visiting tennessee (part two)
Mark Blickley
She held her raincoat in one hand, a soggy white carnation in the other. She was crying. A blue plaid shirt several sizes too large ballooned up from a waistband of baggy corduroy pants. Her sneakers were muddied. Brown shoulder length hair lay wet and flat against her head. She removed her glasses and wiped them on her sleeve.
After a long pause she walked over to the coffin. Without looking at the corpse she gently placed the carnation on a small table at the foot of the body. She sniffed twice
and with her head lowered scuffed over to a chair by Paul’s couch. Paul watched her as he licked at the space inside his mouth.
“Hi, Miss. It’s sort of sad, isn’t it?”
She looked over at Paul and nodded.
“Lots of people were here yesterday. A lot more than today. Funny though, there’s a lot more crying today than yesterday. Did you know him?”
She tucked her chin into her chest.
“That’s a swell flower you brought. I’m sure he’d of liked it. What’s your name? Excuse me, Miss, what’s your name?”
Raising her eyes without moving her head she looked angrily at Paul. “What? What are you talking about?”
Paul leaned forward on the couch. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and held them out to her. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“I didn’t come here to talk!”
Paul shrugged, pocketed the cigarettes, and settled back against the cushions.
“Just trying to be friendly,” he said.
“I don’t need friends, Mister. Just leave me alone.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Paul got up and walked over to the coffin. He eyed Tennessee from top to bottom and then looked over his shoulder at the woman. She was watching. Paul picked up the white carnation from the table and carefully laid it on Tennessee’s chest. Again he glanced over at the woman. She was looking down at her hands.
A man hurriedly brushed past Paul and snatched the flower off the dead man’s chest. “We don’t allow objects to be placed inside the casket,” snapped the irate usher. “Will you please behave?”
“Yeah, sure. Okay. I didn’t know.” Paul returned to the couch shaking his head. He lit a cigarette. “Do you want me to get you something, Miss? Tissues? Coffee?”
She ignored him.
“Did you hear me, Miss? Need something? You look like you could use something.”
The woman pushed her glasses up against the bridge of her nose. “What? Will you be quiet and leave me alone. Just shut up!”
“I know you’re upset. Try to relax, okay? Are you an actress? There’s plenty of actresses around here. I’m waiting for an actor friend of mine. He should be here real soon. Beautiful in here, huh? I’d love to live in a place like this, wouldn’t you? Without the bodies, I mean,” Paul giggled. “You need some coffee?”
The woman hunched lower in the chair, grinding her teeth. “You’ll get yours!” she shouted. “You’ll get what you
deserve!”
The usher moved quickly beside her. “Is he bothering you, Ma’am?”
The woman looked down at her feet and did not answer. Paul looked up at the usher and shrugged as he puffed on a cigarette. His face started to twitch.
The usher left the room and return shortly with three other men in dark suits. They caucused in the far right corner of the room. As the men whispered they would glance over in Paul’s direction.
Paul leaned forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. “Thank you, Miss. That was real nice of you.”
“Will you leave me alone!” she shouted.
The caucus broke. A distinguished looking man with gray hair walked to the center of the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “I must ask you to please end your visit. The staff needs time to prepare for the memorial service scheduled for tonight at eight. On behalf of the family and friends of Mr. Williams, thank you for coming.”
Mourners were herded out of the room by men with impatient smiles. A staff member personally escorted Paul to the elevator.
“Will Brando be here tonight?” asked Paul.
“I don’t know, sir,” replied the man.
Paul managed to squeeze his way to the front of the elevator next to the woman. Her damp stringy hair brushed against his shoulder. He watched her head jerk forward in spasms. Paul thought she was suppressing hiccups until he heard little sobs accompany each spasm.
“It’s okay, Miss,” he said softly. She looked up at him, grimaced, and buried her face in his chest. Tears collected in the tiny crevices of the Twin Towers, forming warm beads of water that spilled over and dripped onto his leg. His arms instinctively encircled her back and he was careful not to squeeze too hard. Her heaves against his chest felt good, tickled. Paul wished that the one flight ride could somehow be prolonged.
When the elevator doors pulled apart she reached up and clung to Paul’s neck. He put his arm around her waist and led her to the door. Her body went limp; she had to be pulled. When they stepped outside Paul took a crumbled napkin out of his pocket and handed it to her. She grabbed it, took three deep sniffs, and blew her nose as Paul gently kissed her on top of her head.
It was gray and drizzling and neither one had an umbrella. Paul, looking as if he were measuring her height, flattened his large hand over her head, protecting her from the rain.
“I think we better get some coffee. What do you say? Think so, Miss?”
