The Bewdley Mayhem

by Tony Burgess

  Kathy leaps off the porch and runs, with her head down. I have to forget this.

  part two

  home

  ONE

  There might have been one Mayor, one Robert Forbes — a single, desperate man being dragged, like a child to a bath, up to his own front door. Except now Kathy has seen that there are two. Two Mayors. Two Robert Forbeses.

  One Mayor steps inside and hangs broken on a hook over the couch. He’s not sure what to say. The other is seated, looking back to the door that Kathy still peers through. He is self-conscious: she can see how short his legs are, so he pulls them up onto the couch and hides them with a blanket. He looks annoyed, and the woman realizes this and turns away. In the driveway Kathy holds her hand up to her mouth and puffs it full of breath: “It’s true.”

  Kathy senses, terrified, that an intelligence has shown her this. She momentarily resists the urge to flee, and looks for this new guiding light.

  The sky is the same. The air is the same. She idles, kicks stones with the toe of her boot, and then runs down the street as fast as she can. In her absence she leaves a faint draft that lurches back toward the house. It folds in half as it lowers itself across the first porch step. It folds again. Quarters, then eighths, until it settles into a thin breath held evenly against the garden bed. As the breath is overcome by coolness, the possibility that it will rise, and select one Mayor over the other, dies. But still, only one Robert Forbes can be affirmed. The second must be erased. How can this process be initiated? Could a marble be thrown through the window? Could a paper airplane, propelled through the mail slot, swoop between them and bang its nose against one and not the other? Something that was there after she left will have to brush against Robert Forbes or there will be evil twins.

  Or worse: a deformed little brother.

  Anything but that.

  But the door is closed. The curtains hang. They don’t even sway. There is nothing here to correct the problem, so it’s on nothing that the outcome must rely.

  Something that doesn’t exist will have to interfere, and while it cannot be pictured, something can be pictured in its stead. A coin, maybe. Or a bird flying into the door. Or beads.

  Over the tiny white pebbled pathway, a string of beads is lead by a tiny bell that drives into the room and hits the wall. The bell cracks in half and the beads slip past a tiny knot in their string across the Mayor’s pillow. They roll beyond his head, down the wall, and along the baseboard, before spinning in the dust beneath the bed. Finally, they come to rest.

  It’s the rest that wakes the Mayor: his little fists under the pillow, his lips pulled in over his teeth. And even though he doesn’t open his eyes, he feels the morning light like candles on his cheeks.

  Robert Forbes is in his own bed. Asleep at home. He rolls over once and feels for his body’s willingness to fall with him again. Sleep.

  No.

  The short Mayor opens his eyes and looks at daylight, a diffuse frame at the edges of closed blinds. He is surprised, emotional. He really is home. In this place he wakes each day. Except, this morning he opens his eyes as someone chosen, someone changed. Something has cast a spell while he slept. He closes his eyes and tries to feel it.

  It is a dream. Or, someone in a dream. Someone who is still here, in this bedroom.

  Who is it?

  He recalls a man bursting in through a door. Strange, the rumours that precede him: a revolting man, an evil man. And then, just when the rumours of his badness have been absorbed, the man arrives, his claw-like hands picking the lock.

  A terrible breeze has come through the door and there is nothing between him and my bed. The rumours, of course, are all true. He is here to kill someone. Not just anyone: me.

  He has been planning for me, outside. And now he is inside to do the deed. I see his slit eyes and the bloody corners of his mouth; his elbows bend off their points to extend those murderous hands out over my covers. There wasn’t a second to lose, and very little hope that I could stop him.

  But I did. Didn’t I?

  The Mayor can’t recall past this moment. He remembers feeling a burst of energy just as the hands reached him. Was it enough?

  There was the other dream as well. The woman.

  Today, maybe, I’ll find her.

