TAKE TWO
“I’m so hungry I could eat a goat.”
“We don’t serve goats, stranger…”
“That’s what I hear, but I’m here all the same. Now I know you don’t like my kind – not many do. But how can a man offer hospitality to only a chosen few? It’s unkind, unfriendly and contrary to the Christian spirit, if you don’t mind my saying so, that is.”
Stephan looks down at his firm white plate, now smeared with egg yolk and bread crumbs. A single flapjack lies uneaten, the edges ragged and dry. The coffee cup’s contents have been reduced to little more than a stain, and the savory smell of farmer’s sausage choked out by dirty grease burning on the grill.
The short man, with an uncommonly large forehead, sits sidesaddle on the opposite side of the booth, occasionally glancing out the window over his shoulder. His body looks small but strong. Dark storm clouds now command the sky, and the wind has picked up over the lot. Rain pelts the diner glass as if angry at those inside. Headlights steam past cautiously on the road beyond.
“Well, there goes the weather, and you can say as much for the day. Nothing lasts long that’s any good is what I always say. Some call me a pessimist. I suppose that’s not wholly untrue. But the Devil only knows how I’ve been called worse by friend and foe alike, neighbor and stranger, kith and kin, all say they see me for what I am.”
“Are you going to order something, mister,” shouts the older but still well-built man from behind the grill. He’s raking away at its muck, wiping his honest brow with a heavy hand.
“I’ll have what’s on offer, as I’m not a particular person at all. And I’ve got the means to pay for me and my fellow man… present company not excluded,” says the short man with a large forehead. He picks his teeth.
Stephan can still see himself in the napkin dispenser, which now offers only a dull reflection of the day. His eyes are big and vulnerable, his mouth small and firm. Then, a shadow is cast over the table and the polished tin surface grows indistinct.
“First it’ll rain, then there’ll be mud. Things get stuck and people come unglued. I hate dirty boots or pant legs caked in dust. Long walks up winding roads with not a piece of cement in sight… There ain’t nothing dignified in dirty underwear. Ladies don’t like it a bit. And I don’t like people when they don’t like me.”
“There’s no more flapjacks, stranger, but I can fry you up an egg,” cries the older still well-built man, his face lit up from the heat of the grill. The rest of the diner has grown dark, although it’s not yet past noon.
“Now, I don’t believe in shortcuts, friend. Let’s make that clear from the start. I can walk the walk to nowhere as well as any other, but it’s easy to lose your way. So a man needs a compass in life, a measure of his movements, no matter which way they take him. Be he good or bad, bold or timid, ignorant or educated. But there’s nothing like experience.”
The wind is now tearing into the trees, what few there are along the road, and the gravel on the lot almost shudders under its force. It’s as if everything’s trying to hold on to the ground or risk flying off into the murk and turbulence. An automobile passes, and the water hisses under its tires. White-faced passengers peer out into the roadside gloom.
“I’ll just turn on the light,” announces the well-built man, who then disappears from behind the grill.
The stranger now faces Stephan with unconcealed interest. And he, Stephan, can hardly not behold him any longer. The forehead is truly large and prominent in an angry sort of way, but so are the eyes set beneath it. It’s as if together they conceal an evil mind and sordid soul, each just able to keep the other in check. The features recall those of a troll, or a little girl’s doll that she should have never been given to play with. Some uncle who travels a lot had presented it to the family, instructing them to hang it over the fireplace as a talisman. But the unsuspecting parents eventually relent to the child’s whims and thereby unleash an unspeakable malevolence upon their household and beyond.
“Are you religious, friend?”
Stephan remains silent.
“Because if you are, you cannot help but be impressed by nature’s fury being released right before your very eyes. Look at that wind at work! I wouldn’t be surprised if this place blows its top, leaving you and me virtually naked at the feet of an angry and unpredictable heaven. Did you say your prayers this morning, friend?”
No answer.
“I did. And do you want to know what I asked for? No, you’ll never guess, I’m sure of it. No, it wasn’t money. Everyone asks for that. If I see something I like, I just take it. What’s the problem? Fame and recognition? From whom? Who should I hope to recognize my talents and achievements? The very fact that I would seek the approval of others, whoever they might be, means that I value myself below these same people, which is surely not the case. Maybe love? You didn’t say so, but I suspect it crossed your mind. Well forget it. As I said: If I want something I just take it. I cannot count how many women have given themselves to me after I took them, or how many men fear and respect me for doing the same. As for the associated sentiments, you can keep them…”
The lights switch on, and the well-built older man is now standing at the table holding a tray with a cold cup of black coffee and a peeled green egg, which he sets on the table in front of the stranger.
Filed by Dirk Dickerson, for Ugly Rumor Bazaar, Gala Spring Special Double Issue, December 2, 2013