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IN THE CLEARING

CHARLES CHAIM WAX


��“How was your summer, Steve?”
��“A vast uncompromising sewer of a summer,” I babbled. “No bacchanalian romps for me.” Then I sighed but Elaine didn’t notice my sigh. She was already well past me. This was the usual: “How was your summer?” but no one really expected any other answer than “It was great,” or “Fine.” Something which would indicate that life went along as it should go along. In fact, my summer wasn’t as bad as I had indicated but I said it anyway. I didn’t know exactly why. It was hot and humid and the stench filled the air even at three in the morning but that was to be expected if a person stayed in Brooklyn during July and August.
��Before the summer I had toyed with the idea of going to New Zealand, to where it was cold, to the mountains, but I didn’t. Perhaps the twenty-five hour flight put me off. Perhaps the ancient demon of inertia put me off.
��“How did it go this summer, Steve?” Andy asked.
��“Not bad.”
��“That’s great.” He always smiled even when there was really nothing to smile about. I could never get into a serious conversation with him even though I had tried. He lived four blocks from me and always called me “Neighbor.” He seemed to move across the surface of things and I always needed to go deeply into the matter.
��“How about you?” I asked, forcing myself to be polite.
��“Went to the mountains on my bike with my girl.”
��As soon as he said the word “mountains” I immediately became interested. After all, in the mountains, there, there, you were free, and it was supremely cold in the mountains, especially at night. The days might blaze even there, but the nights settled into a cool dome of stars.
��“Which mountains?” I blurted out. “Were there lots of Œem?”
��“The Canadian Rockies...”
��“On your motorcycle? From Brooklyn to there?”
��“Yep.”
��“No.”
��“All the way.”
��“All the way?”
��“Yep.”
��“What do you have now, Andy? I know you switch bikes a lot.”
��“The big Yamaha.”
��“With your girl? I mean, she had a bike or she was behind you?”
��“She rides like the wind. That’s why I thought this was going to be it this time. We got...had...so much in common. We drove straight up New York State into Canada and then went West, camped all the way, cooked out, love in a tent'the whole nine yards...”
��I couldn’t contain myself. “Tell me about the weather. No. Forget that. Tell me about the temperature.”
��He smiled. But this time the smile seemed so genuine and so innocent. Like a kid. “I knew you’d ask about that. I know you’re a winter kind of guy, just like me, Neighbor.” He smiled grandly when he said the word “Neighbor.” “At ten thousand feet, at night, I had to wear my leather jacket. Twenty-eight degrees, a skim of ice at the edge of the lake where the water is only a couple of inches. One time, for a couple of days, a cold front slammed through. Snowed six inches across the top of the mountain. Me and Jenny had a snowball fight. They said it wasn’t all that unusual, at the top, for it to snow in August. When I saw them swirling flakes, there was a thrill. You know what I mean?”
��“I know what you mean. Well, I never was in the Canadian Rockies but I came close to a thrill when I was in the American Rockies and snow was still on the ground in July. I picked up a handful and ate it. Crystal white. Not a bit of soot on it. So I have some idea but I never experienced a snowfall in August.” As soon as I said those words an immense surge of sadness flooded my heart. “I’d like to experience that before I die.”
��“No problem, Steve. Just go out there. Stay the whole month of August. You’re bound to see some snow fall. It’s within your grasp. You just gotta get up and go. Do it, Neighbor. Maybe next year we can go together.”
��“I don’t have a girlfriend. I’d be like the odd man, with you and your girlfriend, I mean.”
��He smiled. But this time it was a sad smile. “I don’t have a girlfriend anymore. Didn’t work out...on the way back...I don’t know...these things happen.” He paused for a moment. He seemed to be thinking but I couldn’t be sure. Then he moaned, “I can get Œem but I can’t keep Œem.” He left it at that. He didn’t go into the details. I wanted to ask him what happened but I had the feeling he genuinely didn’t know what happened.
��Just then Big Max walked in and Andy was smiling again. I sort of said good-bye and walked into the Main Office. The place was crowded with teachers. I was back. How many years? I think twenty-three, or twenty-four. I couldn’t be sure.
��At the English Department meeting later in the day, Linda, the Chairperson, was bubbly. She was wearing an African headdress of colored cloth. The predominant color was a vivid yellow which contrasted in a exquisite way with her quite dark skin. She appeared to have gained a bit of weight, perhaps more than a bit of weight, and all of it concentrated in her hips and buttocks.
��“Get acquainted time,” she announced. Everyone stared at her. There were no new members of the Department. What then did she mean by “Get acquainted time”? Probably some new educational gimmick she had picked up during the summer. She was an inveterate collector of motivational tidbits.
��“Just tell what you did this summer,” she said. “We can all benefit from shared experience. I’ll begin. I went to Nigeria. I went home. After five hundred years I went home'to the Motherland. It was such a magnificent spiritual experience.” She smiled. Her teeth were large and very white against her dark skin. “I could go on and on, but I want to hear from everyone.”
��We all sat in a sort of large semi-circle. Leslie was first. “I worked in summer school at Canarsie High School.” After that single sentence he didn’t go on. I don’t think that was the kind of response Linda was looking for, but that was his response. What could she do? Demand that he should have lived a more interesting summer. The man just bought a house and his two kids were in college. He needed money. He wasn’t all that exciting but he was a stable pillar of the community.
��Next was Charles. “I also worked at Canarsie High School,” he said casually. And that was it for him. Linda’s nose twitched. I could tell she wanted this little game to go well. The first two players, unfortunately, had struck out.
��Denise was next. “I spent the summer with my darling husband and my two darling children in the Poconos. It was so delightful. The lake where we have our cottage is clear and radiant. Cynthia took violin lessons and can play quite splendidly now...especially she loves Bach. George did his basket weaving and I...I wrote two short stories.” Linda’s face beamed. This was the sort of stuff she wanted.
��My turn came. “I sat,” I said simply. The answer did not satisfy Linda. I could tell because her eyes blinked rapidly. Whenever her eyes blinked rapidly it meant she was frustrated.
��“Can you please elaborate, Steve?” she asked.
��Since she had called me by my first name I knew she was trying to be friendly. I decided to be as honest as I possibly could. “I came to the decision that I couldn’t be a bullshit Buddhist anymore so I had to sit seriously.” I didn’t go on. She stared at me. I had given as honest an answer as I could possibly give. What more did she want from me?
��Judith chimed in, “I think what Steve means to say is that he meditated.” She proceeded to stand up, then sit on the floor in the cross legged position and place her hands in the cosmic mudra, left hand on top of right with palms open.
��I was impressed. “You have wonderful posture, Judith,” I declared. “I didn’t know you meditated.”
��“I tried for awhile but my mind just wandered...so I gave it up.”
��Linda stared at me. I still didn’t think she completely understood what I had done all summer. “How long can a person do that?” she asked. “What’s the point?”
��Judith, once again, answered. “It calms and centers you.”
��I stared at Judith. She was quite attractive. “Thank you, Judith. That is certainly correct. But that’s not the whole story...”
��“I was just trying to help,” she said, interrupting me.
��“I know you were and in no way is my remark any sort of criticism. But I don’t think Linda is getting it and I want Linda to get it.” I turned from Judith to stare directly at Linda. I spoke in a slow steady voice. “My life is in the fucking toilet. There’s nothing left for me to do but the sitting practice of meditation. If you’d like I’ll give you the details of such a toilet-life.”
��“Oh, no, thank you. We must move on. Now who is next? Ah, Jim, yes, I believe it’s your turn.” Linda squirmed the words out in as forced tone of decorum.
��Jim straightened himself in his seat as best he could. He had grown a beard. He had been gone for an entire year on a medical leave. The official reason was gum work and a hernia, but the gossip was that he experienced a nervous breakdown because he was forced to stop smoking marijuana because he was in a custody battle for his son and his lawyer said it wouldn’t look good if it came out in court he was addicted to dope even though he had been so addicted for approximately eighteen years, give or take a couple of months.
��Frank Frutkin, who was a close friend of his, said the shock was too much for him, so he went straight on Prozac and promptly became addicted to that, even though it’s not suppose to be addicting.
��Anyway the present result was that Jim had a vacant look in his eyes, never blinked, as far as anyone could tell, walked at half speed, spoke little, and when he did speak, that too was at half speed. My brief conversation with him earlier in the morning had frightened me. The year before he left he was such a vibrant individual, well read, articulate, thirsty for a good debate. Not now. And his fingernails were so long, uneven, and dirty that I felt he had stopped taking care of himself, that he had put himself and his safety into the claims of chemistry.
��At last, he droned, “I feel better and hope to get back to work.” It seemed a full minute went by for the words to get out.
��Linda did not pursue his response, although she did manage a smile, which was nice, I thought.
��And on and on, people said this and that. The beach, Mexico, a couple of more summer school responses, Greece, Paris, a few more writers let it be known they were writers, London, and I stopped paying attention.
��Howie Ender’s response raised a few eyebrows. “I made love all summer with my lover, Belinda Rosa,” he announced. That was a strange answer, even if it were true. Why tell everyone? And how would Belinda Rosa feel about this information being told to everyone. But that was Howie Ender. He only thought about himself. That’s all he thought about. What kind of woman would want him? “There might be plenty,” I laughed to myself. Then I sighed silently, “Love is so strange.” Suddenly Ender blurted out, “She’s a fine black woman from Panama. I really got into Hispanic culture and black culture this summer. I know my teaching will be much improved this year because of all these insights I’ve gained.”
��Linda’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know what to say but she knew she had to say something. “Oh, my, yes, yes, I’m so sure, I’m so sure,” she finally mumbled. Whenever she repeated herself it was a sign she didn’t know what to say so she said the same thing over to make her utterance appear more complete.
��The next day classes began. Shot gun education. For some reason Linda had given me a Creative Writing class. This was it. I thought I might like it. I immediately put the topic for the day on the board: Write about the last time you cried.
��A girl raised her hand. I pointed to her. “Questions'I love Œem,” I said. “Go on.”
��“What kind of topic is that?”
��“Ah, sorry, I forgot to ask your name.”
��“Janine...”
��“What a enchanting name...sorry to interrupt you.”
��“Like I was saying, what kind of topic is that? A bit personal, don’t you think?”
��“A bit. But in this class we write about one thing and one thing only: Suffering.”
��Everyone stared at me.
��A tall guy at the back of the room called out, “I’m gettin’ outta here. They said you was nuts and now I see they was speakin’ true.”
��“Who said I was nuts? I want a name. Don’t make no accusations without putting a name on it, buddy boy.”
��“You wanna know who said you’re nuts? Everybody who ever had you. What kinda topic is that? Suffering. I don’t wanna write about suffering.”
��I smiled gently. “There is no other topic worthy of serious consideration. But if you, or anyone else, do not want to write about that topic, you do not have to. I will not force anyone to do anything they don’t want to do. So write a short story, a poem, an essay about anything you want to. But I will tell you this: eventually you shall come to see that word is the word and there is no other word but that word.” I began to laugh. I couldn’t stop laughing. Everyone kept a careful eye on me.
��A girl in the first row raised her hand. I nodded for her to ask her question. “Can I have a pass to see my Grade Advisor, Mr. Bernstein. I don’t know if this is the right class for me.”
��“What’s your name?” I asked gently.
��“Natasha.”
��“Well, Natasha, it is the right class for you and I’ll tell you why.” I paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then spoke slowly and softly, “Everyone in this class is going to get 95% or higher. I do not give any grade lower than that. Ask around. You’ll see. If you do work, if you don’t do work'that is going to be your grade. And why? Because you deserve it. And why? Because you are going to write and write. Not because I tell you to write and write. No. Not at all. You are going to write and write because you will want to write and write. You are going to write and write because you will come to see that to write gives power and insight and joy and that once you start you are not going to be able to stop.
��“Now, here’s a little problem, more for me than for you. I mean, you are going to write and write to such an extent that I am not going to be able to read all that you do write, but I shall try. That is my promise to you.”
��As I spoke I could sense most of the students in the class began to believe me.
��Without warning I bellowed “YOU SHALL BE RELEASED” and immediately thereafter switched to a soft voice, “I’ll sign the paper, right now, about your grade, I mean. You probably don’t completely agree with me now, at this moment, that you are going to write and write, but in a short time you will.
��“And if you do not want to write, that’s fine also. Don’t. You can so something else. Something equally as powerful, more powerful really, when you come to think of it: just sit still. Yes. That’s it. Just sit here all period long. But no spoken words. I have to insist on that because it’s only fair, I mean a 95, you got it, no work, no words. Just sit. Day after day. You’ll see. You’ll love that also. Strange but true.
��“So, now, Natasha, do you really want to leave? Think about it. Some other teacher who doesn’t give high grades, boring work, bullshit work. Here. Perfect freedom. I’m giving you the greatest gift I can possibly give you: the opportunity to investigate the depths of your being. And the result doesn’t really matter. The process is all.”
��“The part about the 95% is for true?”
��“I promise.”
��“What about attendance?”
��“Is this a prison? I can’t say anymore, but do I really have to elaborate? We are all adults here. You know what I can say and what I can’t say, if I don’t want to get into trouble with the Higher Ups. But you know what I mean.” I paused and a split second later I wrote on the board: My Summer Vacation. “This is an old standby you’re all familiar with. Or, Abortion: For or against. Or, Doom On The D Train. I got a million topics, if you want me to give them to you. Or, you can choose what you want to write about by looking at your own existence. Maybe you don’t like to write short stories or poems or essays or plays. No problem. Write a Journal. What’s a Journal? What did you have for breakfast? That’s a Journal. A strange character I saw on the bus. That’s a Journal. Sex clubs. That’s a Journal...”
��“WHAT’S A SEX CLUB?” Janine screamed.
��“A place where you go to have sex. I think that’s clear.”
��“Now just a minute there, Mr. Bernstein. You sayin’ there’s a place where a girl could go and as soon as she walk in, there’s a guy waitin’ to sex her long and good, includin’ tongue for down below?”
��“The world is stranger than you could ever imagine, Janine.”
��“That must be a white place cause you white people be doin’ some freaky shit. What’s the address? just curious.”
��Suddenly the bell rang. As the students walked out of the room I heard a few of them say, “This class ain’t goin’ to be that bad.” When I heard that I felt wonderful.
��I walked into the Teacher’s Center. Carol Curtis sat at the long table reading The New York Times. She sported short red hair with a very perky smile. She must have been in her early forties. She had two children. No husband. As she often said, “I got rid of him a long time ago. I don’t need a man. I have the Lord and the Lord is all I need.” She was a member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
��I sat across from her. Since this was the second day of the term no one asked anyone how their summer was even if they had not done so on the first day. The first day of the term was the only day that question was asked. The second day was already mired in routine, and the summer seemed like a thousand years ago.
��Just then Lucinda appeared at the door. She held a baby in her arms. She cradled the child so gently, so tenderly, even at a distance I could see that. She called to me excitedly “Mr. Bernstein, Mr. Bernstein,” then rushed into the Teacher’s Center.
��“No students here,” snapped Carol. “This is a Teacher space.”
��Lucinda was taken aback. She didn’t know what to make of this hostility. I immediately went to her, put my arm around her waist, and whispered, “Let’s talk outside.” We walked into the hall, just to the right of the doorway.
��“Who is that woman?”
��“Doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “But who is this little fella? So cute. Your baby from when you were pregnant in my class? I guess that’s who this little fella is.”
��“You guessed right. Now guess, boy or girl?”
��“C’mon, you can’t tell at this age.”
��“Try.”
��I stared at Lucinda. She looked so radiant, so incredibly radiant. “Boy.”
��“Right.”
��“I could tell. He’s got a manly look about him.” She laughed when I said that. “What’s his name?”
��“Stanley.”
��“Oh.”
��“You think the name is too white, don’t you? But I just felt he was a Stanley...maybe it was because all the time I was carrying him we was reading Streetcar in class and it was like while I was readin’ the play it was like he was a part of it, so you could say, maybe, that’s why.”
��“As good a reason as any for a name. After all, what’s in a name?” She laughed when I said that. I couldn’t get over how gorgeous she looked. It was as if she herself were born again when she gave birth to her son, all the doubts and worries meant nothing to her now as she held little warm manly Stanley in her arms. I didn’t want to ask about the father. She had never mentioned him all during her pregnancy, so if she didn’t I figured it was not my place to make an inquiry. Instead I asked, “So what are you doing now?”
��“I’m takin’ off this term to take care of my baby and then in February I’m goin’ to one of them small schools where it’s not so big and everyone knows your name.”
��“Best thing for you.”
��“I think so cause in the beginning I think a mother should be with her baby, to care in the best way, not be far away or seein’ him once but a bit. You know what I mean, Mr. Bernstein?”
��“I think I do.”
��“I just wanted to come and show you my baby, what I made...inside of me...we’ll keep in touch cause from all these people here you got sense.”
��“I take that as a compliment.”
��“It is.” Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Just as she did Seth walked past us into the Teacher’s Center.
��I returned into the room and once again sat at the long table.
��Seth Reinhold had already taken out his small sandwich from a brown paper bag. I could smell the tuna and celery. Next he opened the Subway bag and took out his tea, then from his leather briefcase he took out a plastic bottle filled with honey in the shape of a bear and squeezed a glob into the steaming liquid. The Times was next. He was a creature of habit, as most of us were. He wouldn’t begin actually reading the Times until after he had taken his first bite. He would read the paper until he had finished eating his sandwich. Then he would put the paper back into his briefcase and begin to sip his tea and engage in pleasant conversation. When I watched him do this, time after time, I thought of Kant. I didn’t know why.
��Today he was wearing a plaid shirt and dark navy blue tie and a tweed sports jacket. He always dressed well, and since I had begun getting GQ magazine, I had a sense that his clothing was quite expensive. I knew from conversations with my sister that his Armani glasses cost well over two hundred dollars.
��As soon as I sat down, Carol Curtis immediately exclaimed, “I would appreciate it, Mr. Bernstein, if you would keep your lady friends out of this Teacher space. THIS IS TEACHER SPACE and we have precious little of it in this building so I see no reason...and what was THAT she had in her hands? A baby. They are not allowed to bring their babies in here. That is Board of Education policy. I’m going to speak to the Principal about this...how did she get in the building? That’s what I’d like to know...well, I do know. Those Security Guards are no better than the kids...and THAT PRINCIPAL IS A WIMP, he probably gave her permission to come into the building. And I can tell you that’s not going to be her first or second or third. Once they get a whiff of that welfare honey they get addicted like Reinhold there...”
