by G L Rockey
“When you get my age you forget some things.”
“Only what you want to.”
Zack looked at his watch—5:05. “How about a drink?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Just one.”
“You have one, I’ll have two.”
Chapter Nine
A full house this evening, The Tea Company’s flyspecked fluorescent lights dispersed their familiar yellow glow over everything; and the linoleum floor hinted a recent Lysol mopping, the odor of cigarette smoke and peanut cooking oil hung heavy in the air.
Mindy, the female half of the new owner team, looking very Native American (an eighteen-inch feather stuck from her shiny black hair), stood at the cash register inside the front door. She nodded to Mary and smiled at Zack.
A step behind Mary, Zack said to Mindy, “Hear anything from Joe Case lately?”
Mindy looked to the bar, cast a quick glance around then said, “No, I don’t know” and shrugged like she couldn’t talk about it.
Wondering what all that meant, Zack looked to his favorite end booth. Empty. He nudged Mary toward it.
“Watch it,” Mary said.
Zack said to Mindy, “If you hear from Joe, tell him I said hello.”
Mindy, stone-faced, nodded.
Again Zack nudged Mary. “That last booth on the end, get it.”
“Quit pushing me.”
“Sorry.”
One step toward the booth, Mary turned. “What’s that smell?”
“Barbecue hou wang.”
“What’s that?”
“Monkey king.”
“You’re a riot.”
Settling into Zackary’s favorite booth, Mary sniffed the air. “So, what is that smell?”
“Have you never heard of the Chinese Monkey King? Journey to West, classical Chinese novel, dates back four hundred years, there were three”
“That’s okay, professor, I’ll catch it next semester.”
“Monkey King was the true story of a Chinese monk, Xuan Zang, around 602 to 664.”
“Is this going to be a monkey food joke?”
“After many years of trials and tribulations, the monk traveled to India to seek the Sutra, the Buddhist holy book.”
“No!”
“When he returned to China, he translated the Sutra into Chinese.”
“That makes sense.”
“Some say the monk symbolizes a rebellious spirit.”
“Sounds like some newspaper guy I know.”
“A rock gave birth to the Monkey King. He became extremely smart and capable. He can transform himself into seventy-two different images—tree, bird, beast of prey, can travel one hundred-eighty thousand miles in a single somersault.”
“He is definitely some newspaper guy I know.”
“With Neptune’s iron bar, he went down into hell and threatened Satan himself.”
“How big was that bar?”
“Monkey is a rebel fighting against meaningless rules and regulations, hypocrisy and sanctimonious pretense in the world.”
“I now think I know what that smell is.”
“What?”
“Your bullshit.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“That’s because you smoke too much.”
“Oh.” Zack threw a pack of Camels on the table.
“Why do you like this dump so much?”
“Nostalgia.” He lit a Camel. “Memories of The Bimini Road, ahhh, the arroz con camarones, and the sopa de frijoles, and the piccadillo”
“Are you showing off?”
“Sopa de frijoles was heaven”
“This place stinks.”
“Careful, the owner is sensitive.”
“Who, the lady with the feather?”
“Her other half, Jay Xzing.”
“So why do you like this dump so much?”
“No plastic, the glasses are just right for Glenlivet and—”
“Don’t tell me—chopsticks.”
Zack lit a Camel.
A very tall Teutonic male server in black waiter uniform came to the table. He smiled and said, “My name is Troy Allen, I’m from Phoenix, my real job is acting, this is part-time, I’ll be your server for this evening.”
Mary rolled her eyes and ordered a Bohemia.
Zack shook his head no.
“What’s that mean?” Mary said.
“They don’t have Bohemia.”
“And you come here?”
“Try the Tsingtao draft—excellent.” He smiled at the server. “Two Tsingtao drafts.”
The waiter left, and Mary said, “You’re so chivalrous.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, but why?”
“Why?”
“Why do you like this place?”
“The former owner, Joe Case. I knew him, this place got to feel like home, still does. Joe’s ghost, he’s still here.”
She rolled her eyes. “I knew Joe Case, too. No ghost would be seen with him.”
“You knew Joe Case?”
She pursed her lips. “You know, sometimes you piss me off.”
“I can’t figure out why he left so”
“Thought he was still here.”
“You woulda thought he would callyou know, say leaving town, something. I was in a week beforewe talked, then just like thatgone, poof.” He snapped his fingers.
“Maybe he’s a reincarnation of the Monkey King, went down to hell with Neptune’s bar.”
“Joe? No. Never. He was”
“Looney tunes.”
The waiter served the draft beer in pilsner glasses.
“Run a tab.” Zack said.
“No tabs no more, new policy, cash only, ten-twenty-five.”
Mary raised an eyebrow.
Zack reached deep and laid a twenty dollar bill on the table.
The server took the twenty and left.
“You skipping out on tabs again?” Mary tipped her head.
“I think some of the Pi guys that hang around here”
“Please.” She sipped. “You know, I heard the Feds had this place under surveillance.”
