The gambling parlor in the backroom of the old candy shop is an expansive room, carpeted in red. An oval, felt-topped table sits in its center, surrounded by ten black chairs. A flat-screen TV is mounted on the far wall, silently rebroadcasting last night’s baseball game. Lining the back wall is a trio of slot machines with dancing lights. The room is cut-off from The Madness. And when empty of patrons, like it is now, it is The Merchant’s sanctuary, the place where he counts his money.
The Merchant doesn’t hear the gunshot. But he hears Fox call to him from the main store, “Boss man. Come check this out.” There is urgency in his voice.
The Merchant locks up the money in a small safe on the wall and leaves the shadowy back room. He makes his way out front, annoyed by this distraction, which prevents him from doing something more important. He sees Fox standing near the front door. Fox motions for the Merchant to look towards the corner of the shop. The Merchant can’t believe his eyes. Hannah and the Boy are huddled on the floor.
“There was a shooting outside. There was a mad stampede. I let them in.”
The Merchant nods and motions to Fox to keep the front door locked. The Merchant then turns his gaze to Hannah and the Boy, who are the only ones in the shop. Hannah’s is focused on her son. She hugs the Boy tight, and showers him with kisses, repeatedly asking over and over, “Are you OK...? Are you OK...?”
Fox glances out the window. Chaos remains on the street. Police sirens wail, as cop cars come to a screeching halt not far away. “It’s still hectic out there.”
Hannah looks up, and for first time, takes notice of her surroundings. She is disoriented and draws the Boy close. Fox extends his hand to help Hannah and the Boy to their feet.
The Merchant continues to study Hannah and the Boy, before finally saying, “Do you know me?”
Hannah is unsure. “No, I don’t think so.”
The Merchant walks over to the front cash register and opens its drawer. He begins shuffling through some papers stuffed inside. The Merchant pauses to look at a picture that is tucked away in the drawer. He looks over at Hannah and the Boy, and then he turns back to the picture. The Merchant falls deep into thought. He allows for a quiet so deep that it seems to silence the mayhem outside. The Merchant puts the picture back into the cash drawer and closes it. He walks over to Hannah and her child. He kneels down to get a closer look at the Boy. “You’re very handsome.” He turns to Hannah, “But I’m looking for the resemblance.”
“The eyes. He has my eyes.”
The Merchant takes another close look at the boy, and then at Hannah, “Maybe so, but I’m not so sure about that. They could be the eyes of his father. The boy doesn’t have the scars you have.”
Hannah lifts up her mask slightly. “You know who I am?”
“I know your story. That means I know who you are.”
“You knew my father?”
“Please, that’s a question a child would ask. You’ve always avoided this place. You never wanted to know me, someone who knew your father.”
Hannah looks down at the Boy, “You OK? I think we should go now.”
“You’re ready to take him back into the world?” The Merchant takes another long look outside. “So much madness.”
“So unnecessary,” says Hannah.
“Perhaps. Or just part of the grand plan. A necessary evil to weed out the weak.”
“Who are you to pass judgment and call out the weak? That sort of arrogance can only lead to ruin.”
“Weak, strong—who is to say who is which? Roles change from moment to moment. In the end, everything about life is random. Everything happens by chance. Look how you have found yourself here. The randomness of it. Some believe there’s meaning to everything. I’m not so sure of that. But for you to end up here does show what lengths one is willing to go to in order to protect their child. But I think, you, of all people, know just how hard it is to keep children safe and out of harm’s way. Your father knew that. You being the teacher for that little girl from Gilead confirmed that for you, too.”
The Merchant glances over at Fox and smiles. Fox says nothing, choosing instead to stare down at the floor, distracting himself with a coin that he pushes around with his sneaker. The Merchant’s mockery hangs heavy and uncomfortable in the quiet of the shop. It causes Hannah to strengthen her stance.
“You said you know me. You said you know my story. But I think this mask has a way of fooling you.”