��“Excuse me. Did I hear my name mentioned?” He had a slight quizzical smile on his face. He was of medium height but quite thin. I had thought at one time I would be able to be as thin as he was then I started to gain weight again and never really had a chance.
��Carol glared at him. “Why don’t you use sugar like everyone else, or if you’re diabetic use Equal. But...honey. I find that odd.”
��Reinhold put the Times down even though he had not finished his sandwich. But he didn’t appear annoyed. If his classes went well, that is, if no one screamed at him or said “Fuck you” to him, nothing would bother him. He simply said, “I happen to like the taste of honey.”
��“And what kind of bread is that? Each slice is a different thickness.”
��“It’s a bread I buy at a very delightful health food store, Back to the Land, if you want to know. It has a certain texture and flavor which I admire...”
��Carol cut him off as soon as she heard the word “admire.” “Which you admire? It’s only a slice of bread. ŒWhich I admire’...that’s odd...you’re an odd fellow...a Harvard man in this place...what gives?”
��He began to laugh quite vigorously. When he calmed down he replied, “Harvard is not all it’s made out to be.”
��Just then Natasha stood at the door and called, “Mr. Bernstein.”
��Carol turned her head to me. “What is it with you and these women, Mr. Bernstein? WHAT IS IT?”
��I went to the door, then motioned for Natasha to walk a little past the entrance so that Carol would not be able to watch us. “I just wanted you to read this and tell me what you thought.”
��She handed me the paper. I glanced at the title, “Kissing A Stranger.” I liked it. “Thanks,” I said.
��As soon as I sat down Carol exclaimed, “At least this one wasn’t pregnant.”
��Reinhold had gone back to reading his paper because he had not yet finished eating his sandwich. I stared at this woman. Her hair was as red as fire.
��“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
��“I said, ŒAt least that one wasn’t pregnant.’”
��Without putting down the paper, Reinhold asserted, “I believe you said, ŒAt least this one wasn’t pregnant.’”
��“What’s the difference? You should sew Œem all up.”
��Reinhold laughed, but very briefly. He put the paper down and asked Carol, “How do you mean that?” There was an unexpected seriousness in his voice.
��“I mean you take a needle and thread and sew the lips of the vagina closed so they can’t make baby after baby without the means to support baby after baby.”
��“I certainly agree that having a child out of wedlock...”
��“If you want to spread your legs you first make sure you have a wedding ring on your finger and that the man who gave you that wedding ring has a job and a bank account. What’s wrong with this entire city, this entire country, this entire world is that there is no longer a sense of personal responsibility. You feel like spreading your legs so you just go ahead and spread your legs. And when the baby comes along who pays? I do. My taxes. And yours. And yours. People say you can’t punish a little child for the sins of the mother. I agree. Once that baby is born, we, as a society, cannot let that little baby suffer, but, certainly, we can sew up that mother’s hole good and tight so not another drop of sperm can get in, not a wiggly one.”
��Reinhold sat there with his mouth wide open. He just gawked at her. He was shocked by her anger. For that matter so was I. “We live in a civilized society,” he declared at last. “Your solution is too extreme. It would be much better to educate these girls...”
��“EDUCATE...give me a break, Harvard man. Where? Here? You see what goes in this place. This is chaos. Rules are not enforced. Anything goes. I have to work two jobs to support my two children. I’m a single parent. I’ve never been on welfare and I will never go on welfare. And don’t tell me how these kids live in poverty. Every one of them dresses better than I did when I was their age. I was poor. I didn’t have a TV until I was fourteen. And we never owned a car. All through high school I never wore a single piece of clothing I ever bought new. It was either hand-me-downs from my sister or clothes from the Salvation Army store. So don’t tell me about being poor...no, don’t dare! Being poor does not mean you automatically become irresponsible.”
��“I think there are other solutions.”
��“You Liberals make me sick,” Carol sneered.
��“Excuse me, but I am not a Liberal. I am a Conservative.”
��“You could have fooled me,” she snapped back.
��When I got off the train I went to Champagne Video to see if The Remains of the Day had come in. I was going through a sort of a spiritual crises. Even though DeNiro had been my favorite actor for a long time I was coming to feel Anthony Hopkins was an even better one. I was very disappointed in myself for switching my allegiance, but there was Silence of the Lambs, there was Howard’s End, and the clips I had seen from Remains of the Day.
��Roy was there. He had worked here for about three years. Before that he had been manager of the Golden Bowl restaurant in Canarsie for eighteen years. Then one night he was hit by a car going sixty miles an hour. His back got messed up and his hip got messed up. Also there were a lot of broken bones. He had gone through several major operations. Now he walked well enough, although sometimes he did use a cane. But his body seemed always tilted to the left. He had lived in Sheepshead Bay all his life. He knew everyone. I guess he had received a large settlement because of the accident since a man with a wife and kid could not really live on what he earned at Champagne Video. He had rather long hair which was thinning on top. His mustache was light brown except for a patch of gray right above the center of his lip.
��He liked people. He also liked to talk, so working here was OK because basically that is what he did all day. The place was owned by two young Russian couples. But most of the people who came to the place came to speak to Roy. Without him, Champagne Video would have folded long ago.
��“Steve, how ya doin’?”
��“Not bad.”
��“I got your movie. Ain’t my cup of tea, but the reviews were primo.”
��Larry stood against the wall. He was one of the regular crew, by crew I mean, a person who spent at least half an hour in the store each time he came in. Larry was an old time 60’s radical from Virginia Beach, Virginia. He was also a writer. He had published a number of articles in the Voice and Mother Earth and some local papers in the South. His dream in life was to write fiction, but that form never seemed to work out for him. He would start and write a bit and then he just couldn’t go on. He once said, “I guess I suffer from a failure of the fantasy mechanism. I can only handle what’s real.” He had a long pony tail and always wore a yellow cap with a surveyor’s tripod on it. That’s what he did for a living.
��“I got to tell you, Roy,” I said, “I’m going through a sort of spiritual crises. DeNiro is falling. I don’t want him to fall. I want him to stay on top but I think Anthony Hopkins is going to steal the crown.”
��Larry smiled. I knew his position on these matters. He was secure in his belief. He straightened his cap. “Brando, Steve. No question. The work is there. A complete actor. I know he’s sort of been in retirement the last ten years or so, well, maybe twenty, because after Godfather he’s just done bits and pieces, but what went before is what matters.”
��While we were speaking a tall thin man walked in. I had never seen him before. From the way Roy looked at him I didn’t think he had ever seen him either. He wore rather fancy cowboy boots with silver tips. The pants were black and the shirt was also black. This combination accentuated his height and thinness. He put out his hand and said, “Hyman Cohen.” Roy was a little confused. Usually, in this place, no last names were used. It was Roy or Larry or Steve. But here was this guy, right from the start, using a last name. Roy shook his hand. Then Hyman asked, “Do you have an Adult section?” Roy pointed to the area behind Larry. Hyman slowly began to look through the selection of porno films.
��I returned to the theme of our discussion. “But Larry, you got to admit something has to be said for the fact that the man is over three hundred pounds. Why did he let himself get that way? And if he was really dedicated to his craft he wouldn’t have stopped making movies. That says a lot.”
��“It does. Certainly. But I feel it says something different from you’d like it to say. To me, it says acting can only be pursued to a certain point and then the limits of its possibilities are reached.”
��“What about Sir Lawrence...”
��“A technician! That’s why he could last so long because he never put his soul into the work. He held back...anyway to me...his Hamlet never reached the crunching agony of Terry in On the Waterfront.”
��A chubby kid walked in. He had a Nintendo game in his hand. He put it down on the counter and said to Roy, “I took this out but I did it once before so could I get another without payin’?”
��“Who do I look like, Bennie the Boob? Like I was born yesterday? You do this every Friday. You use up all your allowance and the old man don’t give you more till Saturday so you come in here and...”
��“But...”
��“But...but...you can’t live without these games. You never take out a movie. All you do is games and games like a junkie.”
��“Not really, Roy, not a hundred percent.”
��Roy laughed. “Go ahead. It takes all kinds.” The kid quickly took another game and Roy ran the computer pen across the small black and white stripes.
��When he left Roy said, “This is what’s wrong with this fucking country. The screen is destroying the minds of kids. When I was his age I was in the street all the time. I was playing street games like a normal kid. When I was three I use to hang from a fire escape and swing like Tarzan and land on a mattress. But one time a wiseass kid moved the mattress and I fell on my ass. I never forgot that. Course being that I was only three I couldn’t throw him a beating until I got to be six.”
��“How old was the other kid?”
��“When?”
��“When you threw him a beating.”
��“Eleven.”
��I laughed loudly. “You remember stuff like that from when you was a kid, Roy? I can’t remember nothing.”
��Hyman returned to the front desk. “Do you have Summer Sailors?” he asked.
��“Never heard of it,” Roy answered politely. “Can you tell me one of the stars. I seen quite a few porno flicks in my time, so if you gimme a name I’ll maybe could remember a film similar to the one you want which we ain’t got cause if you see what I mean they’re basically all the same.”
��“I believe Harold Du Bow starred in Summer Sailors.”
��“Harold Du Bow, Harold Du Bow...never heard of him. Larry, you ever hear of him?” Larry shook his head. “Steve, you ever hear of him?” I shook my head. Roy turned to Hyman and asked, “Can you gimme another name?”
��“I believe John Erector had a part, and also Fat-headed Frank Anthony.”
��“Never heard of these people. But gimme a couple of the female stars. They kinda stick in my mind more, if you know what I mean.”
��“There are no female stars, anyway biologically female stars, although there are some excellent...”
��“Whoa, whoa...how come there ain’t no female stars in a porno flick?”
��“I thought you knew I was talking about Gay Cinema, more specifically, the Little Boy Gay Cinema.”
��“Why do you come in Champagne Video? This is a family establishment.”
��“I’ve moved here to care for my sick mother. She’s had a stroke. I want to be close to her. I want to take care of her. Mother is mother and no one can replace her. So...I thought since this video store is only a block away from where I’m living now with mother you might have had some here. Many stores do...”
��“That’s in Manhattan, not Brooklyn,” Roy answered with anger in his voice.
��“It isn’t like Brooklyn is a separate country, Roy,” said Hyman laughing.
��“No. I’ll say it again just in case you ain’t heard me the first time. We ain’t got nothing of that nature here. Just regular porno.”
��Hyman smiled. He had amazingly white teeth. “Well, Roy, regular for you is not regular for me. It’s in the genes.”
��“I’m saying you shouldn’t be wearing no sign around here. That’s all I’m saying.”
��“I’m not a solitary figure. It’s not in my nature.”
��Roy stared at him. “What exactly does that mean?” he finally asked.
��“I like to practice what I preach, but...but...let’s not dwell on that. How does one become a member?”
��I could tell that Roy was shocked. After all he’d said, Hyman still wanted to become a member. He replied coldly, “All you got to do is bring in a phone bill or an electric bill or a gas bill with your name and address on it.”
��“I won’t be able to do that at the moment because I’m living with my mother, as I have already informed you, but wait, I could bring in my Manhattan bills. They all have proof of my name and address.”
��“Fine.”
��“Wonderful,” Hyman exclaimed cheerfully, putting out his hand to Roy. Once again Roy shook his hand. Hyman walked out of the store.
��“He didn’t shake my hand and he didn’t shake Larry’s hand, but he shook your hand twice, Roy. What does that mean?” I asked, jokingly.
��Roy closed his eyes. His body swayed back and forth. For a moment I thought he was going to faint. With his eyes still closed he said, “Why the fuck did he have to come in here? Now every fucking time he comes in he’s gonna want to shake my hand.” Then his eyes burst open. “His fucking hand felt like a dead fish.”
��“You don’t have any Gay porno,” Larry said. “I don’t think he’ll come back.”
��Roy laughed bitterly. “Once them Russians find out they can rent fag porno, they’ll stock it. Those bastards are only interested in making a buck. They don’t care who the fuck they hurt. Shit. What’s this fucking world coming to?”
��I noticed that Roy had been cursing quite a bit. He did that when he was upset.
��He went on, “So, fuck it, the guy is gay. I don’t see how that’s possible but since there’s so many it must be possible. But this guy likes little boys. Now that ain’t fucking right. Plus it’s against the law. Yeah, the next time he comes in here I could make a citizen’s arrest and drag his ass down to the ŒSix One’ precinct and have him put in the slammer. Billy Collins will lock his fag ass up in a fucking flying minute. I was like a hero to Billy when he was growing up being that his dad got killed when he was four. I was like a second father to him. In fact I think I’ll call him right now and tell him to be on the lookout for this Hyman guy.”
��“Roy, you can’t arrest a person for watching gay kiddy porn,” I said calmly.
��Larry shook his head back and forth. “What I can’t understand about these guys,” he said, “is that there are so many beautiful women out there. I was in Manhattan and between 17th and 18th street on 5th Avenue I counted thirty-eight beautiful women in the space of twelve minutes. One right after the other walked past me. I couldn’t believe the sheer numbers of fantastic women.”
��“Did you try to pick any of them up?” I asked.
��“I’m a poor bastard, Steve. The most beautiful ones go to the rich. The rich get everything in this world. The rich are the blessed of this world. How many times do I have to say it: this country is stacked against the working man.”
��“Don’t do that Commie shit now,” said Roy angrily. “We got a situation on our hands.”
��“What situation is that?”
��“There’s a pervert loose in the Bay. This shit is not right. This shit has got to stop. You don’t know what this means. This is a fucking nightmare come true...a horror of the worst shit...”
��“The real horror, Roy, is the way the working man has to eat shit every day of his life. That’s a structural horror. This guy, so he’s Gay. Who gives a damn? His foot ain’t on my neck. The boss’s foot is on my neck. The boss’s foot is up my ass. I talked up. I laid it out straight. You know what? The guys on the job they don’t wanna hear it. Brainwashed. The whole fucking bunch of Œem. Zonked on TV, pussy, McDonald’s, weed...do I have to go on?” He paused for a moment. Then he continued, “What are you gonna do? You can’t do nothing.”
��“GOD SAID THEY’RE SINNERS,” Roy screamed frantically.
��Larry put up his hands to stop his diatribe. “God said...lemme tell you something, Roy, nobody knows what God said. I seen those guys on TV, not so much now, after Swaggert got caught with that there whore, but before, they was saying God said this to me, God said that to me, but how come God never said to one of them, ŒFeed the hungry, give every person a decent place to live?’ Answer me that, Roy. How come God didn’t say those words?”
��I stared at Larry. He had somewhat of a southern accent which added a certain flavor to his remarks. “I haven’t heard this kind of talk in a long time,” I said.
��“I guess I never grew up.”
��“Perhaps that’s all for the better.”
��Roy had a distant look on his face. He seemed to be in another time zone. “Them bastards never leave you alone,” he intoned. “They’re like fucking mosquitoes. They want your blood. They don’t never leave you alone. You fucking got to kill them or they will get you. Don’t you see? Am I the only one who sees? What does a kid know? A poor kid. Nothing. Don’t know nothing and they just...so...”
��Howard Ender asked me for money during the first week of October. It was the first time he had asked me for money this term.
��At the end of June he begged for money. I told him that he had just gotten five checks so I didn’t see the reason for lending him any money. All he said was, “OK, if that’s the way you wanna be.”
��He had been separated from his wife and two children for about ten months. All during the marriage she never worked a day in her life so when the judge ordered a settlement she got more than half his paycheck. Indeed, all he came home with was $240 every two weeks. That wasn’t very much yet if managed that sum carefully he could live comfortably, if not lavishly. But he did not manage his money carefully. He gambled. Some teachers said he spent all his money on dope. I didn’t think so. I thought the gambling took care of all his money. It was true, however, that he did have a glazed look on his face. It was true that when he smoked a cigarette his hand moved extraordinarily slowly toward his lips and when the cigarette did finally reach his mouth the puff lasted a long time and when he exhaled the smoke drifted out with a lassitude reminiscent of heroin users.
��In any case, one thing was certain, he had asked every single teacher in the building for money, at one point in time or another. Those individuals who gave him some coin, he spoke with and laughed at their jokes but those who did not give him money, after repeated attempts, he rarely spoke to, as if they no longer existed for him.
��I remember a week before last Christmas I had given him twenty dollars. I can remember the situation clearly. He motioned to me with his head. I moved closer to him. “Steve,” he whispered. “can I speak to you outside for a moment?” I went into the hall with him. “I know you heard this before but the check is in the mail from grandpa.”
��“The one in Florida?”
��“Yeah. So as soon as I get it I’ll pay you back.”
��“How much?”
��“Whatever you could spare.”
��“How much?”
��“A hundred.”
��“Pick another number.”
��“Fifty.”
��“Try again.”
��“C’mon, Steve, don’t put me through this.”
��“If you had a scintilla of shame you wouldn’t have asked me in the first place.”
��“Twenty,” he laughed.
��“You’re getting close.”
��“Ten.”
��I took a roll of bills from my pocket, peeled off a ten, and gave it to him. When he had the ten in his hand I laughed, “This is a present. Don’t pay me back.”
��“What?”
��“It’s Christmas, right?”
��“Right. But I’ve never known you to give me money.” Then he laughed nervously. “You’re playing with me, right? Getting my hopes up, right?”
��“It’s only a fucking ten dollar bill, Howie.”
��“To you a ten is nothing but to a man like me every penny helps.”
��“How could you get into this state you’re in? Eh?”
��“I’m not good with money.”
��“You should have stayed with your wife and kids. What’s wrong with you? All of a sudden you leave your wife of thirteen years because you want a woman with Œtight flesh.’ That doesn’t make any kind of sense. None whatsoever. The judge was right to take all you got and give it to your wife and kids.”
��“You’re into that psychological stuff. I’m not.”
��“That’s obvious. But, hey, this is Christmas, right? You should be happy in your search for a woman with tight flesh. You should be well. Good things only should come your way.”
��“You really mean that?”
��“I do.”
��“And I really don’t have to pay you back the ten?”
��“You really don’t have to pay me back the ten.”
��“So, could you gimme twenty and it’d be like I owed you the ten you gave me cause I don’t feel good about being a charity case. That sound kosher with you?”
