OCR Text |
Show 8 Tuesday, October 26, 1982 A swarm of people teemed against the subway door. To the observer they were no more than a force, a milling crowd of dishuman humanity. Howard stood a little to the left. The waves of people scraped against him, buffeting him like a grain of sand sucked and swirled in a turbulent ocean wave until finally he mingled and was quickly absorbed, relinquishing his one infintesimal bubble of idenity. He was not of massive size or distinguishing demeanor. His sparse brown hair fell like a wire brush across a reticent forehead folded in never-relaxing convolutions. His soft, slightly puffy body aroused little curiosity; indeed the aspect of greatest interest about him could only be his typicality. Howard was the epitome of bland, city manhood. His gray wallstreet suit, hat, and briefcase, devoid of ornamentation, mixed easily with the fluid mass, and he passed out of the bombardment of billboards and went into the carnivorous steel and vinyl cavity of the subway. The interior was warm and close, smelling faintly of dry air conditioning and sticky skin-warmed plastic. Howard chose a seat about midway in the car and settled himself into the preassigned postilion indented by so many other wallstreet gray-pants. Automatically, he raised his newspaper. Then, behind the rustling, dusty print screen, his eyes revealed their secret. The lids raised laboriously, disclosing eyes made of glittering emerald green; the left one sparkled with small yellow flecks. His eyes glazed over and the newpaper blurred before him. Gradually the pale lids assumed their customary half-closed position. The masticating movement of the subway created a protective zone around him. Thus encased, he did not notice the swollen stroking hands of the man seated in the adjoining seat or the woman whose huge arm in an incongrous cap aleeve jiggled in time to the subway's metallic music. The woman's protrubrant eyes darted constantly from face to face yet never pierced the molecules of air that somehow entombed each passenger in the cubicle. The ride should have been nothing new to Howard. Every workday at 7 a.m. he made the grinding journey to the heart of the clamorous, particle-shrouded city. Every day, precisely at 7:50, he emerged from the throat of the subway and elbowed his way through the conglomerate of people to "Annie's 1-Stop Cafe" on 9th and 16th, where he routinely dedicated himself to a standard breakfast. At 8:45 he would gather his coat and hat and leave to become for eight hours one more fiber of the nerve that controlled the heartbeat of the city. At 5:00 the film would reel backwards, then stop with . a click as Howard pulled shut the heavy door of his lifeless concrete apartment building. Once in his apartment, he would often lie in a motionless coma of reflection for hours. On a wall facing his bed, the paper eyes of his former wife, which for seven long years had watched him from their cheap gilt frame, had finally given up trying to see through the settled dust and gloom that prevaded the room. Howard's few acquaintances did not visit often. Perhaps they considered the flat depressing, or didn't find a morose game of cards to their taste. But, more likely, it was Howard's sudden disconcerting green gaze which would ignite-and retreat for brief unexpected moments that made them evasive of his company. Whatever the reason, Howard never seemed to concern himself over it. He lived his life, though some might consider it austere, simply by rote: past forgotten, future sure, present stable. This morning, however, somewhere in the small hours of time between the clank of his apartment door at 6:45 and the arrival of the 7:00 subway, Howard's life left its rutted cir-, cle and followed a slow, unwinding tangent. Howard's eyes flickered to his watch, comparing it with the clock on the subway tunnel hall. He adjusted it the necessary three minutes and wedged himself through the crowds in the subway until, thoroughly entangled, he became one with the heavy mass that moved in an encroaching wave toward thepolished plate glass and chrome doors ahead. Once through the doors, the regurgitated mob spread and dissolved leaving Howard in control again. The cafe doors responded to his tug and then whooshed Soliloquy shut behind him as he took his usual seat at the counter. Every morning since he had begun coming to the cafe, Annie had been his waitress. She, with knowing eyes, would automatically cease wiping the worn formica countertop and greet him cheerfully. Today, Howard didn't bother to answer her. So Annie's crooked fingers silently wrote up the order that never varied, served his breakfast coffee, and retreated to fry eggs and bacon at the steamy grill. The warm coffee slurped over the side of Howard's earthenware cup and became sweeter with every additional teaspoonful of sugar he mixed into it. Today, he absent-mindedly continued to scoop as the realization that accompanies change began to dawn upon him. A vague uneasiness and irregularity began to surface in his thoughts. Lurching dizzily, the emotion he had hidden for seven years threatened to grow to full proportions. Inside, the clotted cogs of his mind moved rustily. His eyelids changed from their droop that hints of too much sleep and tightened imperceptibly. In his forearms and back the sinew tauntened. Another change took place, an extremely significant event. He had a thought. It was not profound, but rather silly even to himself. He