by N. Godwin
“Harold?” I hear the dreadful name ripping from my chest and coughing out of my mouth. “Are you my Harold?” I demand.
My question has stopped the beast in his tracks and he turns and brings his evil focus back to me as Horst and Ken and Hobie groan. “Bitch?” He snarls back at me. “What you say to me, bitch?”
“Did I hear bitch!” Eunice suddenly barks in disbelief as she snaps back into life and sits up as if someone had just turned on her switch. “Who said the B word? I mean it! Who said that nasty word?”
A third beast, who is shirtless and looks Asian is now standing in the doorway, with eyes just as wild as the other two. Behind him stands a small worm-thin woman, short and so thin she’s bird-like. No shoes, wild eyes.
“I won’t tolerate that ugly word! I mean it!” Eunice slurs, “Derogatory to women! I simply won’t have it; ugly, ugly, ugly!” She stares their leader down and I think he’s going to physically attack Eunice from the look of anger in his eyes. “No, no, no,” she warns, wagging her finger at him. The entire room holds it breath when he steps up closer to her.
“Would you like a table?” I hear someone offer in a loud cheery voice and realize it’s my own.
I sound stupid. Obviously the beasts and woman think so, too because they’re staring at me like I’d gone and turned blue. The woman and I make eye contact. She leans in closer to stare wildly into my face as though I were the one drenched and stoned with no bra or shoes.
“Who do you think you’re gonna call on my phone boy?” Randy asks their leader, because Randy’s subtle techniques can always be counted on in defusing an intense situation. Half the room groans.
I can tell by the way Randy’s standing behind the bar that he’s holding his baseball bat out of sight. I can also tell Randy’s nervous, that he thinks we’re about to get robbed. Only a druggie would even think about robbing Randy.
The stranger pulls himself to his tallest. “None of your fuc--”
“Don’t you dare use that F word in here young man!” Eunice snaps. “Only an idiot resorts to profanity!” she tells him as the all the dudes join in. She looks up to meet his eyes. Way up. “Are we a dirty bird or a clean bird?” she asks him.
The stranger’s eyes take her in for a moment. I can see him sniff her, then sniff again as if he doesn’t understand what he smells. His face contorts from anger to confusion.
“Our van run out a gas,” the thin man behind the beast tells Horst. There is an audible sigh of relief from the crowd. “First we’s thought we’s walloped by lighting, then Devon there remembers we ain’t put no gas in since Louisiana,” he rattles on. “And our cell phones ain’t got no juice left.”
“Shut up!” the bird-woman barks, hitting him on his chest with both fists. “Don’t nobody need to know our business!”
“You got AAA?” Hobie asks the big guy, while the man stares at Hobie as if he shares a gene pool with Eunice. “Because they’ll be here in half an hour if you got AAA, dude.”
“You got a car?” he asks Hobie.
“I’m just a kid!” Hobie says, raising his voice two octaves.
“A chicken kid,” Randy scoffs, taking the heat off Hobie, “a real mama’s boy. You got a problem, you talk to me, boy!”
“You got a car, cracker?” the stranger asks Randy. The two men exchange meaningful eye contact for only a moment while everyone else chatters to fill the awkward, charged silence.
Someone suggests calling Willie-boy, the hard-hat from down The Strip, because he lives for stranded tourists and also because the nearest service station is two miles away and nobody seems eager to offer these strangers a ride. While decisions are made, I check out the woman. Every now and then she hits the thin man with her fist or she hits herself, pounding on her stomach, cursing under her breath erratically. I have never seen people so dangerously shoot-you-in-the-face wasted before. I couldn’t even guess what opiate they’re on. I only know it smells awful and makes them angry.
Although barefoot, the woman is wearing very expensive jeans and a lot of gold jewelry, as if someone’s jewelry box exploded and landed on her. Her T-shirt is dirty though, stained with... I’d swear it was blood. I meet her eyes then. They are utterly empty as if she has no soul and I take a giant step back.
“You staring at me?” she demands.
“No ma’am,” I offer as I move away, busying myself bussing a nearby table.