“Now where did you hear a thing like that?”
“Oh, stuff it.” She put the glass of Tsingtao down. “So, for the umpteenth time, tell me again, why do you like this place so much. I mean, you know, look at this tabletop. It’s rank withwhat is that?”
“Stewed puree of cicadas, part of the ambience.”
“You’re so full of it.” Mary said.
The waiter returned with Zack’s change and put it on the table.
Zack said, “So, what are you going to tell Dr. Lande tomorrow when you call her back?”
“I’ll tell her that Boca is going to call her personally.”
“Mary”
“Why do I have to take all those calls? She’s calling for you.”
“Mary” Zack noticed the television over the bar flash up video of Senator Beno. He pointed to the set. “There’s Beno, her Labor Day speech to the AFL-CIO, Detroit.”
Mary called to a heavyset bartender. “Hey, sumo guy, turn that sound up.”
Sumo snarled something under his breath.
“Hurry up,” Mary half-stood.
“Will you sit down?” Zack said.
The bartender turned the sound up, Mary sat and their attention went to the TV video of Beno standing at an outdoor lectern. Her short black hair buffeted by the wind, the sun bronzed her dark African-American skin. She waved to a large applauding crowd then, as the applause died down, began:
“I don’t understand. Why does a C.E.O. receive a million dollars in stock options and the next day the company lays off a thousand workers? I don’t understand?”
Cheers and applause from the crowd.
“Why is a person paid fifty million a year to run a media conglomerate and the employees have to work two jobs to make a house payment? I don’t understand.”
Cheer
s.
“And for what, these millions of dollars? To tool around in a Rolls Royce, cruise the Mediterranean in a ten bedroom yacht? I don’t understand.”
Cheers.
“Let me tell you this, dear friends. History is replete with societies toppled because they ended up with a privileged class aristocracy perched at the top of the pile. It simply doesn’t work. Sooner or later, the masses get tired of cheap seats, broken promises, and ten-dollar beer.”
Cheers.
“And you know what the problem is, don’t you.”
Jeers, Cheers, shouts of “Beno, Beno…”
“The problem is the cronies at the top won’t let go of their wallets. They keep passing the bucks up, passing it on, pass it up, wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.”
Cheers.
“Pass the gold, pack it in, pass it on, pile it up, pass it on—I doooo understand that, honey. Its spelled g-r-e-e-d.”
Wild applause.
“Four thousand years ago, those over-libidoed Pharaohs tried to take some of the gold out with them. They built pyramids ten blocks long and a mile high. It’s still here, honey—the gold—and where are they?”
Cheers.
“I’m telling you, let go of the stuff!”
Chants, “Let go of the stuff, let go…”
“Spread it around a little, while there’s still time.”
Cheers and applause.
“There’s enough to go around for everybody. Enough for every man, woman and child to live like a human being. I don’t understand.”
Cheers.
“A handful of fat cats, the top one percent, have more than half of the world’s wealth. Let me say that again, the top one percent, a handful of billionaire fat cats have more wealth than the bottom ninety percent of humanity. Humanity–last count eight billion of us on this little blue marble we call home. And we wonder why the have-nots here and abroad look at us with contempt. Millions sleeping on the ground, eating garbage, drinking rain, no roof over their heads, no toilet, no bed, no nothing. And we suck up weight-loss infomercials and diet pills. No wonder they hate our guts, the biggest problem in America is fat.”
“Booo…”
“We could abolish poverty overnight, but we don’t, won’t even talk. Shame on us. It’s a tragic disgrace, and on a planet with so much, that things, things, are more important than people. I don’t understand.”
Silence.
“Understand this, the haves and have-nots are on the same track, one heading east and one heading west barreling toward a head on clash. But also know that, with the grace of God, there is still time. Maybe we can all be thankful for that. Friends, there is truly a new day coming. With me I think we can do it peacefully. Otherwise, those trains are barreling in the night.”
Beno paused.
“In closing, if you want a change from this insane gluttony of a few at the top, elect me next November. I’ll show you how to clean out the closet, honey.”
Applause, cheers, chants of “Beno, Beno.”
“Thank you all very much. God bless, and thank you for coming.”
Applause, TV video switched to an anchorperson.
The sumo bartender turned the sound down and snarled at Mary.
“Thanks.” Mary blew him a kiss.
Zack, digesting Beno’s remarks, remembered several conversations he had had with, just before he disappeared, Joe Case and the very things Beno had talked about–the never enough thing, a better wayeconomic hybridabandon the insane growth-curve…
“Having a nice little trip?” Mary tipped her head.
Back from his thoughts: “So, what are you going to tell Lande’s office?”
“To kiss my rabbit’s foot.”
Zack raised his hand to the server. “Want another beer?”
“Just one, remember.”
He studied her, “No?”
She picked up a quarter and threw it in his empty glass.
The server came to the table.
“Two more.” Zack said. “New here, huh, Troy?”
“Seems like forever.” Troy sighed and left.