Hannah slips off her mask completely and looks at it for a brief moment. Then, without hesitation, she tosses it into a trash bin near the Merchant’s foot. This surprises the Merchant, who looks up from the trash bin, and finds Hannah staring back at him through narrowed eyes that are trying to bring the truth into focus.
“You see these scars and you think you know my story. You think that you know me. But only the arrogant would believe these are the marks of the weak. Of the sheep. The weak have no scars. Only the strong do. Only those willing to fight have scars. Feel free to ask the person who put mine here.”
The Merchant kneels back down to the Boy’s eye level. “And where are his scars? Are they unseen? You don’t truly believe the words you speak. They’re like a good pastor’s sermon. Just words to comfort and pacify. You best go back out into the Madness, before the boy learns a little something about who he is.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
The Merchant says, go back out into the Madness before the boy learns a little something about who he is.
I don’t know this man. But he speaks with authority on things he claims to know about me. He should dress up like one of those jesters from the parade. He’s no better than them. He’s all about tricks and talking in riddles meant to confuse. There’s power in keeping people in the dark.
I know this much though: the Merchant’s words have unsettled Mama. She holds my hand tight. We’re back on the Road Less Traveled, heading home. We walk slowly and in silence. The commotion from the Madness has vanished. The parade is back on. The shooting is a distant memory. The music and the revelry have started up again. It’s almost as if the violence never happened.
Mama’s slows her steps and we find ourselves just outside the park’s entrance, right by the bench and table Mama always seems to have to herself. As always, no one else is at the playground. She takes a seat and pulls me close to her. She just holds me for the longest time without saying a word. Then she pulls back just a bit and takes a moment to gaze deeply at me. At first, she doesn’t say anything. She softly touches my braids until finally, she says, “Be leery of people who say they know you; people who say they know your story. They may know about a few events that have happened to you, but that does not give them the authority to speak as though they know the truth about who you are. It’s just a trick to create doubt in your mind.”
“How do I fight against people like that? People who claim to know me?”
“You test them. Say to them, ‘Prove it. What do you know about me?’”
“How should I expect them to answer?”
“If they really know you, they’ll say, ‘You are loved’.”
∏
As he moved up the path, the boy noticed it was becoming steeper and much harder to travel. And he was beginning to wonder when or how or if he would ever see his wolf, and meet his wolf, and know his wolf, and be able to answer the strange desire he held within himself to feel what the wolf felt deep in the night. Suddenly, he heard a noise. A stone tumbled, and the clatter echoed as the boy froze on the trail. His eyes darted left and right, looking for the source of the movement, when something large moved and leaped onto the path. His heart stopped, then it began to beat again, as he saw the intruder clearly. It wasn’t the wolf, but a small deer—a yearling, a young male—whose nebbish horns were just beginning to show on the top of his head. The two of them stared at one another for a moment—curious, fearless, sil
ent.
The deer gazed at the boy wide-eyed. The boy gazed back, and suddenly he was concerned that the yearling might be in danger. And he spoke quietly to the young deer.
“Oh, do be careful here. There’s a bear down the path a way. And a wolf about, I think.
I’m searching for that wolf myself, but you? I don’t think you are ready to meet him.”
The deer stared back in wonder and listened. “Be careful, little man. Up here, all alone and so friendly. Be wary of those who would hurt you.”
∏
Be wary of those who would hurt you.
I ask the Old Mann, “How can you tell who is dangerous and who is not?”
“You just have to accept that they’re everywhere. Take no one for granted?”
I tell the Old Man, “Today we crossed paths with someone who is dangerous, but Mama showed me something. She’s not afraid of dangerous people. She’s willing to stand up to them.”
I tell the Old Man how at the parade, we came across the Merchant, who claimed to know us—to know our story. He talked as though Mama is not being honest about who we are. That she’s hiding the Truth. Or that she’s hiding from the Truth. It’s confusing. I ask the Old Man, “Why would he talk to Mama that way?”
