LOST HIGHWAY

by Zac Funstein

  Driving now to the Schreiber residence the terrible ride brought into sharp focus how council chiefs said the work had to be done because the road was in such poor condition. Misery was often attributed to changes blaming the weather, tiredness or even poor road surfaces when tyres fail to grip when brakes are applied- or (as now) contact with the asphalt was poor.

  Mr. Thomas Reid, the conservative melancholic sexton, had locked the church gates, was muttering an acerbic laudation of more primitive times, when ‘the gentlefolk attended their own affairs’ when Ross went past. Now that the church bell has died away to silence, only the rectors collection of vintage timepieces vied for supremacy in the noise department. Reid in collusion with his cronies was anticipating the temperature displayed on a digital clock across in Liberty Street being at a certain warmth upon which they had opened a ‘book’-that is they were taking bets on as ignoble a practice as such was. The teacher watched him scurry across the street, although couldn’t deem what was so important.

  There was something unusual about the Schreiber drive which Pendergrass couldn’t at first determine-then it was realised that the seemingly natural rocks in the yard were composed of moulded polyurethane- an economical substitute for silicone or latex to cast decorative concrete tabletops, balusters, or replicas-as in this instance- of natural boulders. Someone had spray-painted the family name in large letters on one of the prominent boulders beside the trail. Homeowners wanted to build a rock fence instead because youths recently cut through chunks of their wire version leaving conspicuous gaps.

  “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this Mr. Pendergrass.”

  “That is quite acceptable-I take it you still have that aspiration to tie the proverbial knot when older-that seemed to form the bulk of our last get together.”

  A cameo was pinned to the center of a pristine blouse- her only other adornment was a wristwatch on a plain leather strap. Soon student/ teacher are chatting merrily as before. Ross seemed ebullient, to the wistful G at least- who realized how beaten up the teacher must have been when they last met.

  “Of course when I was a little girl, you toy with the reality of getting married, and that is definitely a ‘must do’ -but that is not why I am here-to go over the ‘Cinderella Syndrome’.”

  “I saw your e-mail- I understand that you had a vacation in the offing-I wonder how to be at your disposal-to be the merest marionette with you at the strings. I would like this to be a pleasant experience if at all possible.”

  “Now you are going to regale us all with your wisdom I can tell Mr. Pendergrass.”

  “Most destinations have at least a few people who speak English in the touristy-parts, otherwise you may have to resort to wild gesticulations plus sign language if you don't know the language of the region. Some do not use the Roman alphabet however, so don't count on reading the signs then finding the words in a pocket dictionary.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve been through it Ross.”

  “I was in Albania the ‘welcome’ notices, artfully disposed, make it clear that hospitality is merely an allusion; they are not meant to be taken literally. Unfortunately it was an emergency-ward I had cut myself terribly on some railings. I was dithering wildly from ward to ward-then someone said ‘be careful with your dealings with this precious knowledge; its contents are imperative’. They thrust a sign-book into my grasp-which translated these highly idiosyncratic directions. I am only certain of one thing: I got wise because I outlived my earlier mistakes-if only you can do the same. I owe my being here today to this timely gift.”

  A booklet was given for her general edification.

  “It’s a little confusing-a little pedagogique!”

  More often locales and their names are representative of abstract ideas: America, Las Vegas, Vietnam, the Riviera which, as Shane J. Urich points out, contains the word vie for ‘life’ -it must be easy to get confused when even these abstractions are obscure.”

  “No matter I’m sure it will inform-Ross-may I call you Ross?”

  “Naturally. You seem to have the gist of the matter anyway. I am quite willing at some future opportunity -- indeed, I may say I anticipate at some opportunity comparatively not distant, to consider the advisability of representing this to you in greater depth if necessary.”