“Friendly little sucker,” Mary said.
“You trying to pick a fight in here?”
“Boca, why don’t we go to my place and I’ll cook some steaks.”
“Mary”
“Okay, why don’t we go to your place and catch a fish.”
“Mary”
“Don’t give me that you-need-to-go-to-confession look.”
“So, what will you tell Ms. Lande?”
“Oh, bullshit.” She threw a nickel in his glass.
“Oh, I see.” Zack stumped his cigarette out in an old The Bimini Road tin ashtray. “You’d think they would get new ashtrays.”
“Boca, you are being a dumb jerk about us. Everybody thinks it anyway.”
“They can think anything they want. We have to live with we.”
Mary rolled her eyes in amazement. “Is that supposed to be, like, Gertrude Stein or something?”
“Thank you.”
“Let me ask you. If I were forty-five and fat would you marry me?”
“Probably not.”
“Oh, how about fifty and a cane?”
“Might.”
“One more. If I were fifty-two and you were twenty-seven”
“Definitely.”
“See, that’s the honest answer. It’s just a dumb stubborn male thing with you. Age is such a stupid measure of what people are, a person is”
“Somebody said that.”
“Oh, stuff it.”
“That, too.”
“It’s true. You know it.”
“Mary, in less than eight years I’ll be sixty. You’ll be—what—twenty-five?”
“Six. I’ll be twenty-six. Can’t count, either.” She threw a dime in his glass.
Zack gazed into his glass. “If there was a child”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I probably wouldn’t see the grade school graduatio”
“Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.” She threw a dime in his glass.
“So, what will you tell Ms. Lande when you call her back tomorrow?”
“To go jump in a lake.”
“That’s better.” He blew cigarette smoke toward the ceiling.
The server brought the new round of draft beer and looked at the change in Zackary’s glass.
Zack smiled. “Little tip.”
“Damn little,” Mary said.
“Right.” The server picked up a ten-dollar bill from the table. “Another seventy-five cents, please.”
Zack handed him another dollar. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you.” The server took the empty glasses and left.
“Big tipper.” Mary threw a penny in Zackary’s fresh beer. “How old was Ms. Elizabeth?”
“I’d rather not talk about that now.”
“I would.”
“She was forty-five.”
“And her husband died, right? Heart attack, him being only forty, right? She liked ’em young, right? And she was a lonely, lonely, lonely widow, and you felt so sorry, sorry for her because she was contemplating suicide, slashing her wrists—or was it pills? She didn’t kill him, did she?”
“Mary.”
“She’s in California now, remarried, right?”
He avoided her eyes.
“Right?”
“Right.”
“She better be.”
“Mary.”
“Anyway, I might not be in tomorrow. I might quit.”
“And who is going to write your columns?”
“You write them.”
“How about a cup of soup?”
“Here?”
“Sure, they have ancient birds’ nest.”
“No.”
“Wantons not bad”
“Zackary.”
“We could start with some sushi”
“Forget it. So tell me again about your priestl
y days.”
“End with a fortune cookie”
“Come on, I like to see where you went wrong, so I can learn.”
“Mary”
She tilted her head. “Let me see. From memorythe Reverend Father Zackary Ignatius Stearn got canned, uh, defrocked.” She lowered her voice to imitate Zack. “For one thing, I didn’t see myself as reverend. Neither was I inclined to be obedient. Poverty, on the other hand, I had no problem with. Chastityeh. Besides, I couldn’t see a poor widow commit suicide. I was doing God’s work”
“Mary”
“Nevertheless, I understood the inward vow, unlike the outward signs, was supposed to be an indelible tattoo immune to my whims, desiresso they say”
“Mary” He leaned back and studied her performance.
She continued. “So I, being a defrocked out of work priest, took a professor position at Florida State; but students, professors, nobody would play marbles with me so I decided to be my own boss.” She dragged her palm across her face in imitation. “Anyhow, if I had stayed with teaching I’d be a penniless drunk by now.”
“That part is true.”
“So you’re a penniless journalist.”
“Editor.”
“So you’re a penniless editor.”
“At least I’m not a drunk.”
“Not yet.”
“Mary”
“So, you’re an over-fifty white male, dropout, a little bit radical, the lowly owner of a two-bit struggling version of the penny press, have a golden opportunity to ravish a beautiful young ladyand you’re blowing it. What else?”
“Still a good pugilist.”
“Please, you couldn’t go two rounds with me.”
“Bet on that.”
“Okay, when?”
“I don’t want to make another goddamn life-thing mistake.” Zack crushed his cigarette out.
“Neither do most people.”
“I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”
“Let’s change the subject. Do you believe the Apostles Creed?”
“I asked congregations that every Sundayif they really believed what they were mouthing. Invariably got me in trouble with the bishop.”
“Why is it you are constantly in trouble with authority?”
“Interesting question.”
“I think you’re fifty-two going on ten.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyway, Apostles Creed. ‘We believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. We believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead. We believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.’”