I guess it’s time to finish posting the story of Daniel and the three girls he takes under his wing on the mean streets of New York City. I’ve been dragging my feet because it’s hard to shift gears from paradise to the Bowery circa 1969 but, I try to finish everything I start, so here goes …
First to recap:
A woman named Sandy has been invited to an art exhibit/memorial for a childhood friend. Once there she’s told by the woman’s son that, although the two women had drifted apart, there was something in each of his mother’s final and very disturbing paintings that she specifically wanted Sandy to see, a face from long ago. October of 1969 to be precise.
Flashback to a rainy evening in October 1969. The scene is a service station in Manhattan’s notoriously dangerous Bowery. Three young women drive up to the pumps and, spotting a young man in the phone booth, plead with him for help.The young man, Daniel, is an enigma: an intelligent and well-educated young man but a drifter. Although he works at the station, he cannot help them because the owner has shut down the pumps and left for the night. Then he remembers he has a friend who, at one time lived not far away, in a place of relative safety.However, getting there proves to be a challenge when a “behemoth” drags one of the girls back into an alleyway. Daniel, who is half the man’s size, is powerless to stop him. The girl waves a crucifix in the man’s face which causes him to roar with laughter and lose his grip on her.
Finally they reach the street his friend once lived on. The rain has let up but they have one more obstacle.
Recap thus far: Daniel convinces the girls that they will be safe at his friend Marcia’s place and that it’s not too long a walk. However halfway on their journey he hears one of the girls call out in distress and turns to see …
“Oh baby, baby,” the behemoth moaned as he dragged the girl back into his alley like a long lost Teddy Bear tucked under his arm. “Come with Daddy.”
Henry Clarke Illustration for The Mystery of Marie Roget by EA Poe
“Let me go,” she screamed heaving a guitar case into his chest. He twisted the case from her hand and threw it to the ground.
“Come on now, honey bunches,” he laughed, “be good to your man.”
Find something to distract him, Daniel thought looking around for a board or brick. The creature was nearly seven feet tall and had draped himself in a mountain of shredded blankets and rugs. In his world, and according to his set of ethos, he’d been able to nap a sweet young thing who’d wandered directly into his web and, per the rules of the streets, she was his. A gift from the heavens! Sweet nectar to ward off a dark and rainy night! Daniel knew that nothing he had to offer could compare. The other two girls began assaulting the beast with pillowcases full of clothes which he laughed off. To a man his size they were nothing more than yapping pups who could be slammed against the brick walls and kicked to the curbs when they were no longer entertaining.
Somehow the captive girl managed to reach into her coat and withdraw a crucifix.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” She thrust the cross into the creature’s face. “Pray for us sinners now and at the moment of our death.” His eyes widened. What’s this bauble my pet dangles in my face? But after he recognized the symbol he flung his head back and howled with laughter. Daniel froze. The girls froze. The creature seemed to be expanding! Growing taller and wider, his laughter now a cruel wail evoking stray dogs to join in from their dark and distant corners. The girl continued on: “Holy Mary, Mother of God …”
And this is hell, Daniel thought. But … the laughter soon shook loose the phlegm trapped in the creature’s lungs, and, choking on spittle, he began hacking so violently that he had no choice but to release the girl and lean into a nearby wall to gasp for breath.
“A crucifix isn’t going to save you down here, Catholic!” Daniel said, pulling the girl away from her awe-struck stance. “It just distracted him for a minute. Grab your stuff and let’s get out of here … “
“I’m not a Catholic!”
“Her mother’s a Catholic,” Venus of the Sewers said. “She’s what they call a …”
“Run!” There was no time for meaningless debate. Run! And run they did … right down the middle of the street … their shoes sounding like heartbeats on the cobblestone streets. Each time they tried to stop for breath, Daniel urged them on. On and on until they reached a neighborhood that had not been completely abandoned to night creatures. Here and there were pockets of light; storefronts that were only gated for the night and not boarded up forever, lights in the windows on the upper floors and even a car or two rolling past at a normal speed. “Okay … we’re almost there. We can stop for a second.” The rain had softened to a light mist. Even the sky seemed lighter. Gradually his heart stopped thumping in his ear like an out of control freight train and, as it did, he heard … the sound of evening prayers.
“At least they haven’t moved,” he said.
“Who? What’s that sound?”
“It sounds like bells.”
“No wind chimes.”
“You’ll see.”
They rounded the corner of Marcia’s street and sure enough. There they were, twirling and chanting in the light shining onto the street from storefront windows. Dozens of men, women and children in white robes oblivious to the mist, any passing cars, and the behemoths who hid in dark alleyways, shaking their bells and bangles in celebration of the Great God Krishna.
“Behold the International Institute of the Hari Krishnas! Marcia lives behind the Institute. Follow me closely and don’t look any of them in the eye otherwise you will be lost forever.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Ha! Compared to the fervor of a dedicated Krishna, that chap we tangled with earlier was a rank amateur!”
Next (in a couple of weeks as I am going on vacation): Evening Prayers and Things Better off Unsaid
Those of you who’ve been following along have probably guessed this is the story of Sandy and Nora from The Face in the Background (the first episode) and their adventures in New York City as young women. It would be lovely to think that, with the help of his friend Marcia, Daniel will be able to convince these silly girls to go home. It would be lovely but do you think that’s what’s going to happen?
After spending two hours at a tax accountant’s with a 90 year old who can barely remember her first husband’s name I’ve decide my next Fi Butters’ mystery will be Murder by Cat, the strange tale of Ubiquitous K of Babylon Heights.
Synopsis: A series of murders takes place at Babylon Heights, a retirement village where all the residents and in particular the owners have skeletons in their Depends. Reluctantly former psychiatrist Fi Butters is called on scene when one of the residents, her elderly aunt, convinces the others that Ubiquitous K (a Norwegian Forest cat whose owner has recently died) is the cold-blooded murderer.
Murder by Cat, the strange tale of Ubiquitous K of Babylon Heights
“One thing I’m certain of, she was not killed by a cat!”
“She wasn’t killed by a hat?”
“No dear, a cat.”
Martha was one of those little old ladies who questioned everything she heard and thus it was impossible to get through a conversation without saying the same thing at least three times and she wasn’t alone.
“Well isn’t that the darndest thing.Killed by a hat.”Mr. Fassenbinder chimed it.He’d long since lost his hair and hearing but refused to wear an aide because “there wasn’t much good to hear in the world, so why wear the damned thing?” I had to agree.
The residents of Babylon Heights had assembled in the very same community room where holiday parties and bingo games were held.I figured there had to be at least forty folks which was fine; the room could easily hold a couple hundred.Heavy furniture provided comfy seating which meant a few in my audience would probably doze off, but regardless, after my auntie introduced me I launched into an attempt to quell the panic that rattled their aging bones.
“Nobody was killed by a hat or a cat or even a bat!”I chuckled which clued them in that something funny had been said. A few followed suit with a chuckle that sounded painfully forced. Okay, Butters, I thought,the last comedian to crack these folks up was probably Bob Hope.“First of all, despite my aunt’s kind introduction, I am not a detective.I am, or was, a psychiatrist.”
“Was a psychiatrist?”
“Yes Martha. Was.But I won’t bore you with the gory details of my many career changes…”
“Gory details?”
“Well not really gory. . . “
Okay, that’s as far as I’ve gotten on this bit of silliness. If I’m going to continue I need some appropriate character names. Do you have any suggestions? (other than – stop now Jan before you embarrass yourself any further!)
Saying nothing in particular 