O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
“I have no idea,” moaned Harvey.
“He sold his sole!”
Harvey retched again.
“And why did he sell his sole?” asked Ling.
“Please stop,” said Harvey.
“Just for the halibut! Ha ha ha!”
Harvey threw up violently. And along with the undigested food,
he managed to finally purge some of his sorrow. Afterwards, when he
felt better, he tried to relax and put his woes into perspective.
“Laugh your bass off!” commanded Ling. Harvey’s heaving
convulsions did resemble laughter somewhat.
Harvey laid back down on the lumpy mattress when the memory
of the previous night came back to him like a boomerang, smacking
him in square on the forehead.
“Jesus Christ, Futterman, you idiot. One fifth of premium
Kentucky whisky and you’re telling your life secrets to a stranger like
it’s sodium pentathol.”
He thought about the conversation they had. He didn’t
remember all that much, but mostly it was just him talking,
explaining what happened at work, how he felt. She just stared at the
floor and kept re-filling his glass. In fact, that was how she got him to
keep talking. If he stopped speaking, she stopped pouring. He
couldn’t even recall her saying anything at all. Most likely, she didn’t
understand a stitch—he had discussed rather technical topics and
used plenty of jargon. Since the proprietress was of rather a plebeian
breed, and couldn’t possibly comprehend a monologue of such
erudition, he supposed that he had performed no real egregious error
by running a little at the mouth. Still, he knew he should pop
downstairs and confront her, just to make sure.
After cleaning himself up and throwing on some clothes, Harvey
lumbered down the worn staircase of the old hotel. To his surprise,
after looking around, there seemed to be no one on the premises.
“Madam!” he called, and then “Madam Victoria!” then “Vic!” and
then just “Yoo hoo,
anyone!
” but no one replied. He was totally alone.
It was a strange scenario that seemed somehow familiar: you are
a faceless stranger at a desert motel, and all of a sudden you realize
that you’re the only person around for miles. Where do you go? What
do you do? It was like something from a Twilight Zone episode, or
some similar recycled fantasy, he thought, where you wake up to find
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