust her. She'll probably demand a drug test before gouging me out of all my money."

  "Been there, done that." Tug sucked hard on the joint and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He fluffed the bear-shaped pillow beneath his head again. The room like the rest of the house was decorated with bears. Bear wallpaper. Bear quilts on each of our twin beds. Bear paw-shaped handles on the dresser. "After the second divorce, you realize it's just a thing."

  "Hoping it's not a return to the poor house thing."

  "Too late to worry about that now." He waved the joint at me again.

  We were bunking up together. Jay and Lipsky were in the bedroom on the other side of the house, the one with its own bathroom. I was fine with that. Just happy not to be stuck in the same room as Jay. He was being a bastard on this trip and I would be happy enough when we parted ways again and didn't see each other for another twenty years.

  He needed to get over being jealous of my success. Sour grapes.

  He was the one who made the bad choices. Not me.

  The rain was coming down harder now, gunfire-like as it struck the uneven stone walkway just outside the window. But on the roof the rain sounded different, splashing on the mossy roof, as if the rotten house just sucked up all the moisture and had lost all solidity. The rain tore above us like gnawing animals.

  "With this rain, going to be hard to spread the ashes," I said.

  "We'll find a way."

  Tug pulled a pistol out of his duffle.

  "What the hell is that?"

  "A gun."

  "I know that. Why'd you bring it here?"

  "What idiot goes to the woods without protection?"

  He lay the gun on the night table next to him. "Not dangerous unless it's got bullets in it."

  "You'd didn't bring bullets?"

  "You are dense, aren't you?"

  "What is that? A Luger?"

  He handed the gun to me. It was heavier than I thought it would be. I sighted the gun from one end of the room to the other passing over Tug.

  As I was bringing it back, he peeled it out of my hands. "First rule of the gun club: Don't point your weapon at anything you're not willing to destroy."

  "How'd you get a Luger?

  "Iraq. From one of the strongman's palaces. Called himself the Executioner. Shoved the pistol in suspected informants' mouths and shot their heads off. All the while telling them he couldn't understand what they were saying. Fucking evil dwelled there. Until we blew it to kingdom come. Bastard still held the pistol in his hand, and all that was left of him was his hand. You hold that gun and you think about some Kraut shooting Jews with it, some Iraqi pig shooting his own countrymen in the head. I thought about melting the gun down. But I figure I'm one of the good guys. Maybe I can change the destiny of the gun. Turn it into a tool for good instead of evil."

  "Not sure how many evil raccoons there are out here."

  "Better safe than sorry. Plus it's more likely evil bears."

  Lipsky called for us from the other room. "Come on. I got everything set up."

  19

  I had thought that Lipsky had set up shots for us. Tequila. Vodka.

  But instead he had set up a Dungeons and Dragons game for us at the dining table.

  "What the ... !" screamed Tug. "Yeah, baby."

  "You still have all this?" Tears floated in the corners of my eyes.

  I sat down where Lipsky indicated. A small-painted lead figurine, Bodomir, the paladin, the me of my youth, stood on the table as he had done so many years before, sword raised in his arm, shield chambered at his shoulder. I picked him up and turned him over in my fingers. I felt like a missing piece of me had been found.

  We each had.

  Tug scooted Cronan, his axe-wielding barbarian, through a small army of goblins. Tug had lived up to that ideal of the chaotic, damn-the-torpedoes warrior, the giant savage who was ready to fight through the worst odds for his comrades. The Northern barbarian born on the battlefield.

  Jay played as the elven thief, Lorion, charming, dressed in buckskin, deadly with his arrows and able to sneak through enemy lines to kill anyone who stood in our way. But it never worked out that way. Long ago, Lipsky, our intrepid Dungeon Master had put a curse on him so that every stealth roll of his dice was cut in half and he always failed in his side missions and the rest of us had to bail him out. Never ending frustration for Jay but hours of fun for the rest of us trying to rescue him from the darkest dungeons.

  One piece stood by itself in the middle of the table, Karmerak, the dwarf wizard, played by Dave, a reckless spell caster, pipe smoking, womanizing, always with a bottle at his hip, who inevitably shot a spell in the wron
g direction or had it ricochet off a pillar, and would only get us deeper in trouble. But he was always the one that rescued us. He would pull out the one remaining spell that opened the secret door or put the dragon to sleep or transported us away from the closing circle of slathering orcs.

  "A game, Lipshit?" said Tug. "You got a game set up for us?"

