The Clay Head Benediction

by Marty Rafter

my all star building superintendents…going above and beyond” he says

  “Is that a real thing? An all star building superintendent?”

  “It is now, and it is you. Shit man, you are here on a Sunday”

  “So are you.” I say

  “I own the damn place” he says, and laughs

  “I wanted to take walk, get some exercise. I figured if you weren’t here, I would just drop it in the box”

  “Have you had to deal with any maintenance issues yet?” He asks

  “I had to plunge a toilet this morning, but otherwise, no”

  “We sent out a letter to all the other tenants letting them know you were the guy to go to”

  “I was wondering”

  “Well, now you’ve solved the mystery….hey, do me a favor, would you?”

  “Sure, Ron. What is it?”

  “Keep an extra close eye on the place tonight, you never know with these kids.”

  “I’ve never noticed any loud parties on Sunday nights” I say

  ”Not the tenants. The kids in the neighborhood. Its devil’s eve.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. It is isn’t it? My dad used to take us out when we were kids to throw toilet paper in the neighbor’s trees” I say

  “Yeah, we did, too, but kids today have no respect. They smashed a bunch of our windows over on Hobart last year”

  “I didn’t know that”

  “Little assholes. “ Ron says

  “It's funny; I was just talking about the devil with a friend of mine. He seems to think that the devil has been visiting him and asking him about me.”

  Ron looks at me blankly, and then says “it sounds like you need to get some new fucking friends, brother.”

  I smile “you know me. I am friends with everyone”

  He laughs. “Ain’t that the truth? Jack off of all trades, master of none”

  I laugh with him “I am probably a master of a few”

  “Let's hope so, now you have to promise me that you aren’t going to go around telling people about your friend who talks to the devil.”

  “How do you know that isn’t my secret formula for keeping the apartments rented, Ron?”

  Ron laughs “then don’t change a thing. Keep filling the place up with all the prompt paying devil worshipers you can find.”

  “I knew you would come around.” I say, smiling

  “Seriously though, keep an eye out tonight ok?”

  “No problem, chief.” I say.

  As I walk home from the rental office, I finally get around to thinking about the girl from the museum. I try to think of things that I might say when I first talk to her, and consider for a while, outlining the auspicious circumstances surrounding how I came to know that I would encounter her on her break. Perhaps she knows Donald, or even better still has a fondness for cats, and I can parlay the discussion about the cat into normal topics that will turn into other topics and then onto a full scale conversation. But then I remember my promise to Donald and try to think of another angle. I try to decide if I will bring a lunch with me, so I can meet her expectantly with a full lunch bag, and thus gain an invitation to sit and eat and join her. But she is probably used to talking with people who eat things other than milk, and cheese sandwiches and apples and oranges, so I decide against that. Then I consider that I might wait for her with a book, an interesting book, something heavy and widely read, The Brothers Karamazov perhaps, and maybe she will have read it three times as well, and maybe she will want to talk about it. But she could also be the type that only reads magazines, or worse still, only the internet, and if that is the case, then I will be relieved because we will have nothing to talk about at all. And I am quite good at talking about nothing, and all expectations will be erased.

  At home, I have a glass of milk and sit and think some more, and try to decide if the circumstances of my second chance with the girl are in fact a coincidence or a construction of imagination, so I sit at my desk and make a two sided table on a piece of loose leafed paper where I group each bit of evidence in a category, and then try to outline a realistic counterargument. Ultimately, this proves to be a frustrating waste of time, and I instead decide to comb through my closet to find the appropriate outfit. I subscribe to a fashion philosophy known as investment dressing, which basically means that everything in my closet is too formal, and stiff and in the bland color pallet favored by Presbyterian ministers and accountants. In the end, though, that makes my choice easy. After the clothes are decided upon, I consider making her a head, but instead decide to give her the one returned to me by Ben, which saves me time, but also gives me more free time to think. So, I eat a little of something else, and lay down to try to rest. Which, I miraculously do successfully for an entire dreamless night.

