Preta's Realm (14 page)

Brian nodded. “Yep. It’s been, what, fifteen, almost twenty years?”

Drew looked around the bar. The faces had all changed, the games had changed, the jukebox had changed. The place had a digital jukebox loaded with thousands of songs and not one full-length recording. He thought about the obscure cuts they would punch into the old jukebox, the ones that only the real fans knew. He had played “Slaves and Bulldozers” far more than “Black Hole Sun.”

“Used to be our Thursday-night hangout, remember that?”

“Some of them,” said Brian, smirking. “The four-dollar pitchers erased a lot of memories.”

“There were never many chicks here. Something about the place didn’t appeal to them.”

“Maybe it was the filthy beer taps, or possibly the jukebox loaded with metal and grunge, or maybe it was the hole in the floor of the bathroom that functioned as the toilet, or possibly the bullet hole above the condom machine.”

“They’ve sure cleaned the place up,” Drew said, looking at the fancy neon signs decorating the stucco walls. “The pool table might be the last remnant of our old college hangout.”

Brian held his glass up to Drew and invited a toast. Neither man said anything as they tipped the drink back.

“It’s good to have you back, man,” said Brian. “Been kinda worried about you lately. The thing with Vivian, and then Johnson goes AWOL for three days, and you ain’t been right.”

Drew nodded with an apologetic motion. “I was in a funk.”

“I want to help, man. I’m your bro. You gotta let me in sometimes when you really need it.”

Drew nodded before draining the rest of his drink. The thickest, sweetest rum sank to the bottom of the glass. Drew felt the sugary spice march down his throat until the sensation warmed his chest.

“What do you think happened to Viv?” Drew asked.

“She’s always been a crazy broad. God only knows who or what she got mixed up in. I feel like shit about it. It ain’t like we hung much, but still. You know somebody for that long, it hits you when they become a victim. Some dude really had it out for her, hurt her good.”

Drew shook his head and stared at the melting ice cube in his glass. “She didn’t deserve to suffer like that.”

“Damn straight, Drew. Nobody does.”

“Do you remember the times she came here with us?”

“Vaguely. I remember that she had the hots for you but you were too hung up on Molly to take Viv for a ride. I can remember her hanging with us two or three times, but she eventually stopped coming out.”

“There was one time. Don’t think you were here that night. There was one time I knew I could’ve done her. We had our hands moving, nowhere south of the border, but damn close. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve been different if I hadn’t chased Molly out of state, if I had stuck around and given Vivian a chance.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Drew looked at Brian and pushed a sleeve across his eyes.

“Some freak hurt her, cut her up, and left her body in the river. And that’s not your fault.”

“I know, I know. My brain goes in funny ways. Been thinking a lot about Vivian lately. She got really weird after college.”

Brian laughed and slammed his glass on the table. “You sayin’ if she took your schlong she wouldn’t have been such a nutty bitch?”

“Have some respect, bro. She’s dead.”

“I’m not trying to disrespect her, Drew. I’m just sayin’ that you are not responsible for Vivian’s life. We make a million choices a week. Every day we’re deciding things that could dramatically change our lives. You can’t hover over that. You can’t second guess leaving the house a minute later and avoiding a car accident. You can’t control how the universe deals the deck. Man, you have to savor the moment because nothing else exists.”

“Thanks, Buddha.”

“I’m serious, Drew. And you’re way too serious. Quit thinking seven steps backward and seven steps forward. I’m not telling you to forsake your future, throw your 401k money to the casino. What I’m saying is you need to live more in the moment and enjoy it rather than thinking about what it could have been or what it might become.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I’ve always been this way. I’m too metacognitive for my own good.”

“Thanks, Freud. Call it what you want, but you have to stop taking responsibility for the universe.”

Drew nodded his head and looked at the bartender again. He could not help but notice how much more attractive she became with each rum and coke served. She saw the motion and pulled the soda gun and bottle of rum, one in each hand.

“Another?” he asked Brian.

“It’s not like you raped and murdered Vivian with your own hands. It’s not your fault.”

Drew closed his eyes and nodded. “You’re right, man. Not like I stabbed her in the back of the neck.”

Brian squinted and tilted his head sideways. Before he could speak again, the rum and cokes arrived with a healthy dose of sugary intoxication, which bent the conversation back towards the glory days of Soundgarden and the merits of getting Rage Against the Machine back together.

***

Drew pulled into the driveway, the streetlights casting a hazy light on the neighborhood. He fumbled for the keys and caught a glimpse of 2:47 a.m. on the dashboard clock. The illusion of island happiness from the night’s rum put a smile on Drew’s face. He hoped Molly would be waiting up for him.

The refrigerator hummed. Drew dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and kicked his shoes into a corner, where they landed in the shape of sleeping puppies. He opened the fridge. The lone light bulb blinded Drew as he fumbled for the water pitcher. “Two full glasses and I’ll be good to go tomorrow morning.”