For the first time, I sense that the Old Man feels troubled. He shifts uneasily. It takes him a while to return my gaze. But finally, he says, “He thinks he’s has power over your mama. That he’s in control.”
I ask the Old Man, “How do you deal with people like that?”
He is not quick to answer, but I sense the Old Man is deadly serious when he says, “You don’t meet the havoc they wreck with love. You meet it with force. Through the force of your words, your thoughts, and your might.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
The Old Man is restless. He lies awake in a room blanketed by darkness. It is a little past one o’clock in the morning, and the silence outside his window is deep. But now he hears footsteps approaching, about a half block away. They eventually stop close to his ground floor window. The Old Man slightly cracks open the curtains. There’s a shadow of a man’s figure leaning against the front gate. The Old Man reaches for the only security that he has—his razor-sharp switchblade. He flicks it open and then shut. The Old Man slips on his gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and pulls on blue sweatpants. He palms the switchblade into the sleeve of his T-shirt and heads outside.
The Old Man emerges from the bottom steps of his basement apartment and sees the Merchant standing by the front gate.
“What’s up, Killer?” says the Merchant, flatly. Then he takes out a Black & Mild cigar and lights it up. He offers it to the Old Man. The Old Man says nothing, so the Merchant keeps it for himself.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of my encounter today. Made me think it’s time I pay you a visit. To make sure that you’re taking me seriously. But hey, Killer, I just want to tell you a little story. Do you like stories?”
The Old Man nods, “I do.”
“You know what they say about stories? They say that a good story reveals the Truth. Jesus told stories. He knew they were the best way to get people to see the light. He told those parables in order to get people to walk in Spirit and in Truth. I have a good story, Killer.”
The Old Man plays along with the Merchant, and asks, “Really?”
“Yes, a love story. You like love stories, Killer?”
“Perhaps... perhaps not.”
“There once was a girl and a boy. The girl is pretty and comes from a good family. She has a smile—a bright, brilliant smile—that reflects a faith in the goodness of life. It’s a smile inspired by her father. People called him the Candy Man.
“And this father loved his daughter. Sometimes when you visited the candy store he owned, you’d catch the father with his child on his lap and he would be singing a little song off-key:
My Hannah Doll, my Hannah Doll
Oh, how I love my Hannah Doll
I will forever keep you safe and away from harm
“Now, as this little girl got older, she would come back from college each summer and she would help out in her father’s shop working the front counter, using her education to help her father with the books. She wasn’t aiming to be no accountant, though, because she had an artist’s spirit. She wasn’t ruled by money and how to take care of it. Many a time during the summer, people would come into the store and they would see the pretty little girl sitting behind the counter working on a sketch or a drawing.
“It was during one of these summers the pretty girl heard the front door swing open. She looked up from her artwork and saw the Kid. He was handsome and strong. But he was from the other side of the tracks... or better yet, the other side of the street, across from the Candy Man’s shop. The Kid wasn’t from around here either, but he was part of the rough crowd that hung out at that storefront club, Illusions. Like so many of the lost boys who hang out in front of Illusions, the Boss Man—a merchant—took him in. Now this Boss Man wanted to do a little business with the Candy Man. ‘The neighborhood is changing,’ is what the Boss Man told the Kid. ‘Soon a little hole-in-the-wall gangster hangout like Illusions will no longer have a place in this community.’ The Boss knew that numbers, gambling, and the drug business needed a new home base. The corner store will always serve that purpose. The Boss tried to get the Candy Man to partner up with him. But the Candy Man had character. He fought in The War and he did things he was ashamed of. So, this was his chance to do right. To make amends.
“But the Candy Man didn’t realize, you don’t say ‘no’ to this Boss Man. He wants what he wants. He told the kid, ‘You are a stranger to them. Make friends with the girl. See what you can learn about the Candy Man and his family.’
