Henry of Atlantic City

by Frederick Reuss

  “I’m waiting,” the priest said. “What can you tell me about Theodora?”

  Henry said Theodora was the wife of the Emperor Justinian. Procopius called Justinian and Theodora demons in human form.

  “Okay,” Father Crowley said. “What about Sy? Who is Sy?”

  Sy’s real name was Simon. He was a Jew from Babylon, the one on Long Island, not the capital of Babylonia. Everybody called him Sy. He came to the Palace one summer, found a job, and never left. That happened to lots of people. Sy lived in a noisy alley not far from the Forum of Constantine. He dealt blackjack and baccarat at the Palace and worked for Henry’s father on the side because everybody said he was a genius and had a head for numbers. He wore granny glasses and read books and said things like, “I didn’t choose this life, so I might as well make the worst of it.” He was one of the nicest people Henry knew.

  Henry’s father made fun of Sy all the time. He called him a scrawny little nerd, which meant that he liked him and thought he was smart. Sy didn’t just have a head for numbers; he was great with cards too and could do lots of different tricks. When they first met, Sy said he was putting together a floor show and looking for a manager, but Henry’s father said, “Forget managers; you and me are gonna make a killing some day, and it won’t be doing magic shows.” Henry’s father became good friends with Sy. So did the Whore of Jersey City, but nobody knew they were in trouble—or that Sy and Helena’s mother were in love—until they all ran away together.

  “Wait a minute,” Father Crowley said. “Who ran away?”

  Henry said we all did. Running away is what brought us together.

  “I don’t understand,” the priest said and squinched up his face. Then he waved his hand. “But never mind. Go on.”

  Sy took Henry to the Hippodrome to watch the races all the time. He also taught him to read and write Greek and Latin and Hebrew and Aramaic and Coptic. Henry studied until late every night because he wanted to be an intellectual. Sy said intellectuals had to read and go to school for a long time. He said there weren’t many of them around anymore and it was hard to become one because you had to spend years doing nothing and the cost of living had gotten out of hand. One time Sy took Henry to church. Not the Hagia Sophia but a church just like it in Pleasantville. He told Henry that going to church was sort of like finding a center in the universe. He knelt down and pulled Henry down next to him and took off his granny glasses and put his hands over his eyes and stayed that way for a long time. Henry got up and walked around the empty church and played with the candles until Sy was finished. “I don’t want you telling anybody where we were,” Sy said on the way back to the Palace.

  Henry asked why.

  “Because I don’t want anybody to know, that’s why.”

  Henry asked why not.

  “Because I just don’t. It’s nobody’s business.”

  Henry asked why not.

  “Because I said so.”

  Henry asked why again.

  “Let’s just say I’m a catholic Jew.”

  Henry asked what that meant.

  “It means I’m the opposite of a skeptic.” He patted Henry on the knee and drove a little longer. “It means I believe in everything. And that means I can’t belong to any one group.”

  Henry asked why not.

  “Because that’s the way it is.”

  Henry asked why it was that way.

  “Because, by definition, all groups are exclusive. If you buy into one, it means you have to rule certain things out. I’d hate to rule something out and then find out later that I was wrong. Wouldn’t you?”

  Father Crowley leaned forward. His face was so close that Henry could smell his breath. It smelled bad—like the floor of the ice cream store. “Sy said all this to you?”

  Henry nodded and the priest shook his head.

  When they got back to the Palace, Sy took Henry to a place on the boardwalk to play pinball. “You have to keep the things you take seriously to yourself, Henry. That’s the most important thing.” They were playing a pinball game called Ace in the Hole. “It’s important to keep a low profile. Even if you are certain about everything you know and are dying to shout it from the rooftops—you can’t. Not unless you are willing to pay the price.”

  Henry asked what the price was.

  “Well, for starters, most people will think you’re an idiot. But even if you can get past that, the price is too steep. There’s no way anyone can pay it and stay alive. Jesus Christ had to die on the cross in order to pay up! He was a catholic Jew too, and said he was the son of God.”

  Father Crowley sat on the sofa and pinched his eyes with his fingers while Henry talked and took books from the shelf and put them back. He looked at Henry for a long time. “Has anyone besides this Sy ever talked to you about God?”

  Henry said God was only a name.

  “You watch what you’re saying, young man. Blasphemy is a very serious sin. I don’t want any more of that talk. Do you understand?”

  Henry asked to be taken back to the O’Briens’.

  “We’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” the priest said.

  Henry sat down. His sneakers had come untied.

  “Tell me more about this Nike business,” the priest said.

  During the Nike riots Byzantium was almost completely destroyed by the Blues and the Greens. Nike means victory in Greek but that day when they went out on the beach, Henry’s father didn’t seem victorious. He was worried. Henry knew when his father was worried because he talked on the telephone a lot—not on his cell phone or the one in the suite or even one of the pay phones in the lobby. When Henry’s father was worried he left the Palace to make his phone calls. Sometimes he went next door to Balley’s Wild West and sometimes he walked way down the boardwalk and used one of the outside telephones. You couldn’t be too careful. The emperor’s agents and Theodora’s spies were everywhere. Henry’s father didn’t want to take any chances. That’s why he sent Henry and Helena and the Whore of Jersey City out of the city with Sy.

