A Savage Wisdom

by Norman German

  “What in the world is this thing?” she asked, dodging a berserk girl on roller skates.

  “This was just the beginning,” Nevers replied. His voice echoed off the ceiling. “It was built at the turn of the century by an eccentric Gatsby-type fellow. He intended it as the entrance to his mansion. I guess he thought he was King Tut or something. Wanted to be remembered down through the ages.” They paused to admire the scrolls at the columns’ capitals. “Can you imagine what it must have cost just to transport the stones? If you ask me, Roosevelt ought to put those WPA boys to work finishing this thing. It’d be like the pyramids. It took a whole society hundreds of years to build those things. That’s what’s wrong with America. We lack a vision.” He glanced at her. “Know what I mean? That’s what wars are good for, to get all the people moving in the same direction.”

  Their skates sparking on cement, a rigmarole of screaming boys slid to the floor to avoid bowling down Annie and Harold. Abruptly, his mood changed.

  “Disgusting,” he said.

  Clutching his arm, Annie said, “Oh, they’re just playing.”

  “Not the boys. Children, I like. It’s the parents.” The two walked silently down the steps. “Breeders. That’s all they are. Don’t they have any better sense than to keep churning out kids? This is a depression. What kind of life can they give those children?”

  Annie felt a low-grade anxiety well up in her chest. She had hoped Nevers would not be just a business partner, but would want to marry her, maybe even desperately, like in the movies.

  “Don’t you ever want children?”

  Harold kicked a discarded cotton-candy stem. “Ah, I don’t know. I feel like I want to do other things and they’d just get in the way.” He glanced at Annie. “I suppose it comes from my being an orphan, you know?”

  “I guess,” she said unconvincingly.

  They had wandered into a pack of children waiting with their mothers around a mangy-looking stuffed pony. A metallic clack drew Annie’s attention to a large boxy camera atop a tripod. A swarthy, dwarf-like creature with round gold-rimmed glasses parked on a Jimmy Durante nose emerged from beneath the black cloth.

  Several children competed for his attention. “Me next, Mr. Wolfy! Me next!”

  The man walked to a boy almost his size and looked at him gruffly. “You!? You want I should crack my camera?” The other children laughed. Still deadpan, the photographer lifted a girl toddler and placed her on the pony. “Mama!” the photographer said as if the woman were deaf, “you stand behind the horse and hold the tot’s leg, right? Don’t let her fall.”

  Mr. Wolfgang Rosenweig was a Russian immigrant. For as long as Nevers had known him, the man had worn the same baggy white shirt and denim apron. The same felt hat had the same sweat stains, and he looked the same as ten years before. He had reached that age where he couldn’t get any older. He was ancient.

  As they watched Mr. Wolf’s rough demeanor with the kids, Annie realized that he really was the way he acted. The fault lay in the children and their parents, who thought the man must be comical since he was short and old and talked funny. To them, he was like a freak in a raree-show.

  Annie got a glimpse of several sepia photographs and quickly forgot her gloom. She looked up at Harold.

  With child-like anticipation, she said, “Let’s have our picture taken, can we?”

  Between waves of children, Nevers negotiated with Mr. Wolf, who couldn’t get inspired to move his equipment the hundred yards to the Peristyle where Annie wanted the shot taken.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Wolf,” Harold said. “I’ll pay you half a day’s wages to move to the porch and take five pictures of us.” Hands on his hips, Mr. Wolf eyed Nevers, his face hardening even more.

  “Ten dollars,” he said.

  “Ten dollars! You don’t make five.” Nevers faced down Mr. Wolf. “I’ll give you three greenbacks and consider it highway robbery.”

  Mr. Wolf stared up at Nevers.

  His mouth opened and closed twice. “Deal,” he said firmly.

  At the Peristyle, the two posed by a column. While Mr. Wolf set up for the shot and polished his camera lens with a soiled handkerchief, Annie’s eyes were riveted on the marble lions. In the final four shots, at Harold’s insistence, Annie posed by herself with a lion. In the first, she petted the animal. The second was a profile shot of the two, nose to nose, Annie roaring in the face of the passive beast. The third showed her leaning back in mock horror with hands closed about her face. In the last, she leaned coquettishly against the creature, her arm around its mane.

