by Marty Rafter
performer” He continues “You are welcome to audition, but this is a performance. One that all of us have worked very hard on, and your contributions are most unwelcome” And the audience, overwhelmed by his wit, and restraint, and handsome confidence breaks into wild applause, and I try then, to excuse myself, but I find that the ushers have already arrived to help me do that, but ushers are also the actors filling a double role, and I am escorted from the hall by Coats and Brian Folz in their unitards and vests. I am taken to the door of the theatre as the crowd continues to applaud and cheer, and the man from the stage again arrives to serve as my final escort, and as he hands me my soaking backpack and opens the door for me, I rip the earmuffs from my ears and sit upright in bed.
It is 3:30, and it still being too early to return to the street, I decide to create some heads. I sit down and arrange my clay and begin to work. I patently make six new creations, and when I am done, I place all of them in the oven to cook. Then, exhausted, I fall back into a dreamless sleep for an hour. When I wake up, I realize that I had forgotten about the heads, and rush to the oven to make sure that they have not become damaged in my negligence. I am happy to find that they are all in fine condition, and hadn’t suffered any cracking from the extended stay in the heat. I very gently lay all of them out on my work surface, and think for a moment about what eyes and hair I would put onto each. Then, as I look at them a bit more closely, I realize that they all must be destroyed for every head that I made is the image of the man in the theatre.
The clay from the heads could not be saved, once it is baked, it is ruined, so I put all of the heads into a paper bag. I was going to put them into the dumpster, but it didn’t seem reasonable that they should share the same fate as the magazines and all of the other noble trash, so I decided to break them up instead. It took a long while because I didn’t want to use a hammer and wake the neighbors, so I try to use a screwdriver, but the heads are too hard. I decide to put them back into the oven at a higher heat to make them a bit more brittle, and after an hour, my efforts prove successful. After that, I put a little bit of cat food into a plastic bag and look through my collection of finished heads and found a good one that I had been saving to hide somewhere in the city during the arts festival. I put the cat food, the head, and the second backpack into my new backpack and go out into the street.
It is still early, and there aren’t a lot of people out. The walk to Ben’s apartment from my place takes about twenty minutes. It had rained sometime during the night, and the sidewalks are wet. In the recessed doorway of an old storefront I pass a man sleeping on a deconstructed cardboard box. He had taken his boots off to sleep and one of them is outside of the safety of the overhang where it had been collecting rainwater over the course of the night. I pick up the boot and dump the water out of it, and put in behind the sleeping man and outside of the elements. At Ben’s apartment building, the Mouthwash Man is nowhere to be seen. I push the buzzer for Ben’s apartment and wait. Through the small window on the door, I watch as he comes down the steps. He seems upset, but when he sees me, his face relaxes. He pulls open the door.
“Hi Ben”
“You are at my apartment” He says
“I was in the neighborhood”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a while. So I say, “I’m sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t mean to surprise you”
“No. No. …I was asleep. Feels like all I do is sleep anymore” He says
“Well, that’s good, at least you are getting your rest” I say
“It's not good. It's bad. They want me to sleep my life away.”
I don’t say anything, and then Ben says, “Do you want to come up?”
“Ok”
Ben's apartment is smaller than mine. His single bed is rumpled, and in the corner are, two huge black plastic bags which are overstuffed with clothes. The air is stale with the old cigarette smoke. Ben walks to one of the plastic bags, and rummages through it, and pulls out a large package of nicotine gum, he removes two pieces from their blister pack and stuffs them into his mouth. He chews furiously for a minute and then returns to the bags where he searches a little more, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lights a cigarette and sits on the bed.
“Why are you here?” He asks
“I just wanted to come and say hello, Ben”
“Hello” He says
“Hi” I say
He stands up and starts looking around the room again. Ultimately, he finds what he was looking for, an ashtray that had been perched on the top of big pile of papers. He sits for a while and smokes, flicking his ashes at a distance into the tray.
