by: SS Mavichnik (c) SS Mavichnik Mongol! Kanine! I called. My compatriots slunk behind me. They manage to disappear every time I enter into a crowded place, crowded to them meaning more than just me. But their presence went unnoticed once I had entered this small, dimly lit diner. It was one of those eateries on every big city street corner out of the way but in plain sight. It's door did not jingle, there were no bells. (No chance of angels getting their wings.) Not a single patron moved fast, and the waitress ignored you because , for her, possible customers had long ceased to exist, just as the eggs here had long ago and maybe never been anything close to eggs. Knowing this, I didn't order anything food wise, just a cup of coffee. I snagged another tables straw varnished woven basket of uneaten soup crackers for Mongol and Kanine to share. I tore the easily torn plastic wrapper covering and gave shared with them breadsticks dusted with garlic granules. The two under my table wolfed the crackers down in one, two, strangely three, gulps. Their pert attention focused back on me and stayed there. They were always waiting, for food or a gesture unknown to me, but which they verily desired me to make. A short, broadish waitress with curly wrinkled hair, nose with two distinct openings, and a pudged up puppy-dog looking face kept dropping utensils and plates for unknown reasons. The sounds of the crashing did nothing to distract Mongol or Kanine's attention from me. They were oh so very much aware of what was transpiring about them. The voice of the waitress floated above the night roar of patrons. She talked and kept talking about how she was almost going to cry, but that it was really o.k., that she'll be fine, that it was just one of those nights. One of those nights, whatever one of those nights were. I tossed that question out of my head by surmising that I would only know what one of those nights would be when I actually had one. Meanwhile, my coffee had gotten cold. I motioned to the waitress, the one who had been sitting around watching the other waitress drop her plates and near to tears. The waitress rose and slowly made her way over, rising and unfolding what she thought , as we all thought, of as her supple body, wrapped in black jeans and covered by the all encompassing apron. She approached my table, ignoring or not seeing my companions, and asked me what I wanted. Time enough had passed without me drinking my coffee to allow for its having cooled. "Excuse me, Miss, my coffee is cold..." I looked up at her stock locked expression. Did it occur to her that my coffee was cold because It had sat there in the middle of my table untouched while I had stared at the atmosphere . Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. She smiled, coldly, like my coffee. Every waitress might be a cynic. She knew and she showed me she knew, and what she thought of it, by taking my cup without a word nor spilling a drop and bringing back a fresher, hotter cup, with sugar, and a swagger. "Thanks, " I said. She made the required affirmative sound and returned to her seat, where she crossed her legs and picked up her cigarette that she had left, still smoking, balanced on the heavy ash tray's glass side. She took a drag and looked away, to another faraway. Mongol snapped his gaze from me and cast about. He rose to his feet and banged his head against the underside of the table, tossing the coffee in its cup, waved flung white caps. Mongol's actions broke Kanine's attention, which refocused on a man see-sawing towards my table. A sound emerged low from Kanine's throat. He relaxed under my fingertips. The man was aimed for my table, no doubt about it. Despite his drunken swaying, he zeroed in and sat himself down. He hunched his awkward shoulders as he slid his legs in and attempted to get comfortable in the vinyl booth seat. A dark set man, heavy, but not very tall. His face was pockmarked by razor cuts from the morning before, unhealed due to his faulty diet. Most likely, he ate at this Restaurant. There were various, small patches of single, brown hairs attached to his throat. A blue cap, baseball,sat upon his head, covering his large, trimmed dirt blonde hair Certain strands of which kept falling into his face, keeping his hand constantly busy pushing it aside. His coat, too, was colored blue, and levi denim. He raised his eyes to look at me like he had to tell me something, and to tell me alone. Though most likely anyone would have done. But it was me he had chosen as his confidant. He leaned forward on his elbows, and I tilted to listen intently to his words. " There was a fight in the bathroom, so I didn't go in there." He told me. "I