  As the twilight shaded the grounds, Nevers drove Annie to Stock’s Amusement Park, where they walked around looking at the lights and rides until thirst overcame them. At a hotdog-shaped booth, Annie drank a vanilla and Harold a chocolate soda. Between sips, Annie’s eyes followed the Scenic Railway, a dilapidated roller coaster whose timbers creaked and popped when the carriages of screaming teenagers yanked around the sharp turns.

  “Spare me that death,” she said.

  “Oh, no,” Harold said. “It’s really safe. Checked daily by inspectors with the latest equipment. All that noise is built in to heighten the thrill.”

  “Then why are they all screaming like that?”

  “That’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s part of the fun. Come on. Finish your soda and we’ll buy some tickets.”

  While the attendant locked them in, Nevers said, “Now, don’t forget to play the part. Scream a little so the kids won’t think you’re a fuddy-duddy.”

  As the chain cranked the line of coaches to the drop, the summit seemed much higher to Annie than it had from the ground. When the train plummeted from the peak of the scaffolding, she shrieked and, holding onto Harold’s arm before the fall, gave it up to secure her grip with both hands on the guardrail in front of her. At the next curve, Annie thought the carriage would careen off its tracks and end the young life she had so foolishly jeopardized. Finally, the train sped noisily into the landing and braked so fast that Annie felt the soda slosh against the front of her stomach. Nevers climbed out first, laughing as usual, though a bit rattled himself.

  “Whoo, that was something,” he confessed. “I haven’t ridden one of those things in years.” With an extended arm, he helped Annie out of the carriage. She quivered visibly. “Say, you look a little green around the gills.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Annie admitted, holding her stomach.

  “Let’s get a Coke. That’ll settle your tummy so we can come back and take another spin on the Scenic Railway.”

  Annie groaned and glared mock-angrily at Nevers.

  As they sat on wrought-iron benches drinking their Cokes, Annie watched a group of hoodlums taking turns peering into a box while a boy in corduroy knickers cranked the handle.

  “Turn slower,” one of them complained.

  “Hey, give it up,” another said. “You’ve been looking twice as long as Smitty did.”

  Twenty minutes later, Annie revived enough to stroll around.

  “What were those boys watching?” Annie started toward the stall of eyepieces. “Can we take a look?”

  “You wouldn’t be interested,” Harold said, pulling her away from the booths. “Just some half-dressed ladies.”

  Annie raised her eyebrows. “A burlesque?! I’ve never seen one. Can I take a peek, just to see what it’s like?”

  Nevers dropped a nickel in a slot, peered into the binocular eyepiece, and began cranking the handle. Annie slapped his arm. “Hey, I thought this was for me.”

  “Take it easy. I’m just making sure I’m turning at the right speed. Here.” He cupped his hand around Annie’s neck and pulled her toward the blinking light.

  It was like spying on someone in their bedroom, Annie thought. The flickering blue light made the woman move jerkily about the room. She thought of Charlie Chaplin. A caption appeared.

  “AFTER A WONDERFUL EVENING AT THE OPERA.” The voluptuous woman, black-clad, paused before a lo
oking glass. She clutched her bosom and sighed. She took off her earrings, placing them on the dresser, and began to unbutton her dress. The tapestry-like material fell around her ankles, revealing the woman’s gartered legs and tightly corseted torso. As she stepped out of the dress, a man, undetected by the woman, opened the door on the far side of the frame.

  Annie wondered if he was the man the woman had been thinking about while undressing. The woman sat on an upholstered bench and began unlacing her high-topped shoes. The man continued to watch, his eyes shining with lust. The woman held her leg out and rolled the stocking to the end of her pointed foot. Swiveling to place the little donut on the dresser, she saw the man and emitted what must have been an earsplitting scream. The man quickly entered the room and shut the door behind him. In exaggerated fashion, he rapidly moved his mouth.

