entr’acte i:
solo with rita
Jesús walked slowly through Old Town back toward the Boulevard, feeling the heaviness of the chili and the burn of the rum in his belly. Both hands were deep in the pockets of his denim jacket, one caressing the heavy knife, the other fondling the crisp, careful roll of money. In his breast pocket he felt the weight of the stabbed New Testament bible. He walked down the sidewalk in front of the Courthouse, staring intently at the building, and stopped for a moment to check on the motorcycle, still parked in the ‘NO PARKING’ zone beside the fire hydrant. There was an orange parking ticket tied to the handlebars. Jesús looked at it and laughed, but did not remove it. Then he looked across the Boulevard at the big hotels of New Town. Quickly, Jesús jaywalked across the Boulevard and entered one of the hotels, through a side street door that went directly into the bar. He sat down at the first empty stool. “Rum.” said Jesús to the big bartender. “Straight rum. And make that a double, Preacherman.”
“Right away.” said Preacher politely. “Good to see you again, Jesse.”
“Thought you weren’t coming.” said Rita from behind Jesús, shoving a large tray of empty pitchers across the bar.
Jesús turned, and instantly noticed Rita’s black eye. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“Nothing.” said Rita, pulling her hair down over the eye. “Got hit by the kitchen door in the restaurant. That’ll teach me not to go over there and try to steal food. — Thought you weren’t coming?”
“Almost didn’t. – Had some business to take care of.” said Jesús, pulling the roll of money from his pocket, pulling off several outer bills and laying them on the bar. “Business is pretty tough this time of year.”
“If you say so.” said Rita, looking at the roll of money, but picking up another tray filled with full pitchers of beer, carrying it away.
The bar was filled with drunken firefighters. Suddenly, at the back of the room, a red-faced, older man stood up on his chair and bellowed. “I’m going to buy a beer for every firefighter in this room.”
“Shit.” said Preacher, placing a drink in front of Jesús, ignoring the money on the bar. “Here we go again.”
The firemen greeted the announcement with cheers. “Hurray for the Chief.” they shouted. “Chief. Chief. Chief. Chief.”
The red-faced fat man jumped down from his chair and waddled to the bar. Several men from his table, less drunk than he is, followed him. “Must be fifty guys in this place, Chief. You don’t want to buy beer for that many.” said one of his companions.
“Yes, I do.” said the Chief. “The new State Chief’s got to take care of his men. Before this year’s over, I’m going to buy a beer for every firefighter in this state. Might as well start tonight.”
The companion stopped, shaking his head, and returned to the table, but several other men followed the Chief to the bar.
“Take a check?” the Chief asked Preacher drunkenly.
“Sorry, sir. They might cash a check at the front desk for you. But here, it’s strictly cash or charge it to your room.”
“Charge it to my room.” said the Chief.
“You sure you want to do that?” asked Preacher.
“I’m sure.”
“You may wake up in the morning and regret it, you know?”
“Won’t even remember it in the morning.” said the Chief, to the laughter of the firemen gathered around him.
“I’ll start drawing pitchers then. You tell me when to stop.”
The Chief looked around and saw Jesús, sitting at the bar quietly, staring at him. “You a fireman?” he asked.
“No.” said Jesús.
Veteran?”
“No.”
“Hell, you look okay to me. I’ll buy you a beer anyway.”
“No thanks.” said Jesús. “I got a drink.”
“You won’t drink with me?” asked the Chief, his red face turning slightly redder.
“I got a drink. Save your money.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with my money.”
“I said ‘No, thanks!’” said Jesús.
“Hey, you guys.” yelled the Chief, turning to his companions who are passing out pitchers to various tables in the room. “This guy says he ain’t going to drink with us. I say, if that’s the way he’s going to be, he ought to go find someplace else to drink.”
There is a chorus of boos from the crowd of firemen. “Who he think he is?” said one young fireman with red hair.
“Who are you?” yelled another little fireman.
“I’m nobody.” said Jesús, smiling. “Mister Nobody going nowhere. I’d just rather pay for my own drinks, that’s all.”
“Fuck you then.” yelled the Chief. “Finish your drink, and get out of here. And you won’t get hurt. This is a firefighter bar tonight.”
Jesús stiffened, then got off his stool and walked toward the red-faced man, one hand going into his jacket pocket, wrapping itself around the knife. “Is this just you and me, Chief?” he asked. “Or do I have to fight the whole bunch of you?”
“Just me and you, smartass.” said the Chief, waving the other firemen forward, as he steps backward toward them.
Jesús smiled, feeling the heaviness of the metal in his hand. From behind him, Preacher took hold of Jesús’s arm, forcing him to keep his hand in his pocket, pulling him backwards as he moved forwards. “All right, gentlemen.” said Preacher, addressing the firemen. “This is your last night in town. Let’s not spoil it. – If you fellows fight, I call the cops and they come and clear the place and force me to close down for the night. And take the troublemakers to jail. The rest of you they put out in the street, and you’ve got to find somewhere else to drink for the rest of the night. Now, if everybody sits back down, there won’t be any trouble and this round will be on the house.”
“On the house, like hell.” yelled the Chief, trying to break free from two men from his table. “This round is on me.”
