Coyote bowed his head toward her. “Pele is wise. Now, if you will excuse me?” He smiled his lupine smile, long tongue dangling, then spun and sprinted into the surf. Three great bounds in, he leapt into the air and with a flash of silver scales was a salmon cutting into the waves and then gone.
Pele looked around. Attu was quiet around her, though now she could hear the battles to come. A stomp of her foot split the ground (rattling windows in Petropavlovsk six hundred miles away) and she leapt onto her koa wood sled to ride her waves of lava home again.
Aladdin’s Laugh
Damascus Mincemeyer
WHEN HENRY FIRST spotted the lamp it was hidden behind an old fur hat. In the dim light of the antique shop’s corner, it looked tarnished and old and there were engravings along the side, from long spout to curved handle, in a flowing script Henry didn’t recognize. Part of him wondered if it was some sort of fancy oil can, but he knew Marie would appreciate its strangely blemished elegance, and as he went to pay for it, Henry tried to think where in the house she’d like it placed.
At the cash register a young woman with black hair streaked with shocks of pink and smeared, raccoon-rings of eyeliner rimming her eyes looked at the lamp and smiled. “Someone finally bought that piece of junk. It’s been in the store since I started working here, and that was a long time ago.”
“How long’s long?” Henry asked. The girl shrugged, giving him his change.
“A year. I’ve been stuck here a whole year already. It’s creepy sometimes, all the dead people’s stuff they bring in.” She paused, looked around the store and repeated quietly, “A whole year.”
“You’re right. That is a long time,” Henry chuckled facetiously, taking the bag with the lamp from her. “I worked for the postal service for a year. Longest year of my life. It lasted four decades.”
The girl said nothing at the joke, just popped her eyes wide while Henry went to the door, which made him chuckle all the more.
As was his habit on Fridays, Henry stopped by the doughnut shop on the way home and had a bear claw with a cup of coffee. Sometimes he’d see Joe and Mac there and they’d shoot the breeze about the old days, but that afternoon he was by himself except for the Crazy Cuban, who always sat in the corner mumbling in Spanish while he read the paper. Being by himself was fine with Henry; he could savour his pastry without a bunch of old ghosts flitting around in his head. That was the problem with the past: if you let it, it would take over your present until you were mired waist-deep, like a bog. He’d seen it happen to some of his buddies from Korea, and even Joe and Mac to a lesser extent. You couldn’t do that. Life went forward.
He finished his bear claw, sipped his coffee and left, nodding to the Crazy Cuban, who just scowled and muttered as Henry went out the door. Going home, Henry passed through the neighbourhood he’d grown up in, and as usual, was impressed at how well it developed after he’d moved out. New buildings had been constructed, replacing most of the shabbier tenements of his youth, yet the people still hung out on the steps and sidewalks and music still played from a dozen different windows. A few people, old guys like Jack the Man and Stu Budgie, even called out to him as he passed by the bistro where they sat playing cards.
Henry’s house was two neighbourhoods away, out where the apartment buildings shrank and mingled happily with regular houses. It would have been faster and easier on his hip if he’d taken the bus, but half the fun of Fridays was tramping down the sidewalk, seeing the life, feeling the sun on his face. No bus ride could accomplish that. The house itself was small and comfortable, and the first thing Henry did once he got inside was open all the windows, letting the stuffy air out and the warm June breeze in.
When he pulled the lamp out of the bag, he took it directly to the living room to show Marie. He walked over to the big photograph of her that hung above the curio, from when they visited Paris years before. Her golden hair was just getting its first wisps of grey then, but her smile was enough to light up the Champs-Élysées. Proudly he held up the lamp to the picture.
“What do you think?” he asked, looking at the antique. “Not too tacky, I hope?”
Henry turned from the photograph and peered at the living room, eyeing all the places he could display the lamp; there weren’t many remaining spots available. He’d always been a sucker for antiques—other people’s rubbish, Marie would say—and had filled rooms with old vases and clocks, chipped pottery and tin boxes. Finally he decided to leave the placement until after he’d cleaned the lamp up.