“Don’t go calling me your ma’am!” she yells angrily. “I ain’t no ma’am! I’s only 26!” She hits her stomach harder.
I look at her as the dudes and Randy discuss how much Willie-boy will overcharge them to deliver the gas. This woman looks fifty if she looks a day. I look away quickly and notice the rain pouring in the open door, and sigh. Guess who’ll get to clean up the mess?
I close it quickly and notice a movement under the table next to the door. I sigh because I hate it when Blue gets in the café since he uses the napkin supply as a litter box. Guess who gets to clean that up, too?
I lean down and look under the tablecloth. “Blue, you silly little pussy cat, get your fluffy little buns out of here.” I stare under the table but it’s so dark under the tablecloth that I can barely see his eyes staring back at me. I give it a moment before grabbing; he’s got claws after all. “Bad pussy cat,” I say then stop short.
These are not cat eyes staring back at me but the eyes of a little girl holding something in her arms, a doll I think. It takes a fraction of a second for the dots to connect; the little girl is holding a baby, a real one and my heart freezes in my chest. Some memory stirs my soul, some illusive déjà vu, although I would swear on a Bible that I’ve never seen either one of them before in my life.
Neither of them makes a sound, just huddle closer together, holding on silently to each other. I make eye contact with the older one who looks to be nine or ten.
I have never seen eyes more desperate than these.
“Ssh, “I whisper, finger to my lips as I stand and let the tablecloth fall back down around my feet.
I scan the room and notice that all eyes are on Randy and the big stranger tersely exchanging words. I carefully lower a basket of cold hushpuppies down under the table. They’re grabbed up so fast it reminds me of a shark attack. Quietly, I walk into the kitchen and grab two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in baggies then put them in a basket with a bottle of water. Even though I feel I am flashing in neon yellow, I carefully walk back over to the table by the door and lower down the sandwiches. This, too, is grabbed quickly. I can hear tiny sounds of harried, ravenous eating.
Randy holds the bat outright in hands now, hitting it against the palm of his hand. Poor Randy still thinks we’re going to be robbed.
“Why in Hades don’t you step outside, ni--”
“No, Randy!” Killer and Horst yell at the same time.
Randy seems to reconsider. “Why don’t you people take a seat at that table by the door (my table) and wait for Willy-boy,” he says in exasperation.
“No!” I yell quickly, feeling all eyes turn on me. “Willie-boy is ornery,” I cover quickly. “If you’re not waiting outside, even in the rain, he’ll just leave and take his gas with him.”
I can sense the bird-woman is not convinced and is heading toward my table. I grab her arm foolishly, desperately, as my eyes alight on our donation jar. She is cold like death that freezes my palms, but still I lead her over to the counter and breathlessly hand her the whole donation jar.
“Here, give Willie-boy this,” I insist. “Really, we’re happy to help.”
“Jimmy-Sue!” Randy barks at me. “There’s got to be fifty bucks in there! What right do you have--”
“We’ve got kids to clothe and feed!” Eunice slurs in communion.
“Yeah, killer idea, girlfriend,” Ken says. He is hip to the situation and he meets my eye for a minute to catch my slight nod. “Killer, take this too,” he offers snapping a crisp twenty dollar bill from his own tips in front of the woman’s face.
>
Horst is over at the door in a flash and escorts them outside. Miraculously, they follow his lead. Like manna from heaven, I see Willie-boy’s monster headlights as he turns into our driveway and lays on his horn.
The woman stops in front of me as the three men file out. She shakes the donation jar in my face: “Girl, gimme’ your money too!” Her pupils are so wide she’s having trouble focusing. Before I can respond, the tall man places his hand around her throat and yanks her outside into the rain.
The moment the door closes Randy spins and yells at me: “Why in the ever-loving Hades did you just give drugged out niggers our hard earned money?!” He is spitting mad. “Have you lost what little sense you have?”
“Did you just use the N word?!” we hear a voice say. Suddenly all eyes are on Eunice. “I mean it!” she shouts. “Did you just say the Nword?”