��I laughed loudly. “But you never pay your debts. That’s why I gave you the ten in the first place, to avoid the endless hassle of getting my own money back. Fuck it. Gimme the ten.”
��“It’s Christmas.”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��“It’s still Christmas, right? Lemme keep the ten, OK?”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��“I’m putting the ten in my pocket.”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��“It’s in my pocket. Possession is nine tenths of the law.”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��He breathed deeply and sighed, “I know.”
��I reached into my pocket, took out the roll of bills, peeled off another ten, and gave it to him. “Gratis,” I said.
��“What’s that mean?” he asked hesitantly.
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��“I’m putting the ten in my pocket.”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��“It’s in my pocket. Possession is nine tenths of the law.”
��“You’re a schmuck, Howie.”
��He breathed deeply and sighed, “I know.”
��I smiled, somewhat sadly, but this time I did not reach into my pocket.
��Still, I guess, I had sent him a message.
��The next day he asked me if I wanted to play pool with him on the weekend. This was the time in his life when he was separated from his wife but had not yet found his girlfriend. I told him that I really didn’t play pool.
��On the day before the Christmas Vacation I gave him two tokens because there was a 90% chance of snow that evening, so I felt happy and generous. At that time he told me he was writing a story and that it would be finished after the vacation and would I be good enough to read it and give him some comments. I said that I would.
��During the vacation he left several messages on my answering machine indicating that the writing was not going well and that he was bored out of his skull. He would always preface his message with the same words, “Bernstein, this is a social call. Believe it or not, I’m not asking you for money.” I never returned his calls.
��At this point in his life Howie was renting a room in the apartment of a substitute teacher from Georgia and his French girlfriend because he could not afford a place of his own. Previous to this living arrangement he had been living in a Single Room Occupancy Hotel in Sunset Park but had to move out quickly because the landlady’s son, who had just been released from prison, did not like the way Howie was looking at his mother. In reference to this matter, I believe Howie did not tell me the complete story.
��“Steve, I wonder if you could help me out,” Ender began. “Keep in mind that this is the first time I’m asking for money this term, and that payday is tomorrow so you’ll get back whatever you give me today tomorrow.”
��Before I could answer him, Seth Reinhold walked into the Teacher’s Center. He looked pale. There was no lilt to his walk. I figured he must have endured a couple of difficult classes. I often helped him out by speaking to a student whom he couldn’t deal with. “Rough class?” I asked.
��“My father had a stroke,” he replied in a monotone.
��“I’m sorry to hear that.”
��“He’s ninety-two.”
��“Still, a father is a father.”
��Then he took out his Times, his tea, his sandwich, and began to settle into his routine.
��Howie Ender began his quest once again, “One day, Steve. I’ll give you interest. Gimme eight today and I’ll give you ten tomorrow.”
��“I don’t understand. You have a woman now. What does she do? Unemployed?...the blind leading the blind. Is that what you got yourself into?”
��“She’s a Paraprofessional at P.S. 128 on Parkside Avenue across from Prospect Park.”
��“So, good.”
��“Gimme seven and I’ll give you ten.”
��“Tomorrow you get paid. What’s the point?”
��At this juncture, Ender turned his attention to Seth Reinhold. “Sorry to hear about your dad,” he said. “I hope everything turns out good for him.” He waited for a response but Reinhold said nothing. “I said I hope everything works out good for him.”
��“What? I’m sorry. I was someplace else. What did you say?”
��“I said I hope everything works out good for your father.”
��“Thanks.”
��Just then Carol Curtis walked into the Teacher’s Center. She nodded her head vaguely to everyone, then sat on the couch. She took out her small Bible and began reading. Her lips moved as she read. I didn’t know if her lips moved when she read other material because I had never seen her reading anything but the Bible.
��A moment later Jim Varone shuffled in. He nodded to everyone and sat two chairs away from Howie. He took out student papers and began to mark them. In the old days he would have had a witty remark as soon as he came in. But that was the old days.
��“Did you see him? How does he look?” asked Ender desperately.
��Jim slowly raised his head. “She won’t let me,” he droned. “The witch got a court order to stop me from seeing my own son.” That utterance must have taken a full forty-eight seconds.
��“Jim, I was talking to Seth,” said Ender impatiently.
��I don’t know if Jim heard him or not because he went on, “So I smoked a few joints in my time. That don’t make me Public Enemy Number One.”
��Suddenly, for the first time, I saw a bit of the old Jim.
��“Jim, Jim, I was talking to Seth,” said Ender.
��“Oh,” said Jim, returning to his student papers.
��“So did you see him? How does he look?” said Ender, attempting to draw Reinhold into a conversation.
��“He lives in California,” said Seth putting down the Times. “My brother is there. He saw him.”
��“How did he look?”
��Seth took out his honey bear, removed the small yellow plastic cap, and squeezed a glob of honey into the tea. Then he took a sip and shook his head back and forth. He squeezed another glob of honey into the tea. I looked at Ender. He was sitting at the edge of his chair. His forehead pulsed with sweat. He was impatient to get on with the business at hand. Seth took another sip of tea and this time he was satisfied. Finally he placed the little yellow cap back on the pointed tip. “He’s an old man but this the fist time in his life that he’s ever really been sick. His father, my grandfather, lived to be ninety-four.”
��“That’s great,” said Ender. “It shows you got good genes.””
��“But my mother died when she was fifty-four, so I don’t know.”
��“Let’s hope you got more of your father’s genes than your mother’s genes,” said Howie Ender. Reinhold forced a smile on his face. “Say, I’m a little short. Could you go for a five?”
��“WHAT,” I blurted out. “Is there something wrong with you, Ender? The man’s father just had a stroke...he’s close to the coffin...and you bother him with a thing like this.”
��“What kind of a way is that for you to talk, Bernstein. We should wish the man be well and live a long life.”
��“He’s lived a long life. It’s your life you should be worrying about.”
��Ender turned to Seth. “Can you believe how insensitive this guy is!” he proclaimed. “I never would have believed it...to talk such a way.”
��Judith Misbinsky walked into the Teacher’s Center. She had recently been to the beauty parlor so her hair was a gorgeous blonde color. She was also wearing her African outfit. She looked quite stunning. In fact, she was a very pretty woman who looked much younger than forty-one which was her actual age, I believe. Her smooth and sensuous skin flourished without a single blemish.
��“What way is that, Howie?” she asked.
��“It’s Bernstein. The man is an insensitive clod. Reinhold’s father just had a stroke and Bernstein has him in the coffin already.”
��“Do you have to announce that fact to the entire world, Howard.” Seth said. I could sense he was annoyed because the veins in his neck became enlarged.
��“Sorry,” moaned Ender. “I was just trying to stick up for you. I don’t like anybody to bad mouth an old man.”
��I laughed. Judith went to the vending machine and bought a small box of sugar free cookies. She had lost weight as I had lost weight but she had persevered more than I had and kept the weight off.
��“Look, Ender,” I said. “Let’s just cut the bullshit. Continue with your supplications.”
��“This is none of your business, Bernstein.”
��“But it was my business only five minutes ago when you thought you had the chance to put the touch on me.”
��Judith took a bite of her chocolate sugar free cookie. She began to chew and speak at the same time. “Well, what is it? What’s going on?”
��“You wanna know?” Howie asked.
��“I wanna know,” Judith laughed.
��“I’m gonna give you the deal of the century which is if you give me five today I’ll give you ten tomorrow.”
��“THIS IS ABSURD,” I bellowed. “THE MAN IS CUCKOO.”
��Carol Curtis immediately snapped, “Mr. Bernstein, can you please keep it down. There are people in here who are trying to read.”
��Before I could say anything to her Ender said, “You’re jealous of me, Bernstein, cause I got a woman now and you don’t got a woman. You’re jealous cause I got a warm pussy and you don’t.”
��“This conversation is disgusting,” exclaimed Carol Curtis. “I have half a mind to report you to...”
��“The Vice Squad,” Howie Ender interjected.
��Carol lowered her head, stared at the Bible, and began to move her lips furiously.
��“Does this happen here all the time?” asked Judith. “I should visit more often.”
��“I’m gonna say this, Ender,” I declared, “even though I’m not supposed to say this: You are a pathetic manipulating fuck-up. You use people and if you can’t use people they don’t exist for you. That’s first. Second, you don’t know if I’m the Jerk Off King of Brooklyn or if I’m fucking six women at the same time...”
��“BLASPHEMY,” shrieked Carol Curtis raising the small black Bible in her right hand far above her head.
��“Can’t one have a quiet cup of tea without these outbursts,” said Seth turning to her.
��“What did you say, Mr. Liberal?” asked Carol lowering her right hand.
��I muttered, “I believe I was talking. Where was I?”
��“You were claiming to be the Jerk Off King of Brooklyn,” said Judith.
��“Right, so, Ender, you don’t know if I’m the Jerk Off King of Brooklyn, or if I’m fucking six women at the same time, or if I diddle little boys, or if I plug rabbits in my spare time...”
��Carol Curtis raised the small black Bible in her right hand far above her head and shrieked, “GHOUL, FIEND, OGRE, DEVIL INCARNATE, BEAST, MONSTER, CONSORT OF THE ARCHFIEND.” Then, suddenly, she became quiet, her lips churning but silently, even though she was not reading from her small black Bible.
��“These things, I won’t go through them all again,” I said. “You just don’t know You are not privy to the secrets of my life. But, anyway, I pity this poor woman because you, Mr. Howie Ender, have to be getting more from her than she is getting from you. Third, and after I say this I won’t be able to attack you anymore so that’s why I’m doing all the attacking now, I’ve become a Buddhist monk. I have put on the saffron robes. I don’t have sex. Sometimes, though, I’ll relieve the intercellular pressure of my sacs. The Buddha told me, ŒGo ahead, if you have to, every so often, so you don’t go crazy.’”
��Carol Curtis leaped from the couch, came straight for me, and shoved the Bible to within an inch of my nose. Then she clutched it to her breast. “A Boodist Monk...isn’t he the one, Boodah, the one who abandoned his wife and child and walked naked through the forest?” After that brief summary of the origin of Buddhism she walked out of the Teacher’s Center.
��“Are you a Buddhist monk, Steve?” Judith asked.
��“Yes.”
��“That’s heavy. My French boyfriend was into that, very much so. I think a little too much for my taste.”
��“BOODIST MONK,” shrieked Howie Ender.
��“Can we have a little civility. Enough with the screaming. I get plenty of that when I’m in the classroom,” Seth moaned.
��“Sorry, Seth,” said Ender. “It’s just that Bernstein gets on my nerves.” Then he turned to me. “What the hell does ŒBoodist monk’ mean?”
��“Well, I said it, so I can no longer put you down, Ender. I’ll just say I will not give you a cent now, or ever. Please do not ask me at any time or for any reason to do the money thing with you. I will say no more on this matter. As for what it means to be a Buddhist monk, that’s a tough question. But since you asked I must respond. So, it means to do much good and no evil.”
��“Bullshitbullshitbullshit.”
��“Why do you say that, Howie?” I asked gently.
��“Because you don’t believe in doing what you just said cause if you did you would loan me the ten cause loaning me the ten would be a good thing.”
��“Good for you?”
��“Yes.”
��“I don’t think so.”
��“Who are you to say what is good for me? I say giving me the ten would be good for me.” He paused, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Then his eyes burst open. “Oh, oh, I just heard the voice of the Boodah and the voice said, ŒGive Howie a ten. Give Howie a ten. He’s really not a bad guy.’” Then he looked imploringly at me.
��“No,” I stated simply.
��“Fine.” Thereupon Howie Ender turned to Reinhold. “So, can you help me out? I’ve never asked you before. We have a clean slate.”
��“That’s a slippery slope.”
��“Huh?” Howie grunted.
��“He means he doesn’t want to give you anything,” Judith said.
��In an instant Howie’s head turned to Jim who through all of these goings-on was still assiduously marking papers. “Can you lemme have a ten?” groaned Ender.
��Jim raised his head from the pile of student papers and gathered all of them together in a neat pile and then put the pile into his blue Delaney book and stood up. He put his right hand into his right pants’ pocket and pulled out entirely the white material which made up the pocket. Then he let go and it flopped down against the side of his brown pants. Then he shifted the blue Delaney book to his right hand and put his left hand into his left pants’ pocket and pulled out entirely the white material which made up the pocket. Then he let go and it flopped down against the side of his brown pants. He smiled sheepishly and then shrugged his shoulders. Howie seemed to be struck dumb as he watched Jim shuffle out of the Teacher’s Center.
��“How much do you need for God’s sake, Howie?” Judith asked. “Ten? What’s the big deal?” She put her hand into the pocket of her African dress. She pulled out a five and a twenty. She paused for a moment and then laughed. “Here, take the twenty. You’ll pay me back tomorrow, right?”
��“Of course.”
��She handed him the twenty. He stood and walked towards the door. Then he turned, smiled, and said, “And may I say how lovely you look today, Miss Miblinsky.”
��“That’s Misbinsky.”
��“Oh, yes, right. I meant to say that.”
��Slowly but steadily I had gained more than sixty pounds. Since it had been over a period of four years no one seemed to notice until I started eating Betty Crocker’s Bacos. Those artificial bacon bits somehow made my belly really bulge. Perhaps it was the elevated salt content.
��I always did rather well during the day but the nights were dangerous. I thought I should have been past experiencing anxiety because I had been doing so much meditation but that thought didn’t take into account the way mind functions. And anyway a Buddhist didn’t sit to gain something, or to get rid of something. A Buddhist did zazen to do zazen.
��I knew what I had to do. I went to buy Ma Huang a.k.a. Ephedra. This herb increased metabolism. I didn’t want to buy those pills which also contained Kola Nut. Kola Nut was a substance which contained a large amount of caffeine. Ephedra and caffeine were superadditive, that is the combination increased the effectiveness of each individual herb. Taken together they were too potent for my system.
��When I walked in GNC Feng said, “We don’t sell Ma Huang by itself anymore. The FDA has classified it as a Œcontrolled substance.’”
��I didn’t understand why they could sell Ma Huang in a pill which also contained caffeine but could not sell it by itself, especially when the effects were greater when it was combined with caffeine.
��Feng was the Chinese guy who ran the GNC store in the Bay. Some people called him Frankie. I liked to call him by his original name. He didn’t seem to have a preference.
��He must have seen the look of disappointment on my face because a moment later he said, “Steve, you’re a regular customer and we like to take care of our regular customers so I’m going to make a few phone calls and you come back tomorrow and I think I’ll be able to take care of you. But don’t speak about this matter because I wouldn’t want it to get back to headquarters that I’m doing this.”
��“My lips are sealed, Feng. You can be sure of that.”
��The next day I went to GNC. Feng presented a bottle of E.P.H. which contained 833 mg. of pure Ma Huang in each capsule. I was impressed. I didn’t want to ask how he got his hands on it. He simply said, “This is pretty strong stuff, Steve. If you take a couple of pills and you find that it doesn’t agree with you, bring back the rest, no problem.”
��Alfonso, the shy weightlifter with long hair who worked with Feng, said, “Yeah, after your heart bursts, bring back the rest.” Everyone laughed when he threw that bit of information out.
��“You think that could happen?” I asked meekly.
��“This stuff is like taking a hypo of speed straight in the heart muscle,” said Alfonso. “It beats a thousand times a second, then...puff...all gone...internal expansion beyond the limits of the chest cavity...sudden death...no suffering...but you look a mess, blood gushes out of every orifice in the body''nose, eyes, ears, especially asshole, don’t know why that is though.”
��“Lowest orifice in the body,” Feng noted.
��I stared at Alfonso. By now I knew his subtle sense of humor. I wasn’t really frightened. “I don’t want to get fat again,” I sighed. “That and losing my teeth are the two big fears I have. Since I became a Buddhist monk I’m not suppose to have fears but I’m not a great Buddhist monk.”
��Alfonso’s face became quite serious as he murmured, “Like from a Shaolin Temple because I studied with Grand Master Vinnie for about three months but I was on steroids back then cause I was stupid cause I wanted to get the babes so I thought I had to have muscles up the ass even and he said he couldn’t have me as a student as I put poison in the Temple, that’s what he called the body, and so I had to leave but I did meditation when I was with him and I almost stopped taking steroids because the meditation was almost as good as the sex. After all, how much sex could I do in a day? And doing it, the sex, day after day, it loses its...zest. So, to make a long story short, after I quit the steroids I wanted to go back and study with Grand Master Vinnie but he had left for Palermo on a matter of honor. That’s what I heard. So you can see why I’m impressed with the fact you’re a Buddhist monk.”
��While Alfonso was speaking I noticed that Feng’s face had become sad. I couldn’t figure out why. “What’s going on, Feng?” I asked. “I’m not a narc, if that’s what you’re worried about. This stuff is safe with me. I will never reveal where I got it from.”
��“I was thinking about my grandfather. He came from mainland China. He was a Buddhist, not a priest or nothing fancy, maybe even a mix of Confucian and Buddhist, something like that. He died when I was a kid. All I remember was the long white beard, thin though, not a full one like you got, Steve. He had his own room in our house and the air was always fragrant with incense. I never was in there when a stick wasn’t burning. He never turned the light on. When it got dark, he lit candles.
��“But my dad didn’t like laundry so he got a job with the Transit Authority driving trains. Then he turned Christian. Not that I got anything against turning Christian. I’m a Christian myself, sort of, I suppose, but I can’t get into the feeling of it, some guy on a cross who died for my sins. I ain’t really sinned all that much when you come to think of it. I once cheated on a chemistry test in high school but I ain’t never robbed or stole nothing or hit a woman or anything like that. And I do a lot of charity work for kids with AIDS, so what sins is this of mine he died for?
��“But I’m not even talking about the...the theory of it. I just think my dad should of stayed true to what his dad believed in. It’s lucky, in a way, my grandfather died before my dad switched. But I’m thinking of going back to the old ways. I think it’s in my genes. Does that sound crazy, Steve?” Feng became silent for a moment. He closed his eyes and squeezed them tightly as if he were trying to see some image which was dim and distant. Then he opened them. “So how come you became a Buddhist monk? After all we don’t get too many coming in here.”
��“Suffering, Feng. That’s about it.”
��“Suffering?”
��“I did a lot of it in my time. And, I am a Nothing. I’m getting fat, once again. I can’t stand my job. I can’t fall asleep because of anxiety. Do you wanna hear more? There’s lots more. Stuff with my mother. Stuff with my father. But, maybe, I really became a Buddhist monk because of all the fat people in the world. It’s obvious why. I’m one of them.”