  Robert sits at the edge of his bed, swinging his feet toward slippers that lie six inches below his stretching toes. He lowers one hip and reaches for the floor. As he slides down, he flips to face the bed and lands with his heels backward, crushing the soft fabric of the slippers. This morning a ribbon must be cut in front of the new dental office. As he recalls this, the Mayor claps his mouth closed to test the integrity of his teeth. He feels a ding of pain in his left cheek. He lays a pale purple short-sleeved shirt on the bed, and pulls on a pair of brown slacks. He claps his teeth again, a few more times. Shallow, quick bites: castanets. A tooth somewhere in the top left corner of his mouth is having a problem.

  Wonder how long that’s been like that?

  There’s a rap at his door.

  The Mayor quickly pulls on his shirt and steps into the bright sunlight that comes directly through the small window in the front door. At this time of day the sun spends about ten minutes burning in this window, a brilliant painting whose only subject is this morning star. The Mayor can see a silhouette of a person in the frame. He turns and pulls the doorknob while drawing his shirt closed across his skinny chest.

  “Oh, hi Barry. What’s up?”

  “Hey pal, what’s up with you?”

  “Uh, I’m just getting ready. Uh, you want a cup of coffee?”

  “Hey, if you’re just about ready, let’s grab one on the way.”

  The Mayor has done up his shirt. He looks back into the house and exhales hard through his nose. He thinks he should have something before he goes.

  “C’mon. Let’s go. They supply the scissors, eh?”

  Barry laughs and steps aside for the Mayor to exit through the door. He does so slowly, hesitantly, certain this can’t be all there is to it. He looks down in a snap to check that he has pants on.

  “This place is up the hill, on the north side. Near the Beatons I think.”

  “Yeah, right next door.”

  “Hope you don’t mind me coming along, pal.”

  The Mayor stops at the base of his driveway. He feels that he’s being hurried. Didn’t I, at least, have a cue card?

  “No, I don’t mind. Of course, Barry. The contracting business a bit slow this morning?”

  “Well, when you’re the boss, you know, the odd field trip. Besides we did some work on the dental office, so this is kinda like seeing it fly.”

  The Mayor sweeps his hand up his front, looping a finger over the top button, fanning his thumb against the collar to check that he’s done it up properly.

  “Sure, OK. Makes sense to me. Hey Barry, when’s the last time you had your teeth checked out?”

  Barry cocks his head and smiles with teeth that might be clean but are yellow in the sun.

  “Oh, last month. I get ’em checked and cleaned every six months.”

  “Really? Not me. I don’t remember the last time.”

  The Mayor runs his tongue over his teeth. He swallows it back into his mouth and sucks spittle through the gaps. The Mayor won’t open his mouth again. He smiles, lips closed, and blinks.

  As they walk north, through the main intersection at the top of the hill, Barry spots a woman in hiking boots stepping out of the doorway that leads up to the Salvation Army. He turns away and tries to distract the Mayor.

  “Hey, Mayor, look at that there. These goddam weeds burst right up through the sidewalk!”

  The Mayor is startled. Barry has said this as if it has just happened. The Mayor jumps back to avoid the aggressive plant. He nearly ducks to avoid the flying sidewalk.

  “Huh? What? Where?�
��

  “No, no. Right here. Look. The goddamn weed has broken the sidewalk here. I noticed it back there, too.”

  The Mayor flinches and turns, expecting another piece of the city to become airborne. He spots the woman and calls out to her. Barry sighs and kicks the weed, severing it at the base, rubbing green flesh on the concrete.

  “Hello there, Kathy!”

  The woman is waiting for the light to change. She waves and smiles broadly.

  “There’s that Kathy. Just a great girl. Had a nice chat with her the other day.”

  Barry has tried to walk away. Hoping to draw the Mayor away.

  “Oh, yeah? What time is it?”

  “Hi. Mr. Mayor. Where are you off to?”

  As she gets closer, Kathy realizes that it’s the smaller Mayor. She avoids looking into his eyes. She’s afraid this Mayor might blind her. Like looking at an eclipse.

  “Uh. We’re going up to the new dentist office, up there. Gonna get our picture taken.”

  “Make sure you show your teeth for the camera.”

  The Mayor is aware that he is not showing his. Barry turns toward the pair without acknowledging the woman. Kathy has decided to humour the new math: for now the Mayor is the Mayor, no matter how many or what size.