We all feel the need to say “Duh!” at once. All except for Randy because her voice has stopped him cold. This is the first time we’ve ever heard her address him directly.
“The N word is so disrespectful to our African American friends and should never be tolerated,” she tells him while we stare at her. “It would hurt their feelings. Jimmy-Sue, make saying nigger No-No number 8,” she decides.
“Their feelings?” Randy mutters, studying Eunice in hopeless confusion.
“Man, you people are weird.” Billy moans. “I hate this place!”
I hold my fingers to my lips and motion under the table while Killer locks the door. Nobody says anything. We hold our breath and watch as Willie-boy puts gas in their expensive conversion van.
We wait breathlessly, counting the seconds while they seem to move in slow motion in the rain until, finally, the four of them climb in the van and drive away weaving erratically down The Strip. As they weave I can’t help but wonder what it must feel like for a child to be inside that slow moving hell, alone and defenseless.
“DemiMonde is now closed,” I say.
Only tourists gripe when I say this because the locals are hip something’s up and settle their bills and leave quickly out the side door. Some wink or pat our shoulders as they leave.
“But I ain’t finished my beer!” one tourist gripes. Randy throws him a can of Heineken as Horst unlocks the front door and escorts the man out.
We carefully gather around the table as I sit down on the floor and slowly lift the tablecloth. The dudes hold their candles in our direction so we can see what we’re in for.
“Hey,” I say softly. “They’re all gone now. It’s safe to--” I break off and can’t find my voice.
The two of them seem melted together as if made of wet clay. The older girl looks to be ten or eleven. She sits painfully erect with her back against the wall staring warily back at us. Her hair is cut erratic and she is a pale shade of ebony and emaciated, her thin body, even in the dark, resembles the bird-woman. Her clothes are torn and thin and she’s clutching a small vinyl purse into her chest along with the baby. She holds both of these so tightly I’m amazed the baby can breathe. The baby suddenly turns her face to us and the dudes jump back as if slapped. I realize they hadn’t noticed the baby before now.
“Damn!” Randy whispers as he moves his candle closer to the girls.
“Dirty bird!” Eunice says from her corner.
The baby stares at us without any expression and we realize with horror that she only has one eye. You can tell the two of them are sisters and she is so frail that she is lying limp against her older sister as if unable to hold her head up. She is wearing only underwear.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Hobie whispers, crossing himself.
“Hey,” I whisper again as I hold my hand out to them, palm up, to show I’m not hiding anything. “I’m Jimmy-Sue. I’m your friend, cross my heart. It’s safe to come out.” The older one looks at my hand, at me, and the room suspiciously as if she’s not about to budge. “Are you hungry? We’ve got ice cream.”
To our amazement, she slowly begins to slide out from under the table, clutching the baby and studying us, watching for any sign of betrayal. You can tell she’s terrified but the pull of ice cream is magnetic and they are almost completely out.
Suddenly the lights and music flash back on and both girls emit a cry so pathetic that we all jump as they quickly retreat back under the table. We all begin talking at once.
“What is it?” Eunice cries from her corner.
“Turn the lights out!” Randy shouts to Hobie. “Turn them out fast,” he says softer this time. “Be certain to turn off the sign, too.”
“What is it?” Eunice demands again. “I can tell it’s something big!”
“Get the music,” I say to Horst as he yanks the plug from the wall.
We see that the baby is in fact a toddler, maybe two or three, and she is just so little, so silent. We also see that she does have two eyes, one is just swollen shut.
“She’s got a baby with her!” Hobie whispers to Eunice.
We’ve never had a baby here before. Hobie was the youngest Halfling to set foot in this place. At thirteen we knew what to expect from him. We have no experience for this.
“A baby?!” Eunice says again and again while Hobie runs to the kitchen to scoop up that ice cream.
I don’t like the sound in Eunice’s voice.
I shush everyone and try again. “Those beas—those bad people who hurt you are gone for good. They’ll never be able to find their way back here with this storm, especially with our sign turned off, cross my heart.”
“They couldn’t find their way out of the damn bathroom!” Randy adds.
