by Walter Winch
of light snarled from the west, beginning to now push aside the cloud curtains. I turned up the collar of my coat.
A small box-like house squeezed between two decaying brownstones gradually took shape in the distance. Could that be where they live?
The dogs and the children arrived at the bottom of the street. I halted. They were indeed heading for the small house. Would anyone open the door for them? For a brief time they waited by the door, almost frozen in place I thought. The boy then pushed open the door. The one dog pulled the other dog inside, followed by the puppies, then the girl and finally the boy. The door closed.
I looked at my watch; I did not have a lot of time to get to my appointment. All the same I could not shake off my growing curiosity. I glanced over my shoulder in the direction where I had just come from. No one was in sight.
At the bottom of the street I stopped and stared at the house. What could I possibly say? That I was following children? There had been an incident many years before regarding an eleven year old girl, only indirectly involving me, but nevertheless not one I wished repeated.
I knocked tentatively at the door, and waited. I knocked again, this time louder. No one answered. I reached down and lifted the latch. I pushed open the door only slightly. "Hello," I called out softly. "Is there anyone here?" I was greeted by absolute silence.
I opened the door wider. But now, it was not the lack of a response that surprised me, but the fact that the one small room was absolutely empty, no furniture, clothes or any indication of human habitation whatsoever.
I was now standing in the middle of an empty room, but I then saw another door directly in front of me. I lifted the latch of this door and slowly pulled it open, admittedly leery of what I might discover. But of all the things I briefly considered, what I found myself staring at I could not have anticipated.
I was outside, but in front of me was a large field-gray tent, the kind you'd expect to come across during a military campaign, where overall battle strategy was being planned. I strode quickly over to the tent, pushed back the flap and entered. The interior was spacious and could have accommodated fifteen or twenty persons. While empty, there were signs of recent occupation.
A long, rectangular wooden table surrounded by several canvas chairs was in the center of the space. In one corner of the tent were three large metal trunks and on top of one of the trunks lay a gnarled walking stick with a polished saddle-horn handle.
My attention turned to the table. An inexpensive writing pad lay on top and beside it a black fountain pen. Near the pen was a half-eaten pear in a pewter dish. The pear had started to turn brown in color. I thought I also detected a vague aroma of cigar smoke. Then I noticed a photograph partially turned toward the rear entrance of the tent.
"Good god," I exclaimed. I stared at the old sepia-colored photograph. In the picture a young boy and girl stood in a room, their hands at their side, looking down at the floor. At their feet were four beagles. One dog lay on its side, its eyes closed, appearing to be asleep, while the other dog held the sleeping dog's paw in its mouth, as though expressing a protective affection. Two slightly blurred beagle puppies stared up into the camera. They seemingly had moved just as the picture was taken. I couldn't help smiling as I put the photograph down.
I rubbed my hand slowly across the wooden table . Absentmindedly I picked up the fountain pen and noticed the initials M.A.G. engraved in gold letters on the side.
I went to the rear entrance of the tent, pushed the flap aside and stepped outside. The sky was a dark blue, and a cool breeze ruffled my hair. So much to do and so little time I decided. I put the pen in my coat pocket. I saw the steamer with the Liberian flag waving in the breeze. It was going to be a very good day to meet with three Hungarians and three Chinese from Shanghai, the principal stockholders.
Pure White Primitives
"Good morning. This is Bill Hunter and Sandy Jones for QQQ Radio News, the only source you can count on for accuracy, truth and the American way."
"And a very good morning to you, Bill. This just in from the AB, Juneau, Alaska. The story is entitled 'Killin' Chillbillies for Jesus.'
"Authorities in Alaska recently announced that the indiscriminate slaughter of wolves from airplanes has not satiated the blood lust of white primitives, according to state officials. The Alaska Bureau of Statistics has estimated that approximately 49 percent of Alaskan residents are now officially designated pure white primitives. This number, according to anonymous sources within the A.B.O.S., is likely to rise slightly.
