Not Far From Golgotha by Richard Futch
Ebenezer shook his head to banish the memory. He blinked his eyes and looked up at the pretty, young face. “No dear,” he responded quietly. “I b’lieve I’m finished.” He looked around, suddenly uncomfortable, wondering what else he could say. The girl put out her hand.
“Oh, no sir. Don’t get up, I didn’t mean to disturb you. You’ve just been out her a long while, and I wanted to make sure you were warm enough.” Her pleasant voice and cherubic face offered its own small proof of God’s existence. Her attempt to reconcile what she viewed as an intrusion touched Ebenezer. It helped take his mind from its morose course. He reached over and patted her hand gently.
“Don’t worry, m’dear,” he assured her. “Ya’re not runnin me off, I’m just lettin time get away. Some things I ain’t thought about in a long time. Thank ya for savin me from ‘em.” He winked at her soft, blushing face. “The older ya get the more time ya tend ta waste. Don’t forget that.”
She laughed genuinely as she reached down and whisked the empty plate away. She plucked the fallen beignet from its groove in the iron table, and laughed again, asking him if he was sure he didn’t need anything?
“No, no, my dear…I need ta be moseyin along..” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, frayed almost to the point of collapse. Flipping it open, he fingered through a surprisingly thick wad of bills. He extracted a ten and handed it to the girl. “Thank’s for ya concern. Not enough uv it goin around the world t’day…ain’t been for a long time.” She took the money as the blush grew.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, backing up slowly. At four paces she deftly spun around and disappeared inside the Café du Monde. Ebenezer’s fingers drummed lightly on the table momentarily, and then he stood to leave.
Chapter 57
Nora gathered up the clothes’ basket and carried it into the washroom even though it was not wash day. She’d been full of nervous energy since Billy’s call the night before. He had very clearly balked when she’d suggested she come over, and she was largely unfamiliar with outright denial. She bit her lip and violently threw a handful of clothes into the washing machine. Her forehead seemed too tight for her skull. Though inside she knew the truth, finally: she was a pariah to her own children. Do I deserve it? she asked herself.
Then another question stole down to gently nip at her growing anger. Had Billy been as rude as she persisted in believing? She recalled his words: Elizabeth was fine; she’d been out with someone named Thomas; she wasn’t feeling well; and she was asleep. Had there been much more than that? No. As another armful of clothes went inside the washer, she replayed the conversation through a haze of anger. He had warned her not to come, not explicitly spelled it out, but the hint had been adequate. More than adequate.
And Elizabeth was still not home.
Nora had prayed mightily for the remnants of her family to be drawn together, like threads repaired in an unraveling rug, but it seemed the runs were only getting longer and more ragged. Eventually there’d be nothing left to repair. The clock on the wall beside the cleaning cabinet silently stated 2:55. Still no word. Nora wanted to call Billy’s apartment but something hard and knotted inside her refused. Twice she’d gone to the phone with the full intent of using it, and both times she had run into an impregnable, inchoate barrier which refused to budge. It left her heart rattling in her chest and the taste of steel in her mouth.
Elizabeth would call soon, either that or she’d show up at the front door. Nora knew it must happen. Nonetheless, her inner tumult bubbled like a foul concoction, succeeding to poison the rest of her thoughts. She collapsed in the plastic folding chair near the old sewing table and clasped her hands together. Then she closed her eyes and tried to find solace and better control of her senses under the dull consistency of the washing machine’s purring motor.
Chapter 58
Hours later that same afternoon, Ebenezer stood like a ghost before the grave of his dead wife. It had been the better part of three decades since he’d had (what he now fully recognized) the courage to come face-to-face with…this. He rummaged around in his pocket until finding the thorny stem he sought. He’d stopped near one of the mobile Lucky Dog hot dog stands before leaving New Orleans and bought the single red rose from another vendor close by, tucking it gently into the folds of his coat as he meandered away.
Feeling its presence in his pocket, he glanced off, noticing how far the sun had sunk to the horizon. The cab he’d hired idled in a noxious, oily cloud within the long shadows near the back of the parking lot. It had to undoubtedly be one of the stranger fares the driver’d had in a while: the Eden Point Baptist Church on Highway 308 just east of Thibodaux. A long fare. But thankfully long, because the miles and uncharacteristic silence of his driver had given Ebenezer plenty of time to think, to plod through the tangle of misplaced memories like some solitary elephant wandering deeper toward its generation’s old and secret place in the jungle.
This graveyard.
As Ebenezer stood and stared down at the crooked headstone, the decades’ old accusation battered him afresh. He remembered the eyes of Sarah’s relatives, those cold stares from across the room, suspicion hanging like Damocles’ sword above his head. The doctor had been there, along with the sheriff who likewise remained very formal and extremely curt. The two men had been thick as thieves during the service, but even the doctor could not have denied what Sarah had miraculously spouted at the end. After the end actually…there was always that.
Nothing had ever been filed against him. But it had not set well with either the people in charge nor the townsfolk in general.