  "A small campaign," said Lipsky. He rattled dice in his cupped hands.

  "What about Karmerak?" I asked. "Who's playing him?"

  "That's the campaign," said Lipsky. He sucked at his lips. "Karmerak, Odin bless his soul, finally met his maker, too much coin at the whore houses of Babylos. His heart gave out doing what he loved best. And now we have to bring his body north to the Hall of the Heroes. A simple journey, my friends. Through the forests of beneath Mount Fire. But there are rumors of bandits and an evil one-eyed cleric marauding in the forest, and an even darker rumor of a powerful magical gem unearthed by a troop of ragtag hobgoblins. Are you ready to bring Karmerak to his final resting place, faithful companions?"

  I turned my playing piece towards the center of the table. "Bodomir stands ready."

  Cronan howled.

  Lorion pledged his undying elven loyalty to his dwarven companion, an honor usually only bestowed on fellow elves.

  And with that pledge, we rolled the dice, brought back together again after all these years.

  We could do no wrong. We scored critical hits. The die rolled, tottered, and ended up with twenties and twelves and eights as if old Lipsky had loaded the die so they would always give us the best rolls. Even Jay's thief, Lorion, seemed to be able to roll past his curses.

  We lost time – clinking beer bottles, high fiving each other, sucking down Jay's plates of spaghetti. Orcs fell beneath our arrows, the bandits were routed, and the one-eyed cleric turned out to be a Cyclops with a lisp. We reached the end of tunnels beneath the forest and stole the Gem of Seeing from the drunken hobgoblins. Then we capped off the journey walking up the grand stairs to the Hall of the Heroes, an army of mighty dwarves on either side, bent to their knee, helmets tucked beneath their arms, tears wetting their cheeks in honor of their legendary adventurer Karmerak.

  "Hell, yeah! Mission accomplished, soldiers!" Tug stood up out of his chair and threw his fists towards the ceiling. "Just like the good old days."

  "Missed all you guys," said Lipsky.

  "That was fun," said Jay. Our gazes locked for a second and I nodded at him. In that moment it seemed like all the years had been erased, all the bad feelings forgotten, all the baggage and separation pushed aside, and it felt good. It felt like we were all back together again.

  Even in that instance I knew that the feeling would not last forever. The magic of the experience would fade away and we would return to our new ways of being, the walls would come up, and we would go our separate ways probably brought together again only when another one of us died. But we had that moment, and I was going to enjoy it for what it was. How often do we ever have those moments in life where feelings long gone are captured again?

  "Now it's time to celebrate," said Tug. He nodded his head as if he were listening to a heavy metal soundtrack only he could hear.

  "We got plenty of beer," said Jay.

  "The adventurers need to go to the inn. Mead, whores, whole legs of turkey."

  "You didn't like my pasta?"

  "Get your shit together. We're going back down to the bar. Back in town. Have some fun."

  20

  I dashed through the parking lot from the car to the bar. The rain was coming down even harder. Jay ran alongside me. Tug and Lipsky were already inside.

  "The road was a mess," I said. "River coming up."

  Jay grabbed my shoulder and pulled the door open for me. Heavy metal music and stale smoke blasted me. "First drink's on me, Skip."

  I lost track of how many shots and beer chasers I had. I wanted to slow down but we kept buying each other drinks. The drive back would be even worse. Hopefully the rain would let up by the time we left.

  We had never been in the bar before, too young to legally drink the last time we were here, but it was everything one would imagine a hole in the wall bar well off the beaten tourist track would be like.

  The place stunk of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Every once in a while the eye-watering smell of bleach would wash over me followed by the smother of cheap perfume. The bar was mostly full of shadows, except for the three lights over the pool tables and the Budweiser and Coors signs behind the bar. Even the jukebox seemed faded, its light muted, the glass screen grimy, the songs hard to make out.

  Jay and I sat together while Tug and Lipsky roared as they played two draggle-bearded men in quarter pool. Every time Tug sunk a shot, he whooped, and every time the locals looked up darkly from their watery beers.

  "Tug is crazy as ever," said Jay.

  "Love that guy but he came back even more batshit loco from his tours in Afghanistan and Iraq."

  "I'm just happy the fool made it back."

  I clinked my bottle against Jay's. "And it's good to see you again. Been way too many years."

  "You could have jumped a plane and visited. Not like I live on the other side of the country."