��“You’re not that fat.”
��“I could get there in an instant, believe me. I lost a hundred and twenty pounds and I’ve gained sixty of them back. Whenever I see a fat person my heart goes out to them because I know what it’s like for them. I know from the inside. I know. I know. They’re cut off from the energy of the Universe.”
��“That’s heavy,” Alfonso murmured.
��“That’s heavy,” Feng concurred.
��I started to laugh and laugh. When I calmed down I went on. “The energy of the Universe, fellas, that’s where it’s at. Once you get a taste of it, you’re set for life. The trick is getting that taste of it. When you’re fat, the only pleasure you can experience is through your mouth: Eating. It’s a poor substitute for being open to the energy of the Universe. When I behold a fat person all that agony is out there for me to see. They can’t hide their suffering. The drooping belly, the thick ankles, the mountainous ass, the chaffed thighs, the shortened breath. The stares. I know. At night sitting in front of the TV...EATING...that’s how they get pleasure, that’s the only way they can get pleasure but we don’t live for pleasure. We live for energy'we live to participate in the energy process of the Universe and to get at that energy process means we have to open up and let go, flow into the total exertion of the moment and be a spontaneous instantaneous constant Becoming. See? This very body is the body of the Buddha. This very place is the Lotus Land.”
��“Whoa,” Alfonso said.
��“No shit,” sighed Feng.
��“You talk just like a Shaolin Grand Master,” Alfonso exclaimed.
��“I may talk like one but I can’t yet live like one. That’s a life’s work. But fine. I’m not greedy. Perhaps someday I will live in the flow without fear, or, perhaps, I’ll gain sixty more pounds and be back to a fat flabby hippo again.”
��“No way,” Feng asserted firmly.
��“Stick to the diet, Grand Master Steve,” Alfonso asserted.
��“Yeah,” Feng exclaimed. “Don’t give up. You’re a wise guy. I never would have known that if we didn’t have this little talk. And I think I got to have a little talk with my dad, but...can I take that back? I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him Jesus is not for me anymore. You won’t think less of me, will you, Grand Master Steve?”
��Before I could respond Alfonso laughed, “Not I. All it means, Feng, my boy, is that you’re as messed up as the rest of us, that is except for Grand Master Steve.”
��“I’m right there in with you guys,” I said.
��Seth Reinhold’s father died. He went to Los Angeles to attend the funeral. He missed three days of school. The days weren’t taken from his sick bank because the Board of Education allowed three days to mourn the death of a relative. When he returned he didn’t look much different. I had thought he might look weary or sad. There was one difference, however, in his appearance. He no longer wore a tie. Some days he wore a sports jacket and other days he didn’t. But the tie was gone forever. His moods were still subject to how his classes went. If they went well, he was in a good mood, but if they did not go well he would be silent and read the Times long after he had finished his sandwich.
��I was curious about the absent tie. He seemed to be in a good mood so I asked, “Why no more tie, Seth?”
��“You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Bernstein.”
��As soon as he said that I knew he had experienced some difficulty in his class. I began to laugh. I don’t know why. I guess it was because, in some respects, his behavior was so predictable.
��“What’s so funny, Mr. Bernstein?” he asked.
��“You’re so predictable, Reinhold. Something bad happens in your class and you become irritable. Like clockwork. Never fails.”
��“You think you know all about me. Well, you don’t.”
��“Nobody knows everything about anyone. But certain things are obvious.”
��“For your information I didn’t have any problems in class. I had some difficulties at home. I’d rather not talk about it.”
��“I thought you had a great marriage. I mean, that’s one of the main reasons you’re not a shit like I am.”
��“What are you talking about?”
��“Both of us don’t like what we’re doing. You’re a painter. I’m a photographer. Both of us could be doing more with our lives but we’re not. We haven’t sold a single piece of work...”
��“Yet...”
��“What do you mean by Œyet’? You either have sold a painting or you haven’t. That’s simple.”
��“I have some pieces on display.”
��“Wow! I’m impressed. What gallery? I’d like to take a look at your work.”
��“They’re not exactly in a gallery. They’re on display in a frame shop.”
��“OK. I can accept that. Not a gallery but they’re out there. If someone sees a painting and buys it that’s just like if a gallery sold it.”
��Just then Judith walked into the Teacher’s Center. Her blouse was out on the left side and her hair was a dim brown. I could tell she hadn’t been to the beauty parlor in some time. She walked toward the vending machine to get her usual sugar free cookies but when she returned she had a bag of M&M candy. She immediately opened it and swallowed what seemed to be half the bag in one gulp, then chewed furiously.
��I turned to her. I noticed lines underneath her eyes. They crisscrossed each other and were etched deeply into the soft skin. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Where are the sugar free cookies you always get?”
��“Ask me if I care,” she mumbled.
��“What?”
��“Why do I stay with that man? Ask me that.”
��I obliged her. “Why do you stay with that man?”
��“I don’t fucking know.”
��“That’s an honest answer.”
��“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW,” she repeated emphatically. I don’t think she had heard my response. “We went up to my parent’s house in the Poconos for the weekend. Everything was going fine. I made dinner for the both of us and then after we finished eating I asked him to help with the dishes. He exploded. He fucking exploded! We were all alone there. I got scared for a moment at his fury. Then I asked myself, ŒWhat the fuck am I getting scared about? He disapproves of this one specific thing. That doesn’t mean he isn’t in love with me anymore.’ So I said to him, ŒI think it’s only right for you to help with the dishes since I made dinner.’ Well, that was just too much for him! Too, too, much. He got up and started to smash the dishes on the floor, one after the other. After he had smashed about who knows how many because after the second dish I closed my eyes, he stopped and screamed, ŒNOW CLEAN THAT SHIT UP.’ I did. God, don’t ask me why. And don’t ask me why I had to call him up this morning and ask if everything was still good between us. Don’t ask me. I don’t want to be asked...because if I can’t come up with an answer I’m going to have to go back into therapy and if I have to go back into therapy it means that I’m rudderless on a sea of agony again and I don’t want to admit that. I’m forty-one years old. How many failed relationships can I go through? I’ve fucked half the men in Europe. It’s time to settle down.”
��“Being married is no bed of roses,” Seth said.
��“Being alone is no bed of roses either,” I added.
��“You don’t have to tell me about being alone,” Seth sighed.
��“You’re a happily married man. So don’t come on like you know what it’s like to be alone. You got a wife and two kids. You’re never alone.”
��“I moved out of my parent’s house when I was eighteen. I married when I was twenty-eight. I know what loneliness is. Those ten years were the worst of my life. Thank God I’ll never have to experience that anguish again.”
��Judith tilted her head back and gulped down the remaining bag of M&M candy and once again chewed furiously. There was silence except for a clicking cracking sound as the candy was demolished. She finished the batch of sugar coated chocolates rather quickly, then looked at Reinhold. “Bernstein is right. You don’t know what agony is like. You have a great house in Park Slope, a fantastic Steinway piano...”
��“How did you know about that? You were never in my home.”
��“Ralph Caputo visited your house. He told me. And he also told me you got like a dream house. He never heard a stereo system like you have, and the TV is huge, and the carpet, and that Chinese rug in your den! I don’t have a den. I live in a tiny studio apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Do you have a den, Steve?”
��“I don’t have a den.”
��“See. I know something about pianos. Caputo said it was a big Steinway. A STEINWAY! my God, that’s the piano they use for all the major recitals. I bet it must have cost six or seven thousand dollars.”
��Reinhold laughed. It was an embarrassed laugh. I knew he wore expensive clothes. His wife was a bookkeeper at a Wall Street trading firm. He once let it out that she earned sixty grand a year. Apparently she didn’t have a college degree but she was a good worker and so she kept getting raises year after year. Her bosses, two of them, each made more than a million for the last six years.
��Reinhold had often talked about quitting teaching for awhile and living off her salary. He was seriously thinking about doing it and would have done it but he was afraid he couldn’t handle being alone after his wife and kids left the house. He said that he needed the contact with people which teaching afforded him. When he told me that I thought it was a nice option to have, one which many people never get.
��Another factor in his decision was his standard of living. He didn’t know if he could handle a “reduced” life style. After all, he sent both his kids to camp every summer and also traveled with his wife to Europe frequently. It worried him that he couldn’t handle such things on just her salary. As he often said, “I have come to love money.”
��Still, he complained constantly that he did not have enough time to paint and that teaching in this building was a nightmare. He now had the money which he said he loved, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to paint full time but that meant being alone more often than he could accept and reducing his income more than he could accept. He was conflicted, I guess.
��I stared at him. I was impressed that he would spend that much for a piano. “That’s a lot of money to spend for a piano. I mean, you’re a painter, not a pianist.”
��I’m a lot of things, Steve. You think you know me, but you don’t.”
��“You sound like you have secrets.”
��“Not secrets. Just matters you don’t know about...like the piano. You didn’t even know about that.”
��“What’s to know?”
��“Judith wasn’t even close to how much it cost.”
��She went to the vending machine and got another bag of M&M candy. When she sat down she didn’t gulp half the bag this time. Instead she put a single M&M in her mouth and slowly began to suck it. The sides of her cheeks went in and out. “Ten thousand,” she blurted out.
��“Try twenty,” Seth said in a rather embarrassed tone of voice.
��“TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS,” I howled.
��“Yes. I get a great deal of pleasure playing the piano. There is no comparison when you play on a good Steinway, and by the way the one we bought was used...”
��“USED,” I shrieked.
��“The new ones are not quite as exquisite as the ones they built fifteen years ago.”
��Judith stared at Reinhold. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Your wife plays the piano also,” she said at last. “I like that. When two people love music it creates a strong bond between them. I keep thinking, What holds Alex and me together besides the sex?” Then she popped a red M&M in her mouth and began to suck it without answering her question.
��“Oh, my wife doesn’t play the piano,” Reinhold remarked casually. “No one in the house does but me.”
��“Your wife doesn’t play?” Judith asked.
��“No.”
��“And she let you buy it?”
��Reinhold laughed. “Yes. But what do you mean Œlet’? She realizes how much pleasure I get playing the piano, so of course she didn’t have an objection.”
��“She must love you very much,” Judith sighed. “You are a lucky man, Seth Reinhold.”
��“You are a very lucky man, Seth Reinhold,” I added. “A fantastic house, a devoted wife, two lovely children, a twenty thousand dollar piano, a combined income in excess of ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS, paintings about to be sold. Wow.”
��He took a sip of his tea. I could sense it wasn’t sweet enough for him. He opened his briefcase and took out his honey bear and squeezed a large glob of honey into the tea. He seemed to have gotten into a routine which gave his life a sense of order and stability. So what if there were the occasionally crazy classes, they didn’t happen every day and when they did happen it wasn’t the entire period. So he wanted to spend more time painting, yet he still managed to paint almost every day. The weekends gave him a big chunk of time to paint. There were the summers...so, all in all, he lived a happy life.
��He took another sip of tea. “Not hot enough,” he said. “It’s not all a bed of roses, Judith, like I said before. Marriage has its ups and downs.”
��Judith tilted her head back and dropped half the M&M candies into her mouth. She didn’t chew them. She sucked them. I could hear them bang against one another in her mouth. There was also a sloshing sound because of all the saliva her mouth was producing. The cheeks, as before, went in and out. After a minute or so they had become soft enough for her to speak. “Tell me about the ups and downs.”
��“I don’t really think this is the place to reveal family secrets.”
��“Let me tell you something which perhaps you don’t know. I’m an utter failure when it come to men. Oh, I can get a man but after that I just don’t know how to live with him. I just don’t know. I’m forty-one years old, so I should know. I need help. I need a few pointers. A small number of hints. That’s all. You can’t do that for me?” Her voice sounded so plaintive. A heartfelt yearning suffused her entire being. I didn’t think Seth could refuse such an earnest request.
��“Last night we had an argument about the salt shaker. I was pouring the salt from the large container into the salt shaker. I spilled a little on the kitchen counter. This drove her up the wall. And then she went on and on how I keep the house like a pigsty. I don’t agree. I think I do more of the household chores than most men. I come home before she does and so I prepare dinner. I do the laundry. I do the dishes. But I spilled a little salt. She got very upset. She’s a perfectionist.”
��“You appear like that to me, Seth. You always are so impeccably dressed'a tie, a pressed sports jacket, shined shoes. To me you’re the perfectionist.”
��“Seth isn’t wearing a tie, Judith,” I said softly. “He hasn’t worn a tie since his father died.”
��She opened her eyes in an exaggerated way. “See, I just don’t notice things.”
��“We’re all like that,” said Seth, “to some extent. We don’t see what’s in front of us.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I felt sad when my father died. I liked the idea that he was still alive. Now both my mother and father are gone. My life feels different now. Of course I didn’t see him all that much because he lived on the West coast but just the fact he was alive gave me a sense of strength, not that we had the greatest relationship. He was rather distant. He had children late in life, perhaps that was why. Perhaps it was his Austrian background. More likely he never learned how to be a father because of his father, the one and only Leopold Reinhold, the Stranglemeister. He was an authoritarian rat. I saw him smack my older brother once. Leopold was in his late eighties. My brother was nine. I will never forget the shape of Leopold Stranglemeister’s hand on my brother’s face'a red puffy welt emblazoned on his cheek. So...no tie because I always hated wearing a tie and after my father died I just didn’t have the heart for it.”
��Judith finished her second bag of M&M candy. She began to stand up. I grabbed her hand and said, “C’mon, you’re gonna O.D. on sugar. You don’t want to wind up like me. I’ve gained back half the weight I lost.”
��Judith sat down and stared at Seth. It was obvious she wanted him to continue with these relational tidbits. He must have realized what her stare meant. “More?” he asked. She nodded her head up and down, but she did so with such innocence that Seth laughed and went on, “It wasn’t only the salt shaker last night. It was my son. He’s hyperactive and sometimes he blinks more than normal. It comes and goes, this extreme blinking, but when it comes she won’t leave him alone. Last night the blinking was very bad. I don’t know why, no one does really. We’ve taken him to all the doctors. Last night he was blinking uncontrollably and that drove her up the wall. Like I said she’s a perfectionist and I think she can’t stand the fact that her son is not perfect, that he’s damaged. She won’t ever admit that. Yes, yes, she does love him but somewhere in the back of her mind this hyperactivity, this blinking, this running around the house troubles her terribly. Maybe she blames me, my genes, because it certainly couldn’t be her genes which are responsible for his behavior. So last night she wouldn’t leave the boy alone. Yelling and yelling at him to stop blinking and of course he didn’t stop because the blinking is not under his control but a perfectionist believes that everything is under the control of the will and that if you just tried hard enough every situation would yield to willpower. Well, my son kept blinking. She kept screaming. I couldn’t take it. I started screaming at her...”
��“You, Seth?” I asked. “I’ve never heard you scream in all the years I’ve known you.”
��“You don’t live with me,” he said.
��“That’s the whole point, Steve,” Judith sighed. “That’s why I can’t live with a man. I can fuck a man into ultimate bliss, but it’s the after part of waking up in the morning and who’s gonna make breakfast, who’s gonna do the dishes, who’s gonna wash the bathtub, where should we go to see a movie...go on, Seth, I’m learning so much from you.”
��“We had a fight. I took my son upstairs because I didn’t want him to think he was bad. I don’t think my son realized that she was saying the blinking was bad, not that he was bad. I just took him by the hand and led him upstairs and we went into his room. He was crying. I held him in my arms. His little body was trembling. After a few minutes I put Christmas Vacation in the VCR for him. He loves that movie. I watched TV with him for a little while. Then I went downstairs and tried to explain to her that the blinking was not under his control and that to tell him to stop was futile. She listened quietly for a bit and let go of that topic and started on the spilt salt and how messy I keep the house. It was a bad scene. I just have to wait until things calm down.”
��“So what did you resolve?” Judith asked.
��“We didn’t resolve anything. I’m not going to change the way she feels. I accept these things. I’ll try not to spill salt next time. A marriage is a series of compromises. You go on. You make the best of it. Sometimes a marriage goes a bit off track, so you have to work to make it get back on track. When you’ve been married for seventeen years these things happen.”
��Howie Ender came into the Teacher’s Center. He sat down next to Judith. She turned to him and shouted, “I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING MONEY. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE YOU FUCKING MOPE.” He stood up and left the Teacher’s Center without saying a word. He never responded. I knew how he thought. In a couple of months she might be good for another twenty. Feelings change.
��“Roy, do you have a movie called Fatso? Dom DeLuise is in it.”
��“Is that the movie where the guy can’t stop eating?”
��“Yeah. That’s the one.”
��“I know we got it but I don’t recall the number.” He then punched in the title on the computer. “Yeah. I got it, 227. That’s one of the first movies we ever got here. Not too many people take it out. Is Dom DeLuise dead? I think I read somewhere he caught a heart attack a couple of years ago. He was like four hundred and twenty pounds when he croaked.”
��“I don’t know. I hope not.”
��Richie walked in. He went directly to the porno section and instantly pulled three tapes from the same shelf. He appeared to choose them at random. Then he walked to the front counter and put them down. Roy took the empty boxes and went in back to get the videos. He knew Richie’s number by heart. He ran the computer pen across each video and then put them in the plastic boxes. Richie picked them up and put them in a large Key Food shopping bag. He sort of smiled and mumbled, “See ya.” I stared at him as he trudged out of the store. He must have been in his early sixties. He had a full head of gray hair.
��As soon as he had gone I said to Roy, “He didn’t even look what videos he took out. I seen him just pull three off the shelf while his head was turned the other way.”
��“He don’t talk much either,” Roy said.
��“You must see a lot of characters. I just get a glimpse of them but you get the full dose.”
��“That I do, Steve. That I do.”
��A moment later a teenage kid entered the store. As soon as he came in Roy shook his head back and forth. I figured the kid wanted to take out a porno movie. He was tall, very skinny, and wore a Rangers shirt. I noticed that his eyes blinked rapidly. “Why?” was all he asked.
��“Your mom called a few minutes ago and said you didn’t do your homework. You know the rules. First you do the homework, then you can rent a video. C’mon, Gilbert, this is for your own good. You got to get out of high school. You don’t want to be no drop out cause if you drop out, What’s going to become of you? Think of the future.”