recall hearing the ruckus, " I whispering back to him, wondering then where he had actually gone if not the bathroom. He leaned forward once more. "I would of helped the guy, if it wasn't for my heart." He settled back into the booth. "Your heart?" I asked politely. "Yeah, " he said, taking his hands off the table and placing them down next to his sides. "My heart. That's what the doctor says." "Says what?" I asked. I wanted to know. What does this doctor say? The man gave me an appraising look , and then lifted up his shirt, exposing his bare chest. " I got a bruised heart. " He told me. Indeed, over the left side of the mans chest around where his heart should be and probably was, happened to be a large purple dark circle. He stared at me as I examined his bruise. A lock of his hair fell from under his cap's brim, and with one hand he pushed it back. Both Mongol and Kanine cocked their heads and looked too. I sighed at the sound of a swivel stool and rustle of movement. No matter how quiet one can be, someone is always listening, and those who listen usually hear. A man across at the counter swiveled in his swivel stool and gazed at us, at the man with the pulled up shirt and bruised heart. " You got a bruised heart, man? " This other asked. My table companion turned, with shirt up exposed chest and bruised heart for all to see. " That's what the doctor says. My heart is bruised. " He told the fellow. The newcomer to the conversation slid off his swivel stool and sauntered over. Reaching down, he pulled up his own shirt, a clean, suburban crisp white sweatshirt, long-sleeves. " Man, I was shot in the heart, see?" A small scar on the chest, over his heart, in roughly the same location as the other's bruise, was pointed out. " Went in here and..." he twisted his torso craning his head over his shoulder stretching his neck and reaching behind his back to point at a blemish on his skin. "Came out here..." The two men with up-pulled shirts and bruised and wounded hearts stood gazing at each others hardships. Growlings of a subtle nature, clearly filled with danger and dislike, but only heard by my ears, emerged from the throats of both Mongol and Kanine and precipitated the arrival of a third man. Dressed too nicely, hair like a newscaster, oily slick, well tanned expression, and suavely smelling swank, I saw he had noticed Mongol and Kanine. He smoothly slid his legs out of their range. His gaze passed over me and turned full attention to the two heart hurt men. They returned his look, interested in the new audience, still with their shirts pulled up. The third man smiled ingratiatingly at them and presented a card. "Allow me to introduce myself, " he said after another smile. "Walter P. Smelt, Heart Technician." The bruised heart fellow let his shirt fall and took the card. "James Colchalk." he stated. The other man also let go, allowing his heart a covering. "Frank Lippenhammer, " he said. Walter P. Smelt shook their hands, limply, wetly, soggy fried mushrooms drunkenly forgotten. For some reason, perhaps its proximity, they all seated themselves at my table. I politely and with smiles shifted over to make room. Mongol and Kanine kept themselves from being tangled up in the feet. Walter Smelt sat down last, gingerly sliding in, all the time leery of Mongol and Kanine's presence. "What is a heart technician?" asked Frank, he really wanted to know. Walter folded and unfolded his hands, opened and closed his wet mouth, and answered, softly, with many pauses, told us. " I, well, I am a professional who, shall we say, specializes in affairs of the heart. "I have a bruised heart. " stated James. "And I was shot in mine, " Frank said again. " Of this I am aware, gentlemen, and would offer my services to you. Let me assure you I am a complete professional. " Walter reached into a black bag near his feet and pulled out a glass framed diploma resplendent with a series of graceful calligraphy, lines, stamps, ribbons and approvals, which he moved through the air from the bag, over the table, and back into the bag all in one seamless motion. My eyes had trouble tracking it. Frank and James accepted this simple signifier of officialdom, it was enough that Walter had a diploma. "What would I need help for?" asked James. "I've been fine ever since I first got the bruise. I just can't put a strain on it any, like the doctor told me." James toyed in his large hands the sugar dispenser, in which a stuck saltine cracker was lodged, sacrificing itself to absorb moisture in place of the sugar. Frank nodded in accord with the words of James. Walter spoke. "Ah, that's the rub, just don't strain your heart, the doctor said. But this instruction has stopped you from