  Maybe it’s me, she thinks.

  Barry says: “We should get going Mayor.”

  “Yeah. OK. Just want to ask our revolutionary how the fight’s goin’.”

  “Well, I’m keepin’ an eye on a couple things. The new contract to extend town water, for instance.”

  Kathy is aware that she is suppressing one of the Mayors. The effort makes her blink.

  “Oh yes. Big project. Barry here has put in a bid, haven’t ya Barry?”

  “Uh. Not yet. No, not yet. There’s already a number of bids there already.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you were all gung-ho about this.”

  “Oh sure, we’ll, you know, just follow the routine. Gotta bid on everything.”

  Kathy is suspicious. She can tell that Barry makes a habit of ducking straight questions. Barry tries to smile at her, but can’t. He feels a flare of anger. If his smile malfunctions, that means this woman has power. She has penetrated very quickly.

  “Listen, Mayor, we should go.”

  “OK. OK. Uh, Kathy, there’s a meeting on this business next Wednesday. Think you’ll show up?”

  Barry feels the impulse to use force. To lie. To say that it’s a closed meeting. He looks up to do so, but he cannot smile and so, he cannot speak.

  “Sure. I’ll be there, Mr. Mayor.”

  Barry and the Mayor walk to the dentist’s office in silence and arrive just as a large punch bowl is being placed on a card table on the front lawn. Barry stops the Mayor at the edge of the grass.

  “Y’know, Mayor. I may be wrong, but I think that the meeting about the town water is closed.”

  “Closed? What do you mean?”

  Barry has chosen this spot to try out his lie. He is sensitive to how geographical facts can give a lie legs. They are on the verge of a property, about to step off the sidewalk and empty their minds. Barry knows that lies can be snuck in best when people are stepping off into unscripted but official business. A well-placed pull to the back of the sleeve, a few quick breaths spoken next to the ear, and the lie is released below the lawn party. It will emerge later as a reference, a fact, a night crawler.

  The dentist steps off her porch with a wide tray piled high with clear plastic punch glasses. They are a moulded and fancy imitation of cut glass. The Mayor can see people standing back in the shade of the porch. He recognizes a few: Ben Honson, the lawyer from town, a shiny, apple-faced fellow; and beside him, with two heavy cameras slung off her shoulder, the photographer for the local paper. She does a monthly photographic report of events. In the paper it’s called The Caesarean Section. Very popular. Nearly everyone has one of her original photographs, and shops will usually display the monthly section proudly. The Mayor spots another familiar character emerging from a low chair at the back corner of the porch. It’s Gorley.

  Robin Gorley is making his way to the punch bowl. He’s a chubby little badger of a man, and his hands nibble on his tie as he walks. Gorley is the pseudo-Mayor and founder of the pseudo-town of Buddy Holly. He attends Caesarean functions as often as he can: a parasite for legitimacy, the Mayor thinks, a sneak, a fraud. Gorley holds the scoop up high to pour his punch, and as the fluid hits the cup it curls out and over the front of his pants. He lets out a piggy hoot.

  “Hey, Mayor! Get yourself some of this crap!”

  Gorley hovers the cup in front of his chin, extending and retracting his lips as if the liquid is too hot, or maybe because he can’t decide whether to speak or sip. Either way, the slippery relish of his mouth causes Robert to look away — boozer.

  “C’mon, big guy! This pink crap’s what you need on a day like today!”

  “Thanks Robin. I’m OK.”

  “Don’t like to drink and drool, huh?”

  Gorley snorts. A laugh?

  “What?”

  The Mayor doesn’t like the remark. It’s not funny. In fact, it’s sort of stupid. A joke?

  “Hey listen, while I got ya here, I got a question for ya.”

  Barry has left Robert’s side for the interior of the house; he looks back once and smiles quickly, insincerely, staring out across the road between the two mayors.

  “Uh, yeah, Robin, listen. I’m here on official business. Don’t really have time to …”

  “No, no. Yeah, I know. Yer cuttin’ a fuckin’ ribbon fer Christ sakes.”