  At 9:30, I wake up, eat, shower, and then walk around the building to check for any sign of vandalism, of which there is none. So, I pack my bag and head to the museum. When I get there, the first guard I see is the incredible hulk and the girl at the admissions desk where I show my membership card is some sort of cat, and it takes me a few minutes to remember that it is Halloween, and when I do, I am happy. I decide to avoid the art museum for a little while and go to look at the dinosaurs. In Pittsburgh, the two museums are attached, and while our art collection is a bit middling, our dinosaur collection is world class. The museum’s original patron, Andrew Carnegie, funded some of the first major digs, and the staff here has been pretty good about continuing the mission. I am not a big fan of reptiles in general, so the really large prehistoric varieties don’t really do much for me, but it occupies my time. I think the earth really started to get interesting once people came along, the great migrations, cave paintings all that stuff. I don’t really pay much attention to the dinosaurs anyway, mostly I still think about ways to start up a conversation with the girl. I sit on a bench and watch a dull movie about a dig the museum conducted in Mongolia for a while, and when it is over, it is nearly time for the girl’s break. So, I descend to the cafeteria, cleverly named Fossil Fuels, and sit and wait.

  At 1:35, the girl comes into the cafeteria. I watch her as she walks to a vending machine and buys a bottle of diet coke, and then she sits down in a booth and drinks her Diet Coke, and eats a variety of things that she pulls from her purse, first some baby carrots, then some crackers, and then something that looks like a cheese stick. If she notices me, she doesn’t let on, so I decide to walk over to her.

  “That head I gave you...it really wasn’t a great example of my craft…So I made you another” I say as I hand her the small box returned to me by Ben.

  She doesn’t look surprised to see me, and gently takes the box from my hand and sets it on the table in front of her, and removes the lid.

  “Wow” she says

  “I get the glass eyes from a taxidermy supply company”

  “It's very good. Realistic.” She says noncommittally.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” I ask

  She looks around the room, and then says “If you want to.”

  “It is Fimo…the clay you bake in the oven”

  “I know what Fimo is.” She says.

  “..And the hair is real human hair... I get it from my barber” I neglect to mention that it is mostly my own hair.

  “That is a little bit strange” she says

  “I guess so, but the fake stuff looks really unnatural”

  “Whose hair is it?” She asks

  “Mine mostly”

  “And the barber doesn’t think it is strange that you want to take your hair home?” She says looking at me with her fantastic dark eyes

  “I never asked him”

  “You should”

  “He probably is happy that I sweep up for him. He is getting pretty old, and I think bending down to use the dust pan is hard on his back”

  “Still…” she says, looking down at the head “I have a boyfriend, you know”

 
“I didn’t know. But that is not why...”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I say

  “I know I’m right, and for future reference. Giving a girl a head made even in part with your own hair…not really a great way to get their attention”

  “It got your attention”

  “Not in a good way” she says

  “I’m sorry”

  “You don’t need to be sorry. You seem harmless enough, I’m just saying. The head made with your own hair thing…it is strange”

  “You have to admit it is pretty good though, right”

  “Oh yeah. You’re a real craftsman. I just wouldn’t recommend going around giving these to people”

  “So…are you saying you have a boyfriend because you really have one, or because you don’t want the head?”

  “Oh, I’ll keep the head. Even if it is weird. But I do really have a boyfriend, actually a fiancé”

  “See, that is why I like you.” I say “I knew you would appreciate that”

  “You don’t really know me” she says

  “Well, you could tell me about yourself.” I say

  “Ok. Well, my name is Alicia. And I have a boyfriend. And I think that this head is strange, which is part of the reason that I am going to keep it, and you should also probably think about finding another girl to like”

  “I don’t think I am going to do that. I haven’t really considered another option if you don’t like me...”

  “It is not that I don’t like you. I don’t know you…and what I know about you seems...”

  “Strange?” I volunteer

  “Extremely strange, yes.”

  “But not dangerous,