performing a number of deeds, of certain feats." Walter let his gaze slid slyly to the waitress in her cocktail dress and apron, and back to James. He leaned forward, his face close to James, " And it stopped you from intervening in the fight in the bathroom." James couldn't but help stare into the eyes of Walter P. Smelt. Maybe, perhaps, this Heart Technician had something there. James glanced at the waitress, twisted uncomfortably, and gave a quick sneak down towards the bathroom. Walter spoke again. " What would you have done if that had been your brother Ralph in the fight back there, your little brother Ralph, James?" "How do you know I got a brother?" James pointed out, confused. Walter simply continued, waving in his hand a stirring spoon, hot from the cup of coffee now sitting in front of him, a brew without sugar or cream. "With your bruised heart, James, " Walter pointed with his spoon, " you would have been in no condition to help Ralph, resulting in bodily harm committed against your small brother." James pondered this image, his brother close to him. His brother was family, and family was all important to James. His wife Annabel, his son Robert, he would never let any harm befall them. Never. But, yet, if his heart failed him in a situation..... "They're not gonna hurt my brother, Nor Annabel, Robert, never. " James mumbled darkly to the world, and clutched at his heart. At this unconscious and deeply concentrated action, Walter let slip a slight smile, which quickly hid behind the look of genuine concern. He focused now on Frank. Frank returned the gaze, then slowly opened his mouth. 'Oh, no Doc, I don't need anything. I've been to enough doctors, and they say I am doing just fine. Besides, its been years." He grinned proudly and took a sip of his own coffee. The drops of cream he had added while at his counter seat had faded, allowing the drink to return to its unadulterated darkness. Walter P. Smelt simply sat and stared, tapping the end of a pen from nowhere against his head with staccato taps that indicated he did not think so. "Yes Frank. The doctors tell you are are fine. A specimen of health! But Frank, I have known doctors to be wrong. This wound was from three years ago, right?" Walter stated this pointedly, an odd, secret grin at the corners of his mouth. "Well, yes, three years but.." Frank started to say. Walter inserted himself back into conversation and control. "The entrance wound and exit wound may have healed awhile ago, but in the meantime the closures may have weakened, split, and come open again. Think about it, you haven't been moving as fast these days. You find it harder to get up. And when you play racquetball, your a slowpoke! Even Evans is beating you. You used to be club champ! It might be that in your case, Frank, your wounds have reopened, and your hearts fluids, the fluids of your hearts strength, have slowly been leaking out, making you weaker." Walter leaned back, settling an arm across back behind him, resting confidentially on the booth back. Frank gave him a surprised look. The comment about his playing racquetball and how Walter knew Evans had beaten him slipped over his head as he pondered loose fluids. "Can that really happen?" he asked, worriedly feeling his heart beneath his shirt. "It has..been known to occur." stated Walter. This new information struck a raw nerve in Frank Lippenhammer's mind and stayed there. He'd been reigning champ at the club for the last two years, and only this year had been beaten by Evans, some yo-yo executive type Frank had whipped soundly in all their previous meetings on the ball court. But than, last time, Frank had been tired. He'd felt sluggish moving on the court, missed the easy balls. And there was the times after work. Times he used to get home and do stuff, call up Susan, catch a movie, go dancing, and than home again. Lately, he'd been to tired to do, well, anything. Frank hunched his shoulders and whispered to himself. 'Yeah, that's right. Not moving that fast. Missed the shots. Thought was just getting old..but I'm not that old..maybe..." Walter expanded his chest with a deep sigh. "Yes gentlemen. All these symptoms can be indicators of deep trouble. The heart is a delicate instrument of the human condition. It requires precise tuning, and extreme care. Repairs, for the most part good, are often not good enough. The heart system is quite complicated,and that, gentlemen, is where I come in. I am a specialist. I have dedicated my life to this work. I guarantee one hundred percent success. You have but to peruse these case files and comments, written by past clients." He accented, for his own worth, the word past. His hand merely indicated the files