It proved filthier than he thought. A coat of grime took an hour to scrub off, and after drying, Henry grabbed the metal polish, daubing it all over the lamp. By then he’d pulled out a beer and turned on the radio to listen to the Red Sox game. They were down 2–1 against Philadelphia, bottom of the fifth, and he swore every time the Phillies got a hit.
He had the lamp upside down, rubbing the side with the cloth in a vigorous circle when a tiny bit of dust sprinkled onto the table from the long spout. Henry stopped, wiping the dust away, but as he continued, more fell out, all over the tabletop in unbelievable amounts. In a heartbeat—half, even—the dust rose from the lamp, gathering into a cloud above the table and swirling around faster and faster like a miniature whirlwind. Pushing his chair back, Henry darted across the kitchen, snatching up the baseball bat he stashed behind the door for protection. He didn’t know what was happening, but he’d be damned if he’d survived Inchon to let some glorified dust devil take him out in his own house.
The eddying dust coalesced into something more solid, like a ball with two thick tendrils spreading out from the top, two more from the bottom, and while Henry watched it took a shape he recognized as human. A second later the dust dissipated and there, standing in the kitchen, was a man where moments before there had been nothing. The man was short and stocky, with a dark complexion, piercing emerald eyes, and a black moustache that drooped on either side of his mouth. His clothes were loose-fitting, more wrapped around his body than worn, and the dome of his head was wrapped with a topaz-coloured turban. From both of his ears hung round, gold hoops that shined in the kitchen lights.
Henry stared, wide-eyed, but said nothing. The man clasped his hands together, bowing his head before speaking with a resounding bellow.
“O blessed mortal, the Lord of a thousand Heavens has smiled upon you, and with each of three wishes shall I fulfil all of your desires.”
Henry blinked, his mind racing. Fulfil all your desires? He didn’t like the sound of that coming from a man no matter how he sliced it. Slowly he raised the bat.
“Look, pal,” he said, voice wavering. “I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but you better get the hell out of my house before I clobber you upside the head.”
The man—if that’s what it was—frowned. “Mortal, I bid you no harm. I merely am an agent to fulfil—”
“Yeah, I got that part,” Henry took a cautious step forward. “There will be no fulfilling of desire by some Nancy-boy who fell out of a dust cloud in my kitchen.”
The man’s frown deepened. “Did you not rub the engravings of my lamp?”
Henry furrowed his brow. “What? How’d you know I—” He glanced down for a second, swearing under his breath before looking up again. “That’s a genie’s lamp, isn’t it? And son of a bitch, you’re a genie, aren’t you?”
The man smiled broadly, exposing gleaming teeth. “I am indeed of the djinn, mortal.”
“Stop calling me that, will you?” Henry balked, keeping the bat high. “I know I’m that. You don’t get to be my age without knowing that, so there’s no need to rub it in.”
“Then what am I to call you, if not mortal?”
“Henry. Henry Reinhold.”
The genie nodded. “Very well, Henry Reinhold. You have been graced by virtue of awakening me to any three wishes your heart desires.”
Henry laughed and lowered the bat. Then he laughed some more, going from a small chuckle to a wild guffaw and back
again, more than once as he plopped down into the chair he’d abandoned. When the giggling finally wore down, the genie still stood there; it, however, did not look amused. Henry held up a hand to the djinn.
“Sorry about that, buddy, but I was kind of hoping you were some kind of hallucination. Thought maybe the Crazy Cuban slipped something in my coffee when I went back for extra cream.” He paused, studying the genie. “This is real, though, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, Henry Reinhold,” the genie smiled again. “You should feel blessed. Few get the opportunity to fulfil—”
“Yeah, yeah, their heart’s desire,” Henry interrupted. He prodded the lamp on the tabletop with a finger. “You really live in here?”
“It is a paradise beyond all conception of mankind, truly. Rivers of milk and honey, swaths of desert oasis filled with fruit, and palaces of women,” the genie leaned in closer. “And all of its like can be yours, if you choose. Anything can be yours, if you desire.”
