Day of Reckoning

© 2012 by Shel Weissman. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/06/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9470-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9471-0 (e)

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Contents

Preface

Day Of Reckoning

Day Of Reckoning

Wheels Up

Wheels Up

The Organist

The Organist

A Time In Paris

A Time In Paris

The Collectors

The Collectors

Caught In The Throes Of Turmoil

Caught In The Throes Of Turmoil

Hitting The Boards

Hitting The Boards

The Wrath Of War

The Wrath Of War

Going In The Back Door

Going In The Back Door

Living On The Edge

Living On The Edge

The War Within

The War Within

A Brooklyn Summer

A Brooklyn Summer

Searching For What Matters

Searching For What Matters

Florentine Fever

Florentine Fever

Time To Move On

Time To Move On

Living In The Shadows

Living In The Shadows

Never Too Late

Never Too Late

Dedication

To Claire, who makes each moment

in my life worthwhile

Acknowledgement

I am grateful to Terri Harper, my typist, for keeping everything organized, clear, and on track. Thanks for your editorial comments and commitment to the book.

Preface

My indomitable and astonishing interests in the nature of life began in Brooklyn, New York, 1942. As a child, I was left to my own devices to grapple with the gritty, turbulent challenges of survival in the Brownsville section of the borough. Ethnic diversity, first generation immigrants, and conservative Jews tolerated each other until shifts in balance caused strife and irreversible disasters. In the shadows of my childhood I observed people taking risks to embolden their dreams of escape, to reverse their fate, and hope for a better day.

The ability to thrive under oppressive conditions had an enduring impact on my beliefs and world view. I embraced the broad array of human emotions and settled on helping the underdogs, giving them a voice, and in my fantasies, empowering them to become fearless explorers in a disinterested world. The men and women in my stories seek hope, redemption, rewards, and they are nostalgic for love and happiness. These ordinary people have the capacity to overcome their failings and gain insight into the human drama. They are trying to make sense of an enduring past which often shackles their ability to resolve their circumstances, but does not diminish their resolute spirit and steadfast determination to make each day matter.

Day of Reckoning

Day of Reckoning

It had grown so dark; he could see the passage of light across the sky. The glittering stars over the bay had vanished, yet it was an immense, still, and stunning night. Early June was typically appealing in Rhode Island, particularly on the coast around Narragansett Bay. Spring flowers were everywhere, some were revealed in the dunes. The wind blowing off the Atlantic moistened the ground, leaving the air chill bitter and clean. Locals walked their dogs in the extended light sky, and folks ate crab cakes and an assortment of ocean fish from the weathered timeless restaurants dotting the coastline.

John Morgan untied his sweater and slipped it over his broad shoulders. He walked slowly across the sand and watched the white capped waves move endlessly onto the shore. He grew up with the ocean, and tiny Rhode Island became home when his parents moved back in 1967. When the athletic youngster was five, his siblings were two and three years older.

Last year, John spent all summer with his ailing father. Will Morgan was bigger than life. He stood six and a half feet tall, weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and sported a thick full sandy beard. In high school, Will was on the wrestling team that won Warwick’s only state championship. Will became a lumberjack in Canada, a construction worker in Texas, and a roustabout for a freighter company, travelling nine months a year. At the age of fifty-six, he had a stroke which left him partially disabled, and then he contracted leukemia, and when winter arrived, he died.

At the gravesite funeral, John sat next to his mother, Yvette, and held her hand. His mother was a small woman, whose face was still a striking reminder of how beautiful she must have been. Next to her was his older sister Sissy, as everyone called her. She’d forsaken her given name, Allison. Sissy was animated, attractive, with dark black hair, large black eyes, and a boyish figure with tattoos on both arms. She was always careful not to expose her delicate white skin too long under the brilliant summer sun. Jeff was the middle child, and he sat to the left of John. He had the smallest features of the siblings, resembling his mother and her side of the family. His closely cropped brunette hair, oval face, small nose and set mouth made him look like a priest. The brief funeral was sparsely attended, mostly due to their father’s pension to hold a grudge, and his belligerent dark side during his drunken tirades. Will was completely cut off from his extended family. Yvette’s sister was the sole representative from mother’s family. John’s childhood friend, Randy, came to express his condolences and offered his support. Randy had a crush on Sissy, but she pulled down his trousers in front of a group of primary schoolmates, because he made fun of her father’s drunkenness. Memory is more appealing than fact.