��“I am thinking of the future. That’s why I wanna take out Last Action Hero.”
��“THAT’S SHIT. THAT’S A BOMB. I wouldn’t let you take that out even if you did do your homework.”
��“No way. Arnold never made a bad movie in his life. The critics were jealous. That’s why they panned it.”
��“Forget the critics. The public didn’t go to see it. But that’s besides the point. How is watching a video thinking of the future?”
��“I watch a movie and it relaxes me and then I can do my homework much better.”
��“BULLSHIT. You take out a video in the afternoon and watch it three, four times, and pass out. Then the homework don’t never get done.”
��Gilbert’s eyes began to blink wildly. It was like I was watching him in fast forward. He spoke very excitedly, “This is a free country, Roy. What am I in jail? What are you my father?”
��“So, go to another video store. Don’t bust my chops now, Gil. During all this bullshit you could have finished half your homework.”
��“OK. OK. But I still want Last Action Hero. Pull it for me and hold it. I’ll be back about seven.”
��“Now you’re talking.”
��Gilbert walked out and just as he left Larry walked in. He wore a faded purple Grateful Dead tee shirt and the same yellow cap with the surveyor’s tripod on the crown.
��“Gilbert looked upset,” Larry said. “What’d he want? A tape in the afternoon?”
��“Yeah, but, c’mon, you know what happens then.”
��“Yeah.”
��I looked at Roy. I was a bit confused. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
��Roy began the story, “The kid has been in high school for three years now and got like eleven credits. All he does is wanna watch videos. Fine. But his father has a severe and hopeless heart condition and the mother has to stay home to watch the old man. They ain’t got much money. The old man used to grind knives, but these days there’s not much call and then he got this heart condition. All he wants is to see Gil graduate from high school before he croaks. I do Œem a favor. I don’t charge Gil nothing. The Russians got enough money. They don’t need to take money from the Maresca family. That’s why he has to come in here to get the videos. And if one of the Russians happens to be in the store when he comes in I take a dollar, or whatever, out of my own pocket and put it in the register. What are you gonna do?”
��Roy’s eleven year old son, Joey, came in with one of his friends. Joey was eating a cherry ice. He had dark skin, the color of honey. Roy had married a Philippine woman with dark skin. Roy was a devoted father. In fact, he always talked about Joey but very little about his wife. I didn’t ask him why this was so. I just accepted it, but I did find it strange.
��Larry was returning In the Name of the Father. I had seen the movie and liked it quite a lot. Larry remarked, “Steve, we got to watch this guy, Daniel Day Lewis. I know. I know what I said about Brando, and this guy is still too young to make judgments, but we got to watch him. The transformation from clown to political activist in this film was magnificent, and the part about the guy who wrote with his toes...the man must be watched.”
��“I can’t argue with you there. But does he have that Œstar’ quality? There are lots of guys who can act, but star quality don’t come along so often.”
��While I was speaking someone tapped on the front glass door. It was Hyman Cohen and a woman in a wheelchair. He tapped on the door again. Joey quickly ran to the door and opened it. Hyman tilted the wheelchair back and lifted the front wheels over the single step which led to the interior of the store. Then he lifted the back wheels over the step and pushed his mother into the store.
��He wore the same black shirt and black pants as before, and also the same cowboy boots. His mother’s head tilted to the left. A few wisps of gray hair covered her head. There were brownish splotches on her face. Her mouth was agape. I couldn’t see any teeth. Her eyes were coated with a dull yellow film. Even though it was the end of October, the day was quite warm, an Indian Summer day. But she wore a gray wintercoat with rather large pearl buttons. The coat was long but the bottom of a housedress extended beyond it. I could see the image of pale roses on the material. She wore black shoes and black stockings which went up under the pale roses. Hyman and his mother were a striking duo.
��He wheeled her to the counter. Larry stepped off to the right as far as he could go and I moved to the left. As usual Hyman put out his hand before him. “So good to see you again, Roy.” Roy put out his hand to quickly get the formality over with. Hyman didn’t offer to shake my hand, nor did he offer to shake Larry’s hand.
��Joey began to bounce his basketball and after a few bounces he put the ball on the floor and began to use it as a soccer ball and kicked it toward his friend. The kid kicked it back to Joey but apparently he put too much force into the kick and the ball slammed into a wall of tape boxes and knocked several down. Roy spoke calmly, “Joey, you got the whole park to play. This is not the place to kick around a basketball with your friend.”
��Joey smiled. His teeth seemed brilliant against his dark skin. “Sorry, dad.” Then he picked up the ball and continued to eat his ices.
��Hyman stared at Joey during this brief dialogue. Roy saw Hyman stare at Joey. A strange look seeped across Roy’s face. Not annoyance, not impatience, perhaps fear.
��“The other day,” Hyman said, “or some days ago, I don’t recall, you mentioned I needed a phone bill and a Con Ed bill, and I said I’d get mine from my apartment in Manhattan, but due to certain circumstances I had to leave that apartment and so my current residence and my primary residence is now here in Sheepshead Bay. Since the phone is in my mother’s name and the Con Ed bill is in my mother’s name, I thought I should bring her here and secure her a card and that I might be able to use her card. I understand that supplementary membership is often available in many video stores.” Then he produced several phone bills and several Con Ed bills and placed them on the counter.
��“Yeah. We got that. So you want your mother to join and for you to use her card. Yeah, we do that here. What’s your mother’s name? I’ll make out a card for her.”
��“It’s right here on the phone bill, Roy. Mildred Cohen.”
��“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Roy took a small box from under the counter, lifted a blank card, and carefully printed Mildred Cohen on it. He took the computer pen and ran it across the card and then typed her name into the computer and that Hyman Cohen was authorized to use Mildred Cohen’s card. He reached under the counter, seized a small laminating machine, and plugged it in. “It got to heat up for a few minutes,” he said.
��“So now that I’m part of the Champagne Video family, can you recommend a film?”
��Roy didn’t say a word but Larry remarked, “In the Name of the Father. I just seen it and like I was telling Steve, the guy in it is an up and coming actor to be watched.” He handed the plastic box to Hyman.
��Roy put the card into a plastic envelope and then put the plastic into a paper carrier which he placed between two rollers and the carrier was pulled through the small machine. Roy opened the paper carrier and looked at the still warm plastic card. He had placed the thin cardboard just right so that it was perfectly centered within the plastic. He took the plastic video box from Hyman, opened it, ran the computer pen across it to clear Larry’s number from the tape and then punched Hyman’s number into the computer and ran the pen across the tape. Hyman had taken out his first video.
��Once more Hyman put out his hand to Roy and once more Roy dutifully shook his hand. Then Hyman turned to Joey and took two small steps towards him and put out his hand. Joey immediately put out his hand also. They shook. Hyman said softly, “That’s a good little boy,” said Hyman softly. Roy stared at the handshake intently. Larry stared at the handshake. I stared at the handshake. The only one who did not stare at the handshake was Mildred Cohen. She didn’t even turn her head. At last, Hyman let go of Joey’s hand.
��Hyman put the plastic box under his arm and pushed the wheelchair along the aisle. When he neared the door he paused for a moment, turning his head toward us, but didn’t say a word. Joey immediately ran to the door and opened it for Hyman and his mother. Going down the step would be a bit more difficult than going up because the forward momentum might have hurled his mother out of the chair but Hyman must have done this innumerable times and so he did the maneuver quite expertly.
��As soon as he was down the single step he motioned to Joey. Then he quickly plunged his hand in his pocket and came out with a bill and put it into Joey’s hand. From where I stood I couldn’t make out how much it was.
��Joey ran back into the store. “Hey, dad, the guy gave me a buck for opening the door. Neat. Eh? I’m gonna get another ice, and I think I’ll buy one for my buddy here, being that I’m so well off.” The two boys ran out of the store.
��Larry didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word. We both looked at Roy. He seethed. “I will fucking kill that faggot.”
��“He didn’t do anything, Roy,” Larry said calmly.
��“Isn’t it better to kill him before he does something horrible than to kill him after he does something horrible? Did you see the way he looked at Joey? And what the fuck is he giving my kid money for? If my kid wants money I will give him money. That faggot got no right.”
��“He didn’t do anything, Roy,” Larry once again said calmly. “We can’t go around killing people cause we don’t like them. When I was growing up I heard what they did to blacks and that kinda stuff ain’t right.”
��“He said he likes little boys. You heard him. You was here. Steve, you heard him. That shit is against the law. I should bust in his fucking house and get all them kiddy porn movies he watches every fucking night. I’m calling up Billy Collins. He hates them faggots.” Roy dialed a number, waited a moment, and then began, “Billy, you gotta come down here...naw, nobody’s robbing the place...I gotta talk to you...so you gotta go to work in a few hours, you only live a few blocks away...thanks.” Roy hung up the phone. He smiled. “Billy Collins will fuck him up.”
��I had never seen Roy so upset. I could see how he might be a little upset, but nothing happened like Larry said, and I didn’t think anything would happen. I mean, we knew where the guy lived and he seemed harmless enough.
��Suddenly Joey ran into the store. He was out of breath. “That tall guy that was in here just before...”
��“WHAT HAPPENED?” Roy screamed in a kind of sheer terror.
��Joey was taken aback by Roy’s response. He gulped, unsure what was going on. He continued slowly, “He wants me to watch his mom when he has to go to Manhattan to do some work. He wants to pay me five dollars an hour to watch her.”
��Roy must have realized that he had frightened Joey by his outburst. This time he spoke soothingly. “I want you to go home right now and do your homework and we’ll talk about this when I get home. I don’t want to talk about this now. Just go home and stay home and we’ll talk about this later.”
��Joey shrugged his shoulders. He seemed reassured by Roy’s calm tone of voice. “OK, pop,” he said, and walked out of the store.
��A minute or so later a guy walked in. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a classic Irish face.
��As soon as Roy saw him he shrieked, “THAT COCKSUCKER PROPOSITIONED MY KID. I WANT HIM FUCKING BUSTED UP, BILLY.”
��“Roy, Roy,” Billy said softly. Then he put up both hands with palms facing Roy. “Slow down. You know all about the situation but I don’t know about the situation, so you have to give me full information in order that I know about the circumstances.”
��“This tall Jewfaggot wants to fuck my son.” Billy immediately turned his head in my direction. “Not this Jew,” Roy said, “another Jew. He said so the very first time he walked in here.”
��“Hold it,” Larry said. Then he turned to Billy. “I’m Larry. I was here when all of this happened. Roy is upset. He’s saying things that ain’t completely right, things that later he might be sorry for saying. Therefore, with Roy’s permission, lemme tell you what happened. Awhile ago this guy comes in and wants to know if Champagne Video rents Gay porno, and more specifically Gay kiddy porno. Roy says that the store don’t carry that stuff. This guy, Hyman Cohen, takes it all in stride...”
��“TELL BILLY THE PART ABOUT LICKING LITTLE BOYS, FOR CHRIST SAKE.”
��Larry stared at Roy a moment, then asked calmly, “What did you just say?”
��“I SAID TELL BILLY THE PART ABOUT HIM LICKING LITTLE BOYS.”
��“ŒLicking little boys’? He never said nothing about that. All he asked was if you had any Gay porno with little boys.”
��“That’s not what I heard. That’s not what I heard. You was here, Steve. What’d you hear?”
��“All I heard was him asking if you had any porno, Gay porno, and if there was any ones with little boys in Œem. I didn’t hear nothing about him wanting to lick little boys.”
��“That’s what I heard. That’s what I heard. I’m only telling you what I heard, but if you guys say he didn’t say that I’m not gonna argue. I’m only telling what I heard.”
��Larry went on, “Then he asked how a person became a member and Roy went through the thing of the phone bill and Con Ed bill and that was that day. Today the guy pushes in his mother in a wheelchair. He moved in with her to take care of her. And from what I seen she needs to be looked after. She don’t look like she could take care of herself. So, today, like I said, he brings her in and her phone bill and her Con Ed bill and wants to join and have his name on her card. This is done all the time for one card to have a couple of people on it. Then he asks if any of us could recommend a film and I mention In the Name of the Father and he takes my advice and takes out the film and leaves...”
��“HE GRABBED MY KID’S HAND.”
��“No. That’s not exactly correct. He shook Joey’s hand. That was all I could see. Then Joey sees him standing near the door, and he went and opened it for him. When he came back to the counter here we seen that Hyman gave him a dollar...”
��“WHAT DO YOU FUCKING CALL THAT? I CALL IT PROPOSITIONING MY KID.”
��Larry went on, “Then Joey went out to buy ices for him and his friend with the dollar Hyman gave him. A few minutes later he comes back and says Hyman offered him five dollars an hour to watch his mother when he does some work in Manhattan. And that is the whole story as far as I heard it.”
��“Well, Roy, from what I heard,” said Billy, “the man did nothing against the law. It is against the law to own kiddy porn, no matter what kind, but if did own such material why would he want to rent it. I don’t know if we can make the leap here, Roy, from wanting to watch kiddy porn to being a child molester. The evidence is a little flimsy.”
��“So what are you saying? You can’t bust him up?”
��“It’s not like when I was a wild kid, Roy. I’m a cop now.”
��“But you hate faggots. You told me a thousand times.”
��“I sure don’t approve of what they do. The Bible makes that clear. They’re going straight to Hell. That’s for certain. But I don’t hate them. I guess you could say I changed. I don’t talk about it so maybe all you remember is what I said in the old days but being a cop I seen worse, much worse things, than what gay guys do. Worse, Roy. I can go two ways with it, seeing all the shit I got to see. I can become a wacked-out hateful son-of-a-bitch or I can try to understand this world a little better. I just got married, you were there, so I got to take care of my mental attitude or I’ll wind up killing myself in a few years or getting blowjobs in crackhouses like some cops do. I don’t want that shit and I don’t wanna slap my wife around when she burns a hamburger like I hear cops do. What gay men do is wrong. The Bible says so. I will never condone what they do. But I don’t hate them.”
��“So, so, what? You gonna just let him molest my kid? I seen the way he was looking. I seen it, Billy, as Christ is my witness, I seen him licking my kid in his mind.”
��“I can’t arrest someone for what he thinks.”
��Just then Hyman Cohen walked into the store. An immense silence tumbled from the ceiling. Hyman didn’t seem to notice. He walked to the front counter. As usual he put out his hand, but this time Roy didn’t respond. Hyman waited a moment, then returned his hand to his side. He turned to Larry. “You know, Larry, I respect your judgment in cinema enormously but I’m really in the mood for a comedy tonight. So, Roy, I’d like to return this and look for a Cary Grant. He always cheers me up when I’m in the blues.”
��Billy turned to face Hyman. “I’m Officer Collins,” he said slowly. “I’d like to speak to you, nothing official. Do you mind?”
��“Not at all.”
��“It’s just I heard you were in here the other day asking for videos containing child pornography. I thought I should inform you that is against the law.”
��“As I well know, Officer Collins, and I should have been aware that this fine establishment would not carry such material. But, no harm in asking, I always say. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say.”
��“No harm in asking, but one thing might lead to another and that is definitely against the law.”
��“What might that be? Love?”
��“Not love between consenting adults, but love between an adult and a minor.”
��“I love little boys. I make no secret about that.”
��“YOU’LL NEVER FUCK JOEY,” shrieked Roy, grabbing a box cutter from under the front desk. Then he quickly slid the blade up, holding it menacingly in his right hand.
��Billy instantaneously turned his head when he heard metal slide against metal. “Put that fucking down, NOW, Roy, or you’ll fucking be in jail. I’m a cop. Don’t do that shit in front of me. That’s menacing with a deadly weapon. PUT IT DOWN, NOW, GODDAMN, NOW.”
��Roy put the box cutter down on the counter with the blade still in the up position. Billy moved his hand towards it, grabbed it, and lowered the blade by sliding the button on the side of the handle gently down. Then he put the box cutter into his left front pocket. He turned to Hyman. “Can you forget this thing? It would make it a lot easier for everyone. This is a request...only. You got every right to press charges. I’m a cop. I seen it. Roy was in the wrong here.”
��Hyman did not seem frightened. He appeared calm. When he spoke there was no tension in his voice. “I will forget. But I do not understand.”
��Billy smiled. I could feel he did not want to arrest Roy but if Hyman pressed charges he would have had no choice. “You seem like an OK guy. What’s your name again?”
��“Hyman Cohen.”
��“You seem like an OK guy, Hyman, a worldly wise guy, so I’m going to speak straight to you. Some people think you want to molest little boys in this neighborhood. Is that right or wrong?”
��“That is wrong, Officer Collins,” Hyman proclaimed firmly. “My love for little boys is spiritual and therefore innocent. Lust would spoil everything. Don’t you see, Officer Collins, the lust each of us feels, whether it is for a man or a woman or a little boy, binds us to the decay of this earth. How can I defeat death? I have often asked myself, and old age? and sorrow? and sadness? and all that is terrible and horrible in this world? I have come to believe it is the spiritual love I have for young boys.” Then he faced Roy directly. “You have nothing to fear from me. As soon as I saw Joey and the honey color of his skin and his bright smile, my heart melted and I loved him, but I would never spoil that feeling with base lust. I’m sorry if whatever happened to you so long ago made you fearful and bitter.” Then he walked towards the door, but before he reached it he turned and sighed, “Good-bye...perhaps forever...I don’t know.” He strode towards the door, reached it, opened it, and was gone.
��“I don’t think this guy is a child molester,” said Billy Collins. “He don’t have the look about him.”
��Tears flowed from Roy’s eyes as he murmured, “They never have the look about Œem until after they done it.” He paused and wiped away some tears. “And the fucking worst thing, back then anyway, was I never told no one so he did it to me over and over.” His voice became hoarse and distant as he rambled on. “And he wasn’t no Jewfaggot neither, said it was God’s will and if I told anybody I would burn and burn in Hell.” Then Roy held up his right index finger. The tip didn’t have any fingerprint. It was simply a mass of scar tissue. “He took a candle from the Holy Alter and held my finger there in the flame and said Hell was like this but on every part of me and forever if I was to tell...”
��“A Priest?” Billy moaned.
��Roy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.
��As soon as I walked into the building Pat Quinn motioned with his hand for me to come over to him. Pat was a custodian, more specifically, a sweeper, although, at times, he was allowed to act as a handyman. This meant he could put in window panes and change fluorescent lights. Handymen were paid more than sweepers. Eventually Pat hoped to be designated as a handyman, full time.
