Condemned to Repeat It

Copyright 2006 Bart Stewart

The efficiency was precisely arranged, and categorically clean. Freshly applied peel-and-press wallpaper squares lent a floral backdrop to a smiling portrait of John Paul II. An anguished crucified Christ offset it on the opposite wall. New looking throw rugs were neatly positioned on a floor devoid of dust. White linen cloths lay across the arms of a love seat on which Monte and his date were centered.

She remarked that the place didn't give the impres­sion of being a bachelor pad, and Monte gave his faint, fading laugh. Like a ventriloquist's chuckle, it sounded almost identical each time he produced it. That was fairly compulsively, she noticed. It was not too unpleasant, com­ing from him. She affected a chuckle of her own in response, as she had often done in the brief time they had known one another. Sometimes he also got a little push on the knee, as she wished the laugh would either intensify or cease, though she never said so.

Monte seemed a bit subdued this evening though he could not be sure how he felt. He sat with a chagrined smile on his face, feeling whatever it was, and let­ting her do most of the talking.

“That’s a fascinating sea shell arrangement,” Evie said, “stacked up like that. How did you ever find so many that fit together so well?" A single sea-oat, dropped through drilled holes, held the stack together.

In a sudden bout of awkwardness, Monte could not be drawn into conversation. But feeling restless and confined on the couch, he stood and offered his elbow, on which she rested her hand. Then, quite naturally, they began a sort of measured procession around the cramped room, examining Monte's miniatures.

With an air of formality which was almost Elizabethan, and which secretly delight­ed them, the pair moved from point to point in the room. From the shells and the terrarium with the live mantis, they stepped to the awe-inspiring castle in a bottle, and the palm­ sized carved teak chess set.

“Absolutely too small for playing!" Evie declared.

“No, it's just the right size!" Monte said, “See? It brings two heads together," and he made an opening move. Forehead to forehead they played along, giggling, until she pulled him away to the next exhibit.

Their promenade went its instinctive way, until the collection of knickknacks was exhausted. They stood facing each other by the sofa, with Evie seeming far more at ease than her friend. He decided he was feeling nervous being alone with this very proper woman whom he barely knew. Deep inside, in a mental language without words, he bitterly denounced himself over it.

(Moving forward a few pages)

Monte twitched. “I'll be there as soon as I can.” he said, and ended the terrible phone call.

He stood up slowly. “Could you hear what he was saying?" he asked Evie, as he crossed himself.

Wide-eyed, she said, “Some of it."

“Is this incredible?"

“Monte, what are you going to do?"

“Well ... I said I was going out there to get him." he said, with a sudden look of realization on his face.

“Oh heavens, Monte." she said. Then, not liking the old-lady sound of that, she added, “Call the sheriff's office, Monte. You don't know what you're getting into!"

“No. No ... no police.” Monte said, pointedly, “We can't do that. I said I wouldn't.”

“Why, they will probably call the cops on a guy like that first thing after they treat him in the Emergency Room.”

“I said I wouldn’t call the cops, Evie.”

They spent a moment avoiding each other's eyes, each looking at the other's face as it looked away. Finally, Monte cried out, “My God, he could be dying out there! I have to go!"

Evie said, resignedly, “Then ... I’ll go on home. Monte, please call me as soon as you can. And you'd better wear your heavy coat. There’s a ferocious wind out there tonight.”

Raw and penetrating, the wind slammed into Monte from across the empty ocean. Ironically, it seemed to be pushing him back toward the apartment. For just a moment, it stopped him. A full moon disclosed the image of Evie, walking across the lot to her little Saab. “I'll call you.” was the last thing he had said to her.

He climbed into his old-smelling station wagon, slid the slickened key into the ignition, and almost too powerfully it hit him that he did not want to do this. Of all the weird, risky things he might do, running this particular errand would surely be dead last. The car fired right up on the first try, even though all week it had been slow starting.

The sound of the tires going down the gravel driveway was intensely distressing tonight. He began a spontaneous rambling talk with himself. He hunched over the wheel and drove on, down an access road to a deserted stretch of highway that cut through black, undefined coastal marshland. Other than the moon, his were the only lights shining. In the car there was no heat. The fuse was gone. No music. The town's radio station signed off at sunset. Over and over he replayed the two phone calls in his mind as he moved along. Maybe there had been some clue in what Pete had said.

(Forward a few pages)

The streets were very poorly lit, but he knew where he was going. The gas station was right on the main drag, one of the streets he knew well. He had to make only one turn, and to find it he kept watch for a billboard that demanded, “See Snake Zoo!"

This town may have been prosperous at one time, but re­cent years had brought a heavy decline in tourism. It had become a tough beach, with plenty of biker bars in evidence as he drove along. Some were padlocked for the winter, but here and there he saw beer lights.

He made the turn onto the Boulevard and slowed down. His destination was closing in on him, and he wanted to be complete­ly aware of his surroundings. This was the tourist district in summertime. Signs screamed: Shark Jaws-Teeth-Skin! Win Fin Hats! ... Zodiac! Z-0-D-I-A-C! The Past Disclosed! The Future Foretold! ... Goofy Golf!--GO FOR IT!! But only a wind-blown bag moved on the street.

Lights on aluminum poles wavered in the wind blasts on every other corner, vast pools of gloom forming between them. Monte saw that beyond the last light was a deep darkness, which would be the park. To the right of it he saw bait shacks and more tourist traps like those up the street. To the left was a gas station. Directly under the last light stood an old enclosed phone booth. He slowed to a crawl half a block away. There was no one standing in the booth. The man had said he would be sitting down in it. The booth's lower half was obscured by a logo panel.

There was still the possibility of a hoax, he thought to himself as he drew closer. Maybe some student had a crush on Evie, and wanted to ruin his date with her. Maybe it was a wild goose chase, an initiation for newcomers by the local hicks. Monte didn't think so, but now he would know, no matter what.

He pulled the door latch of the car, and with the airlock broken the wind came ripping in like a big animal.

Clambering out in the frigid squall, heavy with ambivalence, he slammed the door, and suppressed a childlike whimper. A part of him bore compassion and sensitivity, but not the part that had made this trip. His caring side would have anguish­ed over the fate of the caller, but would have done so at home. It was another side of him that approached the phone booth now, a side that didn't get out much anymore.

( Read the full story in Tales of Real and Dream Worlds )

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