Following the funeral services, most of those in attendance drove back to the Morgan house, over the knoll of the meandering dunes. Their compact, weathered home was built by their father’s grandfather in the eighteenth century. He was a summer farmer, planting vegetables and herbs on two acres of sandy loam soil. Will had a bedroom and sun porch added after Jeff was a toddler. Sissy slept upstairs in the attic where she secretly drank too much and usually came late to the table. Over dinner she remembered, or imagined, some injustices of her youth. Sissy recalled going skinny dipping in Potter’s Creek with a few middle school girlfriends. A couple of older boys tried to pull a prank and steal some of their clothes. They screamed loudly, but the boys laughed and began tossing their personals way up into the tree limbs. Sissy ran out of the water, naked as a jaybird, and jumped on the bigger boy. The tomboy in Sissy’s reputation grew, and she became a force to be reckoned with during her remaining teenage years.

By the time he was fifteen, John was desperate to leave home. His parents argued over money and their verbal abuse became difficult for John to handle. Under the circumstances, family pleasantness had been replaced by a wall of intolerances, anger, and shame. It was as if the sky turned black and the shadow of gloom passed over the Morgan household. The dysfunctional family evolved and became individuals out for themselves. Father spent more time in the bars, mother often stayed with her sister in Providence. Sissy resorted to alcohol and drugs, aborted a child at the age of seventeen. Jeff became stoic, unresponsive, and Johnny concentrated on school sports. They were like ships passing in the night. When John graduated high school, he stayed with his aunt and uncle in San Francisco. He went to community college, plunged into university circles and made the dean’s academic list. He worked part-time in a department store, met a girl at work and began the road to independence. Once a year, John returned to Rhode Island, he spent much of his time with old friends and only saw his family at dinner. People told him you can never go back home, and for the first time, he understood what they meant.

After the funeral, he helped his mother sort through his father’s possessions. John was amazed to find his childhood drawings and items he made for his father. He did not realize his father had a soft side toward him, and how much these handmade things mattered to his distant father. Sissy came alongside him and they eagerly studied the treasures their father valued. She put her arm around John’s shoulder and pressed her head against his. They sat together silently, and wept.

As sunset approached, John looked out the window and saw his sister walking down to the beach trail. Everyone left the house, Yvette and Jeff went with his aunt and the others disappeared into the golden sunset. John went to the desolate beach, the wind wailing at his feet, and his footsteps faded behind. Sissy sat on the edge of a sand dune and watched as the waves lapped the silent shore. She was in her school sweatshirt, the hood pulled tightly over her head, while holding a bottle of beer.

Do you mind some company?

No, John. Pull up some sand and stay awhile.

What are you thinking about?

After a long pause, she said, I’m not even thirty and I’ve been divorced twice. First time I was too young, immature and naïve. Second time around, I was desperate to have a man in my life to take care of me. Then I came to find out he’s more screwed up than me.

Life can be unfair. We just need to soldier on.

Is that what you’re doing, Johnny, being the good soldier, acting like nothing could go wrong? she said bitterly.

I’ve had my problems. Why did you think I was always on the move? I wasn’t just trying to find myself; I was escaping from tiny, strangulating Rhode Island. Everyone puts so much importance in keeping up appearances. When it comes down to it, we live lives of quiet desperation. When we’re troubled, we go inside ourselves like a fearful turtle and mask our problems. I’m no better than anyone else around here. Living in San Francisco has opened my eyes to see a bigger world, where I can be honest about who I am.

Bravo, Johnny. I’m happy for you, and your enlightenment. It’s easier for guys to overcome their emotions and put their hurts in a small box and bury them in the sand. As for me, I don’t see much hope, so I drink myself into another world until I’m numb.

Sissy, I don’t want to preach to you. I’ve been guilty of that before. I just want you to be happy with yourself. Dad really messed you up, I’m sorry…

John, you don’t know the full story, so close your trap!

Why not get it off your chest, take a step in the right direction and remove your mask. He’s gone and can’t hurt you anymore.

Sissy took a swig of beer and stared into the dark ocean. Remember, I told you, when mom was in the hospital, dad was lonely and blue. He started drinking at home. One night, when I was pretty young, he took me to his favorite tavern in Providence and introduced me to liquor. Over the next few months, we’d go together, get drunk, and I started smoking weed. You’ve heard this before.

Yes, Jeff and I talked to him about slowing down and not taking you there anymore.