  I held my lip to my beer. I counted my breath. I was not going to be dragged into this. Not tonight. He could have easily come up to see me as well. "I'll do that. Let's plan on me coming down this winter. You and I can hang out. Cruise the beaches. Do the Hollywood tour."

  He laughed. "All my years down there and I've never done a Hollywood Star tour." He clinked his bottle against mine. "It'll be fun."

  Half an hour later, Marjie, I think that was her name, sat down next to me, giggling. She dangled her lipstick-stained shot glass in front of me. "You going to buy me another drink, big boy?"

  My gaze drifted to the exposed skin of her bosom. She had bigger breasts than Liz, and I wondered what it would be like to squeeze her boobs, smash my face against her flesh. How many years had it been since I had another woman? I would probably regret it in the morning but I didn't care.

  The light would reveal the too heavy mascara, the cheap earrings, and the fake nails. But I was fine with letting the dark of night hide her imperfections, and the dark of night to give me a chance to slip into another life for a few hours. I needed to escape the spiral.

  I was leaning towards her, sliding my hand across the booth seat towards her bare leg, hungry to taste her flesh, when I felt fingers dig into my shoulder and wheel me around.

  A giant man, belly stretching his t-shirt, trucker cap perched on his head, pushed me down in my seat. Beer frothed at his lips and spilled over his beard. "You think you something? You think you can come in here like that?"

  Marjie was screaming words that should have been recognizable, an unintelligible screech, and I swore I could hear the ticking of seconds from the clock behind the bar as I saw the tough ball up his fist and raise it over his shoulder.

  I played that scene over and over in my head, or at least, I played what should have happened. The hard crack of bone against cartilage, the hot wash of blood in my mouth, the room disintegrating into specks of blackness.

  But that punishing blow never came. If it would have, would all the other pain somehow never have found its way to us? Could that have been the sacrifice that I made for my friends? Could I have been the lone lamb laid down?

  Instead that fist froze in the air and the angry trucker flew backwards as if suddenly leaping. As he disappeared, Tug stood in his place, one hand fixed on my attacker's collar as he dragged him off his feet and hurled him into the neighboring table.

  Marjorie disappeared from my side and I saw her lift the trucker's head to her lap, and no soft cooing words slipped from her rouged lips. "You fat sonofabitch. He's bleeding. Piece of shit. Oh, Manny, I was just trying to get you jealous." She ran her fingers through his beard and hair, one of her fake nails already lost.

  That was when I noticed the semi-circle of men, teeth bared, hands squeezing, cl
osing in on us. Beyond them, the bartender clutched a baseball bat in his hands.

  Jay leapt up on a table, pool cue in hand. Tug growled lightly by my side, his gaze darting left and right. He smelled musky like an animal emerging deep from the forest.

  We were together again.

  Facing odds we could not win.

  That's when the lights flashed and someone screamed fire. On the far side of the bar, near the bathroom, a mound of paper towels on top of a table flared and smoked. In hindsight, it was nothing really. A couple of wadded napkins on fire that would burn out in seconds, but we all gave in to the fear, primed by the warning cry, and we loosened our fists and ran out the door, clear of the cigarette smoke and cloying ammonia stench and into the rain.

  While the others stopped outside the door, panting, looking back in, wondering what the hell happened, we kept running, all the way back to my car, and we loaded in, limbs piling over each other, laughing and screaming.

  "Karmerak!" screamed Tug, head out the window.

  Jay was behind the wheel, reversed the car, slammed it into drive, and we lurched forward with a spray of gravel from the wheels. I slid across the seat nearly into Lipsky's lap as we rounded the first corner and raced back towards the cabin.

  "What the hell happened back there?" asked Jay. "I thought we were going to die."

  "You with the pool stick," barked Tug. "Right out of a movie."

  "The Face always getting the boyfriends pissed off." Jay hunched over the steering wheel. Beyond the mad slashing of the windshield wipers, the bridge took shape through the torrential rain. "We got lucky with that fire. I mean, what the hell?"

  "That was the Dungeon Master rolling a secret twenty for you," chimed in Lipsky.

  "You sneaky son of a bitch!" Tug pounded the dashboard with his fists. "Lipshit saves the day. Critical f'ing hit. Critical f'ing hit!"

  Then we were free, the lights of the bar fading behind us, and the wheels of the car humming as we hit the boards of the bridge. I pressed my face against the window, and behind the breath-fogged glass, I saw the river, impossibly high, lapping over the planks of the bridge, and we raced forward as if we walked on water, as if nothing could stop us. We were invincible.