��He was also a gambler, sporting events being his passion. He never was much interested in cards or dice or slot machines. He loved sports and this was a way to keep his love alive without a staleness setting in.
��He always had a ruddy look about him because he drank large quantities of beer, on the job and off. Thus it seemed quite natural for him to also possess a plump beer belly. He sported a mustache which gave his baby face a slight hint of sophistication. He constantly talked about all the women he had sex with. He never spoke of love. “I’m a young guy,” he often said, “too young to settle down, not an old fart like you, Steve.” Pat was thirty-five years old.
��He lived with his mother. I once asked him why he still lived at home. “The rent can’t be beat,” he laughed. Pat seemed to always float on the surface of things. He did, however, bite his nails. His excuse was, “Workin’ in a nut house like this, whatta ya expect.” He liked talking to me because he felt I was book smart but had no common sense. He, on the other hand, was not book smart but had loads of common sense.
��“What’s up?” I asked him.
��“I gotta talk to you,” he said seriously.
��“Lemme punch in first.”
��“Whatta ya gotta do that for? I don’t punch in. A real man don’t gotta punch in. You always follow the rules like some scared rabbit. Sometimes I worry about you, Steve.”
��“I thank you for your concern, Pat, but it will only take a second and then I’ll feel better.”
��I walked into the Main Office. As soon as I entered the large space, Leona Appel marched directly to me. “Did you give Latoya Bentley a late pass two days ago?”
��“I don’t recall. I have to check my records.”
��“She’s been late fourteen days already and the term has just begun. Did you know that?”
��“I did not.”
��“If this continues she is not going to pass my class and since she needs this class to graduate...so, you can see why it is of the utmost importance for her to attend every class.”
��I stared at Leona Appel. She probably was in her early sixties. She had never been married. She gave homework every night and marked every single homework paper with a numerical grade. She spent hours and hours each night marking homework papers. She was the only teacher I had ever known in all my years of teaching who marked every single homework paper. Her face had few wrinkles, yet there was a gloom to her smooth skin. I could never know for sure, but I believed she had never experienced sexual intercourse a single time. Everyone else in the building believed the same.
��She owned a black and white TV. She once asked my advice about cameras. She prefaced her remarks by saying she didn’t want to spend more than twenty dollars. Her toaster was the same one her mother had used. Even though she taught Social Studies she wore a Lab coat. She did so to protect her clothing from chalk dust. Since I had become a Buddhist monk I wanted to tell her, “There’s not much time left.” But I didn’t.
��I knew that I had given a pass to Latoya and I would continue to give her passes. Her mother was in the hospital. She had to visit her each morning to make sure she was well before she could go to school. Latoya told this to Miss Appel but she simply said, “You have to get your priorities straight, young lady. Rules are rules.” When Latoya told me this she began to cry even though she did not want to cry. I wondered why Miss Appel didn’t understand the agony Latoya was going through. Her father lived somewhere in Jamaica and had never been a real part of her biography. Her mother was her life. Thus I could understand how important it was to see her, speak to her, kiss her each and every morning so that the day would not be spent in anxiety.
��Did Miss Appel not understand this because she had never given birth to children of her own? What did bearing children have to do with compassion? Did Miss Appel not understand because she had never experienced sexual intercourse? What did never having sexual intercourse have to do with compassion? Perhaps she had once had a lover. I didn’t know. But in all the years I had been going to the Teacher’s Center there was never mention of a failed romance.
��“I think she might be late,” I said, “because she visits her mother in the hospital before she comes to school.”
��“Oh, Mr. Bernstein, they all lie. Don’t be so gullible.”
��I smiled wanly and walked to the clock and punched in. Then I ambled out into the hallway.
��“What the fuck is with you, Steve,” Pat exclaimed. “Why was you bullshitting with Appel for? She ain’t never been slid a salami in her whole life.”
��“Shh, Pat. She might hear you.”
��“What are you afraid of, Bernstein? Your whole life you live in fear. I fear nothing, no thing, no person.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a huge roll of bills. He flipped through them and smiled. “How much?”
��“What are you crazy? You should never carry so much money with you. There must be three, four hundred dollars there.”
��“Try eight hundred and sixty. And I’d like to see any motherfucka try to take it.”
��“Shh, Pat. Let’s go outside on the Campus where no one can hear you.”
��“You mean where no one will see you talkin’ to me.”
��“Whatever.”
��We walked down the hall. Coming from the other direction was Linda. She saw me, smiled, and a split second later asked, “Can I speak to you, Mr. Bernstein?”
��“Of course.”
��“I’ll be outside,” Pat said, “smokin’ a cigarette.”
��After he had gone Linda sighed, “I don’t know why you talk to that man. He doesn’t do a thing in this building. He never sweeps our rooms. They are filthy when I come in each morning. I believe he drinks the afternoon away. I’ve reported him. Nothing seems to be done.” She paused. I think she wanted me to give some excuse as to why I had been talking to Pat. But after a moment, during which time I said not a word, she continued, “I’ve gotten a complaint about you.”
��“Really?”
��“Miss Appel has reported to me that you’ve been taking students, more specifically, female students, from her first period class without her written permission, and to make maters worse, if they could be made worse, both of these female students have been late or absent a total of thirty-five times and the term has just begun.”
��“Well, strictly speaking, the term has not just begun. After all, it is already the beginning of November.”
��“My first question is, Where do you go with these female students? and secondly...” She paused for a moment. She seemed a bit confused, as if she’d forgotten the second item on her list. She quickly recovered and demanded, “The first answer, please.”
��“We sit in my room, with the door open, and talk.”
��“TALK,” she screamed. Esther Zinober who was walking past turned her head and glanced at Linda. Realizing that it was inappropriate for one “Professional” to be screaming at another, Linda smiled and gently nodded to Esther. For her part, Esther smiled and then gently nodded her head and continued to walk. Linda gritted her teeth and seethed at me. “See...you’ve embarrassed me, Mr. Bernstein.”
��“I didn’t raise my voice.”
��“You forced me...”
��“I...”
��“Please...” Then she lowered her voice to a bristling whisper. “Shut up...you could be brought up on charges...alone in a room with female students...talking...why?”
��“They like it. I like it. What better reason than that.”
��“But at that time they should be in Miss Appel’s class. I’m sure you see the logic of the situation, Mr. Bernstein.”
��Just as I was about to go into the whole story of Latoya’s sick mother, I heard, “STEVE BERNSTEIN, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE PRONTO.” It was Pat screaming from out on the Campus. I knew he had done so on purpose.
��Linda stormed in the direction of the shout. I followed her. She opened the door leading to the Campus. Pat stood just a few feet away on the steps, blowing smoke rings in the air. “Did you say that?” Linda asked angrily.
��“Say what?” Pat responded.
��“That profanity. This is a school, sir.”
��Pat took a long drag on the cigarette and blew three perfect smoke rings in rapid succession directly at Linda. They dissipated about an inch from her face. In response to Linda’s last sentence Pat laughed, “Could have fooled me.”
��“I am going to report you.”
��He snapped to attention. “Pat Quinn, sweeper, soon to be handyman.” Then threw her a quick salute.
��Even though it was quite cool that morning, small droplets of sweat massed on Linda’s forehead. I thought that if it came to blows she could probably thrash Pat because he had no stamina due to the smoking and the beer. But she simply turned, opened the heavy wooden door with a flourish, and walked inside.
��“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked. “Why’d you scream that for?”
��“First you talk to Appel. Then you talk to that one. You talk to all the loonies.”
��“I’m talking to you, so maybe you’re right.”
��Pat laughed. “A little levity, Bernstein. I like that. But let me learn you something. Don’t never let nobody push you around.”
��“Let’s not discuss philosophy, Pat. What did you want to talk to me about?”
��“Yeah. Your friend, Ender, is in some deep shit.”
��“First, he’s not my friend. I once did speak to him. I once did give him little sums of money. But I no longer give him little sums of money therefore we no longer speak.”
��“Well, he’s gonna need plenty cause he owes my guy four grand.”
��“Your guy?”
��“Joey Gaspipe, my bookie. He ain’t done nothing yet cause he never likes to hurt a guy with young kids. Joey believes in the family. ŒThe family is the foundation of this great country,’ he often says, but, havin’ said that, he still can’t let it get out he got beat cause then every bum that what owes him money gets the idea he’s soft. And a guy in his position cannot allow such a ereeneous perception.”
��“What was that kinda perception again?”
��“Ereeneous, fake, not right, confused...too big a word for ya, eh, Bernstein?”
��“Erroneous?”
��“Yeah. I’m banging a college girl so I throw in a coupla college words into my conversations, every now and then, like with you but mostly to learn her I ain’t just a sex thrill. Anyway, the Gaspipe is plenty mad.”
��“Why are you telling me all this? I’m not gonna give the Gaspipe four grand because Howie Ender owes four grand.”
��“I just thought I’d tell you cause I heard you become a Boodist monk like a Priest or somethin’ and consequently you gotta help people in trouble.”
��When Pat uttered the words “Buddhist monk” a thrill went through me. I couldn’t explain it. I took a step back. I had said I was a Buddhist monk but the complete meaning did not settle in until Pat had used the words. I rushed forward and gave him a hug. I held him tightly. “Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on?” he grumbled. I released him and took a step back. “Don’t be doin’ that. People will get a ereeneous impression.”
��“Did you ever hear of the Dalai Lama? He’s a great Tibetan monk and...”
��“Don’t be trying to convert me, Steve. I’m Catlic, always was, always will be. My alleggents is to the Holy Father in Rome, the Pope, His Holiness Peter Paul and Mary somethin’ or other name like that. Hey, I respect what you done and all becomin’ a Monkey guy and givin’ up pussy, but don’t let that turn you queer. I heard stories, God forgive me, that some of them Priests bang each other’s baloney behind the Alter.” He paused for a moment and then began to sing, “Pussy in the morning, pussy in the evening, pussy all the time...”
��“Shh, Pat. This is a school. Anyway, how can I help Howie? Even though I’m a Buddhist monk I’m not giving him four grand because after I did that he’d probably just go and lose it.”
��“Tell him to stop bettin’ and work out a schedule of repayment with the Gaspipe.”
��“I’ll certainly speak to him.”
��By this time I had lost all interest in teaching except for my Creative Writing class. And in that class I had lost all interest in short stories, plays, poems, and essays. The only form which intrigued me was the Journal.
��Every Journal which I read was genuine and that single quality raised the writing to the level of great literature. That quality allowed each student to step forth as a completely authentic human being. Of course some students were better writers than others but that didn’t really matter.
��Some students wrote about different topics each day. There were such topics as: The Old Lady, Abortions, My Boyfriend, Death, School, Friends, My Mother, I Miss You, Love, Being a Senior, Problems, Music, God, Shopping, Black Males, Harry, et cetera, et cetera.
��Other students would select a single topic and write about that topic every day. Natasha was such a student. She was a brilliant writer. She had an angelic face and top front teeth which sparkled and were separated from each other by a gap of at least an eighth of an inch so that each appeared perfectly distinct. When she smiled her mouth opened wide. I didn’t see a single cavity anywhere.
��Her mother had recently passed away. Thus she was forced to move in with her father. This man had abandoned her mother on St. Vincent shortly after she was born. In fact, she had never seen her father until she came to this country some three years ago.
��The first time she saw him she was very nervous. She didn’t know what to say to him. All her life her mother had told her “Your father is a complete jerk.” Yet she had never believed her mother. She had never wanted to believe her mother. After that first meeting they saw each other every few weeks for two years. That contact satisfied Natasha. She now was blessed with a father.
��After her mother was shot to death by a stray bullet she moved in with her father. The first month went fairly well. After that, however, her mother’s statement became all too real for Natasha. Arguing, fighting, screaming, and, eventually, beatings occurred. Natasha became more and more depressed. I urged her to see the school social worker. Unfortunately, this woman had more problems than the students who went to see her and thus was quite ineffective in helping them. This was especially the case with female students.
��The bell rang. As usual I put the word “Journal” on the board. Students could write, do homework from other classes, or sit still. I discouraged talking but if they wanted to do that so be it. I waited for someone to come to my desk with work. I would read it and make comments, although not corrections. Natasha rushed to my desk and handed me the following Journal:


Later that day I felt so depressed after my father beat me up and do me other thing I don’t like. I tell him what he is doing to me is no good. Whether he is my father or not he has no right to treat me like that. He was so angry he didn’t give me anything to eat or speak to me. I felt so much tension, stressed and depressed. I had to go somewhere to cool off my pain. So I got on the train to 42nd street to this Church to pray. When I got to the Church there was hardly anybody there. I saw a girl kneeling at the alter. I felt like a wandering sheep looking for a meadow. My head was bursting out with aches and hot tears rolling down my cheek. I walked up to the alter and I began to pray. I said:


Oh GOD this is Natasha
����Have mercy on me, a sinner
����I know I have sinned before you
����Oh, God, but I know that you doesn’t
����Give a man more than what he deserves
����Oh God please help me
����Please open my heart to forgive my father
����Although it will be hard for me to forget
����Please help me to forgive
����Lord, I am facing such a tough life
����Help me to have courage
����To walk out and make it better, Dear Father.
����Please hear my prayers in Jesus name.

������������������Amen



��After I read this I felt I was in the presence of a great writer. I immediately took my pen and wrote 100% across the top of the paper.
��As soon as I had done that Marsha screamed, “You fuckin’ pip-squeak man. I do all my fuckin’ work every fuckin’ day and never me got a fuckin’ mark more than 97% and here you be givin’ out 100% like some kinda zonked monkey. I ain’t goin’ for that shit. You been ejaculatin’ yourself way too fuckin’ much for your own fuckin’ good, Bernstein. You done turned into a giddy motherfucker and I ain’t goin’ to stand for it. I’m goin’ to the Chairperson and reportin’ you.” She then grabbed my marking book and held it in her right hand high above her head. “This fuckin’ evidence I got here is gonna put your ass outta a job. I do all my fuckin’ work so what gives you the right to dis me this way. Do I look like Zippy the fuckin’ Clown to put up with this fuckin’ shit? No. I don’t.”
��During the outburst the entire class simply stared at Marsha. They didn’t know what to make of all this. I didn’t know what to make of all this, except, perhaps, I thought she might not have taken her medicine this morning. When she didn’t take her medicine she was prone to tantrums. My best course of action was not to respond. I remained silent. That only seemed to provoke her.
��“Bernstein, you are a totally insignificant person. I don’t even fuckin’ know why I bother with you bein’ that I am so excellent as to have no equal.”
��“Perhaps we can discuss some of your complaints,” I said softly.
��“DISCUSS THIS,” she screamed, grabbing her crotch, then yanking it vigorously up and down. “You ain’t had this for so fuckin’ long it’s a shame. Your shrimp dip dick is gettin’ even more shrimpy.”
��I stared at Marsha. She was correct in stating that she did all of her work and she was also correct in stating that her highest grade had been 97%. I knew she wanted that magical 100% on her paper and I don’t know why I didn’t give her what she wanted. I felt sad that she was just an ordinary writer, of course she wasn’t an ordinary human being. “Everyone is perfect.” The Buddha had said that over and over, and I agreed. But Natasha was a better writer. As to whether she was a better writer because she had suffered more than Marsha I didn’t know, and, in fact, was not even a proper question.
��I blurted out, “I’ll give you a 100%, Marsha, if that’s what you want.”
��“I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKIN’ PITY,” she screamed so loudly that I thought the panes of glass in the window would shatter.
��A moment later a security officer, Macho Camacho, opened the door, looked in, and asked, “Need any assistance, Mr. Bernstein?”
��“No, no. It’s part of the lesson. We’re doing Primal Therapy today.” He smiled and slowly closed the door.
��As soon as the door closed Marsha was in her seat. She was writing. I thought I should say something to her but I didn’t want to disturb the calm. The class went about their business.
��I turned to Natasha and whispered, “Well, that was interesting. I know you are going through a difficult time in your life now but it is also a precious time. You have so much talent. No matter what happens from day to day you should just keep on writing. And when you get to college you should take some writing classes and see what happens. As for your situation with your father maybe the best thing to do, and I know this might sound difficult, is to write him off, forget about him. He’s a bad penny, so to speak. Move out. I know there are group homes where kids go with family problems.”
��“I was thinking that also, Mr. Bernstein, but you know it’s hard to leave your daddy especially when your mom is gone cause he’s my closest blood and I don’t know if I wanna make that move just now. If I’m nice, he could change. I prayed to Jesus for him to change and Jesus could do wonderful things.”
��“Yes. It is good to have faith that the future will be better than the present, but we, all of us, must see things as they are and act in a way which is appropriate to the present situation. So, all I’m going to say is, Take care of yourself. Take care of yourself. That is the fundamental issue. Take care of yourself, and if that means cutting your father loose from your heart, you have to do it, difficult as that might be.”
��A smile flashed across her face, then faded just as quickly.
��When I entered the Teacher’s Center Seth was lying on the couch. His eyes were closed. His face looked dire and weary. I wanted to talk about what had happened in class a few minutes ago. I sat at the desk near the couch. I began to speak in a moderate tone of voice, “What a class I just had. It was deep, heavy. I could even use the word spiritual.” I waited for him to respond. After ten seconds his eyes fluttered open. He slowly sat up. His face appeared more haggard now that he was awake. His expression was like that of a person who had not slept for a long time.
��“Huh, Steve? I didn’t really hear what you said.”
��“Trouble in your class, eh?”
��“No. In fact I had two wonderful classes. Everything was fine.” He paused and inched closer to the edge of the couch. He closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them. “I’m not going to be the scintillating conversationalist I usually am. Trouble at home.”
��“Want to talk about it?”
��“Not really.”
��I knew I should have left him alone but curiosity got the better of me. “So what happened? Spilled some more salt?”
��He smiled wanly at my feeble attempt to introduce levity into the conversation. “Let’s just say the marriage bond is not as strong as I thought it was.”
��When he said that I was taken by surprise because his voice was so somber.
��While I was staring at Seth, Howie Ender walked past the couch and went to the vending machine and put in seventy-five cents. A can of Coke dropped down the chute. He popped open the can and sat down at the long table. Seth appeared to want solitude so I stood, walked a few steps. and sat next to Howie.