"Also announced two days ago in the state capital, officials have confirmed that contingency plans have been in place for several months in the event that wolf slaughter did not pacify the highly volatile white primitive community.
"The broad outline of the plan is as follows: Any designated white primitive that signs the official release form, which can be obtained at local police departments, Price Slacker supermarkets, and Cheap Wine Liquors will be eligible for the Alaska Hunt. Participants will also receive written assurances from the governor and religious leaders in the state of being fast-tracked to the Emerald City-on-the-Hill. We'll be right back after this message from our sponsor."
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"We are able to provide everything, from the traditional wood casket mid-west departure, to the burning funeral pyre next to the Ganges, to the tearing of flesh by a pack of hyenas on the Serengeti. We at Night Hag Death Emporium take pride in our departure preparations. Give us a chance to assist you personally. Visit us at hagemporiumdotcom. Wishing you well, this is Arnold Axelrod for Night Hag Death Emporium. Bon voyage"
"Okay, Sandy, thanks for the fascinating story of the upcoming Alaska Hunt. More details have just come in as well. As we now understand, immediate family members, proof required, upon the certified death of the specified primitive in the Alaska Hunt will receive one lump sum payment, tax free, of $7,500, one semi-automatic rifle with a retail value of $450, one all-terrain vehicle, with color choices of orange, red or pink, five cases of any domestic beer, and no mandatory education requirement for any child over the age of 12 years.
"Ebidah Del-ho, pastor of the Revised & Revamped Later Day Reformed and Reconstituted Church of the Essence of Jesus will provide official counseling to the white primitive participants and their immediate families. Del-ho or his designated assistant will also give the final blessing to any white primitive who has successfully avoided being killed in the 3-day hunt. At the conclusion of the blessing the white primitive participant will be humanely dispatched by an anonymous official in the Alaskan Wildlife Department."
"This just came in, Bill. Thorman Chadwick leader of the Alaska Dead Head Tea Party has issued a press release that reads as follows: 'The Alaska Hunt is about freedom, what our founding fathers fought for. Americans want the right to make their own choices, without an oppressive government telling them what to do. We can be proud today of being Alaskans and rest assured that freedom-loving Americans in the lower forty-eight states will soon be demanding the right to hunt.' "This is really inspiring isn't it, Bill."
"It sure is, Sandy. As well, if checked on the release form, the participant's organs will be sent immediately to the National Payless Organ Finder Foundation. Also, if checked on the release form and certified by the Alaska Food and Health Department, the flesh of participants will be packaged and frozen and be given to needy Alaskan families, who meet the designated poverty level. In Alaska the required annual income level must be less than $2,500 for a family of three."
"Certainly generous, Bill. And importantly, designated white primitives may also participate as airplane shooters by paying a nonrefundable fee of $4,000 and proof of citizenship. Driver's license and or National Rifle Association membership cards are acceptable proof. To date, stat
e officials have reported that 1,623 people have signed up to be participants, 427 white primitives have paid for the privilege of being airplane shooters, and more than 3,500 Americans from across the United States have sent in the $2,000 non-refundable deposit in order to be placed on the Alaska Hunt Shooter's List. The governor's office has stated that this event will be a "revenue plus" for Alaska as the state steadily moves to close all government services and a "win-win" for the residents of Alaska. And now a word from our sponsor"
Esmond Esmond
I received a letter from his business partner at my office yesterday afternoon. That evening I remembered the first time I met him, exactly twenty years to the day.
On that particular day, two weeks before Christmas on a Sunday morning, I attended services at a small church outside the city. The day was blinding, I recall, as the brilliant sun skipped and sparkled off the snow—almost like heaven itself had given up its radiance for a brief instant in time. The multihued windows of the church were in a blaze of glory. Indeed, a vapor of scarlet red light landed on the hand of a person beside me.
This is what attracted my attention at first. Turning my head slightly, I realized the stranger's skin and hair were a chalky white. His