  The teacher seemed sad so that the sincerity of his intention seemed without question

  Ross had grown fond of the student when in her class always resolving to make her journey thru life easier if possible. When the phone call had come it had been jumped at when it had been learnt who it was. Meaningless things that kept them laughing seemed indefinite-whereas the serious was neglected-which seemed childish to him. Much of Pendergrass’s skill not just as a teacher lay in his understanding that emotions are not just separate but inevitably mixed, tenderness with apathy all vying for supremacy. There had been ‘difficulties’ but Ross believed his character transition has been for the better maintaining that if previously unable to channel his pugnacity positively, rendering it a hindrance rather than a help, this had now changed.

  As the student was admired now, the truism that surrounding ourselves with the desirable items that dictate rather than liberate our lifestyle is not always healthy was brought sharply into focus. This student was the embodiment of everything despised/ fought against, yet was as desirable as life itself-by what terrible power could not be discerned. Why this student though was not known.

  “This might sound creepy, but I have heard that many destinations-those overseas especially- have a Big Brother element that insinuates very quickly.”

  “As in Orwell’s dystopia!”

  This had recently been on the syllabus in class.

  “If this becomes an undesirable development then opt out by all means-come home.”

  “That’s fine but I’m fairly certain that I won’t be going overseas but somewhere nearer.”

  “Really that is good news G.”

  Both seem to see the lasting truth beneath the surface of mere outward appearance somehow.

  “Somewhere nearer-well I must say that is sensible-there have been deep miscarriages far from our pesky legal system. Nearer will mean less chances of something going wrong. I’m sure that will put Douglas at ease immediately.”

  Douglas/Ellen were frequent attenders of the parent/teacher assoc meetings that were held.

  The news was blaring out a radio broadcast- the threat of industrial action by gas engineers was lifted last night after both sides in a pay dispute agreed to go to arbitration- when Milton G. Vadasz decided to call.

  The amateur balloonist arrived with a roar that the men of classical Greek armies gave as they advanced into battle, rallied, or celebrated victory.

  Stress that was responsible for the adrenaline rush caused in ‘fight or flight’ situations seemed to fill the potential leaver without knowing why. Milton a self-confessed adrenaline junkie himself, who frightened his near/dear by courting risk in dangerous motor-sport was as well as being an intimate of Douglas was a keen traveller. Milton -who seemed to have got wind of his friends daughters intention-was when not virtual driving indulging another passion reading. Devouring high quality internal affairs suspense thrillers loaded with melodrama- whilst exploring foreign climes-was a must. It was a toss up which was liked the most. His unique invention a book-mark which would not move even when carried in unceremonious fashion was constantly being perfected. This was used now by travellers everywhere. Such was demand that commercial production of the travelling book-mark was soon to begin.

  Milton was very much like the Americas in many respects -that is like his chosen homeland Vadasz was an abstaining superpower: the USA showed no real interest in conquering/ subjugating the rest of the world, even though it could-Milton ditto did not dominate with his bulk or powerful personality. A mother who had hit out at vandals who damaged a memorial to her teenage daughter had recently received aid from him-that was the kinda person that Milt was-always making spontaneous gestures. />
  Rule might be maintained by any means necessary elsewhere- oh so many unpleasant things-but Vadasz only resorted to force of argument. It was no good putting your weight into something that could be reduced to absurdity.

  “Get as much information as you can from people who have been to your travel destination that’s my advice. Be sure to get more than one point of view too-so you can get a well balanced opinion-not just from someone who is mighty-pro or a deep anti.”

  Milton who had once belonged to a cult where initiation was marked by adornment must have found-despite leaving the sect-the impulse for personal adornment hard to stamp out for the weight of his fashion chains was marked. The franchise for upmarket biker adornment-Harley Davidson chic-had been cornered seemingly.

  Those who need emphasis of this should visit the ex devotees brother Felix S. Vadasz whose abode was furnished with simplicity plus emphasis on necessity rather than show. The luxury of superb materials plus top workmanship needed little embellishment but was beautifully understated. In most Mexican homes the principal holiday adornment is an el Nacimiento (Nativity scene) but this was conspicuous by its absence.