by lightly touching his black satchel as his feet. Frank and James looked around and than at each other. Their hands were rubbing their chests, checking, making sure they could feel the beat of their hearts, feel that they were alive and strong. I scratched Mongol's chest under his heartbeats. I could feel his heart, racing rapid and beating in anticipation. Walter gazed intently at the men with wounded hearts. The two looked to each other again, and looked away, looked at the walls, the south pacific decor, out the window. They weren't looking anywhere. They were thinking about their conditions, about whether they were well or not. I saw in their eyes the doubt and fear that lurks behind all things, behind all situations no matter how stable. The fear and doubt and the truth that all is in fact in decay and dying. For them, life is a constant struggle not to slip down into the deep mire of despair, to stay out of which they would scramble for any straw, any hold. They would even reach out to Walter P. Smelt. I was as sure of this as Mongol and Kanine were swift, that Walter P. Smelt knew this fact for himself as well. He sipped his coffee and managed to smack his lips. The noise he made was of assurance, self-assurance and slick-assurance. He leaned back from his coffee with a sigh. "Gentlemen, " his words flowed from his mouth, and they were words for Frank and James's ears only, and they heard them because they were now scared. Doubt and fear had settled upon them. They heard the words because they wanted the words to assuage their fears. And Walter P. Smelt was the one person who could do just that for them, for he was the one person to bring them these fears. "Gentlemen, " came the words out of Smelt's sincere set face, "While it is true your heart conditions may have healed in the course of time." Hope was in Frank and James's eyes, but Smelt's words rolled on. " There is a very good chance they have not." In their seats, there in the diner, near downtown, the two men visibly slumped. Their coffee turned just a bit more cooler, and slightly more watery. Frank glanced around slowly, arching forward his chest and straightening his back. "Mr. Smelt, what do you suggest we do about our," and here he looked at James, "conditions?" James nodded over his coffee, eyes to the Formica tabletop, scratched with knife scratches and unvanished stains. Smelt smiled and I felt muscles tighten under my hand as I tried to calm Kanine. Mongol continued a low growling rumble in his throat. I wondered if I should beckon the waitress to come take an order, maybe break Smelt's lines into Frank and James. Smelt spoke before I had the chance. "James, Mr. Lippenhammer. I happen to offer for free- there are no strings attached, " Both Mongol and Kanine sudden twitch caused me to splurt into my coffee I was at the moment raising to my lips. Small brown droplets fell onto the paper place-mat in front of me, a map depicting south sea islands, blotting out certain islands and staining parts of the blue sea a near red. And Smelt continued. "For free, one preliminary examination which will successfully measure the necessity for introduction or lack of, further treatment. " Smelt settled back into his well worn groove. Frank and James listened to this. Once again they looked to each other, down at the table, and back up. Free of course was what they wanted. But free to them, in various negotiations, had always had a price. Both men had found it hard to accept free samples for fear there had to be a catch. The only thing free for them was a 1-800 number, and even then those on the other end always wanted you to buy a product or service. Both were skeptical and Smelt sensed this. "I've just recently set up my business in this town. " He reasoned them, "and the best way to gain clients has been through word of mouth, through people telling people, friends telling friends." At his stressing of the word friends Frank and James clutched at their perspective woundings. And Smelt clenched his own fist, because in it he now had both men. Frank dragged his eyes up from the black despair of his coffee to try and meet Smelt's eyes. "How might we go about setting up this free..check-up of yours? " He asked quietly. Smelt's order had arrived, appearing as if called forth by his hungry stomach, a plateful of chicken-fried steak and biscuits. Gravy melted on-top like lava. He was set to eat, and had only to add the condiments. " I just came from the office, and was having a drink when I overheard your conversation. I have everything with me here." He took his satchel onto his lap and opened it up, looking at the two men at my table with a smile. "Bring the work home with me.." he