  “We’re having a town meeting next Wednesday, if ya want to …”

  “No, no, this is just something I wanted to ask on the side.”

  The Mayor stirs a finger in his shirt pocket and wrinkles his cheeks.

  “Though if I’m not mistaken, I think it’s a closed meeting.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Listen, I just wanna ask you something here. Mayor to Mayor. Behind closed doors, so to speak.”

  “Behind closed doors?”

  “Yeah, so to speak.”

  “What?”

  “Well, hang on, I gotta explain.”

  Gorley puts his arm around the Mayor and places his half-full cup in his hand. He directs the Mayor to a corner of the yard where a path leads up onto a mound of earth, a future rock garden, studded with broken bricks. The highest point of the path is four feet in from the lawn, and Gorley, ever sensitive to vantage points, turns the Mayor around so that he can see, from this mild elevation, somewhat further down the street.

  “We got traditions in Buddy Holly, as you know. Just like you have traditions here in Caesarea. In fact, our traditions complement each other somewhat, I think. You got your Perch Festival, we got our Gopher Shoot. You got your Toffee Pull in the fall, we got our, uh, our appliance swaps. You get the picture.”

  “Yeah, c’mon Robin, they’re pulling the ribbon up there.”

  “Yeah, it’s a beauty. Anyway, I think it’s time we shared a festival, a two-town festival, like …”

  “Like what, Robin?”

  “OK, get this. We raffle off a date in Caesarea with Miss Buddy Holly.”

  “Huh?”

  “No, really. Look at the two towns, what do ya got? You got the nice fuckin’ town, with all the touristy places. Ya got the wharf there, the only real seafood restaurant for miles around, a Becker’s, a taxicab, right? You could go out on a date in this town, you could really impress someone. Now, what does Buddy Holly got? I’ll tell ya. We got babes. Stunning honeys. About three of them. None of your wide-end vacation moms. And they’re just sittin’ around on their pretty little butts, waiting for some lucky stiff to come along and take ’em for a night on the town, know what I mean? I know that at least one of them is willin’.”

>   “Doesn’t really sound like a Caesarean kind of raffle.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter one fuckin’ bit. Here’s the genius of the idea. We sell tickets everywhere but Caesarea. Promote the town and make a shitload of cash all at the same time.”

  “Well, listen, I do want to talk to you about something. This is serious. Listen Robin, we got a problem with kids comin’ into town all tanked up.”

  “What? Ahh, they’re just kids.”

  “Yeah, well I heard one of ’em pulled a knife out over here last week.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Just your people bein’ jumpy.”

  “Hey Mayor!”

  The photographer is springing her finger off the ribbon and holding up her camera. The Mayor jogs down the little mound and enters the small gathering on the lawn. Gorley clenches his fist and barks out behind the Mayor.

  “Hey, buddy, you got my drink!”

  Everyone looks over to Gorley, caught by the sound of his voice, and he bends over quickly, pretending to slap dirt from his knee. He mutters.

  “Fuckin’ uptight piece-of-shit town. Keep your faggy drinks. Tomorrow Buddy Holly’s havin’ a free switchblade give-away. Give you a fuckin’ ribbon cuttin’ ceremony.”

  Robin stands up and pats down his clothes. The crowd has given the Mayor their full attention. He stretches the open scissors in front of the ribbon and closes his smile before the flash goes off.

  Everyone turns their attention to the punch bowl, and Robin can tell that they are already explaining to each other why they have to go so early. By the time Robin reaches the punch bowl, several full cups have been returned and people are shaking hands, patting the Mayor’s shoulder and preparing to leave.

  “Mayor, listen, I got all afternoon here. Why don’t we hop up to the Beggar and do a little feasibility study of this idea of mine, waddaya say?”

  The Mayor feels splendid. He has just been given a free teeth-cleaning appointment and a compliment about his hair. He almost doesn’t hear the tinny, pestering voice. Robin slaps the Mayor’s arm sharply with the back of his fingers.