��“How ya doin’, Bernstein.” He appeared quite chipper for a man who owed four grand to Joey Gaspipe. “I know we’ve had our differences but that’s all in the past.” He put out his hand. I put out mine.
��“So you won the Lottery?” I burst out.
��“In a manner of speaking.”
��“Look, I know it’s none of my business but I heard you owed four grand to Joey Gaspipe.”
��“Who told you that?” he asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
��“I heard it and was wondering if I could do anything for you, I mean, not like give you money...” He laughed derisively when I said that. “...but like some friendly advice.”
��“The operative word, Bernstein, is owed, past tense, fineeto, done with'cause I don’t owe him a thing as of seven o’clock this morning.”
��“I’m impressed, very, very impressed.”
��“You see, Bernstein, when someone loves you, there is nothing that person will not do for you.” He grinned but for some reason his face appeared ghoulish to me.
��“Your grandfather from Florida came through for you, eh?”
��“Didn’t ask him, didn’t have to.”
��“Your father?”
��“That scumbag ain’t got a pot to piss in.”
��“I don’t get it,” I said shaking my head back and forth.
��Ender once again broke into a fiendish smile. “I feel sorry for you, Bernstein, even with all your money, and I know you got plenty, more than plenty, a half million by now, I figure. What good does it do you? You ain’t got no girlfriend. And now you’re on some kick going around and saying you’re a Boodist monk. Yeah, I do feel sorry for you.” He tilted his chair back, put both hands behind his head, and broke out into another diabolical grin.
��Well, the man didn’t need my help so I saw no reason to sit next to him anymore. I stood up and went back to my seat at the desk near the couch. Seth seemed to be in the exact same position he was when I left him.
��Then I heard some whistling at the door. Judith walked in, went to the vending machine, and punched in M3, the M&M number. A bag fell down the chute. She sat down across from Howie. I noticed that he took a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket, put it on the table, and ceremoniously slid it towards her. He exclaimed, quite loudly, “I guess that makes us even, Judy.”
��“I’m shocked. I never thought I’d see this.”
��“I shock a lot of people. That’s the kind of guy I am.”
��I turned my head and stared at Reinhold. He looked gloomy. “What’s going on, Seth?”
��He struggled to lift his head. His lips began to move but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I moved my chair closer to him. “My wife has two husbands now,” he whispered.
��“Two husbands?”
��“Do I have to spell it out for you? She has a lover.”
��“How did you find out?”
��“She told me. I probably would have figured it out for myself. You don’t have to be a genius to know something is awry when your wife calls and tells you she won’t be home at night, but not to worry.” He paused and breathed in deeply. He held his breath for quite some time. Then he exhaled slowly. “ In a way I’m glad. A lot of stuff that was hidden came out last night. We talked for three hours. He lives a couple of blocks away. He’s a lawyer.” He closed his eyes and moaned, “I don’t think I can talk about this anymore.” He slowly lay back down on the couch. Then he put his left forearm across his eyes.
��I didn’t know what to expect as I walked down the block towards Champagne Video. When I opened the door Roy immediately said, “Last time, what I said about Jewfaggot and all, I shouldn’ta said that, not the part about him being a faggot but the Jew part. I apologize.” He put out his hand. He had a strong grip.
��“You were under a lot of stress, Roy.”
��“That was the first time I ever spoke about them days. I thought I had buried it but you never know.”
��“You never know,” I said, then paused. I was waiting for Roy to say something about how he was feeling now. Did he feel anger? Bitterness? Hatred? But he remained silent. “I saw on TV about some guys taking this Priest to court cause there’s no statute of limitations on that kind of crime even if he molested them like eighteen years ago.”
��“No more...about that...please,” Roy muttered in a faltering hollow whisper.
��Luckily an old guy walked in at that moment. He had a full head of white hair and a thick white mustache. His skin was still quite tanned even though it was the beginning of November.
��Roy perked up as soon as he saw him and smiled. “Big Vito, how did the MRI go?” he asked.
��“They didn’t take me cause I was coughing. If you cough the machine don’t work right.”
��“You couldn’t stop coughing for ten minutes?”
��“Sometimes I don’t cough for an hour but then I couldn’t stop coughing. I don’t even know if I should take the test.”
��Roy laughed. “That’s not the way you were talking two days ago when you had all that pain.”
��“I only get the pain when I sit down. I walk fine. I lay down fine. Sitting is the problem. Why do I gotta take this test anyway? They know what the problem is from the X-ray: L-2.”
��“What do you mean by ŒL-2’?” I asked.
��“Steve, this is Big Vito. Big Vito, this is Steve,” Roy said before Big Vito could speak. Roy took great pleasure in playing the part of Master of Ceremonies. We shook hands. His grip was hake and hearty. “I got the same lousy L-2 problem. This L-2 is one of the vertebra, that’s how the doctors talk about Œem.” Then Roy turned to Big Vito. “You better make sure you got an appointment cause when I had to get my MRI I had to wait an hour and a half.”
��“I’ll walk out. The nurse on the boat where I’m pulling now said if I already had an X-ray they really don’t need an MRI. They make you take it to jack up the bill.”
��“Excuse me, Big Vito, you used the term Œpulling’ and I’ve never heard that expression before.”
��He smiled. His teeth were very white. At his age I knew they must have been false but I was impressed at how clean he kept them. Perhaps they were new false teeth, but I didn’t want to ask since I had just met him. Next time I would inquire.
��“Steve, you’re not ready to retire,” said Big Vito, “but when you do retire, you got to find something to do with time. You don’t want it to go too fast since you ain’t got that much left, yet you don’t want it to go too slow cause a day in the park feeding pigeons seems like hell. You want time to go just right, not too fast, not too slow. My wife, God Bless her soul, is gone. I got kids but how much time can you spend in their lives. So I pull which means I go out everyday on the Brooklyn V and catch fish. Then I give all the fish to the boat and they sell Œem. They make plenty of money off me.”
��“So this is like entertainment for you.”
��“That’s a very high caliber way of putting it, but you looked like a high caliber person as soon as I saw you. What do you do for a living?”
��“I’m a high school teacher.”
��“That’s respectable.”
��“But is it high caliber?”
��“In the old days when I was a kid, sure, but now you got it rough.”
��Just then a middle aged man in a black suit and a black shirt walked in. He wore a black toupee but for some reason it didn’t completely cover his head so that instead of hiding the fact that he was bald the tiny toupee called attention to the baldness. He came close to where we were standing and whispered, “You seen Funzi?”
��“No,” Big Vito responded.
��He quickly turned and walked out. Both Big Vito and Roy smiled.
��“Who’s Funzi?” I asked.
��“If you got a problem that you need help with it, you go to Funzi. But it costs,” said Big Vito.
��“Any kind of problem?” I asked.
��“A problem which requires a Œdefinitive solution,’” said Big Vito. Then he looked quickly around and saw that no one else was in the store. Still, I guess he didn’t want to take any chances because he whispered, “Sometimes I do a bit of work for Funzi...put a burlap bag out to sea and say a few Hail Marys. I don’t take no money cause once money changes hands you’re married. Understand?” I didn’t completely understand but I didn’t say a word because I didn’t want to appear like a schmuck. “With this favor that I do I make sure no harm ever comes to my family, not that any harm would come to them but this is a crazy violent crazy world we live in today, so insurance is always a wise thing to have. And there is no better insurance than to have Funzi in your corner.” What he said sounded funny to me but Big Vito spoke in somber tones. He took a few steps and went to look at the New Releases section. He thumbed through the boxes. “The same fucking movies from five months ago,” he muttered.
��Roy laughed heartily at Big Vito’s remark. “They’re suppose to take a video off after a month but the Russians leave Œem there for half a year so they can get $2.74 insteada $1.07.”
��“A bunch of hooligans,” Big Vito laughed.
��“Maybe you should speak to Funzi about them,” I said, jokingly.
��Big Vito stopped laughing. His face became serious. He stepped away from the New Releases section and came very close to me. “You are a very high caliber person, Steve,” he whispered, “but certain things are not spoken of in such a way. Understand?”
��“Yes.”
��Roy went in the back, returned with a movie, opened the plastic box, and ran the computer pen across it. Then he gave it to Big Vito. As soon as he read the title a broad smile flashed across his face. “The Piano,” he proclaimed joyously.
��“It’s on me.”
��“Thanks. You’re one top notch guy,” Big Vito said to Roy. Then he turned to me. “This is the chief erotic movie ever made. At any rate, the only one that works for me. I can’t get it up much anymore but every time I watch this one the two veins in my penis wiggle.”
��The situation with Seth went on and on. Some days he was better, some days he was worse. When he was better he would say things like, “I love my wife enough to give her the freedom to explore her needs. I’m not a jailer. Our home is not a prison. She has to find out who she is.” On the days when things were not going well he would say things like, “I can’t go on like this. It’s not normal. This is a perverted situation. I should stay home and watch the kids while she goes to a Knick game with the guy. No. I can’t have that. I cannot share my wife with another man.”
��I did notice, however, that during this two month period, say from the beginning of November to the end of December, Seth did not complain about his classes anymore. I didn’t know if this was because his classes were going better, or because his anxiety about his home life distracted him to such an extent that he just never mentioned it.
��On what appeared to be a good day I asked him, “Seth, I’ve noticed that since this matter began you don’t complain about your classes anymore.”
��He laughed. On good days he laughed. On bad days he didn’t. “Things are put into perspective, Bernstein. It used to be when I was speaking in front of the class and a kid was talking I would blow my stack. How dare he speak when I was speaking! But now I just go on. It doesn’t bother me. I used to feel so depressed when half the class failed a test which I felt I had prepared them very well for. Now I shrug my shoulders and say to myself, ŒThey’ll do better next time.’” He reached down into his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. “I just got a letter in my file because I didn’t go on an emergency patrol.” He ripped the letter in half, and then again in half, and then again in half, and then again in half, finally throwing the small bits of paper into the wastebasket. He laughed once again. “Are the Higher Ups going to fire me because I didn’t go on patrol?”
��I stared at Seth Reinhold. He was acting like a man who had an Enlightenment experience. I blurted out, “You’re acting like a man who has had an Enlightenment experience. Nothing bothers you. I should call the great Zen Master, Kogaku Roshi, and have him come here and examine you so that he could certify your experience as a true Enlightenment experience.” He laughed when I said that. “Well, the word Œnothing’ is perhaps the wrong word. Most things don’t bother you, or, perhaps I should say, many things which bothered you before don’t bother you now. That’s fantastic.”
��“I can’t live in constant pain. Today, I’m not feeling it so much, maybe because she was home last night and prepared a wonderful dinner. The whole family sitting around the table reassured me. But the strange thing was my son blinked a lot, rapidly, almost furiously, and she didn’t say anything.”
��“That’s wonderful. Great. This whole situation has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Trungpa speaks of this, ŒSuffering drives the chariot of the dharma and is thus not to be avoided.’”
��A frightened look flashed across Seth’s face. “You don’t get it. She didn’t hassle my son because she doesn’t care about the children anymore. She just doesn’t care. She’s in seventh heaven now. She’s got her house, her family, and a lover. But what do I have?”
��“I predict that this whole matter will end by the New Year. She’s going through a specific moment in her life. But it’s only a moment. You must have faith in her. She’ll return to you. I’m sure of it.”
��“The other day I told her to get out of the house. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told her to get out. I told her if she wanted him so much to just go and live with him. She left for an hour and then came back and said, ŒThis is my home. I’m not leaving.’”
��“That’s an significant gesture. It means she’s not really sure.”
��“I know she doesn’t know what she wants. Don’t you think I know that? But the pain of this entire situation is more than I can bear.”
��“That’s not what the great Zen Master, Kogaku Roshi, said. Someone asked him about the pain he was having in his legs because we were sitting so much, ten, twelve hours a day. Kogaku Roshi said, ŒStrictly speaking there is no such thing as pain we cannot bear.’”
��I heard voices behind me. I turned and saw Judith and Howie enter the Teacher’s Center. They were both laughing. They seemed to be having a grand old time. A simple twenty dollar bill had made everything fine between them. Then, suddenly, the word money came into my mind. I turned back to Seth and whispered, “What about the money you got when your father died? If memory serves me correctly it was round $400,000. Whose name is it under?”
��“Half in my name, half in her name,” he droned. “But she’s not interested in money. This guy has plenty of money. He earns $200,000 a year. This is not about money.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he sighed, “Sometimes I feel sorry for her. He is never going to marry her. He’s already married. His wife is forty-three and he’s twenty-eight. My wife is forty-one. Do you see a pattern here?”
��“Why don’t you beat him to a pulp. Really give him a thrashing. He’ll never see your wife again.”
��“That won’t solve anything, and anyway I’m not that type of guy.”
��“Get somebody to do it.”
��“I don’t know anybody like that.”
��“Did you ever hear of Funzi?” I laughed.
��He stared intently at me. “Violence from a Buddhist monk,” he finally said. “How odd.”
��“True, true, true. Sometimes I revert back to my old ways of thinking. I want to thank you for reminding me of my calling.”
��As soon as I saw Reinhold the next day I could sense it was not a good day. “She’s going to Vail with him for Christmas,” he said. “I’m to stay home and watch the kids. I told her I can’t go on like this. She told me to be patient. She told me I have to wait. Maybe she’s just getting back at me.”
��“Getting back at you? For what?”
��“For all the times I made her wait. For all the times I spent painting, and not with her. For all the times I spent practicing at the piano, and not with her. For all the times I spent reading.”
��“So? Everyone has interests.”
��“That’s just the point. She doesn’t have any. Oh, maybe, it’s fixing up the house, doing decorating, but once that’s done, then what?”
��“This is a problem. But that’s not entirely correct. Like Kogaku Roshi says, ŒThere are no problems, only solutions.’ Therefore, here’s the solution: Move to another place. Let her start all over again.”
��“Are you saying we should move every year or so? I don’t really think that’s going to work.”
��“I would give it a shot.”
��He lowered his voice and whispered, “Maybe the sex wasn’t as good for her as it was for me. I thought it was good for her because it was good for me.”
��“Did you ever ask her?”
��“No.”
��“These are tricky matters. After seventeen years, of course, the fires of passion don’t burn as brightly as when you start out.”
��“You’ve never been married. What do you know about these issues?”
��“I lived with a couple woman for a couple of years. I have an inkling. When we first began making love she wanted me to talk dirty to her while we were having sex. In the beginning I thought it was cute and I’d say things like, ŒI want to lick your hot cunt until it’s red and raw.’ She’d go wild and burst into orgasm in a second. Then the next time it was the same thing. She wanted me to talk dirty. This went on and on. Pretty soon I didn’t think it was so cute. I ran out of things to say. I mean, at that moment I’m not that verbally creative. But she loved it. I think the dirty talk was what she liked most about sex. So I’d concentrate on talking dirty. Unfortunately I’d concentrate so much on that my cock soon lost its erection. She began to say I didn’t love her anymore because I couldn’t stay hard. Eventually we broke up. Like I said, these are tricky matters.”
��He lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whisper, “Yes, these matters are complicated, very complicated.”
��“She wants you to talk dirty?” I laughed.
��“No.”
��“Then what’s the problem?”
��“I watch little boys and she knows it.”
��I was stunned by his remark. I immediately flashed on Roy and the pain he had felt for years and years. I mean, being gay was one thing but going after little boys was quite another matter. I tried not to sound angry but I wanted him to clarify the matter. “What exactly do you mean?” I didn’t know why he would reveal such behavior to me. Perhaps he had truly reached a point where nothing mattered to him anymore.
��“I like to watch little boys and...”
��“And then what?”
��“I haven’t done anything since I’ve been married.”
��“But you watch?”
��“Yes.”
��“And before?”
��“Yes.” He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly added, “But I don’t have any desire for that now. All those experiences were never fully satisfying. The most rewarding moments have been with my wife. ŒThe looking at little boys’ is just a tape which keeps playing in my head and I can’t erase it.”
��I sat up in my chair. I needed the zazen position of a perfectly straight spine to help me now. This man, sitting before me now, had many years ago experienced sex with a boy, a child who could not have truly given consent. And even at this moment Seth Reinhold watched little boys. Why? I could only think that watching them gave him pleasure.
��I bent closer to him and whispered, “I know this guy who feels the same way you do, but not quite. He says he likes little boys in a spiritual sense because of their beauty and their innocence. They give him the feeling of immortality when he is close to them. He stated unequivocally that lust was not is his heart. Do you feel he was telling the truth?”
��“I would not believe him.”
��During the Christmas Vacation I purchased a Nikon 35Ti rangefinder camera and took a lot of pictures in the Bay. One morning when I was using T Max 3200 film I saw Big Vito crossing the street. It must have been six in the morning. He was heading for the Brooklyn V. I didn’t know if he remembered my name but as soon as he saw me he said, “High Caliber Steve, what are doing out here so early?”
��“Taking pictures, Big Vito.”
��“Anything in particular?”
��“Whatever strikes my fancy. I’m waiting for the dawn and the light of the dawn. It is a very wondrous light.”
��“Did you ever see it coming off the open ocean? That’s dawn.”
��Just then two men came from behind. They pulled, with some difficulty, a dolly. A large burlap bag was slumped heavily on it.
��“See ya, Big Vito,” I said.
��He waved his huge right hand back and forth. I turned and walked towards Dunkin’ Donuts.
��When I landed inside it seemed as if all the white junkies of Brooklyn had taken up residence there. I ordered a large coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. Then I sat by myself near the window. I liked a window seat, to watch the world as the world happened. I ripped open the two pink bags of Sweet and Low and dumped the white powder into the coffee. Suddenly I heard a loud buzzing in my left ear. I quickly turned to see a huge horsefly zip away. “It’s the end of December,” I muttered to myself. The top of the muffin was hard, probably left over from yesterday.
��“Want lewds?” I immediately looked up from my muffin. A middle aged man with positively yellow skin and a markedly curved back stared at me.
��“Not today,” I replied.
��“Meth?”
��“Not today.”
��“I ain’t a narc,” he speedily said.
��“Didn’t think you were?”
��“Name it. I got it.”
��Before I ask him to please move on a thin woman appeared at his side. Her skin was extremely white, her hair long and stringy. She wore black leotards and a tight red tee shirt. “You got the money,” she asked the man with yellow skin.
��“He ain’t interested.”
��“Whatta ya want, honey,” she asked me.