It didn’t matter, we were both addicted to that lifestyle. One night we made our usual drive to the tavern. A bunch of guys were hanging around ’cause the bar was closed. Some sort of electrical problem and there were no lights, refrigeration coolers were out. Dad and I met with two of his drinking buddies and the older one, Brody, suggested we come by his apartment and have a drink together. So the four of us went to Brody’s place. Larry had some whisky in his car and we were good to go.

You knew these guys?

Yeah, but not well. Dad was a drinking partner with them. A while later, Dad was smashed. He laid down on the couch. I was pretty high and smoked a couple of joints. They got me into the bedroom and Brody pinned me down on the bed. Larry kissed me and I felt his oily tongue in my mouth. We were out of control. They raped me and I didn’t fight them off. Brody told me if I said anything, they would claim I wanted it.

Sissy, my god, is that when you went to a clinic with mom?

I was feeling a lot of pain and told mom a boy I was fond of broke my virginity. She took me to a clinic. They examined me and saw some torn tissue. They prescribed medication and gave me a lubricant. Mom gave me a major lecture on being protected, and I hid the truth from her. I didn’t blame Dad, but he certainly let me down. I mean, I was jail bait, a freakin’ fourteen-year-old. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes glowed in the moonlight.

I am so sorry you had to deal with that by yourself, and so young.

John, I don’t want your pity. I just wanted to tell you the full story so you could understand why I’ve been so messed up. One day there’ll be a reckoning, and I’ll be at peace.

Before he could say another word, his sister rose up and complained about being cold, and they quickly walked back to the house. Sissy may have been talking about taking her life, he felt helpless and anxious. He lay in bed going over what Sissy told him. John was restless. He silently listened to the sea as he had done for most of his life. This time, the ocean sounded stronger, pounding the vast beach rougher and taking much of the sand back into the retreating waters.

That morning, the sea was dark and iridescent. John showered and dressed and joined Jeff for breakfast. Yvette made pancakes, ham and roasted potatoes, a family favorite. John was told Sissy was sleeping in and was not to be disturbed. By noon, Sissy entered the kitchen and helped her mother with dinner. She ate an apple and some cheese, washed down with a beer. John and Jeff returned from the beach and hugged their mother and sister.

You look pale. How about putting some life into your cheeks, Sissy, insisted Jeff, talking like a big brother.

Oh, I dunno, I’m not much for the beach today.

C’mon, Jeff, let’s get this girl some fresh air. We can walk past the dunes and avoid the beach.

The brothers took her gently by the arms and escorted their sister out the door. Yvette heard the backdoor close on their voices. Just like when they were kids, thought their mother, when they wanted to escape from the house. It was good to see them band together, especially when families often separated by business, jealousy, politics and altered values.

They walked along the driveway that ran up a slight embankment through their languishing garden. They sang a children’s song and merrily trudged through a field covered with moss and seaweed. Approaching them was Mrs. Reese, with her long gray hair peeking out of a broken straw hat. She dressed in a floral print smock and carried a basket of freshly picked flowers. Except for the white hair and slightly crooked back, it was difficult to believe she was eighty-five.

Well, if it isn’t the Morgan kids all together. That must make your mother happy, especially after the loss of her husband. I’m real sorry for your loss. How are you all holding up? asked Mrs. Reese inquisitively.

Under the circumstances, we are doing alright. Thank you for your kind thoughts. How are your children doing, Mrs. Reese? inquired Jeff.

Benjy is working in Philadelphia as a veterinarian and has a steady girlfriend. Agnes is a fashion designer in New York City, and she married into money. They live in some new fangled apartments that’s got a guy in uniform who opens the front door for you. Land sakes, what kind of a job is that for a grown man? Their apartment house gives me the willies.

You should be proud of them. They each got to do what they wanted and are successful. Please give them our warm regards, said John.

I will. Are you heading over to the bluff? Things have changed out there. The path is more dangerous and the crosswinds can surprise you. Imagine, in the last year, two people committed suicide out there. A young fellow who lived in Connecticut, New Haven, I think, died instantly when hitting the rocks. A couple of months later a widow jumped into the sea. They say she was on drugs, higher than a kite. Awful way to go.

We’ll be careful, Mrs. Reese. Say hello to your kids, remarked Sissy.

Please give my condolences to your mother. I’m not much for funerals. That’s why I didn’t go.

The Morgans kept walking along the dunes.

You remember Benjy when he and some of his friends stole a pickup and drove to Angus Hill, lost control of the truck and totaled it? said John.