“Can I move that ashtray for you?” I ask
He looks at me blankly for a minute. “Why do you want to move it?”
“I don’t want to move it, I just wondered if you wanted me to.”
He turns and looks out his window. “I don’t” He says
“I can go, Ben. I’m sorry that I woke you up”
“No, I just have to piss” He says, and then he walks into the other room. As soon as he leaves, I dump the cat food from the plastic bag into my backpack and quickly empty the ashtray into my plastic bag. Then, I notice one of the papers that was underneath the ashtray. It is a medical record with the name of a caseworker on it. I quickly stuff that paper into my pocket and was just finishing as Ben walked out of the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” He asks
“I was just emptying your ashtray.” I say, holding up the bag of cigarette butts.
“You shouldn’t have done that” He says, not making eye contact as he takes the bag from me.
“I’m sorry”
“It's ok. I’m just really tired” He says, as he shakes another cigarette from his pack.
“I will let you get back to sleep.” I say
Ben walks over and sits on the edge of his bed. He sets the bag of butts down next to him and picks up his ashtray. “Ok”
“Do you still like the head?” I ask.
He stretches his legs out and reaches down to pull his sheets over his feet. As I helped him, he says “it’s the best present I ever got, man” But his voice is flat, and I could tell that he is not really paying attention to me, so I thank him for letting me come over, and I leave. When I walk out of his building, the Mouthwash Man was there sitting on the wall smoking one of his thin cigars. I say hello to him, and he says,
“Upstairs visiting your crazy boyfriend, huh?”
“I heard about what happened with the bag.” I say
“Yeah, that motherfucker punched me in the lip and took it from me right in the store”
“He punched you?” I ask
“He would have… if the security guards didn’t get involved”
“So, he didn’t punch you?”
“I just fucking told you, man. He would have”
“But he didn’t”
I took off my backpack and took out the extra one I brought with me. “I brought you a new backpack”
“What the fuck, man?”
“Ben took the other one I gave you. I wanted to replace it” I say. The Mouthwash Man didn’t debate me this time; he just takes the backpack and says,
“What is your fucking deal with that guy… is he your brother?”
I walk over and sit by him on the wall “kind of. He really isn’t a bad guy, he is just confused” I say
The Mouthwash Man takes a sip from a tall can of beer concealed in a paper bag and says, “Everyone is fucking confused. Your brother is crazy” Then, he picks up his new bag and turned it over “and you’re the fucking backpack fairy” Then, he unzips the bag and looks inside. He reaches in and pulls out the clay head.
“Oh, I thought that was in my bag” I say
“What is it?”
“A clay head. I made it.” I say
“No shit? “ He says, turning the head over in his hands. “Looks just like rea
l, man. You made this? For real?”
“I have a little workshop in my apartment” I say
“So, you’re some kind of artist, huh?”
“If you say so” I say
“No, man. Don’t kid yourself. This thing is fucking good. You really made this?”
“Yeah, I made it” I say
“What are you then, if you ain’t an artist” he asks
“A real estate agent, I rent apartments… In the summers at least... People don’t move a lot in the fall and winter.”
“You make enough in the summer not to work all year?” He asks
“Not a lot, but enough. I normally work overnight down at the post office over Christmas; I make a little money then, too.”
“They let you collect after that?” He asks
“Unemployment? No, not usually. I don’t know though. I’ve never tried. I make enough” I say
“See that’s me, too. Twenty two years in the army” He says, hitching his thumb towards his chest “I ain’t getting anything I didn’t earn...not like the rest of these fucking bums”
“Some people can’t work” I say
“Some of ‘em. And even more of ‘em don’t want to”
“It doesn’t bother me”
“What doesn’t?” He asks
“Other people” I say
“Well, it should. There’s always someone trying to get over. Half the people are trying to rip somebody off, and half the people are sitting around figuring out a way not ta’ work”
“You can have it, if you want.” I say, gesturing to the head.
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure. That is why I make them, to give them away”
“You could sell this. Thing like this could be worth some money.”