The Chief broke loose and dug in several pockets before coming up with his hotel room key. “You charge it to my room.”
Preacher took the key, went to the cash register, and made out a bill. He took the key and bill back to the Chief for a signature. With a flourish, the Chief signed his name. Behind him, one of his companions burst out laughing. He pointed to the signature, and other firemen joined in the laughter. “What?” said the Chief. “You guys didn’t know my name was ‘John Q. Firefighter’? That’s how I sign all my drinking bills.”
All the firefighters laughed. Rita had calmly joined Jesús and Preacher near the bar. She noticed that as the Chief returned his key to his pocket, he missed, and the key fell quietly to the carpeted floor. The Chief turned and headed back to his table, followed by the firemen, slapping him on the back, congratulating him on his cleverness. Preacher followed the crowd back to the table to supervise the Chief as he signed the bill again with his real signature. Jesús went back to his seat at the bar. In one motion, Rita reached down to pick up a stray napkin, but also picked up the room key and put it in her pocket. “Listen.” said Preacher, talking loudly, wanting to be heard by all the firemen. “I want this understood. And I’m not going to repeat myself. The slightest trouble out of you gentlemen again tonight, and I call the cops. Understand? The slightest problem. – I should have done it last night. But I let it go. But no more, do you hear me? — And tomorrow I call all the newspapers and make sure they get the story, so your wives and families can read all about it. – I’ve had it. Do you understand me?”
“All you had to do was let the bastard buy you a drink.” said Rita to Jesús quietly. “You didn’t even have to drink it. But no, you’re too proud for that. Had to cause trouble. Jesse, you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Nobody buys me nothing.” said Jesús. “Nobody does me favors.”
“Not even me, Jesse?” asked Rita.
Jesús did not respond.
“I got a room for you for the night here in the hotel, if you’ll have it. Had to blow the desk clerk for it, but I been wanting to do that for a long time anyway.” said Rita, with a strained laugh, offering him the key from her pocket. “It’s on the top floor. Maybe tomorrow we can talk things out. But I don’t want you to try to come home until we come to some kind of understanding. Some kind of agreement.”
Jesús hesitated, but accepted the key. “We need to talk, Rita. I need you…I need to talk to you.”
“I get a half hour break soon. If you want, I’ll meet you up in the room, and we can talk some tonight, I guess. But don’t go home.”
Jesús smiled. “All right.” he said. “I’ll stay here tonight.”
“I’ll come up as soon as I can get away.”
Jesús reached for his glass of rum and drank it down. “Bring a bottle when you come up.” he said, leaving the few dollars on the bar near his empty glass, walking from the room.
Jesús found the room that matched the number on the key on the eighth floor, the top floor of the hotel building. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights. The suite was huge, with two bedrooms and a large living room, two televisions, and two bathrooms. Drapes across the back wall covered a large window that opened onto a balcony looking out over the River.
Jesús was surprised to find one bedroom that contains a suitcase and clothes, including a fireman’s dress uniform hanging on the closet door and a red hat with the word CHIEF written on it on the dresser. “What the hell?” he said. “Rita and the desk clerk must have made a mistake. They put me in the Chief’s room.”
Automatically, Jesús began to go through the room, looking for anything of value. The bed had been slept in, and the sheets are stained with dried blood and brown stains, but Jesús found nothing else except a half empty bottle of whisky. He pulled the covers up on the bed and took the bottle of rum from an inside pocket of his jacket, uncapped it and took a swig. “Still ain’t going to let that bastard buy me a drink.” he said. “And his clothes need a shower.”
Jesús gathered all the things in the room and took them to the attached bathroom where he threw them in the tub and turned on the shower. He left the water running while he went back and inspected the rest of the suite, again finding nothing except the bottle of whiskey. He took it to the bathroom, turned off the shower, and emptied the bottle onto the soaked clothes. “All it needs now is a match.” said Jesús.
He closed the bathroom and bedroom doors, went back to the other bedroom, flipped the light switch, and flopped down on the bed to wait for Rita. He lay on the bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling and the ornate overhead light fixture. He closed his eyes, but could not sleep. He became conscious of a small buzzing noise in the room, and opened his eyes again, searching for the source of the noise, but found nothing. At once he noticed a small shadow moving inside the globe of the light fixture overhead, circling and circling the bulb. Jesús stood up on the bed and removed the white globe from the fixture. Immediately, the buzzing noise became louder, and the sound of it filled the small, quiet bedroom.
Jesús looked inside the globe and counted the bodies of seven black flies dead on the bottom. An eighth fly, the source of the buzzing noise, circled the bare bulb, continuing in its orbit even though it was now free to deviate from it. Jesús got down from the bed and carried the globe to the bathroom, shaking it, checking to see if any of the flies were still alive. None moved. He shook the dead flies from the globe into the commode, past the strip of paper ‘FOR YOUR PROTECTION’ on the seat, and flushed them. He filled the dirty globe with warm water from the tap at the sink and set it on the back of the commode to soak.
“Wasn’t cleaned.” said Jesús to himself, trying to work out the puzzle. “Was rinsed and set somewhere to dry, and along comes a big fat mama fly. She squats and lays her eggs. And the globe goes back up, and the baby flies hatch out, and they’re trapped inside the globe. – With nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and nothing to do…but each other.”