  “Sounds like you do this to good effect-sound out the advice that is.”

  “Nothing like the intimate experience of someone who has been there-yeah that’s true-they miss out all the guidebooks. These are cul-de-sacs on a road that's inexorably leading us into a dead end from which there is no escape. Which is not to decry their value-but they cannot fill in the personal which makes them intimate.”

  “There is someone especially-who is good at this filling-in I detect!”

  “Like clockwork, they revisit regularly Santiago this sprawling yet intimate metropolis, a paean to both nostalgia, transformation. Each new traipse enriching what went before. Knowledge is power we have a duty to learn.”

  G-sensitive as always-believing this should unfold at its own pace said nothing.

  “Let us give you a clue Otis-our object of concern- showed us a guide-book which said Renaissance Masons came from France to Chile to build a stone church. Glaziers to provide window glass were brought in at great expense for them such was deemed heretical by the establishment.”

  “Does Otis have a surname-this Chile traveller?”

  “Otis H. Schiavo.”

  “That is immaterial-the fact is the reality proved different as Schiavo found out. There was a site but no church-there never had been. Ministers went to see some of the stonemasons/ glaziers to understand the complex problem of restoring the whole of the east chancel, which was a monumental project but they argued. All that remained was a testimony to this ecclesiastical battle-the plot where this would have been. It’s still there even now with a brass plaque.”

  “I have more-or-less decided to go somewhere nearby but if anyone knew this Otis, I would be very glad to hear from him as soon as possible-to understand how this glossing over of the guidebooks occurs. It might not help with this excursion, but as to future ones.”

  “Sure If anyone told us they could unequivocally define the exact point at which the good/ wrong diverge, I'd believe they were either a liar or (worse still) could perform some miracle -but Schiavo seems to have found this-incredible as it must seem. I’ll show you the address on Google Maps.”

  There are some good things to be said about taking a constitutional- not many, but some. Walking slows everything up, for starters, more than any other known form of locomotion except maybe crawling. Thus it stretches the chronological scale prolonging health. Life is already too short to waste on speed. ‘Why always be in a hurry; we never gets anywhere’ the teenager was fond of saying. Walking makes the world much bigger thus much more interesting. You have time to observe more than anything to stop, to take in your surroundings. Walkers chat to passers by-they don’t coat them with city-grime as they drive past.

  The young adult strolled to where Milton claimed Otis lived-who had decided to come with her for the ride. Why was it really so important what anyone else believed anyway-who cared if guidebooks were a pack of lies? All it was, was some exotic photties with blurb underneath. What was actually was said was immaterial

  Having reached her destination the would be traveller was quickly able to ingratiate herself with Schiavo who was a personable character of indeterminate generation in jeans/Tshirt with the gift of a raconteur who was soon in full flight after a nod of greetings in Milton’s direction plus a catch up of where they were at again.

  “Some of these these guidebooks are so off-beam it’s not true. One claimed residents, some of the most desperate of the homeless on the city streets, have already noticeably improved in appearance/ health. But when I got there the reverse was true-they were even worse if anything. But you should meet one of these hacks there’s no getting away with it-my talking about it won’t make much difference. See them in all their wicked glory. Then unholy men/women are so wicked when yielding a pen it is not true. See if you can separate fact from fiction after you’ve read one. ”

  An address was scribbled on a notepad then torn off hastily.

  There was a time before history began, when people hung around in a kind of purgatory waiting to be called forth to kick off the human story that’s how old this building seemed.

  The stairs creaked, the attic was spooky, the cellar dim/ creepy; there were storage antechambers to every room - every temptation to run down to where her car was parked was resisted however. The threadbare stairs, the carpet so worn that it was as hazardous as the side of a cliff was slowly negotiated. Balzac the great French writer, might describe its atmosphere as one of terror like ‘the antechamber to the scaffold’.