  “We’ll go back one day and it’ll be like nothing happened,” Sy said as they drove away in the car.

  “You better be right,” Helena’s mother said. She twisted the rearview mirror so she could look into it and put on some lipstick.

  “Things’ll fall into place,” Sy said.

  “They goddamn well better,” Helena’s mother grumbled.

  “Anyway, no point worrying about it now,” Sy said. “What’s done is done.”

  They went to Sy’s sister’s house in Philadelphia—not the Greek city but the one on the Delaware River. Henry’s father came to Philadelphia the next day. He was driving the Maserati Quattroporte. It was the first time Henry ever saw the car. It was all black and had soft leather seats. Henry asked where he got it. “I won it,” his father said. They went out for pizza, but Henry wasn’t hungry.

  “How come you aren’t eating?” his father asked.

  Henry said he didn’t like anchovies.

  “You don’t like anchovies? Pizza without anchovies is like a dog without legs, kid.” His father picked them off and piled them on his plate.

  Henry wanted to know how long he would have to stay in Philadelphia.

  His father called the waiter and asked for fresh-squeezed orange juice. “You want anything else to drink, Henry?”

  Henry said no.

  When the waiter came back his father looked into the glass. “What the hell is this? I asked for fresh-squeezed orange juice.” The waiter took it back. “I’ve found a good school for you, kid. And a nice family to put you up too. Their name is O’Brien.”

  Henry said he didn’t want to go to school or live with anyone called O’Brien.

  “I don’t want any arguments, kid. I know what’s best.” He took another slice of pizza. “Besides, it’s not just my idea.”

  Henry wanted to know whose idea it was.

  His father took another bite and wiped his mouth before answering. The pizza resta
urant was filling up with families and was getting noisy. “Some social workers’ve been getting on my case. That’s the long and short of it. If we don’t do it my way, they’ll take you and do it their way.”

  Henry asked what social workers were.

  “It’s a long story, kid. Don’t worry. It’ll all make sense to you someday.”

  Henry asked what day.

  “The day you stop picking all the anchovies off your pizza,” his father said and folded another slice in his hand and bit down and made a grunting noise.

  Henry asked his father if he was growing a beard.

  His father chewed and rubbed his cheek. “Thought I’d try out a new look. What do you think?”

  Henry said it made him look different.

  His father smiled and winked. “Thought maybe it would go with the car. Know what I mean? Hey, what about that chain I gave you?”

  Henry showed him the chain. He wore it under his shirt.

  “Don’t lose it,” his father said and took another bite of pizza.

  After the restaurant they went for a drive. His father told Henry all about Maseratis and how it wasn’t just any old car but a car with a great history behind it. “Ever since I was a kid I loved Maseratis. The year I was born was the year Fangio won the Argentine Grand Prix and the World Championship in a 250F. He was one of the greatest race car drivers ever. When I was your age I wanted to be just like Fangio.”

  It was bedtime when they got back to Sy’s sister’s house. Henry’s father tucked him in and went downstairs. Henry snuck out of bed and tried to listen at the top of the stairs while the grown-ups talked, but they went into the kitchen and he couldn’t hear. He went back to bed and dreamed he was Fangio driving the Maserati 250F that won the World Championship and the Argentine Grand Prix. In the morning when he woke up his father and Sy and Helena’s mother were gone.

  “Where’d they go?” Helena asked.

  “All they said is they have some business,” Sy’s sister said.

  Henry asked where his father was.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Sy’s sister said. “You’re staying here with me. They’ll be back soon.” Then she handed him a box. “He told me to give you this.”

  Henry opened the box. He didn’t want a Gameboy. He didn’t want any presents. He wanted to know where his father was.

  Helena ran upstairs and locked herself into the bedroom.

  Sy’s sister took Henry into the kitchen. It was a mess from the night before. “Mind keeping me company while I straighten up a little?”

  Henry asked where his father went.

  Sy’s sister bent down and put her hands on Henry’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Henry. He’ll be back soon. You and Helena are going to stay with me for a little while. We’ll have fun together. I promise.”

  It was getting to be afternoon and Henry could hear people coming and going from the rectory. Father Crowley asked if he wanted to go outside in the yard for some fresh air but Henry shook his head and just kept talking. He told Father Crowley about Sy’s sister’s clothes store called Mitzi. Helena got to work there. Henry wasn’t old enough to do anything useful so he went down the street to the library and read books. One book he especially liked was by Procopius called Anecdota, or The Secret History. That was how Henry learned all about Byzantium and the Emperor Justinian and his wife, Theodora. He also found some gnostic books that had been found in a cave in Egypt. They were very, very old. The books said how the whole universe was created and explained about how all the bad things came into it. Everything in the universe was all a big mistake. Henry read the books over and over every day until he knew them all by heart. When he was tired he slept in the back of the store.

  Sometimes after closing the store they went to the health club. Sy’s sister and Helena worked out in the gym and swam laps. Henry horsed around mostly and got yelled at once by an old man for slamming locker doors in the men’s changing room. One time on the way home Sy’s sister said, “I’d kill to have a body like yours, girl.”