Jesús laughed and returned to the bedroom, looking up at the fly still circling the bare bulb. He stood back up on the bed, trying to get a closer look. He stuck his hand out in front of the fly to stop it from circling. The fly flew into his hand, and fought to get through to the other side, to continue in its orbit around the bare bulb. Jesús closed his hand around the small buzzing creature. He held his closed fist up to his ear, listening to the fly buzz. He moved his fist around to his mouth and buzzed back at the fly, trying to soothe it and calm it down. But the fly did not calm down. “You crazy bastard.” said Jesús, hopping down from the bed. “You don’t know nothing. Where you trying to go? You want me to put you back up there with your bulb and lock you inside. Wouldn’t be no dead brothers and sisters to live off of. You’d just be locked up and flying in a circle every time somebody came in this room and turned the light on. – You’re better off dead, like your brothers and sisters.”
Jesús carried the fly back to the bathroom and held his hand over the commode, hesitating, thinking hard. Suddenly he turned and walked back to the main room, pulling back the curtain from the window wall. He opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The wind was brisk and bitter, blowing straight in off the River. Jesús went to the corner of the balcony, which was within ten feet of the blank brick wall of another hotel building next door. He looked over the edge of the balcony. “Well, well. You’re in luck, my friend.” said Jesús. “Fly heaven. An alley full of garbage cans. You must be living right, son. The Big Man’s looking out for you. He must have sent me here tonight to save you.”
Jesús opened his hand and shook the fly off, dropping it into the deep darkness of the alley below. Quickly, he left the balcony, closed the window wall and curtains, and returned to the room. At once there was a soft knock at the door. Rita entered quickly as Jesús checked the hallway, and closed and locked the door again.
“I got to be back in half an hour.” she said quickly.
“This is the Chief’s room.” said Jesús.
“I know. He dropped his key. I don’t even like the desk clerk. I thought, maybe later, when he comes in all drunk, you could finish what you started in the bar downstairs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just hit him a couple of times. Don’t hurt him too bad. Just mess up his face a little bit. Black both his eyes. Just hit him a couple of times for me, okay?” said Rita.
Then thinks, “And fuck him in the ass for half-an-hour till he bleeds.”
“Rita, what the hell is this? That doesn’t sound like Rita to me.”
Rita went to the closed door of the second bedroom and opened it, but did not turn on the light. “I need a drink.” she said, taking a bottle from the brown paper bag she carried, twisting off the cap. “It’s been a long night, but at least those damn firemen have quieted down. For a while anyway, I think.”
“He made me mad. Lording it over everybody like some big shot. And I wanted to hit him. But even I knew it wouldn’t be right.”
“Now that doesn’t sound like the Jesse I know.” said Rita, taking a drink from the bottle, passing it to Jesús.
“I’m still the same, Rita. You said so yourself. I’m still the same as I always was.”
“Well, I’ve changed, then. You can’t just walk away for a year and expect everything to be the same when you decide to come back.”
Jesús drank and passed the bottle back to Rita. “Come sit with me.” he said, walking into the lit bedroom, sitting down, and patting the edge of the bed. “I missed you so much. Come sit by me. It’s been a long time.”
Rita hesitates, but comes to the bed and sits on the edge next to Jesús.
“I want you, Rita. I’ve missed you so much. – We’ve missed you so much.” said Jesús, rubbing his crotch. “I want it to be like it was when we first got together.”
“We can’t go back there just because you want to.” said Rita. “I’ve got to want to go back there, too. – Where have you been?”
“I’m your husband, Rita. You’re my wife.”
“We’re no good for each other, Jesse. It’s not good anymore.”
“You don’t want to be together again, is that it?”
“You’re the one who ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.” said Jesús. “I got caught. I was in…”
“I don’t care what you call it.” said Rita. “I’ve taken some steps I can’t take back.”
“What kind of steps?”
Rita looked at Jesús, but could not say the words.
“Goddammit, what kind…”
“No, Jesse.” said Rita. “I’m not going to start up with you again. Not that easy anyway. We got to get things straight between us first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesse, you know what I want more than anything in the whole world? — The same thing we had when we was kids growing up. The thing we had when we was sixteen and had to give up. The thing you always promised me we would have again.”
“I didn’t know what I was saying.” said Jesús, almost angry. “If that’s still what you want, then get a divorce and find yourself another husband to have kids with. I won’t have any part of bringing another kid into this shitty world. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“So we haven’t got anything to talk about after all, is that it?” said Rita, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “You’re right, Jesse. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“What happened to us, Rita? I was over at the movies tonight, and I remembered how things used to be.”
“One of us grew up.” said Rita hoarsely. “And quit playing kid games on the back row of the balcony.”
Jesús was silent for a long moment. “What do you want me to do then?” he asked finally.
“I want us to have a normal life.” said Rita, crying openly now. “For a start, you could go back to the mill and get your old job back.”
Jesús took the careful roll of money from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the bed. “What do I need a job for?”
“Where’d you get that much money?”
“I found it. Found it laying out in the street.”
“You took it off some poor, drunk bastard. Jesse, you’re thirty-two years old. Not sixteen. You know better than that.”