said, and withdrew a document. " Just sign this appointment sheet. You have but to pick a convenient time." He handed the sheet to James and proffered a pen. James paused, examined the sheet, took the pen and scrawled his name. Frank followed suit. Smelt plucked the pen back as soon as Frank had signed, and gave a complete grin, a grin that grew revealing teeth as he examined their names. He handled the paper with a soft reverence, placing the document not back in his satchel but carefully rolling it up and placing it inside his jacket. Before he'd rolled it up, I'd caught a glance of those appointments. All the dates were the same, all were today's date. Smelt patted his coat. " Well friends, " and I didn't think I was included, " I will expect you then.." " Yes, " said Frank. "We'll see you, " said James. Walter just grinned his grin at them through the steam of his coffee which was somehow hot again, or had just never gotten cold. " It should all work out fine, I'm sure it will, " he told them, placated them. I was sure too, and Mongol and Kanine were sure. "Frank, James, " Smelt told them happily, " Really, it doesn't appear serious right now, though it could be. This check-up is just to make sure. It's always better to know, than to not know." And Smelt knew something, and I was beginning to get an inkling of that knowing. Smelt had gotten them to sign his appointment sheet. I knew he would hold them to that appointment. Frank and James had grown silent. I didn't think they knew, or would ever know. Smelt stood and stretched. " I came by for a drink, now that my work is done. How about I buy you fellows a round!" Smelt started towards the back, towards the dark room where drinks were served, a dimly lit grotto called the Reef, where many are washed and wrecked and trapped. Frank and James arose from my table and followed Smelt's lead. They spoke not a word, there was no look in their eyes and their hands clutched mechanically to their hearts. I think, I thought, I knew that their conditions had been taken care of now. I watched their tracks till they entered the dimness of the Reef. Kanine and Mongol wanted to follow, but I held them back. I knew we could only now wait. Another method would be needed. I sipped my coffee which was a warm brown now that I had added cream, and sweet for the sugar in it. I fed the last of the snagged soup crackers to Mongol and Kanine. They were saltine crackers, though fresher than the ones in the sugar dispenser, and the two of them began to get thirsty. I sat back, watching the door to the bar. Actions began to slow, movements, placement of hands, softened sounds and softened lights. It took many minutes to choose a song for the jukebox. A simple order of fries never appeared to arrive. Coffee vanished slower than its caffeine kick implied. Perhaps the fan stopped. A change occurred all began to speed up to normal, but none had realized how slow it had been. Walter P. Smelt emerged alone from the Reef. I stood up to pay my bill. I did not think if I looked to the Reef that either James with his bruised heart and thoughts of family, nor Frank Lippenhammer with his shot heart and fears of loss, would be there. I would find only Smelt's smile, which he flashed me as as he passed me going out the door. I doubt he had even tipped. I paid and picked up a toothpick, holding my two companions tight. Outside I found Smelt standing off the curb on the black asphalt of the road smoking a cigarette I had not seen him light. Mongol and Kanine strained. I kept a steady expression and watched Smelt's face. His smoke hung around him. He was feeling good. "Nothing like a job well done. " He grinned at me, white teeth inhaling vapor. " Nothing, " I said in bland agreement. Mongol and Kanine's soft growls grew in intensity, and their muscles twitched and tensed. Smelt, seeing them, being one of the few who could, frowned down from his impenetrable stance. " Keep your damn dogs away from me." He said. I looked at him. "They aren't my hounds.." I told him, and let my companions go. They leapt for Smelt, whose face turned to sudden fear as his cigarette fell to the ground, the dogs on top of him. They toppled him and he struggled his arms and feet as they got him where no others could. They tumbled into the side alley. In the churning ball that was their fight, I caught a flare of flame, a fire inside his coat. I looked for his fallen cigarette, left on the ground, and turned my back of the fading, flailing sounds and started a slow, steady stride away from the diner, walking back, on one of those nights, back to the heart of the city. <<< back to more SS Mavichnik! |
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