  “YOU FOOL, DO YOU WANT THE NEIGHBORS TO HEAR?” the caption read. He approached the woman, who was trying to cover the exposed tops of her breasts with her arms. The man grabbed her wrists and after a brief struggle managed to pry her arms outward.

  “Turn slower,” Annie said. “They’re moving too fast.”

  Harold obeyed. “What’s going on in there, anyway?”

  “Shhh!” she said, then giggled, realizing there was no sound. “It’s—. They’re—. Oh, shush, I’ll tell you later.”

  The villain forced the woman down on her bed. Up to this point, she had fended off his advances, but now, her bosom heaving wildly, she met the man’s kiss and pulled him down on top of her. The blue light stopped flickering and stabbed Annie’s eyes with an explosion of brilliant white.

  “Ow!” she said, pulling back from the eyepiece. “Hey, that wasn’t fair.” Annie looked at Nevers. “Just when they—. “

  “Just when they what?” Nevers asked, grinning.

  Annie turned towards the eyepiece. “It was—. Oh, you know exactly what happens in those things.” She punched Harold lightly on his chest. “I bet. Don’t you?” she said, looking up at him.

  * * *

  At the water’s edge in front of the pier leading to Terra Incognita, his car still running, Nevers kissed Annie good night at eleven o’clock.

  “I’ve got to run downtown and take care of some business,” he said. Still in his arms, Annie pushed away to look at him. “Don’t ask,” he laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow at two for the ballgame, okay?” They had planned an outing to Heinemann Park to watch the Pelicans’ opener of a three-game series with the Lake Charles Lakers.

  Nevers stepped out and walked around to Annie’s door while she gathered the photographs from the glove compartment. When he opened the door, Annie stood up. Nevers embraced her and kissed her again.

  “I love kissing you,” he said. He kissed her hard. Annie felt the power of his arms around her. She clutched her purse and the photos between her breasts as Harold pressed his chest against her. He placed his palms on the tops of her shoulders and pushed her back on the car seat. Annie sat looking up at Nevers. He bent down, kissed her lightly on the cheek and, bringing his lips to her ear, whispered, “Say ‘Kiss me.’” His stubble on her neck, the sound of his voice, the stale odor of cologne and sweat sent chills crawling up and down Annie’s arms.

  “Kiss me,” she said. Nevers pushed her down on the seat. The photos spilled onto the floorboard. Harold lay on top of her, kissing her neck and face. “Kiss me,” she said again as he worked the buttons on her blouse. Breathing heavily, she let her left arm fall in surrender. Her hand touched the photos. Nevers pulled her lingerie down and kissed her breasts. Annie gripped one of the photos. The pleasurable pain in her chest was more than she could bear without saying something. “My lion, aren’t you?”

  Harold continued kissing. “Hmm?”

  “You’re my lion.” Nevers lifted himself off her. She dropped the photo and placed her hands behind his neck, drawing him down. “Kiss me some more.” Harold nuzzled his face between her breasts.

  “I love kissing you all over.”

  “My big lion.”

  Nevers growled, “I could tear you to pieces.”

  “I want you to. Tear me to pieces, big lion.”

  Abruptly, Harold said, “Can’t!” He pushed himself out of the car. Annie put the back of her hand on her forehead. It was damp and hot. “Much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

  Annie stood up and looked at her clothing in disarray. “What are you doing to me, Harold Nevers?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, taking her in his arms again, “but we’ll have to do more of it later, huh?”

  Annie squeezed him tight. She never wanted to let him go.

  Chapter 7

  July 1938

  Just like the theater audience, the crowd at the ballpark was dressed to the nines.

  Harold had greeted Annie at her bedroom door with a hatbox. He sat her down at the vanity bench facing the looking glass. Making Annie close her eyes, he rustled the gift from its box and placed the hat on her head.

  “Open sesame.”

  Annie opened her eyes. On her head rested a green felt honey-hat, the satin sash encircling the crown tied in a small, tight bow.

  “Simple but elegant,” Nevers observed aristocratically.

  “It’s lovely,” Annie said, “but you shouldn’t have.”

  “Okay, then, give it back,” Harold teased, grabbing for the brim.

  Annie squealed and pressed the chapeau tightly to her head with both hands. She looked in the mirror again, swiveling her head from side to side.