“I found it laying out in the street.” said Jesús, angrily.
“Bullshit. Where have you been?””
“You were standing on me, Rita. Just like you’re trying to stand on me right now. Trying to hold me down. I only went away for a few days, maybe a week. To think. To try to figure things out between us. What was I supposed to do, Rita? I came back as soon as I could.”
“You were never supposed to leave me.”
“You’re my wife, Rita. I love you. – I want you now.”
Finally exasperated, as well as angry and continuing to cry, Rita spat into her hand. “Here, give me some spit.” she said. “It may be the last time our spit ever gets together.”
Jesús spat. “Well, get it out.” said Rita, angrily. “Or do I have to do that, too.”
Jesús unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and without underwear, exposed himself. Rita grabbed his penis and rubbed their spit on it, making him hard. Without taking off her clothes, Rita moved her panties aside and climbed on top of Jesús, sliding him inside her. “Where have you been?” she asked coldly, her tears diminishing.
Jesús did not respond. Rita moved up and down on top of him, gradually increasing the speed and strength of her movement. “Where…. have…. you…. been?” she said, each word a harder stroke, her tears giving way to intense anger. “Where…have…you…been?”
Jesús tried to concentrate, struggling to stay hard, determined to finish the act. “Where.. have.. you.. been?” chanted Rita.
At last, Jesús felt his erection receding and, all at once, he felt a snap in the middle of his penis and it went soft. “Stop.” he yelled. “Stop. I’ll tell you everything. – I’ve been in jail. Down south. For almost a year. That’s why I didn’t come back. I couldn’t, Rita. They wouldn’t let me go.”
For a moment, Rita hesitated, then began to cry again. “You haven’t changed one bit.” she scoffed, angrily rolling off of him, reaching for the bottle of rum, taking a large drink. “You haven’t changed one goddamn bit.”
“Yes, I have.” said Jesús. “I’m different than I was when I left.”
“I just want to live like everyone else does, Jesse. Is there anything wrong with wanting a regular life?”
“I don’t want a regular life.” said Jesús.
“I do.”
“I don’t.”
“I do.”
“I don’t.”
“I do.” said Rita, tenaciously, slamming the bottle she’d been holding down on the nightstand, fighting her tears, running for the door, slamming it shut behind her as she leaves.
Jesús leaned across the bed, and picked up the bottle from the nightstand. He took a long swallow. “I don’t.” he said.
Jesús buttoned and zipped his pants, and laid back onto the pillows of the bed.
In his mind and imagination, Jesus reaches out and takes Rita by the throat. “I don’t.” he says forcefully.
“Go ahead. Kill me.” Rita replies. “It’s what you’ve always wanted to do anyway. Go ahead. Do it!”
Jesus squeezes Rita’s neck.
“Do it.” she says. “Just do it and get it over with.”
Jesus squeezes harder, trying to stop Rita’s words. Rita goes limp. “You broke my dick.” he says.
Jesús wept. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and pushed his head back against the pillows. In a moment, he was asleep.
intermezzo:
the mirror
Outside again, Jesús double-buttoned his denim jacket against the cold wind, and walked rapidly down the middle of the Boulevard toward the bridge across the River. There was no one else on the street, and the streetlights were dimmer than earlier in the evening. He was glad to be alone in the cold and dark. At the bridge, Jesús paused, afraid to cross, afraid of being unable to resist the temptation to throw himself in the River.
“Don’t go to the apartment?” he asked himself. “Why not go to the apartment?”
Quickly, Jesús scrambled down the concrete apron between the bridge and the Park, climbed the black metal fence and dropped down onto the grass on the other side. He chose the path along the River bank, and followed it, walking rapidly, for several hundred yards until he reached the railroad trestle that crossed the River. He knew he was exactly eight blocks behind the Courthouse, at the edge of the City and the Park and the railroad yard, and that the apartment building was only a few blocks in the direction of the Courthouse. He turned away from the River and the Park and the railroad tracks, and headed back toward the Courthouse. Back among the buildings of the City, he continued to walk rapidly in the middle of the street, again glad to be alone in the cold and dark. Suddenly from a dark doorway, he heard a shuffle of feet and his hand immediately closed around the knife in his jacket pocket. “Jesus.” said an old familiar voice. “I heard you were back.”
From the darkened doorway, Officer Charles stepped slowly into the light, blinking to adjust his eyes. He came out into the street, taking off his gloves and offering his bare hand for Jesús to shake. “Yes, sir.” said Jesús, accepting the warm hand. “Good to see you again, Sir.”
“Heard you had some trouble down South.” said Charles.
“Yes, sir.” said Jesús, without explanation or excuse.
“Things are about the same around here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a job for you at the Courthouse, if you want it. You’d have to start on the ground floor. The loading dock, actually. And work your way up.” said Charles, matter-of-factly. “Rita would like that, though, I think. A new start for both of you, maybe.”
Jesús was uncertain what to say. “I’ll think about it, sir.” he said finally, thinking about the New Testament Bible Charles had given him.
“Did you ever get any use from that book I gave you?” said Charles, as if reading Jesús’s mind. “It’s a handy book to have in your pocket sometimes.”