wondered what the khaki-coated arm resting on the counter next to him would do if it found itself suddenly stained with warm, oversweet brown liquid. His hand itched to tip the cup. He twitched a muscle forward only a fraction, then quickly retracted it and fought to subdue the driving desire. His glance shifted defensively left and right to see how many people had observed his impulse and labeled it, and him, as silly. Strange. No one seemed to notice. ..unless. ..yes, Annie with her small penetrating eyes must have seen. Even now Howard imagined he saw her covertly watching him from behind the splatterscreen shielding grill and laughing. The prickling memories he had smothered out of his mind resurfaced in a staggering rush. He felt the painful whizzing sensation that accompanies the need to sleep. His mind eclipsed back to his sixth grade year. The children; there they were again. Even after fifteen years their pale, luminescent faces and whirling kaleidoscope-colored clothing still circled him. Jeering, ridiculing, Howard they taunted. Idiot Howard, idiot Howard. He tried desperately to stop the flow of images that had tormented him for so many years, until seven years ago he had unflinchingly killed them forever. Or so he thought. The event had been blocked completely from his memory until moments before, but now the past pressed in, poking his mind with sharp braille dots. Against the force of will, Howard slid back to seven years ago and found himself standing by the kitchen sink, staring stupidly at the shattered glass of milk he had accidently dropped. His wife knelt there mopping up, teasing, calling im joking lttle names-and laughing. She, with her constant voice and easy confidence, presented the' perfect opportunity to end the torment. Slowly he had reached up and pulled the dish towel form the rack. Then, with the deliberation befitting madness, he wrapped the around her white, downy neck. Now no one would laugh anymore. With the return of his painful memories, the tight gray chrysalis that has surrounded Howard day after dull day in a thick solitude shredded slowly. The moth inside was already formed, resurrected from the previous worm. When the shuffling metamorphosis was complete, the moth would emerge, a distasteful creature much more complex than the wriggling nonentity that had preceeded it. When Howard retouched reality, he found himself in the subway car. It stopped and the massive beast threw wide its doors, spitting the city's mid-morning lunch from its innards on to the concrete wrinkled by heat waves. Howard's right shoulder snagged along the store fronts as he moved. With his left shoulder he kept a constant space bubble. His downcast eyes were almost closed in defiance of the myriad of harsh, sweating lights. A chill trickled through his hair and down his back and the handle of his briefcase became slimy with moisture. Following the mass of others, Howard stepped off the sidewalk and onto the street. Belatedly, he noticed the walk sign flashing red and tried desperately to retreat. Finding himself barred on all sides by cars and the squealing honking noises of haggard motorists, he felt the blood pound blindly to his head. Eyes unfocused, he lur ched through the tangled chain of traffic until he was once again on the concrete sidewalk. There he stood, toes pointed in and head downcast, defensively awaiting punishment-none came. Warily, he raised his head, then difiantly he searched the pasty faces of the people around him. Unreasonable rage seized him. Laughing-they were all laughing inside. His mind focused on the girl whom, he was sure, was pointing him out to her cab driver. On insane reality he saw the cornor cop silently chuckling, and the little group on the other side of the street glancing at him occasionally and then snorting with mirth. He began to push through the crowds, his shoes slapping on the pavement as he gathered desperate speed. Curious heads turned and more people pointed. His mind pleaded with them to stop, he hated them for mocking. His eyes no longer drooped, they stood out prominent and greea. Panting, he pushed with the flat of his hand against the door of Annie's cafe. He paused just inside the door, painfully aware of his appearance. His thin nervous hands quickly buttoned his suit-coat and picked imaginary bits of lint from his pants. In an attempt to regain composure, he veiled his eyes and with a great show of dignity forced himself to walk past the piercing eyes of the other patrons to the men's room. Once inside he collapsed. Several moments later he realized his predicament. There was no escape. His only choice of exit was exactly the way he had come in. His stomach gurgled with fear. He could just walk out, head down. But his own sense of propriety prevented him. Tied with the iron bonds of his own mind,, Howard rose and flushed the toilet deceitfully, then delivered himself to the fa'ncied scrutiny of the other customers. Annie finished wiping the already clean counter and began to stroll over to where Howard had seated himself. She halted in suprise, however, when she saw Howard raise the menu as he had not done for years. Her manner was like that of a rebuffed lover. She sniffled. With a shrug, she busied herself energetically abusing the coffee stains on the counter. Howard's long, slim fingers drummed slowly on the outside of the menu. Stealthily, each raised and descended in suces-sion, keeping time to a pattern cont. on pg. 9 |