  “You’re right,” Nevers said. “Let’s see.” He stooped down and studied the angle of the hat. He twisted it to one side and dipped the brim over her forehead. “There.”

  “That’s it,” Annie agreed. She glanced back and forth from the chapeau to her dress’s light blue print. “I don’t know. You think I should change?”

  “Only if I get to watch.”

  Annie slapped his arm and sent him out of the room. As she stepped into a bright yellow sun dress sprinkled with small olive dots, she imagined Harold watching her. She thought of the woman in the burlesque. Who were the women that did such things? And why? Where did they come from? She imagined herself in the woman’s place, with Nevers ogling her through the lusty eyes of the villain. After a while, she felt herself growing warm.

  “Stop it,” she chided in a loud whisper that unraveled into an impish snigger. She looked in the mirror, pleased at her other self.

  “Mama, you’d never believe this,” Annie said. She leaned over and touched up her rouge. “And you probably wouldn’t want to see it.”

  * * *

  They reached the ballpark in the third inning.

  “Here!” a man called. “Over here!”

  Annie grabbed Harold’s arm and pointed to a man waving midway up the bleachers. As they settled in, Nevers made introductions.

  “Annie Beatrice, Arkie Burk.” The man reached for Annie’s gloved hand.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” the man returned.

  “And Bliss Fulsom,” Nevers said. A bleached blonde with black eyebrows extended a long, slender arm across Burk.

  “Yours truly,” she said pleasantly. Behind luscious lips painted bright red, she displayed a row of sleek teeth that resembled a small animal.

  Annie quickly ascertained that the sport on the diamond was secondary to the social event in the grandstand. Nevers ordered peanuts and Cokes for the four of them. He planted his bag of peanuts in the basket of a baseball glove on his right hand.

  “For foul balls,” he had explained to Annie when she saw the mitt on the dashboard. “It’s good luck to catch a foul hit by the other team. Puts the hoodoo on ‘em.”

  Nevers set the cold drink at his feet and pulled a silver hipflask of bourbon from his coat. Throughout the game, he doctored Arkie’s Cokes. In the seventh inning, a man whistled beneath the stands and tugged at Harold’s pantleg.

  Nevers looked at Annie. “Alas, business cal
ls me away, dear.” Five minutes later, he returned. He picked up the glove marking his place and put it on. He leaned over to Arkie. “A hundred bucks.”

  “Not bad for half an inning’s work,” Arkie laughed. His speech was slurred.

  “What’s the score now?” Nevers asked.

  “Four to three,” Annie said. “We’re winning.”

  “That depends on where your bets are laid,” Arkie said.

  Annie squeezed Harold’s arm. “You have money on this game?”

  “Not me, darling. I’m not a gambling man.”

  “Only the sure thing, right J.P.?” Nevers elbowed Arkie in the ribs. Annie could tell it hurt. Arkie corrected himself. “Harold, okay!? Jeez, lighten up.”

  With two outs in the top of the ninth, the Lakers had a man on third. The Pelicans had increased their lead in the eighth with a solo homer. The score was 5 to 3. The crowd yelled for Bump, the Pelicans’ pitcher, to brush back the batter, Simon Metcalf, the Lakers’ cleanup man. The count was two and two. The next pitch was an inside fastball in the dirt. The runner on third scored on a passed ball.

  “This is where it gets interesting,” Harold said. “You should never get involved until the ninth inning.”

  The count was full. Metcalf waved his bat menacingly. The slow pitch curved to the outside corner and Metcalf stabbed at it, chipping it off the end of his bat. The ball shot directly at Annie, who screamed and leaned back as Nevers reached in front of her with his glove. The ball hit square in the palm of the mitt, spraying peanuts hulls into the air.

  “Did you get it?” she asked, brushing the husks out of her hair and lap.

  Harold laughed. “Nah. All I got was peanut butter.”

  “You silly man,” Annie said.

  Metcalf stepped out of the batter’s box to compose himself. The catcher sent Bump a signal. Bump waved it off and called for another sign as Metcalf pounded the plate with his bat.