“He was told to act with class and befriend the sweet girl. ‘Go in there on a regular basis and charm her. Come across as someone with goals and ambition.
“So the Kid played his part. He was respectful. He took an interest in her artwork. He would see her leave the shop alone and he would time it just right to meet up with her and talk to her as she walked home. And he was smart. It was during the walks home that he told the pretty girl that he would like to meet her away from the store.
“She began meeting him in the park nearby. She’d sneak away for lunch and a movie during the day. The girl kept the affair to herself. She knew what side of the street the boy came from because the girl would watch him. She saw him through her store window, and she saw how the young man would talk to the rude boys hanging out in front of Illusions. And though the young man didn’t seem like the hustlers and gangstas from across the way, she knew that her father wouldn’t approve. Nor would the Pretty Lady Dame. The girl kept the Kid a secret from them.
“‘I think the girl is falling for me hard. What should I do?’
“‘You know what’s next,’ said the Boss.
“But she’s not ready.’
“Say, ‘I love you’. She’s a child. She will accept those silly words as truth. She will give herself to you. She doesn’t know how hollow those words are.’
“Then one day the Kid said to the Boss, ‘It’s happened. She feels violated because I hardly speak to her. And now, she may be carrying my child.’
“‘If she comes to you, walk away. Deny the child.’
“And so, it was a summer night, probably a lot like this night—calm, peaceful. The girl told the Kid to meet her at the park. There is news to share. She was frightened. The boy could hear the fear in her trembling voice when she said, ‘I am having your child’.
“The Kid did as he was told to do... he rejected the child. And he did it in the cruelest of ways; he simply turned and walked away without saying a word. He left the girl stunned and in disbelief. So, she grabbed him and screamed, ‘I won’t let you deny this child!’
“The boy was strong, and he pushed her
away. But the girl kept coming after him. And so, he hits her. But she’s a fighter. She kept coming after him. She punched, scratched, kicked him. But the Kid was strong, and he hit her again... and again until she had no more fight in her. And this boy, who said those hollow words—‘I love you’—left the girl in a huddled mess beneath some battered, old park bench. The boy walked away from the girl and the child to come.”
The Merchant stops speaking. He turns his cold, steely eyes on the Old Man, searching for some reaction to his story. But the Old Man offers him no satisfaction. He sits impassively. The Old Man breaks the silence with a simple question, “Are you done?”
The Merchant tells the Old Man that he is not.
“Because you see, I lie. This is not really the love story of a girl and a boy. Rather, it’s about a man’s love for a family and the steps he’d take in order to protect that family’s honor. That Kid and the Boss Man never gave much thought to this man, who sat in the shadows watching from the back of the candy shop. Everyone thought this man’s life was insignificant. Sure, little kids were afraid of him. But to adults, he was a sorry old man who was nothing more than a floor sweeper, living off the kindness of a friend. No one knew what kind of man he was. No one knew what this man was capable of... except for the girl’s mother. The mother knew that her husband, the old solider, wasn’t capable of avenging their daughter and restoring her honor. It is believed that she went to this man, who sat in the shadows, and asked, ‘Can you make it right?’
“This man assured her that he could. But the Kid and the Boss Man never gave a thought to the possibility that they would be punished for their evil. They didn’t know that there are still men out there who are the shepherds of children. Righteous men fueled with enough anger to seek out revenge.
“And so the Kid... vanishes. He is never heard from again. A body never even turns up. The Kid simply no longer exists.
“In time, the girl heals... well, except for the scar that remains by her eye. She doesn’t know what happened to the Kid she once loved but who denied their child. The mother, Pretty Lady Dame, goes back to the island where she is from. The father dies—I guess, you can say—from a broken heart from knowing he failed to protect his child. And the guardian angel, that blessed man who is the protector of children, slips back into the shadows. And everything is right with the world.”
Child of Gilead Page 12