Henry sighed, leaning back in the chair before propping the baseball bat against the edge of the table. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Especially since I don’t really desire anything that I can think of.”
A perplexed expression crawled on the djinn’s face. “Pardon?”
“Well, I’ve pretty much got everything I need,” Henry replied. The genie’s confusion doubled.
“There is nothing you desire?”
Henry shrugged. “Well, I’d desire you to get back in your little lamp-house and get the hell out of my life if that’s at all possible.”
The genie frowned. “I could, but that would leave your other wishes unfulfilled, and I am bound to you until you make them.”
“So you’re not leaving, then?”
“I cannot.”
Henry twiddled his thumbs. On the radio Philadelphia scored another run and the Sox were down by two with an inning to go. After a bit, Henry looked back to the genie. “What do most people wish for?”
The djinn swelled with pride, as if it were readying itself for wish-granting. “Most go directly to the sensual delights. Forbidden sex and lust are very popular.”
Henry scratched his chin. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. My, ah, equipment doesn’t function all that well these days, if you follow me. Besides, it would feel weird unless it was with Marie.” When he saw the genie’s brow crinkle, Henry clarified: “She was my wife.”
“She has passed this mortal coil?”
Henry nodded. “Ten years back. Ovarian cancer.”
The genie snapped its fingers. “There! I can bring her back to you, just as she was the day you met—every hair and eyelash, each whispered sweetness, all alive once more!”
Henry launched a sour scowl in the djinn’s direction.
“Now you just wait one damn minute! That’s nothing but perversion, you hear me, and I won’t even entertain the notion. Things happen in a natural order, and you just can’t go dicking around with them, all right? That’s off the table. Off. The. Table.”
The genie stroked its moustache. “I confess I do not understand, but I shall heed you.” After a pause it asked, “What of riches? Surely no one would turn down the lure of treasure?”
Henry thought about that before shaking his head. “I get a pension that suits me just fine. Haven’t starved yet, anyway.”
“Revenge against one’s enemies? It is quite satisfying, from what I’ve heard.”
“Enemies?” Henry mulled the thought over. “I don’t think I have any.” He shook his head again, exhaling a frustrated breath. “Look, buddy, there’s a hell of a lot more people in the world worse off than me who could use the sensual delights and riches you’re waving around. Why don’t you pick on one of them and let me listen to the game in peace?”
“I cannot do that, Henry Reinhold. We are bound.”
“Right,” Henry stood up. On the radio the announcer despaired as one last, lousy pitch cost the Sox a winning run, and with it, the game. Henry turned the radio off and glared at the genie. “I’m going to bed. I don’t want to see you here when I wake up.”
He flipped off the kitchen light and exited the room, leaving the djinn standing like a shadowy sentry, its eyes glowing green in the dark.
THE NEXT MORNING when Henry came down the hall, the genie was nowhere to be seen. The lamp remained on the kitchen table, tipped on its side where he’d left it. Before making his breakfast, he conducted a search throughout the house, double-checking everything to make sure the djinn hadn’t hidden itself away. A fellow who lives in a lamp could be anywhere, he reasoned, and dutifully opened all the cupboards and closets, checked under the bed, upturned each sofa cushion, scrutinized the pantry and even peeked behind every stack of dinner plates before spying down the sink drains, just to be sure. After half an hour Henry was satisfied the genie was gone, or better yet, had never existed to begin with. He hadn’t thought hallucinations a particularly good thing, but to his mind it sure as hell beat the alternative. With quiet relief he wrapped the lamp in the cloth of metal polish he’d used the day before and set the thing in the trash outside.
Afterwards Henry made himself some bacon and eggs and coffee, relishing the peace and quiet. He set the dishes in the sink and passed through the living room, saying good morning to Marie as he went, before heading down the hall to the bathroom. Henry ran the water in the shower, getting it nice and hot before stepping in. That first blast was relaxing like few things were, and he smiled, lathering up. A few seconds later he began whistling.
Above the tuneless melody, Henry heard a deep voice from behind him speak in puzzlement. “Why is it that mortals sing as they bathe?”