He drained two and a half glasses to be on the safe side. Two aspirin followed. Drew did not bother with a shower and skipped brushing his teeth as well. Any thoughts of sex with Molly disappeared as his head hit the pillow and Drew succumbed to the power of a rum-induced, dreamless sleep.

***

“Morning.”

Molly shook the sleep from her eyes and followed it with an exaggerated yawn that told Drew she was rested and in a good mood, one of the indicators that married couples use to measure the worth of the day.

“What time did you get home?” she asked, watching him stir scrambled eggs in an iron skillet. The kids sat in the living room, engrossed in the latest cartoon.

“After last call,” he replied. Drew kissed her forehead before reaching into the refrigerator for the cheese.

“Omelets for both?” he shouted into the living room over the rapid-fire laugh of a character on the screen.

“Yes!” the kids yelled back in unison.

“You want one?” Drew asked Molly.

She ignored the question and put her arms around his waist. Drew felt her breasts on his back and shook his head.

“Stop that or I’ll burn these eggs.”

Molly winked and headed back to the bedroom. She let her robe slip open enough to get Drew excited.

“C’mon up when you’re done.”

Drew smiled and finished the omelets for Billy and Sara. He placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and made sure the stove was off.

“Got some things to do upstairs. You guys okay?” he asked the kids.

They nodded without looking up.

They would sit there through Armageddon if the television still worked,
he thought.

He climbed the stairs towards the bedroom where Molly’s robe hung on the hook.

***

The teapot whistled and demanded attention from its master. The old man sauntered towards the stove like a bride milking the walk down the aisle. His white hair sat in wisps on his shoulders and his beard stretched to his navel. He gripped the hand-carved cane with his left hand while extending his shaking right hand towards the pot.

“Let me get that,” said Ravna.

The old man whisked the air from in front of his face and wrinkled his nose as if a foul odor had crept into the room.

“I’m not feeble,” he replied.

“I was not suggesting you are, Mashoka. I was trying to be polite.”

“Then sit down on the couch and allow the master of the house to serve his guest.”

Ravna put both hands in the air to signal his compliance. He walked two paces from the kitchenette to the pillows on the floor, chuckling to himself when he thought of the terms “house” and “guest.” Neither felt accurate, the eternal word smithing and curse of the writer.

Mashoka turned the burner off and poured the boiling water into two ancient, porcelain cups. He dropped a hand-filled tea bag into each, instantly releasing the aroma of citrus and mint.

“Peppermint?” Ravna asked.

“Spearmint,” replied Mashoka.

The old man added two spoons, a cradle of organic cane sugar, and two pieces of toasted bread to the tray. He leaned his cane on the wall and lifted the tray. Ravna rushed to his side with his arms extended.

“You have prepared the tea. The least I can do is carry the tray.”

Mashoka relented with a nod. “Fifty years ago I would have carried you carrying the tray.”

“Fifty years ago I was not even a sparkle in my mother’s eye. Relax, Mashoka. I am not here to challenge your authority.”

The old man cracked a smile that sent the lines on his face rearranging at various angles. His soft eyes shone through the narrow slits created by his Japanese ancestry. Mashoka pushed the silken headband up a bit on his forehead and followed Ravna into the seating area.

“How much of the orange grind do you have left?”

“Enough for another batch of leaf, provided the spearmint plant produces again.”

Ravna nodded.

“How is your mother?” the old man asked.

“Fine. I guess.”

“A woman’s mood is not a matter of chance.”

“An Asian proverb?”

“Obi-wan, the new Clone Wars cartoon.”

Ravna laughed and Mashoka did the same. The old man shook his head, trying to hide a genuine smile.

“Do you know why I asked to see you?” Ravna asked.

Mashoka sat still, staring into the younger man’s eyes. “Gaki,” he said to Ravna after taking a sip of his tea.

“It has made it here, to our town, so it would seem.”

“It would seem that way,” replied Mashoka.

“I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Banish it.”

Mashoka shuddered and let his cane fall to the floor. It rattled on the bamboo hardwood and rolled to a stop on the cushion between the two men.

“I am old. Frail.”

“It has killed twice so far, Mashoka.”

“You do not know this for certain.”

“I don’t know for certain that the sun will rise tomorrow, but it will not stop me from greeting the day.”

“Zhuangzi?”

“Fortune cookie, Fire Dragon Chinese, East 8
^th
Avenue and Core Road.”

Mashoka smiled and shook his head at Ravna. “Very well. Let’s call it even.”

Ravna placed his empty cup on the tray and folded his hands. He ignored the other treats and stared deep into the old man’s eyes.

“You know we cannot look away. I will chase it with or without your guidance.”

Mashoka sighed and placed his cup next to Ravna’s on the tray. He no longer had an appetite for the toast or frivolous small talk.

“It has been many years, many decades, since I last fought Gaki. While my body becomes frail and broken, his spirit remains fierce. These old bones cannot triumph.”

“I am not asking for your physical prowess from long ago. I need your wisdom, your knowledge of the creature. I need to know how to banish it again.”

“Gaki will return, finding another hole in the dyke that has not been plugged.”