“Yes, sir.” said Jesús. “I read it every day now. It does come in handy sometimes.”
“That’s fine. That’s just fine.” said Charles. “Well, you know where to find me. We can go to the Courthouse whenever you want, and talk to some folks I know there. Just let me know what you want to do.”
“I will, sir.”
Officer Charles put his gloves back on his hands. “Snow in the morning.” he said. “Stay warm. And tell Rita I said ‘hello’.”
“I will, sir.”
Officer Charles ambled slowly away, back into the dark doorway from which he had emerged. Jesús was uneasy, uncertain what to do, but soon decided to continue walking, slowly at first, then more rapidly, down the middle of the street. He headed for the front door of a large apartment building. Quickly, he ducked through the doorway and up a wide staircase.
“Don’t go home yet? Why not go home?” he thought.
Upstairs, Jesús walked hesitantly down the hallway, stopping in front of the door of apartment number 8. He took a key from the watch pocket of his jeans and turned it slowly in one lock, then another, half expecting it not to work. The door opened easily, and Jesús stepped cautiously into the dark apartment, closing the door behind him quietly. The only light was from street lamps outside the building through the half-closed window blinds and curtains, but Jesús moved easily through the living room, knowing the placement of couch and chairs, lamps and coffee tables, to the bathroom behind the small kitchen. Nothing had changed. The bathroom window was painted black to obscure the view from outside. Jesús had painted it himself. He closed the bathroom door and flicked the light switch.
Instantly, the bathroom was bright with light. Jesús reached into the shower, adjusted the knob to full HOT, and turned on the water. Without hurrying, he undressed, taking off jacket and boots, jeans and socks, and denim shirt. He did not wear underwear. Naked, he stepped into the shower, which even on full HOT was only lukewarm. Quickly, he shampooed his hair and beard and washed his body, delighting in the feel of the water and the cleanness of his skin, as if he has not felt clean and warm and safe for a very long time. He lingered in the shower. When he felt the lukewarm water begin to go cold, he turned it off and left the shower, grabbing the first towel he saw to dry himself. The towel was still slightly wet and smelled of Rita Martinez.
Jesús began to dry himself, then stopped to wipe the fog and wetness from the bathroom mirror above the sink. For a long time, he looked into his own eyes and face in the reflection in the mirror.
“I’m real.” he thought. “I’m a real person. This is not a movie. I’m real. – But I got to do it. It’s now or never. — My time is finally here.”
When he was dry, Jesús flipped off the light and opened the bathroom door. Naked, he went to the bedroom and reached into the second dresser drawer and pulled out clean underwear and socks. He put on the underwear and sat on the edge of the unmade bed to put on the socks. He put his head down to smell the pillow and quickly slipped into the bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. Again, he devoured the scent of Rita, which was everywhere under the covers. At once, he flung back the blankets and went back to the bathroom, re-dressing himself in the pants and shirt, boots and jacket, combing the tangles from his hair and beard with one of Rita’s combs.
Dressed, Jesús tidied up the bathroom, putting things back where they were when he came in. He put the dirty socks in the bottom of the laundry basket, underneath Rita’s clothes. He grabbed a handful of her dirty laundry and pushed it against his face, again inhaling Rita’s scent. He went back to the bedroom and straightened the blankets, but left the bed unmade as he had found it. He went to the second dresser drawer, still open, and surveyed its contents in the dark. He noticed the box of condoms, still unopened, just as he had left them. He closed that drawer and opened the one above it, feeling the soft clothing of Rita’s underwear drawer. He found the roll of paper money in the back corner, where he knew it would be, and quickly stripped two inner bills from the wad of money in his jeans jacket and added them to Rita’s roll. Again, he closed the drawer quietly.
Jesús looked quickly around the bedroom, checking the closet, finding his clothes just as they had always been, hanging ready for his use on his side of the rack. Satisfied, he wandered into the kitchen, surveying the small stack of rinsed dishes waiting to be put away. Without thinking, he opened the cupboards and put the cups and plates and bowls back where they belonged. He peeked into the refrigerator, nearly empty, but quickly closed the door. Again satisfied, he went through the living room headed for the front door. His eye caught two pictures on the large cabinet beside the door, one of him and Rita, sixteen-year-old sweethearts standing on the steps in front of Rita’s family’s house, a picture Rita’s mother had taken of them before Spring Dance at school. The other picture, smaller, dimmer, poorly lit, was a picture of a newborn baby boy taken at the hospital about nine months after the dance. It was labeled “Xmas 1956”. Jesús smiled at the memory, but couldn’t remember either picture being there before.
With one hand on the door ready to leave, Jesús noticed a large envelope among the pile of bills on the cabinet. Rita’s rule had always been that bills never got more than a step or two past the front door, always ready to leave the apartment. Jesús lifted the large envelope. In Rita’s bold writing, he read “DIVORCE PAPERS—I owe Preacher the money. He helped me pay.” Stunned, Jesús dropped the envelope on the cabinet and reached for the front door again, unable to find the handle. He lurched, jerked the door open, and entering the hallway, slammed it shut behind him. Quickly he raced downstairs and ran out into the street.