Henry shrieked and spun around; there in the shower with him, arms crossed, stood the genie. Henry yanked at the shower curtain, covering himself. Surprise had his tongue tied, and beyond shielding his nudity, Henry just pointed and stammered like a madman.
“You . . . You—” he grimaced, annoyed, before clenching his fists. “You were gone! You left!”
The djinn stared impassively. “I did no such thing. As I said, we are bound, Henry Reinhold, and as such I heeded your tone and left you in peace as you asked. I thought perhaps you had to reason out what your desires were, and would be thus prepared to cast your wishes to me.”
Henry ground his teeth together, jabbing an angry finger at the genie. “Weren’t you listening yesterday? I’ve got everything I need and I’ve had a good long life. Had a great wife. Two great kids. A steady job. I even travelled the world a little bit. The point is, I don’t want for anything. Everything that makes me comfortable I’ve already got. Now I’m telling you somewhere on this planet there has to be someone who wants what you’re selling but, for the last time, it ain’t me.”
Henry stepped out of the shower then, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist before heading to the bedroom. There on the bed sat the djinn. Henry exhaled an exasperated breath and went to the closet, pulling out some clothes.
Just ignore him, Henry thought, rifling through his plaid shirts. It’s like an annoying kid. Give any attention at all and it’ll just get worse. He glanced back to the bed and was surprised to see that the djinn had disappeared once more. With a satisfied grunt, Henry turned back to his wardrobe, only to cry out when he spotted the genie standing imposingly in the closet, a tie flopping down from the shelf onto its shoulder.
“You must make a wish, Henry Reinhold,” the genie commanded, its voice growing so intense the hangers and bins in the closet rattled. “I tire of waiting.”
Henry ground his teeth again, obstinate childishness rising in him. “No!”
He went to grab his shirt from the bed, but the genie was there, standing by the dresser. Henry ignored him, put on his clothes, and stormed from the room. Out in the hall the djinn was waiting for him.
“Would you not desire a larger abode, Henry Reinhold?” the genie asked, gesturing to the living room. Henry staunchly shook his head.
“I like it fine. Anything big
ger would make the electric bill sky high.”
“Then would you desire more wealth to pay for it?”
“I told you, my pension’s solid,” Henry glared at the genie. “I’m going out.”
Henry stomped out of the kitchen to the back stoop, but there was the genie, pulling its discarded lamp from the trash. Its eyes glowed with anger, but it simply set the lamp on the porch railing before glaring at Henry once more. “Perhaps you desire a larger rubbish bin, in order to dispose of my shrine more effectively?”
Henry didn’t even bother to reply. He took off down the sidewalk at a fair clip, hoping to outpace the genie, but the djinn persistently clung to his side, pointing to everything it saw on the street—a dog, a fire hydrant, a skateboard, a stop sign, everything—and offering it to him. Henry stayed silent, clenched his jaw, and tried to tune out the genie’s constant prattle. It was a code of silence he maintained while he was at the corner bistro despite the fact that the genie relentlessly badgered him.
“Would you desire a larger sandwich?” it asked. “Or a different sandwich? Or a delicatessen of your own to craft sandwiches whenever and wherever you choose?”
After he ate, Henry saw Jack the Man and Stu Budgie playing cards at the café out on the sidewalk. Budgie waved to him, but Henry just nodded, keeping on course. He was afraid if he said anything it would make the genie worse.
His stoicism did nothing. The whole time Henry was at the corner market, and the fruit stand outside, and all the way home, the djinn kept going like a wind-up toy that never slowed. Even as Henry calmly put away his groceries, the tirade did not cease.
“Would you desire a better oven?” the djinn hounded. “Or a new sink? A factory of your own, perhaps, to manufacture ovens and sinks in any way you choose?”
Henry clicked on the radio, turning it up loud to try to drown out the djinn. It was the second of the series against the Phillies, and for a long while the game was tied at two before going to extra innings. The Sox tried to rally, but come the top of the eleventh Philadelphia’s best hitter smacked a home run, and that was that.
Fire: Demons, Dragons & Djinns Page 19