“It isn’t worth any money. Plus, nobody with any kind of money will want to buy it anyway. You can have it, but you have to promise me that you won’t sell it.”
The Mouthwash Man laughs a little bit. “I won’t sell it. I’ll leave it to my son. He never got a damn thing from me in his whole life…he’d love this”
“I could make him one.” I say
“No. I’ll give him this one” He says, and then he reaches out and shakes my hand.
I say “Take it easy on Ben, ok?”
“I can’t promise I’m gonna do something special for ‘em”
“You don’t need to do anything special, just don’t give him a hard time if his music and TV are too loud”
“He gave me a whole pack of squares once” Mouthwash Man says
“Who did?”
“Your brother. I was setting out here just like this, and I asked him to bum a square, and he handed me a whole pack”
“That was nice of him” I say.
“I could buy him another pack”
“I think it would be fine if you just didn’t complain about the noise”
“You give me this” he says “and I won’t complain about the noise”
“I already gave it to you” I say.
Back at my apartment, I opened the paper that I took from Ben. It was an official report from his doctors, a letter with title that read: Memorandum for Coordination of Care. In the letter, it mentioned the name of his social worker…. a woman named Maria Olson. I wrote down her information in my notebook, and then ate a cheese sandwich and an orange. After lunch, I walk up to the building where Maria Olson’s office is. I ask the front desk receptionist if I could speak to her, and she telephoned upstairs. Then she tells me that Ms. Olson was not in her office, and that she was unsure of when she would return. So, I hand the receptionist the letter that I took from Ben’s apartment, and tell her that I had found it on the street, and was hoping that it could be returned to the proper party, and the receptionist wrote a note to that effect on a yellow sticky note, and put it in Maria Olson’s mailbox.
After that, I walk around for a while searching for cats to feed, but I don’t see any. I briefly consider stopping to check if the ones behind the noodle shop had been fed. Then I walk past an alley that looks vaguely like the one behind the noodle shop that is flanked on either side by dumpsters, and I find a spot far enough away from the building doors and dumpsters as not to attract mice, and I pour out my little bag of cat food. After that, I go home and try to read The Lawless Roads again for a while, but I get bored, so I place a call to Maria Olson. The phone rings to her voicemail, so then I leave a message,
“Hello, Ms. Olson. My name is Luke Kolbe and my friend, Ben Berman is a client of yours. A mutual acquaintance of ours, Brian Folz, has somehow come to the conclusion that I exert an unnatural influence over Ben, and I would like to talk to you a bit to clear the air” Then I leave my telephone number.
After the call, I am exhausted, so I collapse onto my bed and fall immediately asleep. And then I dream. I dream that I am in a stand of pine trees where the ground is covered in dried needles and the branches of the trees don’t begin until far above my head, and I know where I am. I had hidden one of the little heads here to be found by a hiker, or a dog walker or some kids. Then the wind starts to blow, and the trees sway and emit their tired sounds, and I stand at the bottom in wonder. Then I am a tree. One of the trees in the stand of trees, and I am swaying too. Each gust is like a breath, in an out, and in and out in a steady rhythm. Then, I hear my heart beat, but it won’t match my breath. It is faster, wildly faster, and then it stops. And I can see that it wasn’t my heart at all, it was the wings of a bird. A huge hawk. I watch him flap his wings and coast, and then he lands onto one of my branches. I feel him move, but I cannot see him any longer. He moves along my branch in little hops, and then flies away again, and then he returns with bits of paper in his mouth, and he hops along my branches again, and then he flies away. He does it again and again, and I can only sit and wait, and breathe with the wind. I decide that I do not want to be a tree anymore, and I try to focus my will, so that I am a man again, standing on the earth, and unaware of the life of trees. So, I try to imagine myself as a man, and I am on the forest floor. So, I start to walk, but I only move a little bit at a time, so I decide to climb the tree, and am thrilled to find that I am an incredibly good climber. I scale the tree without the slightest strain on my muscles until I near the branch where the hawk is perched, and I see what he is doing, building himself a nest. I look at the hawk, and I notice his eye, and his eye is the eye of the man in the theatre. Then, I am aware of my tail, and my size and I leap to a father branch and scale higher in the tree. I am above the hawk now, but he is not interested in me. He is interested in his nest. So, I climb along a branch above him, so I can also see the nest. It is a huge construction made entirely of papers. I sit and watch him work. Then, the hawk flies off again, and I descend the tree to inspect the nest. The papers are covered in words I cannot read, so I try to imagine that I am a man again, so that I can read. Then, I am a man, but I am clinging to the narrow branch high above the ground, and my heart is racing, and I move to grip the swaying tree tighter. After I secure myself, I reach out to the nest, and remove one of the papers, it says, Memorandum for the Coordination of Care at the top, and I am falling.