“Jimmy-Sue, will you warn Randy about swearing, again, and a baby, Jimmy Sue? This can’t be good.”
“They can’t hurt you anymore!” Hobie emotes from the kitchen in mid scoop. “Bad people aren’t even allowed here,” he says. “We’re magic. Wait and see!”
“Yeah,” Horst agrees, nodding, “it is like magic. Poof! You won’t ever see them again.”
“I’ll kick their evil butts,” Randy says bending down and trying to smile at them. He looks like a gruff gorilla anyway. “Don’t you worry, girls, old Randy here can seriously kick butt when he has to.”
“You’re safe now.” I cross my heart again. “You can come out,” I say.
We’re shocked when they slide out from under the table and stand, the older girl draping her little sister across one hip and looking at us defiantly. We all begin talking at once again, everyone but them. Hobie is the first to approach the girls as he appears, giving them a huge smile as he thrusts two chocolate cones at them.
“I figured you for chocolate,” he tells them as they carefully take the ice cream cones. “Wow, we never get black kids here! Y’all are our first.”
I lean in closer to study the toddler, looking for tale-tell signs of physical abuse. I notice the dark spots on the front of her underpants and quietly run my hand near to feel for needed immediate medical attention, and am relieved the blood is dry, and I can find no other serious wound beyond her eye. The older sister begins to eat the ice cream cone one small lick at first, then ravenously.
“This is so fucked,” we hear Billy moan again. “I’ve died and gone to hell!”
“A baby?!” Eunice says.
I wish the little one would hold her head up or eat her ice cream; any sign to help me assess. I can see Horst studying the baby, too. I can tell his hand is running around her feet, feeling for broken bones and what not. I shift my eyes and find myself staring at the older girl.
“Is your sister hurt anywhere besides her eye?” I ask moving my right hand out of sight as I feel the back of the baby’s neck.
She has no fever; in fact her skin is wet and cold to the touch. Midway through running my hand down her back I realize there is no pain when I touch her. I am surprised by this revelation.
I let my hand move intrepidly across her shoulder wondering how this could be. But I regret having relaxed too soon because there is a sudden jarring sting as if I�
��d stuck my hand into a wasp nest hiding behind this child. I draw my hand back quickly as my mind summersaults with visions of retribution, until I realize Horst’s hand has simply touched mine. As if I’d stung Horst, too, he bolts back from my touch and looks down, studying his hand and appearing as flustered as I am.
I am free to touch this child. She does not mar me. I do have quite the vivid imagination, so I touch her shoulders again with the tips of my fingers just to be certain. I am speechless from the revelation. This means something.
“Such a pretty thing you’re sister is, too,” Horst says staring oddly at his hand, like, maybe it had cooties now or something.
“Wow, black girls, Jimmy-Sue!” Hobie says as the toddler just stares at her cone as if she’s never seen one. “Can we keep them?”
“Yo, little dude,” Ken says, “they’re not cats.”
“Can we, Jimmy-Sue? Can we?”
“Just what we need,” Randy says, “a couple of pickninnies hanging around my bar.” His voice is almost tender. Horst still jabs him in the ribs any way.
“A baby? I dunno, Jimmy-Sue, a baby?”
We watch as the toddler drops the ice cream cone on the floor. I sigh and reach down to clean it up as Hobie tilts his head studying the toddler.
“What does your little sister like to eat?” he asks the older girl. “I am one fine cook and can make her anything she wants. Our cheeseburgers are the best you’ve ever had!” He heads to the kitchen without an answer because this is his favorite job here, cooking and feeding the new Halflings. Halflings are always hungry, it’s a given, unless they’re druggies. Druggies seem to be breatharians like Eunice. They never eat and therefore seldom stay for long.
“Do you have a name?” Horst asks the older one.
“Yeah,” she answers in a voice transparent and thin, almost invisible, and she looks as if she is surprised by the sound of it. “I do.” I can see her sizing up Horst, his orange and blue Mohawk, his tattoo, his enormous smile. I can see her try to determine his ethnic chemistry and sincerity level. “My name is Kelly,” she says with a timid nod in his direction.