Ebenezer also recalled with a clearer, sharper vision (like an old windshield, years forgotten in the darkness of a shed, finally set upon with a little elbow grease and soap) the incredible anger, the crushing loss. She had made her escape complete, leaving him to suffer the arrows of condemnation that followed. Only once had he been able to look across the room at her invalid great grandfather, and Ebenezer had been consumed by the hatred dwelling there. But nothing had ever been said aloud (Christ! they must have known and wanted to avoid a scandal, dammit! they must have known!). So instead, he was to be haunted in seclusion.
He’d lived in the house until it became no more than a stifling tomb. The fields were neglected, a barren testament to the wrong that had ended there. The thick, red stain could not be completely removed from the kitchen floor, instead it sank deeper with every attempt at cleaning. Anger and guilt became his only companions. The house was unbearable, around every corner the ghosts flitted, and he awoke many times screaming. So many, in fact, that he’d taken to sleeping in the doorway of the old mill, stretched out on a threadbare quilt beneath the broken ceiling. Of course, even out there he sometimes jerked and moaned in his sleep among the dust and moldy wood shavings, wrestling with things he could not see and only vaguely remember in the morning.
Ebenezer turned away from the grave to look at the clapboard church with its two sentinel and skeletal elms protecting its entrance. He noticed the cab driver quickly look back to the unfolded paper leaning against the steering wheel as Ebenezer’s glance tracked by. Heedless of the driver’s interest, Ebenezer thought, Thirty years. My God, has it been thirty years? Amazing.
He remembered sitting alone in the first row of pulpits, eyes pinned directly ahead, his jaw so tightly clenched that his teeth had hurt for days afterward as did the muscles all the way to his forehead. He’d felt all those other eyes boring into his skull, dissecting him like some disemboweled animal in a high school biology class, but he’d also known they could never touch him. What they managed to squeeze out of him was no more than emptiness (he knew; he’d had it ever since), even though he knew they figured it for guilt alone. All fools. He remembered how the crazy nephew, the one named ironically enough, Francis, had slipped up behind him when the service was over and whispered, ‘We all know you’re behind this, you bastard,’ before getting out of his range. Not only fools but cowards also. Ebene
After ten straight days of sleeping within the old mill’s doorway, he’d simply awoke one day, walked into the house, packed up what little he needed, and left. He’d not known he was bound to end in New Orleans until well after the water pump hose had blown and he’d worked at the garage for a week to pay off the repairs. He’d been meaning to leave after that, hell, could still vividly recall thinking that Pensacola or maybe Atlanta might be good places to make a run at a new life. But the long ago panic attack at the Chef Menteur Pass (one that had come on so severe and sudden that he’d damn near painted himself along the guardrails), had stopped all such fantasies. He’d never left New Orleans. He remembered driving around aimlessly after the attack had subsided with nothing left in his head. He’d felt scrubbed clean, at the verge of a new emptiness that would continue to grow for years. He’d ended up on the levee, staring for hours at the stars above his head until consciousness left him. When he woke up the next morning he was drenched with dew.
And the rest of the story?
Well, he didn’t quite know the end of it yet.
Ebenezer took his eyes off the church, avoiding an urge to look at the cab driver again as he turned his attention once more to the grave. Such a forgotten and lonely place. The epithet was simple: Sarah May Holgren, Rest in the Lord’s Peace. It was the first time he’d ever seen it; he had no idea who had put the thing down. A prominent crack had begun separating the tombstone into separate pieces. It had almost reached the ‘H’ in her name. Even after all these years, a divorce of sorts appeared eminent. One side was already beginning to recede from the other. Weeds choked a cluttered barricade around the stone, and Ebenezer bent to pull them away. He didn’t worry about the back or sides but wanted the face of the stone clear. There was nothing he could do about the crack. When he was finished he fished in his pocket for the rose and extracted it as carefully as a thin glass ball. It was the only thing of color in the whole churchyard. He laid it down in the spot he’d cleared.
“This is all I got for ya, Sarah. It ain’t much, but I got old and don’t know much about things it seems I outta know a helluva lot about.” His voice was no more than a tremulous breeze whispering above the grass. “I’m tryin ta set things straight and figured this’ld be a good place ta start. Too bad life takes the liberties it does…” and he brushed a hand across one eye. He sniffed hard and held his breath for a moment. “I’m ain’t mad no more; I want’cha ta know that. I don’t know if it matters, but it’s the truth. I think I quit being mad a long time ago, but jus’ never realized.
“Just proves ya never can tell, don’t it?” He reached out and touched the stone briefly before standing up. He walked back to the cab slowly. As he neared it the driver dropped the newspaper and swiveled to open the back door. Ebenezer climbed inside and sat down heavily without saying a word.
“You done?” the cabbie asked, afraid for his tip to go further.
“Yep, that’s it.” Ebenezer’s voice revealed nothing.
The cabbie turned back to fold the paper as he kicked the car to life. He whistled through his teeth as he grabbed the steering wheel. “Musta been somebody special.”
“She was,” Ebenezer said dryly, refusing the bait. “In another time.”