When I wake up again it is 3:30. I don’t try to sleep. Instead, I exercise, and eat, and clean myself and my home. At six, I pack the backpack with a few of the heads, and I refill my small plastic bag of cat food and start to walk. The morning is cold, but it feels good to be outside. It is still mostly dark, but by the time I get to the park, dawn has formally begun, and I have enough light to move down the walking trails without struggling to see. I pass a few people walking with their dogs, and the enthusiasm of their animals makes me feel positive. I find the place where the earthen trail separates from the gravel walking path and move further into the woods. After ten minutes, I locate the stand of pine trees from my dream. I look up at each branch to check for the presence of a nest, but there is not one there. Then, I move
to see if the clay head has been removed from the tiny root shelter where I left it. The head is gone, and there is a small smooth stone in its place. I pick up the stone and put it into my bag, then, I replace the head with a new one, one even better than the last one that was there.
After that, I start to walk back towards the library. It will be open soon, and I am lonely without my books. When I get there, the library is a few minutes from being open, and Coats is sitting at one of the picnic benches in a heavy winter jacket waiting for the doors to open. When he sees me, he stands up and walks away. I consider following him, to try to talk to him, but decide against it, and wait alone. When the doors open, I walk around for a while looking for something to read. I forgot my list at home, but in the reference section, I select The Way of the Seeded Earth from Joseph Campbell’s Atlas of World Mythology and take it upstairs to the science section to read. Later, I will try to find Ben, but for now I am content to sit alone. I read for a while. The floor is mostly empty except for two librarians who have extended bland conversation about another librarian who has called off sick. Then, a very skinny older woman comes in and reads the Physicians’ Desk Reference with one of the library’s huge magnifying glasses, and takes lots of notes on dozens of call slips. I watch her for a while. After she returns the book, I go and find it on the shelf, and hide one of the heads behind it. Then, I walk downstairs to try to find Ben.
As I am walking down the staircase, I am met by Brian Folz and one of the library guards.
“Would you please follow us down to the lobby? We are going to have to have a look in your bag.” Brian Folz says to me.
“I don’t see why you would have to do that.” I say
“The library reserves the right to inspect any bags that come into the building” He says
“You reserve the right?”
“Yes, sir.” Brian Folz says
“Is that the same thing as having the right?” I ask
“As far as this situation is concerned, yes. It is the same thing” he says
“Why don’t you just say that you have the right to search my bag?”
“Excuse me?”
“It just seems like purposely confusing phrasing. You could just say that you have the right to search my bag”
“We do have the right to search your bag” he says
“Well, you should say so. Saying that you ‘reserve the right’ sounds like the kind of pointless word substitution that people use to make themselves sound smarter” I say.
“This still won’t stop us from searching the bag, sir”
“I told you the other day, I don’t require any honorifics, you can just call me Luke” I say
“Well, Luke, if you would please follow us to the lobby...”
I am escorted to the guard station next to the front door where Brian Folz says
“Please set your bag on the table”
So, I do
“Would you please unzip it for us?” He says
“You don’t reserve the right to unzip it?” I ask
“It is our policy that the