Jesús wept again, as fragile as shattered glass. He turned the corner, away from the Courthouse and the River Park, unconsciously taking his old route through the railroad yard to work at the mills. He walked quickly, eventually coming to the yard, with its eight rails making four tracks, and turned away from the mills to follow the tracks back toward New Town.
“Maybe there’s a train.” he thought. “Someone is always getting run over by a train in the middle of the night.”
But tonight, there was no train. Jesús was calmer when he reached the Boulevard, almost in control of himself again. As he turned down the Boulevard back toward the hotel, he saw a shiny luxury convertible glide to a stop at the corner. The car sat at the stop sign, as if waiting for him. As he approached, the driver’s window slid down electrically. “Hey, man! Where you been? How’d you know I needed help?” said Leon. “I’m getting too old for this shit, man.”
“Hello, Leon.” said Jesús, without emotion. “How are you?”
“Getting old, man. The boys are running me ragged. And the girls are out of control. Need some new muscle and blood to put the fear of God into them. They’re killing me, man. I can’t take much more of their shit.”
Jesús did not respond. His hand closed around the knife in his pocket. Suddenly, he thought of killing Leon, and a smile crossed his face. “You like the idea. I can see that.” said Leon. “But you don’t have to tell me now. Take a little time and think about it some more. Talk it over with Rita. She can help, too. I won’t interfere, I promise. And I’ll split it with you fifty-fifty. I’ll stay across the River. We could meet once a week and settle up. Think about it, Jesus!”
Jesús smiled again, and nodded. “I will.” he said, seeing Leon struggle on the end of his knife. “I won’t think about anything else.”
“Okay.” said Leon. “Well, I got to get back to work, man.”
The electric window slid shut. And the shiny car did a huge, illegal turn in the middle of the Boulevard and headed back up the street from where it had come. Jesús continued walking, staring at the Courthouse as it came into view. Once again, he counted the steps and imagined himself working in the basement of the building beneath those steps. Then he imagined himself behind the Courthouse, working for Leon. Again, Jesús stared at the immense white marble Courthouse building, lost in thought.
entr’acte ii: courthouse dance
Somewhere in the distance, several clocks struck midnight, a few seconds out of sync with each other. Jesús Rodríguez paused for a moment in the shadows at the end of the alley between the two hotels and reached into the pocket of his jacket for the bottle of rum. A cold rain began to fall gently, in small iridescent drops whipped by the cold wind from the River, sweeping over the streets of the City making it clean and whole again. Jesús drank from the bottle slowly, feeling the hot fire of the rum in his throat. Across the Boulevard in front of him, he could see the Courthouse, shining white, bathed in artificial light, sitting solemnly in judgement, glaring back at him. From behind the Courthouse, large clouds rolled like smoke from the chimney of some hidden furnace buried deep in the bowels of the earth. The clouds were caught in high winds, and they moved rapidly across the dark night sky. A winter storm was beginning to build, promising snow in the morning, just as Officer Charles had predicted.
Jesús could see his breath in front of his face. He put the bottle back in his jacket and turned up his collar again, double-buttoning his coat. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and quickly stepped into the street, darting across the Boulevard, jaywalking easily now that the traffic was gone. Across the street, Jesús found his key and mounted the motorcycle, still parked in the NO PARKING zone, an orange parking ticket tied to the handlebars and flapping in the wind. He tore the parking ticket from the handlebars and tossed it to the ground. For a moment, he sat thinking, with the key in the ignition ready to crank the bike to life. He turned and looked at the Courthouse for a long minute. Suddenly, he pulled the key out of the switch and put it back in his pocket, dismounted the bike, and stepped to the curb. He tied the ticket back onto the handlebars, then shadow-boxed a moment, remembering his return to the City and meeting Joey. Immediately, he began to whistle sadly.
“Joey will be at the Block.” said Jesús to himself. “Still trying to sell those goddamn balloons to people without talking to them.”
Jesús began walking toward Old Town, continuing to whistle sadly. As he turned the corner of the Courthouse, leaving the Boulevard, Jesús stopped for a moment, listening to a telephone ringing insistently, somewhere across the Boulevard behind him. The phone rang for a long time, but was not answered. Finally, in the middle of a ring, it stopped.
Jesús walked down the sidewalk beside the unlit, eight-story wall of the Courthouse. Farther down the block he saw a single white balloon hovering in the air above the heads of two men sitting on the front steps of a dark and deserted church. Jesús stopped whistling and crossed the narrow street, sitting down between Joey and Rusty without saying anything. “Jesus?” said Rusty, trying to remember the last time he had seen Jesús, but quickly giving up and turning back to the problem at hand. “Old Man Wilson throwed us out. Fired us. We ain’t got no place to sleep tonight.”
“So you decided to spend all night sitting on the church steps in the rain?” asked Jesús. “That’s smart. – Joey, where’s your balloons?”
“Selled them. ‘Cept for the one Old Man Wilsons tried to steal. Bust that one. – But I still gots one left, and that means I can still sell balloons again tomorrow.”
“How, Joey?” asked Rusty. “Wilson’s got all our stuff. And that means the balloons and gas and strings, too.”
“Can still do it. Long as I gots the Daddy.”
Rusty shook his head in amazement. “Haven’t seen you for a long time, Jesus… Joey said you was dead…” .