The woman nodded. Paul smiled as she snuggled against him. With one hand forming an umbrella over head and his other hand pressed against her shoulder supporting her weight, he walked two blocks, pausing at each light to lean down and kiss the top of her head.
Paul helped her off with her raincoat and hung it up on the rack attached to the booth. She remained silent and did not look at him until after the coffee arrived. Sipping at the cup that she delicately held with both hands, she peeked over at Paul. His stare intimidated her so she quickly looked away.
Paul drank his coffee in three gulps and signaled for the waitress. “Want something to eat, Miss?” The woman shook her head. Paul ordered an English muffin and another coffee.
“Nice and warm in here, huh Miss?”
She nodded; their eyes met.
You have an umbrella?” asked Paul.
The woman shook her head.
“I got one but it’s busted. I’m going to buy a new one, though.”
“That’s good,” she said.
“One of those push button jobs that fold up real small, like you see on T.V.”
“I like T.V.,” she said. “Especially movies. The old ones. I work in television.”
“No kidding? Wow! What do you do?”
The woman took another sip. “Lots of things.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Nobody. I’m not working right now.”
“That’s tough,” said Paul. He fingered his WTC emblem. “Well, maybe I can help you. You see this?” He pointed to the emblem. “I’m kind of chauffeur-bodyguard to the Attorney General of New York. He’s got an office at the World Trade Center. Maybe I could talk to him about getting you a job in Public Television or something. He’s a pretty nice guy.
What’s your name?
“What’s yours?”
“Paul. Paul Dankin.”
“Iris.”
“Feel better, Iris?”
Iris shrugged. “Guess so.”
“It’s good to cry. Cleans you out.” He laid his hand on top of hers. Her warmth felt good against his cold fingers. Iris slowly withdrew her hand.
Paul lit a cigarette. “Does the smoke bother you?”
Iris shrugged.
“You live around here, Iris?”
“No.”
“I live a couple of miles from here. Where do you live?”
“Forest Hills,” she said.
“Wow! That’s a pretty ritzy neighborhood. You been there long, Iris?”
“I’m staying at the shelter. I’ve got to be back by nine.”
“Yeah? What kind of shelter?”
“I’ve got to be back at the shelter by nine,” repeated Iris.
“How’d you get here, Iris? By train?”
“Yes.”
“What made you visit Tennessee?”
Iris shredded a napkin. “What made you?”
Paul bit into the filter of his cigarette. “I’m waiting for Marlon Brando,” he said proudly.
“What for?”
“We’re old friends.”
“You are not,” challenged Iris.
“Yes we are. A few years ago I took a bus tour of Washington, D.C. It stopped at all the famous places. I was standing outside the Washington Monument looking up at it. It was scaring me. You see, Iris, I’m not afraid of heights. Looking down from high places doesn’t bother me a bit. But whenever I have to look up at something I get nervous. Especially when I look up at buildings. You ever feel like that, Iris?”
“No.”
“I always feel like some kind of force, like a magnet or something, is going to pull me up, lifting me off the ground. That’s a lot worse than falling ‘cause if you’re falling down you know you’re falling down and that’s that. If you get pulled off the ground and lifted into the air you’re not falling, but you could fall at any moment. And there’s no end. If you fall you have to land but if you’re lifted up it could go on forever and I hate that.”
Iris squirmed restlessly inside the booth. “So what’s that got to do with Marlon Brando?”
“Oh, yeah, right. So I’m trying to take a picture of the Washington Monument, but every time I aim my camera up at it I start to feel dizzy and sweat. I need a picture to prove I’d been there. I go lots of places.”
Iris put her elbow on the table and rubbed an eyebrow with her thumb. Paul’s throat felt dry so he flagged down the waitress and ordered a cherry coke.
“Anyway,” Paul continued, “I try and try but I can’t snap off a shot my hand’s shaking so bad. So I look around and I see this guy walking by and I ask him take one for me. He looks like a real nice guy and he does. Took a great picture, too. I wanted to give him a buck for the favor but he wouldn’t take it. I asked him why not? He tells me he doesn’t need it ‘cause he’s Marlon Brando. And that’s when I recognized him. Real nice guy. I told him I’d go to every
movie he’d make. And I do, too. Even wrote him a couple of letters.”
“He ever answer you?” asked Iris.
“A, a, yeah, sure. I got them home.”
“Maybe he could find a job for me,” she said. “Can I meet him?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Will he be at the memorial service tonight?”Paul pulled at his thumb until it popped. He bent his pinky by pressing down on the joint until it snapped. “Yeah, sure, he’ll be there.” Paul cracked the rest of his knuckles.
Iris, her elbow resting on the table, lowered her head into the crook of her arm. Paul watched; he feared their conversation had come to an end. “So why are you visiting Tennessee? Are you waiting for somebody?”