  One Native American tribe had a special word to describe the psychic shock of stepping out of a tepee. Floyd J. Sheridan’s adjacent office was similarly inducing only a solitary term seemed to jump to her aid ‘filthy’, for a large lump of coal was burning in a grate, which seemed to lead to a blocked chimney hence the soot which seemed to cover everything with a surface. The impression was having entered a good number of public venues that went smoke-free chancing upon one that ignored this ruling. Anyone with a j-cloth would have a field-day wiping the grime from every available surface

  “I see you like the painting,” said the secretary that greeted her who noticed that the newly arrived was admiring their founders portrait raised high on the nearby panelling. “Brice Turcotte-that’s the artist- is intent on making people appearing good but not necessarily beautiful in his work moreover achieves this by capturing secretive, edgy or mysterious subjects.”

  “It’s your founder Mr Sheridan’s representation I can see that. It is on the news even on the internet. Who is Zerbino Lapresse?”

  “That’s Brices professional appellation. I wish I knew what made the portrait so discordant. It appears unseemly, or naive, to have much to add about the pictures or to attach to them any explicit ‘program’ -they should be enough in themselves.”

  “Mr. Sheridan-is his physical personage on the premises?”

  The rest of the staff (an audio typist plus a cleaner emptying waste-paper baskets) were cagey, but confirmed suspicion of this being so with slight, knowing expressions plus small tight exchanges of sympathy.

  “Why yes I was sure you knew that, but you’re in luck Ms.”

  “Ms Schreiber actually.”

  “Well Ms. Schreiber Floyd wants to make sense of things pleas of privacy aside for one moment-that includes meeting youngsters like yourself. Our chairman clearly wants to be left alone mostly-but Mr Sheridan despite harassment, still answers questions, albeit painfully. If you would walk this way, but be careful of the rips in the carpet if you would. Someone has already damaged themselves in nearly falling already this aube.”

  Torn fabric similar to the stair carpet did indeed proliferate-this was avoided however. As they reached the threshold having banged somewhat violently thereof the secretary who was called Aubrey Rivière warned.

  “Be careful Floyd affirms Christianity with
out ever affirming a single concrete proposition connected with it. Do not be fooled for an instance-his moral turpitude is I believe sacrosanct. Do you have any crucifixes or religious icons secreted anywhere?”

  “I believe so-somewhere.”

  “If you would remove them please. I will return them upon your leaving.”

  This was then complied with-the articles being put in an ancient in-tray.

  What was meant by this ritual or its significance was never discerned for the request came.

  “Come in whoever you are I can hear you outside, please ignore the mess.”

  The youngster did as requested. Sheridan had, by now, stood up, but his lankiness was still lax as the chairman steadied himself against the nearest available object.

  “You must excuse the lethargy but I have just returned from my electricity therapy. I staggered down the street for a while before my energy used began functioning again.” The tall-man slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “Its rather hot I’m afraid, perhaps I should open a window.”

  This seemed self evident since the same smog producing coals were in full action on the nearby grate.The heat was indeed intense. An attempt was made to release a catch but this was so rusted over that the glass frame refused to move despite repeated attempts. Eventually after several bangs it moved. The cool air rushed in.

  Other men used their effete faiths/ mean faculties guided by an exterior high moral purpose, this tall lithe seasoned traveler in tweed who had been everywhere to compile his popular unique guides who was eminently able to give his opinion was motivated by pedagogique purposes however-which was perhaps what Ms.Rivière was implying re the anti-religious stance. Floyd never wrote a paper without corrections, appendices, supplements, plus the alterations; crossing outs in his proofs were such that the printers found their task well-nigh impossible. It was Sheridan who made ‘printers devils flinch’ it was said. It is an uphill, well-nigh impossible task,’ the wanderer once wrote. The amateur architect had just returned from seeing the ‘rood tower’; (the central tower of a cathedral over the intersection of the nave/ chancel with the transepts) at Notre Dame at Paris so was bursting to get his impressions which were hastily being written down when the interruption came.