“Why’d Old Man Wilson throw you guys out? Why’d he fire you?” asked Jesús.
“Joey punched him.”
Jesús chuckled softly. “Joey? — Joey did what?”
“Had to punched him. He cheated on me. – Took our wine money and spended it all on old bad wine for his own self. Said he’d saves it for me. Protection me from my own bad self.”
Jesús chuckled softly again, just a noise in his throat.
“What are we going to do, Jesus?” asked Rusty. “No place to sleep. And now it’s raining. It’s going to be cold tonight. Might even snow.”
“You can stay with me.” said Jesús.
“With you and Rita?” asked Joey.
“No. Just me. I did what you said, Joey. Went across the street and got a room at the big hotel for one night. Two bedrooms. You guys can have one of them.”
“At the big hotel?” said Rusty. “But I never stayed in a hotel. I won’t know what to do.”
Jesús chuckled again, louder than before. “Most people sleep. But we’re going to have a party. Here’s the key—room number 800—it’s on the top floor—and it’s written here on the key in case you forget—but I left the door open anyway. I’ll go get us some booze.”
“Wine.” said Joey. “We drinks wine.”
“Okay, wine then.” said Jesús, smiling. “I’ll turn this rain into wine. Would you like some bread with that? A few fishes? A little cheese?”
“A party?” said Rusty, smiling, beginning to giggle.
Joey’s face brightened, then becomes serious again. “Just wine. We don’t needs no breads and fishes. – You sure, Jesus? We’re not going to be in the way or anything, is we?”
“In the way? Hell, no! This is a party. Won’t nobody be in the way. — And you two will be the guests of honor. On account of Joey punching out Old Man Wilson.”
Joey stood, smiling. “Come on, Rusty. Let’s go on over there. – Wants for us to do anything when we get there, Jesus?”
“No, just welcome any guests who come, but don’t start the party without me.”
Joey and Rusty began to walk away.
“I’ll just go on down to the Block, and see if I can find us some more people who want to come.” Jesús called to them.
Jesús stood alone on the church steps as Joey and Rusty walked happily, almost running, down the street toward the hotel. Jesús crossed the street to the Courthouse again, and immediately began to whistle, less sadly than before. At the back corner of the Courthouse, Jesús stopped to watch an old woman wandering down the opposite side of the street. Every few steps she stopped and called softly into an alley or under a parked car. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. – Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
But no cat came to her.
Jesús watched the old woman, and felt his sadness returning. He turned his back and reached into his jacket for the bottle of rum. He took a large swallow, wondering if he should cross the street and invite the old woman to the party.
“Stray kittens.” he said to himself. “Everywhere you look. Stray kittens. Everywhere. Everywhere.”
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Jesús started across the street to the old woman as she passed a small grocery store, but at once saw Officer Charles emerge from an alley behind her, holding two young blonde boys by the hand, talking over his shoulder to an older girl. “Sissy, I told you that you have to spend the rest of the night and tomorrow with Mrs. Cohen. The Courthouse is closed on weekends. After that, we’ll see what happens. But you’re still too young to be out on the street all by yourselves.” Charles said.
Jesús changed his mind and his direction, and turned back to the dark narrow street that ran behind the Courthouse, again whistling sadly. Halfway down the back of the Courthouse building, Jesús turned aside to walk the short distance to the Block. There were only a few people on the street now. On a corner near the center of the Block, Jesús was surprised to see a soldier in a heavy overcoat talking to the shoeshine boy from the hot dog stand, who was down on his knees busily brushing the soldier’s boots. Jesús walked up behind the boy. “So. – Back in business, are we?” said Jesús smiling. “Thought you weren’t going to shine no more shoes?”
Junior turned, also surprised. “This is my last pair.” he said. “Ain’t going to shine no more shoes after this. Got a new job starting tomorrow. Just doing one last pair to get that dollar I owe you.”
“Well, congratulations! — Say, that calls for a celebration. You want to come to a party? You can be the guest of honor. On account of your new job.”
“Guest of honor?” said Junior. “A party for me. You bet I’ll come. Where is it?”
“The big hotel. Room 800. One hour from now.” said Jesús.
Junior laughed. “I’ll be there.”
“You want to come, too?” Jesús asked Jack.
The soldier looked at Jesús, thinking hard for a moment. “No, thanks.” he said finally. “I can’t. Got somewhere else to go.”
“Maybe next time?” said Jesús, smiling.
Jack took a dollar from his side pocket and gave it to the shoeshine boy. “One dollar, that’s the price, right?”
Junior nodded, then turned to Jesús with the dollar in his hand. “This is the dollar I owe you. I remembered, just like you said to.”
Jesús accepted the dollar, nervously folding it into a small square. “Thanks. You’re a good…young man. To pay your debts so quickly.”
Jesús turned back to the soldier. “You sure you don’t want to come to the party?”
“Got something to do in the morning.” said Jack. “I better go somewhere and see about getting some rest.”
“He’s going to the church in the morning.” said Junior.
“Really?” said Jesús. “I haven’t been to a real church in ages. The roof would probably fall if I went in. Are you really going to church?”
“Yes.”