Iris lifted her head and shook it. “I came to get out. It wasn’t easy. I have to be back by nine. But I liked him. Like him a lot. I’ve seen all his movies. I think to make someone cry from deep down is real, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Paul licked the ice cubes in his cherry coke as he marveled at the smoothness of Iris’ forehead.
“I think he must have been lonely. I can’t imagine how he would’ve been able to make characters like that if he wasn’t sad. I read once that he didn’t have normal relationships with women, but I don’t believe it. I think he was hurt by one and was sort of waiting for the right one to come along.”
Iris lowered her voice; it took on a conspiratorial tone. “I’ll tell you a secret because I don’t think you’d laugh at me.”
I won’t,” swore Paul as his face flushed red. The blood pounding in his ears annoyed him. He was afraid it would drown out Iris’ speech.
“I often thought,” Iris continued, “that I would meet Mr. Williams and he would see in me what it was he was looking for in a woman. I knew he could see beyond silly and pretty and, well, maybe he would love me. But when I walked into his room today it shocked me. It hit me that he really was dead. All morning I felt as if I had a kind of . . . date with him. But when I walked into that room and saw all those strange people looking at me . . .”
“I saw you right when you came in,” interrupted Paul.
“ . . . I just knew I missed meeting him. He had blue eyes. Such lovely blue eyes. But when I walked over to where he was lying his eyes were closed and I became angry. I knew I’d never see them. I felt like going over to him and lifting his eyelids just so I could see their blueness and have my reflection mirrored in them. At least then I could feel some kind of closeness with him, something special and apart from those other people there. I figured that if he could see me he’d know that I care deeply about him. Not like those other people there. If he could see me he’d know that I can love.”
Paul nearly jumped out of his seat. He grabbed Iris’ fingers and squeezed. “You can!”
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!”
Paul released her fingers. He fidgeted and then stood up looking around, hoping to find a witness who, like a photograph, would verify an important moment in his life. Someone must have heard Iris declare that she could love, he thought. But he was disappointed. No one in the coffee shop had paid any attention to their conversation. Even his waitress was at the far end of the room and it angered Paul that she seemed to be eavesdropping on another couple. Thinking of the word couple and its application to him and Iris excited Paul and his anger disappeared.
“Couple,” said Paul.
“Of what?” asked Iris. “One cup’s enough.”
Paul twitched as the pounding in his ears returned. He smiled at Iris. She tore open a packet of sugar, dipped her finger inside, and watched the tiny crystals reflect light before putting them in her mouth.
Paul watched Iris repeat this three times before signaling for the check. Although he was still upset at the waitress for not having heard Iris’ declaration of love, he left her a decent tip.
Standing in the coffee shop doorway Iris mumbled that the rain had stopped. When she made no attempt to stay close to Paul as they walked down the street, Paul reached over and grabbed her hand. Iris looked over at him as his hand swallowed hers. Paul nodded, Iris shrugged, and the two walked hand in hand in silence.
Paul Dankin strolled down Madison Avenue with a dignity he did not know he possessed. For the first time since he was a child Paul made eye contact with every passing person. He smiled his close lipped smile at the strangers who returned his look, and with a nod of his head acknowledged their admiration for him and Iris as a couple.
Each time Paul nodded his head the harder he squeezed Iris’ hand until she could no longer stand the pain.
“You’re hurting me!” Iris cried as she pulled away.
Paul tried to apologize but words would not form and he stood there moving his mouth stupidly.
“You’ve hurt me twice,” she shouted. “Now leave me alone!”
Pedestrians paused to stare. Paul felt a thousand eyes pressing down on him. He tried to speak but could not, so he reached out to comfort Iris, but she stepped back.
1’You hurt me twice!” she repeated, “now leave me alone. I’ve got to be back at the shelter by nine so keep away from me!”
“Yeah, sure,” Paul mumbled. Iris turned and walked away.
Small gray puddles exploded as his footsteps scraped against the pavement. He walked quickly up the street until he stood in front of Central Park. Paul straddled a metal mesh fence as his feet sank into the mud. An ankle scraped against the fence so he spit on his finger and massaged it into the wound. Trudging up a slippery incline, Paul grabbed at large rocks for support.
When he finally reached the top he bent down to check on his ankle. His shirt sleeve was pulled up exposing his wristwatch. Paul frowned.
“Five hours till the memorial service,” he whispered.
Satisfied that the scratch was just a minor one, he walked deeper inside the slushy, deserted park.
“I sure hope Brando’s gonna be there,” said Paul as he kicked at a mound of mud and watched it splatter against a tree trunk.