The ride back was made in thankful silence.
Chapter 59
“Thomas?” Elizabeth asked, holding the phone nervously in her hand. Most of the nails were bitten to the quick on both.
“Elizabeth?” She heard a breath of relief, then, “Thank God you called! I was just going to cut out for a while; I’m setting up a pump and filter for an underground aquarium across town and there’s no phone. My beeper had a little…accident,” he said, recalling the bout of exasperation that had spelled its demise. “I was gonna call your mother’s tonight if I didn’t hear anything…regardless of the consequences,” he added and laughed. “Forgot to get your brother’s number last night.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. Thomas, I’m really embarrassed. I still can’t believe I called you…I don’t really remember much of anything. I left out in a bad mood and ended up at The Tank Station. Happy Hour.”
“Hey, look, no sweat. What did I tell you at your mother’s place? If you need me, call. No problem. That’s what friends are for.” He half expected a comment but when none came, he continued. “Haven’t felt very good today, huh? ‘S what happens when you get looped,” he joked. She said nothing and the interminable silence carried on.
Then abruptly, she asked, “Can we go out tonight?”
Thomas hauled in a quick breath. “Uh, yeah…sure. Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere, out walking, anything. Let’s do the Quarter. I just want to be with you tonight.” Her implication was plain enough. “I don’t want to go home,” she whispered. The urgency in her voice brought on an immediate heaviness in his groin.
He wiped his face with the towel lying on his bed and then chunked it into the dirty clothes hamper near the closet. “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he admitted. “Look, it won’t take me long to get what I’ve got to do done. I’m just gonna make it look like I’m busy. I’ll handle the big stuff tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “What time?”
“Seven, seven-thirty?”
“Seven’s great. Gives me a few hours to get rolling and take a shower.” He paused. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Where at? Billy’s, or your mother’s?”
She thought for a moment. She had no fresh clothes here. “How about my mother’s…that’s okay, I hope?”
“Fabulous,” he replied. “Seven sharp.”
“Great. See you then, bye.”
“Goodbye,” he said, hanging up.
Chapter 60
Billy called his apartment right before his shift was up, letting the phone ring ten times before hanging up, convinced Elizabeth was gone. Back at Mother’s, he figured. He considered calling her there but didn’t feel like trying the skilled wraith of his mother. Not so often in so short a period. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. She’d had a whole night to mull over what Billy knew she perceived as a family mutiny, and he had learned the best policy was usually silence. Of course you think that, the damnable voice warned him. That’s how you deal with shit. “Goddammit, that’s not true,” he said to himself, though the same voice was quick to remind him that it was, in fact, quite honestly true. “Fuck it,” he said defiantly, grinding his teeth. The voice eventually quieted down, but the whispering accusations continued in much the same fashion as when he’d learned of Elizabeth’s illness.
As he punched the time clock he considered the night before him, dreading the solitude of his apartment. Sitting in there alone held all the enjoyment of a prison sentence. He walked up the stairs to the lobby, deserting the building with a companion sense of relief and dismay; relief to be off, but still uneasy in his own company. He licked his lips, practically tasting the beer as his plan began to formulate. Nothing big really, just a quick stop by the Ripcord for a cold one. Maybe the old man would be there. If not, he’d try Ebenezer’s place. Solitude did not fit the bill tonight.
A short time later (with the fog just starting to tendril out of manholes, amid the gutters carrying within them all the unpleasant and cloying smells of waste and run-off that collected in the bowl of New Orleans) he saw the familiar sign. Tonight was the best weather he’d experienced since running upon the Ripcord, and as he walked closer he noticed the canopy below the sign had a tear along one side, causing the two unraveling edges to wave lazily back and forth in the gentle breeze that wafted between the buildings. Billy walked underneath the canopy and went inside.
The first person he saw was Shelly, once again minding the bar alone. He sauntered up, catching the glance out of the corner of her eye as she raised a finger acknowledging his presence. A loud, burly man at the other end had her immediate attention, so Billy sat down on a stool near the taps and waited patiently. From the lit
“Well,” she said, “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She flipped her head in Ebenezer’s direction. “Ya buddy’s a different story. He’s been here all day; brought his own mug. It’s one of those days,” she finished, although Billy didn’t quite know what she was talking about. There was just the unease he’d gotten from the first look.
“I know, I just saw him,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You been good?”
“No different really. Not bad considering.” She didn’t mention the confrontation with the drunk and Billy figured she was used to such behavior. “—can I get ya?” she was asking as Billy leaned forward to catch the rest of her sentence.
“Oh, ahh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Bud, draft if you’ve got it.”
“Always got it,” she affirmed, snapping up a mug from beneath the bar with a sweep of her hand. She pulled the tap forward a split second before the mug went underneath, tilted at just the right angle. When she slid it his way the head was so thin as to be transparent. “Enjoy,” she said, turning away to wait on another group who’d filtered in as they’d spoken. Billy peeled a five out of his wallet before starting over to Ebenezer’s table and pushed it down in the tip jar.