  “Sometimes I think it’s more of a pain in the ass than it’s worth,” Helena said.

  He asked Helena if her body always ached. Helena laughed. “It’s not having a good body, it’s keeping it. That’s what I meant.”

  This was how Henry learned about the corruption of the flesh.

  “What did I just say about the language, Henry?” Father Crowley had his eyes closed to listen but now he opened them and gave Henry a stern look. He shook his head slowly back and forth and wagged his finger. Then he closed his eyes again so Henry could get on with the story.

  After dinner when it was still too light to go to bed Sy’s sister would bring the phone outside on the back steps and smoke cigarettes and call people. She said “innnnner-estingly enough” all the time. Henry played in the back yard that wasn’t really a yard since it was mostly cement and used to be a driveway. There was a high fence and the gate was broken and the only thing holding it up was a rusty old chain. The key to the padlock was lost so you couldn’t open the gate anymore. Sy’s sister said it was more private that way. She told Henry he wasn’t allowed in the alley but one time when she was out he climbed over the fence.

  Sy’s sister had a boyfriend. His name was Henry too and whenever he came over he said, “Hiya Henry, how’s it hangin’?” Big Henry was really, really big. He was more than six feet four inches tall and wore size thirteen shoes. He lived in Chestnut Hill but kept his underwear and shoes and socks at Sy’s sister’s house because he liked to spend the night. He liked baseball too and was born in 1958, the year Mickey Mantle hit his five hundredth home run off Stu Miller to beat the Orioles six to five. Once he took Henry to the Hippodrome to see a Phillies game and bought him a pennant. Big Henry had season tickets, which meant he sat in the same seat at every game and was friends with everyone. He had four hot dogs, two bags of popcorn, and seven beers. “Great game, Henry. Right?”

  Henry said he guessed so.

  “You want to know why it was good?”

  Henry said yes.

  “Because Scott Rolen homered twice for the fifth time in his career, going three for three with three runs scored, and to top it all off we gave the Diamondbacks their eleventh loss in twelve games. That’s why.”

  When they came home Sy’s sister got mad. She said Big Henry was drunk. He went away mad and didn’t come back for a long time. Sy’s sister went around sad the next day and barely talked to anyone.

  That happened right when Helena fell in love with Mohammed Ali—not the prophet or the boxer but one of the al-Samman clan in Egypt. He came into the store one day and when he left Helena said he was gorgeous. Mohammed Ali came in almost every day and bought something each time. Then one day he asked Helena to come to dinner with him and after that Helena started spending all her time with him.

  Mohammed Ali was a businessman. He drove a Mercedes 450 SEL and traveled all over on business. Henry asked if he was a silk merchant but he only laughed. Henry told him it was good he wasn’t a silk merchant because the secret of silk had already been brought back from China by two Nestorian monks. They gave it to Belisarius’s wife. They even brought some worms with them and some mulberry bushes for the worms to eat. Belisarius made his wife pass the secret on to the emperor and empress and Procopius said Justinian and Theodora built a monastery for the monks in return. Then they took over the silk business.

  Sy’s sister said Mohammed Ali looked like Omar Sharif, but Helena said he was even more handsome than Omar Sharif. He smoked black cigarettes with golden tips that came from somewhere in the Caucasus. Sy’s sister let him smoke in the store even though it wasn’t allowed and when he offered her one she took it and lit up even though she never smoked except when she talked on the phone on the back steps. Mohammed Ali gave Helena lots of presents. He gave Henry a present too. It was a pure white Arabian stallion. But Henry had to give it back because he didn’t have anyplace to keep it.

  Helena started staying out all night with M
ohammed Ali and one morning they came back and told Sy’s sister they wanted to talk to her. They told Henry to go outside. Henry listened under the window and discovered that Mohammed Ali wanted Helena to come live with him.

  “You’re barely eighteen!” Sy’s sister said.

  “That’s old enough,” Helena said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  “Why do you say that?” Mohammed Ali asked. “You don’t think I can take care of her?”

  Sy’s sister didn’t say anything.

  “She will have everything she wants,” Mohammed Ali said.

  “At least wait until your mother gets back,” Sy’s sister said.

  Mohammed Ali got mad. “Why do you insult me like this? I will not ask that woman for anything!”

  “She’s still her mother,” Sy’s sister said.

  “She is no mother,” Mohammed Ali shouted. “I tell you what she is.”

  “You don’t have to raise your voice,” Sy’s sister said.

  “Excuse me,” Mohammed Ali said. “I apologize.”

  “It doesn’t matter what she says. It’s up to me to decide,” Helena said.

  “Don’t worry,” Mohammed Ali said. “I will take the full responsibility.”

  Then they all went into the kitchen to talk and Henry couldn’t hear anymore.

  After Mohammed Ali left, Sy’s sister and Helena talked in the living room. “You need to think this over,” Sy’s sister said.

  “Well, I’m in love with him. That’s all that matters.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Sy’s sister said. “But I still think it’s a good idea to think about it for a while. What about school?”