Remember? Why, he hit me up for twenty bucks. They were headed to Mystic Harbor to shag some girls. Benjy was always on the watch for an adventure, joked Jeff.

I think the craziest prank we did with them was going to Manhattan and drinking on the way down. Agnes’s boyfriend Les drove us all down to New York in his jalopy. We got into the city at one in the morning. It was hot and humid; you could see the heat vapors in front of you, smiled Sissy.

Oh yeah, we broke into a dress shop on Madison Avenue, took the mannequins out of the window and we put on their outfits. We scared a couple who stopped to look into the window. They were making funny faces and I gave them the finger. Their eyes bugged out and they ran off, chortled Sissy.

I liked when we went to Coney Island, got on some rides, and had Nathan’s hot dogs and Shatzkin’s knishes. It was such a sultry night, it was fun to strip down to our skivvies and swim in the ocean. John could see everything clearly in his mind’s eye.

The siblings went into a strip mall and had some ice cream. They talked about how to care for their mother and share expenses if it became necessary. The threesome got sympathy from a few people, telling them what a good guy their father was and not to let his drinking habits distort his kind ways. On the return walk, Sissy said nothing while the brothers chatted with each other. Yvette had prepared a quick meal of turkey burgers, beans and store bought potato salad and buns. John went to his room and called Ginny, his girlfriend in San Francisco.

Are you holding up okay? I miss you so much, John. When are you coming home? Home sounded so foreign to John, since coming back to his childhood house, which felt more like a fantasy place. He was mentally connected to the west coast, while the past seemed like a lifetime ago in another dimension.

I’m planning on flying back in a couple of days. There isn’t much to wrap up here and I miss you so much. Is everything okay?

Yes, John, all is well out here. You take care of yourself, get enough sleep, and keep your strength up.

Okay, mom, I’ll take care of myself.

Please send my sympathies and best wishes to your family.

The clouds held the kind of light that looked like blood. The Morgans sat on the porch and reminisced. They were desperately casting about for something to keep their mood from turning dark blue. Sissy had a tall whiskey and tonic, everyone else drank Jack Daniels with soda. Sissy seemed all wound up tighter than a mummy. She smoked impatiently and picked arguments for no good reason. Apart from making quick short comments, she became silent again, withdrawn and morose. Jeff emotionally closed down, sitting motionless, white, without expression. When the rain and lightning came, they incorporated it into their conversation.

I can still smell the fresh, clean air during the rain when we slept in a tent in the backyard. We’d try to scare each other with stories about ghosts, vampires and alien monsters. In the morning, the dew smelled like freshly cut grass and the trees shed tears from their enormous leaves. We were playful, creative and inseparable.

What changed us, Sissy? asked her bewildered brother.

We grew up; we changed, and so did the world, Jeff.

Why does it have to be like that? asked John, and Jeff nodded. Sissy gazed at John with eyes moistly filled, soft, innocent eyes searching for answers. That would be the last time all three siblings would be together.

John and Jeff went their ways, Sissy stayed with her mother. As days turned into weeks, Sissy became a regular at a sports bar in the suburb of Warwick. Her anger and wise-cracking got her into trouble. She stole guys away from their girlfriends by wearing provocative outfits and coming onto the men. Sissy had a drug dealer who was often getting her tricks to support a burgeoning addiction. One evening, Sissy’s dealer took her to a narrow, tree-lined street near Brown University in Providence. The row house had attractive flower pots; stone carved boxes dripping ivy over the sides, and decorative wrought iron fences. Sissy nervously rang the bell. A thickset man with a heavy face and full black moustache answered the door. He smiled and let her inside.

You’re better lookin’ than Caesar said you were. How ’bout a drink, gorgeous?

Sure, make it a gin and tonic. He handed her the drink and led her to the basement. Sissy saw a bed with a rumpled mattress. On the stucco wall were pictures of Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and an array of young female celebrities in various forms of undress. The man without a name held her around the waist, and then sat on the bed.

What’s your name?

Allie.

Take off your clothes, leave on your bra and panties. Then dance for me, honey. The creepy guy put on a CD and Sissy did some bump and grind movements. The older man got agitated. C’mon, let’s see some energy, a smile. Maybe you don’t like me.

Sissy looked the other way, trying to avoid his greasy stare. The large man quickly left the bed, grabbed her by the hair and flung her down onto a club chair. He stood over her and hit her with his fist.

You no good whore. What’s the matter, bitch, are you too good for me? He grabbed Sissy by the arm, pulled her to her feet and beat her. She was silent, listless and