Jesús handed the soldier the square folded dollar. “Would you put this in the plate for me when they pass it around? I should probably go and put it in myself, but I know I’m not going to feel like it.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll put it in the plate for you. Yes, sir.”
“You got any money to put in for yourself?” asked Jesús.
“The girls took all his money.” said Junior.
Jesús laughed. “And you’re still going to church in the morning? Guess you can’t be all good if you gave all your money to the girls.” he said. “Here. Take some of this.”
Jesús took the crisp, careful roll of money from his jacket pocket and removed three ten-dollar bills. “Put some of this in the plate, too. For you. And for the girls. They won’t be in church tomorrow morning neither. But not before you buy yourself a big breakfast. ‘Never go to church on an empty stomach. It’s not polite.’ That’s what my mother always told me.”
“No, I couldn’t.” said Jack.
“Sure, you could. Come on, you’re doing me a favor. Take it.”
“Okay. But I’ll put it all in the plate.” said Jack, taking the money.
“You eat a big breakfast on it first. If you don’t, I might come down to that church tomorrow and kick your ass.” said Jesús, smiling.
“Yes, sir, First Sergeant.” said Jack, mock-saluting.
“That’s more like it.” said Jesús. “And you. – Young man. I’ll see you at the party? Big Hotel. Room 800. One hour. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, sir, First Sergeant.” said Junior, emulating Jack’s salute. “I’ll be there. Are there going to be any girls at this party?”
Jesús made a face. “Girls? At a booze party? Are you kidding me?” said Jesús, starting to walk away, then turning suddenly and addressing first Junior, then Jack. “Maybe. –– Do you pray?”
Junior laughed. Jack nodded. “Sometimes.”
“If you pray tomorrow morning, say a prayer for me—for everybody, will you—if you pray tomorrow morning, okay?” said Jesús.
Jack nodded again, looking serious. “Okay.”
“See you later.” said Jesús, turning back toward the Courthouse, retracing his steps and crossing the now-empty street where he crossed before, slowing down and beginning to whistle sadly as soon as he touched the Courthouse side of the street. Jesús walked on down the sidewalk to the rear entrance to the Park. He stopped a moment and stood in the gentle rain, taking the bottle of rum from his pocket, drinking deeply, looking across the street at an old man knocking softly, but insistently, at the door of a darkened house. The old man knocked softly for a long time, without stopping, ceaselessly demanding to be admitted. Finally, the door opened a crack, and the old man was allowed to enter, into the arms of a waiting loved one, aroused from sleep to welcome home the wandering traveler, the prodigal son, the soldier home from the war.
Jesús sighed, almost crying, and turned into the Park, drinking steadily from the bottle of rum, no longer feeling hot fire in his throat when he drank, but instead soothing comfort in his belly. He headed for the front of the Park, seeing no one, whistling softly between drinks, reaching the front Park entrance, remembering his visit there earlier in the evening. Suddenly Jesús looked over at the bench that faced the brick wall, looking for the slumped form of the blind Cowboy. The old man was still there, asleep on the bench, under the ragged piece of tarp. Jesús went over to him and leaned over the back of the bench, shaking the Cowboy from sleep. He helped the old man to his feet, talking to him soothingly. “Going to a party. Rivers of lovely booze. Come on now. You’re the guest of honor. On account of your coming back to the City same as me. Wouldn’t be no party without you.” said Jesús, giving the old man the last swallow of rum from his bottle and helping him put his cowboy hat back on his head, leaving the piece of tarp and the red-tipped white cane on the bench.
The groggy Cowboy followed Jesús cautiously, holding tight to his arm, walking hesitantly, not knowing who had awakened him or where he was going. Jesús began to whistle again. He got one last drop of rum from the empty bottle and tossed it on the grass near the main Park entrance. Arm in arm, Jesús and the blind Cowboy walked around the corner out of the Park onto the Boulevard sidewalk, almost bumping into a young couple standing against the brick wall, kissing. “Excuse us.” said Jesús, but the couple did not look up or respond.
The young couple continued to kiss.
Jesús led the Cowboy rapidly to the motorcycle, whistling sadly, but now also laughing drunkenly. He slapped at the parking ticket, still flapping in the wind. Carefully Jesús stepped off the curb into the street, but the blind man stumbled and Jesús had to catch him. Jaywalking, they crossed the Boulevard to the hotel. Immediately, Jesús stopped whistling.
At the front door of the hotel, Jesús summoned the doorman from inside with a wave of his hand. “Take this man to room 800.” he said, handing him a five-dollar bill. “But don’t tell anybody. It’s a joke, see? We’re playing a joke on the new state Chief. Told him we was buying him a hooker. But we’re really filling his room with a bunch of old drunk bums, get it?”
Jesús jostled the man with his elbow. The doorman accepted the five, laughing. “Yeah, I get it. It’s a good joke.” said the doorman.
“Take him to Room 800. That’s where we’re putting all the old drunk bums. But don’t tell anybody, or I’ll bring a bunch of firemen down here and kick your ass.”
The doorman laughed again. “I get it. I won’t tell nobody. It’s a good joke. I get it.”
“That’s right.” said Jesús, walking away down the street. “It’s just a joke, see?”
streetpeople 