��“I’d like a fresh muffin. This ain’t fresh, but what are you going to do.”
��“Hand job?”
��“Excuse me?” I said.
��“Hand job.”
��“Here?”
��“Under the table. Nobody can see nothin’. Just don’t make too much noise when you shoot.”
��“Not today.”
��“You want a boy to do you?” Before I could respond she called, “Billy, I got a customer for you.”
��“No!” I exclaimed.
��“Forget it,” she called out to Billy.
��“I just want to eat my muffin.”
��“Wanna eat my pussy?”
��“Here?” I asked in absolute amazement.
��“Here. There. Anywhere. Two hundred dollars.”
��“Two hundred dollars!” I gasped.
��“You ain’t never seen what you’re gonna see.”
��The fly returned, but this time to buzz in my left ear. I shook my head, then flicked my left ear to drive it away. I bit into the muffin which inexplicably had the texture of sand. I lowered my head and lifted the coffee to my lips. As I swallowed the buzzing assaulted my right ear and my left ear simultaneously. I shook my head back and forth, spilling the coffee on my shirt and the table. “How could there be flies? it’s the end of December,” I muttered.
��“Gimme fifty and I’ll buy you bug spray,” the man with yellow skin said.
��I looked at his hunched form. His back was bent at a forty-five degree angle. “I’m leaving,” I blurted out.
��“Not yet,” the thin woman exclaimed. “We ain’t settled on a price for services to be rendered.”
��“I’m leaving.”
��“A hundred,” she said.
��“For what?”
��“I do anything.”
��“Anything?”
��“Eat piss, drink shit. Whatever your heart desires.”
��For some reason I said, “Isn’t that drink piss and eat shit?”
��“Yeah. I do that too.”
��When she said that I felt a terrible pity for this woman, as well as the man with yellow skin. I wanted to ask how in the world they had wound up with so many brain cells destroyed. But I thought that would be cruel, and probably they couldn’t have answered my questions anyway. What would become of these two strangers? Perhaps I should give a five to each one. That would be kind. “Would that be kind?” I asked myself silently.
��“Fifty,” the thin woman said. “No lower. I got scruples.”
��“What is wrong with you?” I asked without thinking.
��“I’m clean,’ she immediately responded. “You think I’m AIDS cause I’m thin. No way. Never. Not in this life.”
��“What do you want?” I whispered.
��“Take care of you for a fifty.”
��“After that?”
��“Take care of myself?”
��“How?”
��“Get well.”
��“How?”
��“What’s with the questions?”
��“Lewds?” the man with yellow skin asked, having forgotten I had refused his offer earlier.
��I stood, placed two fives next to the muffin, and walked towards the door.
��“You finished with the food?” the man with yellow skin called out.
��“Yes,” I said, opening the portal to step into the invigorating December air.



��As with most vacations Christmas went quickly. I was very satisfied with the 35Ti. The superb lens captured reality with a clarity that came close to the Goertz Golden Dot Dagor I used on my 8x10 Toyo view camera.
��During the first Creative Writing class after the vacation Natasha came to my desk and sat down near me. Marsha was sitting on top of my desk. She liked to write at that spot and so I had no objection to her sitting there.
��“Mr. Bernstein, I took your advice,” Natasha said. “I went from that man but he don’t wanna let me go. I don’t know why. We don’t get along. I think he like to beat me.”
��Marsha was apparently listening to Natasha. She turned to us and said, “Don’t let no man beat you. I don’t give a shit who the fuck he is, whether boyfriend or father. No man alive have that right. Any man do that shit to me I get a ŒNine” and cap him.”
��“Marsha, what exactly are you talking about?” I asked.
��“You been around black people long enough to know how we talk...anyway, I break it down for you. First, get a nine millimeter gun and blow him the fuck away. That clear enough for you.” As Marsha spoke I noticed that she put her right hand down her pants. She did this in front of everyone. I stared at her. What was she doing down there? Perhaps she was adjusting a tampon. She must have seen me staring at her because she remarked, “What you starin’ so hard at me pussy for? You be wantin’ a taste, Boodist man?”
��“No. I mean I’ve just never seen anyone do that in public.”
��“What? Scratch da pussy cause she itch. Dat be no concern for you. Go on back to teachin’.” Her right hand remained down her pants. Then she took her left hand, put it under her belt, pulled it outward, sucked in her stomach, and peered down her pants. The entire class was watching her. “Come look now for yourself, Boodist man, get a million dreams with a glance.” I tilted my head slightly to see what she was doing down there. She roared with laughter, “He look, he look, the man look.”
��“You told me to,” I immediately responded.
��“And if me tell ya jump from da roof, ya do dat too?”
��“Well, no, no that.”
��“So pull back dem eyes and go about ya business.”
��A moment later she had a twenty dollar bill in her hand.
��“Where did that come from?” I asked.
��“Me got me money pinned to me pussy. Want see?”
��“No! But why?”
��“There much thiefs in this place. Me got to know how to protect sheself.”
��“Oh, Lord,” I laughed, “you’ll never guess what I just thought of.”
��“You thought me pussy have your name writ on it,” she exclaimed.
��“No! My grandmother did the same thing.”
��“Not dat a rude thing to say, Mr. Boodist Bernstein man. You shouldn’t be speechin’ about your grandes’ pussy.”
��“Well, the money wasn’t in her pussy...” As soon as I said the word “pussy” the entire class went wild. They didn’t go wild when Marsha said the word so I didn’t know why they should go wild when I said the word. All the students banged on their desks and somehow the word “pussy” began to be chanted in unison. I don’t know who started it first. I just sat there and waited for it to stop. After all, how long could the word “pussy” hold their interest.
��Then, all of a sudden, the door began to open. I figured it was Macho Comacho again but when the door fully opened it was Linda. Her face was a mask of stone fury. At first all the students continued to chant PUSSY but her sheer presence eventually won out over the combined will of the entire class. Within a minute there was silence in the room.
��“What is going on here, Mr. Bernstein?” she asked.
��Marsha spoke before I could utter a word. “The man be speechin’ about his grandmama’s pussy.”
��“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE, MR. BERNSTEIN?” Linda exploded.
��“I want to set the record straight. I was not talking about my grandmama’s pussy...” I had said it again before I realized that I had said it. The class went wild again. But once more Linda’s fearsome presence calmed them.
��“That language is not appropriate, Mr. Bernstein. Not one bit.”
��“I know. I shouldn’t have said that word.”
��“WHAT WORD?” Nigel yelled out.
��“Very funny, Nigel,” I chuckled. “You must think I’m a nitwit. I’m not. I’m simply trying to teach a very important lesson here, and if everyone would give me a chance to do so I will do so.” I paused. Linda nodded her approval for me to continue. “Now, when this all began I noticed Marsha’s hand was down her pants. At first I didn’t know what she was doing. I thought to myself that she might be adjusting her tampon...”
��“You a nasty minded Boodist man, for sure,” exclaimed Marsha.
��“No! Hey. That’s life. I was just exploring possibilities in my mind. Then after awhile Marsha had a twenty dollar bill in her hand and it was revealed that she keeps her money in her...her...spot down there for safety. Now, my grandmother did the same thing, but, please let me speak at this crucial point, not at that spot but in her bra. This was like thirty years ago. Now, how did I know that? I had to take her money and deposit it in the bank for her.”
��Linda stared at me. “The point?” she demanded.
��“That’s the beauty of my memoir. Now everyone has to write what the point of the story is. I always teach from real life, Linda. Nothing beats real life.”
��She opened the door and left. As soon as she was gone Nigel called out, “We gotta write about that?”
��“Of course not.”
��Marsha hopped off the desk, walked towards the door, and opened it. “See ya.”
��“Where are you going?” I asked.
��“I got to give a person this money.”
��“Lemme give you a pass.”
��“Me need a pass? I never need no fuckin’ pass. Get real, Boodist man.” She left the room.
��“I like Marsha,” laughed Natasha. “She a little cuckoo but I never see her sad. That a good thing. Too much sadness in the world. She make people laugh. That a good thing.”
��“I suppose so. But tell me the rest of your story.”
��“I moved into a room in this woman’s house. I got to clean for her and do laundry but I ain’t got to pay no rent. So I don’t mind doing work for her. But the room is only three blocks from where he live. He stalking me, Mr. Bernstein.”
��“That’s terrible.”
��“I know. I call Sophia to go with me to the police station and tell them and they tell me they can’t do nothing until I get an Order of Protection. So during the vacation I go down there and have to wait a whole day and then the place close and I don’t get in and I look all around me when I get off the subway to see if that man searching for me. Cause he say he gonna beat me cause no woman can dump him. He talk crazy. So next day I go down there and get this Order of Protection and go to the police station and ask them if now they can arrest him. They say they can’t do nothing until after he do harm to me. I laugh. What kind of thing is this? I be all cut and bleeding and then they do something. He crazy, Mr. Bernstein.”
��“Just be careful.”
��“I try but he a big man and I just a little bit of a girl.”
��When I walked into Champagne Video Hyman Cohen was there. I went to the front desk. He was taking out Cocoon. When he left he didn’t offer to shake Roy’s hand.
��“I’m surprised to see him in here,” I remarked.
��“He’s a customer. But no more bullshit shaking hands. I’m civil. He comes in here to take out a movie. Fine. I can’t let what happened to me that time turn me into a sick bastard with hate in my heart. That don’t mean me and him is ever going to be friends. He’s somebody that comes in here. I’m somebody that works in here. That’s that.”
��“Keep an eye on your kid.”
��“What?”
��“I said just keep an eye on your kid. That’s all I’m saying.”
��Roy’s eyes enlarged, his voice grew louder. “What do you know that I don’t know? If you know something, Steve, you gotta tell me cause if he tried to do something to my kid or any kid, I will fucking put a blade in his heart and twist.”
��“Calm down, Roy. I’m not saying Hyman tried anything. I’m not saying that. Nothing like that. But I spoke to someone like him. I can’t say any more about this person. I said to him exactly what Hyman said to us and this guy said not to believe him, the part about lust. You remember? That he didn’t have lust in his heart when he looked at little boys. I got to be honest with you. This is the extent of what I heard. Now I don’t know if I should have told you even this but God forbid a thousand times something did happen and I didn’t tell you, I would feel a horrible guilt. So better I say what I said then not say anything. So I said it. I personally don’t think Hyman would ever do a thing but this guy I spoke to who is a little like Hyman said not to believe him.”
��“Who is this guy?”
��“I can’t say.”
��“Who is this guy? You gotta tell me, Steve.”
��“He doesn’t live in the Bay.”
��“Who is this guy?”
��“A teacher.”
��“A teacher? That fuck should be put in jail. He’s around little boys all day long.”
��“They’re not so little in high school. And this person is living through his own kind of hell which I can’t go into, but at one point in his life'not now'he did do things with little boys, so I figured he had some insight into that type of mind, so I asked him about the situation, and what he said I told you. That’s that. Better safe than sorry.”
��On January 12th I was sitting in the Teacher’s Center. Seth was lying on the couch. He slept a lot now on that couch. The only days he would speak were his good days, and they did not come often. I was reading the Times. Howie Ender was making up his final exams. Judith appeared to have gained weight during the Christmas Vacation.
��“Steve, did you make up your final exams?” she asked.
��“I don’t give exams.”
��“How do you make up grades?”
��Howie Ender answered for me, “He gives every kid the class 95% or higher, so no one complains.”
��Judith ripped open the bag of M&M candy and swallowed half of it, then began to furiously crunch away. She must have seen me staring at her because she blurted out, “My life is shit. I need satisfaction.” Then she held up the half full bag of M&Ms and laughed hysterically, “And this is it.”
��Howie Ender shook his head back and forth. “You just have to find the right person,” he finally declared. “Then everything falls into place.”
��“I’ve been trying. For God’s sake, don’t you think I’ve been trying...but I always seem to select jerks. My shrink says...”
��“You went back?” I asked stupidly.
��“Yes. I’m back. Where else could I go? I’m in a muddle. I have to try something.”
��“What about sitting in meditation?”
��“I tried that with the French guy. If you’re keeping count he was the guy before the Polish guy. It really wasn’t for me. He wanted me to go with him at night and meditate in cemeteries. He carried a bag with two skulls. He placed one skull on his lap and one skull on my lap and then he told me to look at the skull until I could see my face in the skull’s face. Well, let me tell you, I tried because I really loved that guy. I did everything he wanted. I even told him I saw my face in the skull and do you know what he said? I’ll tell you. He said I really didn’t see my face in the skull. I asked him how he knew what I saw or didn’t see. He laughed. How much psychic abuse could I take? I loved him but I had to get away from him. The last I heard he was walking through India stark naked.”
��Just then a short black woman appeared at the door. She was not a student. Perhaps she was a substitute teacher. “Howie, Howie,” she whispered.
��Ender turned around. There was a kind of surprise on his face. “What are you doing here, Belinda?” he blurted out.
��“I’ve come for you.” He was silent. “After all, you did promise to marry me during Christmas and here it is the 12th of January and I don’t have the marriage ring on my finger.”
��“This isn’t the place to discuss our private affairs. Can’t it wait until tonight?”
��“I can’t let you fuck me anymore. It hurts. It hurts too much.”
��“Go home.”
��“No.”
��“GO HOME.”
��“No.”
��After her last remark both became silent. I walked towards her. When I was quite close to her I said gently, “Come inside. I’ll close the door.”
��“What are you doing, Bernstein?” asked Howie nervously.
��“Shut the fuck up and sit down, Ender. I feel like taking off my Buddhist robes and beating the shit out of you.”
��“You’re talking crazy. I don’t have to listen to this.”
��“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SIT DOWN,” I screamed.
��Seth opened his eyes and sat up. He wasn’t aware of what was going on. “What’s happening here?” he mumbled.
��“That’s what Belinda is going to tell us,” I said calmly.
��She sat across from Ender and stared directly at him. Reinhold got off the couch and walked to the long table and sat next to Judith. Suddenly Belinda began to cry. She sobbed without restraint. Her shoulders heaved with each anguished breath. Her head hung down. This woman was in pain. But as yet I did not know why other than the fact it had something to do with Ender. It must have been two or three minutes before she composed herself enough to raise up her head. She moaned, “This man, I gave...”
��Ender leaped up and dashed for the door. He got his hand on the knob but had difficulty turning it. His palm was sweaty and slipped over the surface of the metal. I jumped up and grabbed him around the waist and flung him across the room. Then I picked up a chair and slammed it against the top of the long table, bending the iron legs to a forty-five degree angle. “I WILL FUCKING PUT YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MISERY IF YOU FUCKING MOVE,” I shrieked. My adrenaline pumped at full blast. “The saffron robes are off, cocksucker, lying sack of shit. The truth be out.”
��“No hurt him, please,” gasped Belinda.
��Howie got off the floor. He stood there dazed.
��“Sit down,” I said.
��He sat across from Belinda.
��She began once more to tell her story. “I gave him everything. Everything for him. To make him happy. To show my love. And he promise to marry me. He say he will marry me. I do not give him the money to make him marry me. I give him the money because I love him, more more more than I can say. He...”
��“How much did you give him?” asked Judith, interrupting Belinda.
��“All I have in the bank. Five thousand dollars. All I ever save.”
��Judith put her hand in her pocket and took out a twenty dollar bill and placed it on the table directly in front of Belinda who simply stared at it. Judith took Belinda’s hand and held it gently. “He gave me this money,” she sighed, “because he owed it to me but now I see it was not his to give. Please take it.” Judith picked up the twenty dollar bill and placed it on Belinda’s palm. Ever so slowly Belinda closed her fingers around the bill. When her hand was a tight fist Judith turned to Ender. “YOU LUMP OF DOG SHIT.” He did not respond to her words.
��I urged Belinda to go on. She smiled wanly. “Now everyone laugh at me,” she moaned. “I have no honor. They want to kill him but I beg them no. I tell them, ŒHowie will return the money. Howie will take me to the marriage alter.’”
��Seth stared long and hard at Ender. “WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO FELLA?” he bellowed at last.
��“She shouldn’t have given me the money,” Howie Ender said. “It’s her fault the money is gone. Any sensible woman would have know what a fuck-up I am with money. Four thousand went to Joey Gaspipe. Steve knows that. Twenty went to Judith, even though she gave it back. And then I lost another grand to the Gaspipe...to be honest, I’m not ready for marriage. I just went through a separation and then I met Belinda and was horny as hell and one thing led to another but I know myself well enough to know marriage is not for me right now.”
��“But you promise.”
��“Sorry, I can’t recall such a promise. Is it in writing? Do you have it on video tape?”
��Seth rose to his feet in one sudden swift motion, the veins on his neck bulging. “HAVE YOU NO DECENCY?” he bellowed.
��“I don’t think he does,” I sighed. “He’s a lost cause.”
��Belinda started to sob again. Her head hung down limply and her shoulders moved to a slow rhythm of sorrow as the sound of little gasps for air thundered about the room.
��The day before Regents Exams were to begin Natasha limped into class with a battered face. Her swollen lips were a purplish brown and one eye was puffy and almost closed. The cheeks were discolored and also puffy.
��“What happened?” I asked nervously.
��She had difficulty speaking because of her bruises. The words left her lips with great difficulty, “He got me from behind. I couldn’t see the man but I know it was him. I went to the police but I didn’t see the face. After the first knock on the head I closed my eyes and tried to put my hands on my face but no good like you can see. The police say if I didn’t see the face there is nothing they can do.”
��“Why didn’t you lie? say it was your father.”
��“How could I tell a lie? Jesus would not like that.”
��“This is this world. You should have lied.” After I said that I could feel the saffron robes drift far from me.
��During a break from marking Regents I saw Seth sitting in Subway. He was drinking tea. I saw open sugar packets on the table. “Where’s your honey?” I asked.
��“She left me. She took the kids. I’m all alone.”
��“She went with the lawyer?”
��“I never dreamed he would ever leave his wife, but he did. I never dreamed she would take the kids, but she did.”
��“You said she didn’t care about the kids anymore.”
��“I was wrong, wrong, wrong.” He inhaled several deep breaths, gasping for more life sustaining oxygen. “I don’t do well when I’m alone,” he sighed in sadness.
��I stared at him. I could feel the saffron robes gracefully descend to my body once more. I had to say something now like the Buddha would say if he were sitting here. I zapped out the words, “You’re in the clearing now, Seth. You can go in any direction you want.”



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