"VOICES"

A

Short Story

By

David K. Irwin

Isaah, a well built black man, was hearing voices coming from the bag on the park bench. He struggled to control the laughter which was bubbling inside like an expensive champagne but his cork was about to pop. You see, it reminded him of that commercial he saw in one of the Macys store windows on the free TV. You know the one; this young boy on the park bench hears a man hollering from in a bag about how good the food is in there and finally tempts the boy into looking inside. Of course, Isaah heard voices quite often from strange and sometimes wonderful places and although he didn't always let on he heard them…he always paid attention to what they had to say.

The "bag-voices" chattered louder and seemed to rattle in the back of his head and suddenly the bag moved as if to say, "Hey, here we are dummy, take a look!" Nervously glancing from side to side (since it's never quite safe to just do things), Isaah scanned the park nearby to see if anyone was paying attention to the hubbub.

Then he thought, "Uh, ain't so weird a bum checkin' out a paper bag. Hell, uh, bags and bums go together."

Just as he reached down to grab the bag, a large gray-squirrel jumped out and nearly caused Isaah to lose a mornings wine down his pant leg.

"Holy, jumpin', Jesus Christ" escaped his lips instead.

In response, the squirrel scurried up a nearby tree muttering something under its breath which was obviously meant for Isaah's ears alone.

Officer Campbell, a big man for his uniform, slowly ambled over and, with a noticeable sigh, plopped down on the park bench.

"How're the voices today Isaah?"

"Well, uh damn squirrel was lookin' for scraps in da bag you alls sittin' by and he, uh, well he had me goin' for a spell till he up and an ran off."

"Who do ya think was talking …the bag or the squirrel?" the cop said with a chuckle.

"Ah, well…hey now! I don't need you makin' fun uh me! I get enough uh that from all da youngin's bout here. Ya know what de been sayin'?"

"No…what?" he said, absently picking at the snow-capped (or glaze-filled?) pimple on his chin from one-to-many doughnuts.

"I-say-uh" says Isaah obviously looking for some kind words from the lawman.

"Oh well, kids will be kids" said Officer Glenn giving up on the zit which now looked like a small, red, ant hill.

"Well, if they wuz my childrun, I'd uh give 'em a smack alongside da head to straighten 'em up like my paw done me. Learn them some damn respect it would."

Without a shred of sympathy the cop says, "Now I-say-uh, I won't have you smackin' kids in my park! Not while I'm on duty anyhow! I'd have to put your crazy old ass in jail again and you know how scary the voices get in there. Now get on your way!"

Isaah turned and started walking off silently recalling what the squirrel had said about the cops in the park as it hastily climbed the tree.

Isaah followed his route religiously and today was Tuesday. To be exact it was 8:37 am, on Tuesday morning, according to Jake who always watched the time and was never even as much as one minute off. Jake also watched out for Isaah when things got "iffy". Right now though, Samuel was in charge since he knew how things were down at the rail-yard.

It was a brisk walk and Isaah could feel the sting of early-winter winds as he covered the two miles. Now and again, he would stop, cock an ear as if listening to something (or someone), shake or nod his head, and then walk on muttering to himself. I'm almost positive it is usually in response to something Jake has said like, "Hey man, we gotta get movin' here. Time's a waistin'." That was one of Jake's favorite sayings, "Time's a waistin'". Isaah liked to think he could remember all the strange things he had been told over the years and indeed, if you gave him the time, he could spin some mighty wild stories. However, things weren't sticking in his memory the way they used to and it seemed to him as though he was losing whole periods of time. Sometimes hours; sometimes days. But Samuel is another story. He knows how to handle things with the hide throwers and the bosses at the slaughter yards. He always remembers just what to do and say…

"How's it look today boss-man?" Samuel said to the small, Leprechaun-looking Irish Yard-Boss.

Without waiting for the reply he knew wouldn't come, he turned towards the small group of men sharing a cigarette butt, huddled out of the wind by the boxcar. "What's goin' down today?"

"Yo, Samuel…how's she shakin' this morning?" said Joshua with a jolly smile somehow suited to his 280 lbs. of bulk. During the Christmas season, he always got a job as one of the "Santa's" for the Red Cross and, on Christmas Day, he would wear his suit to the 137^th street mission and hand out "Meals-on-Wheels" to the kids. Samuel, on the other hand, was very well built and muscular. His 200 lb. frame was well packed with no fat to be found. He almost looked as though he had been a body builder at one time. During the Holidays, the best job he could get was standing by an empty bucket ringing a bell. However, every Tuesday, rain or shine, he was at the yard to throw cow hides into boxcars to pay the rent.

"Hey man, I'm hangin' tuff. How many boxers we got to fill today?" "Boxers" is what they call the boxcars at the yard. If you were to ask Isaah what a boxer is he wouldn't have the slightest idea. Samuel was running the show on Tuesdays while at the yard.

After briefly jawing with some of the other men, Samuel was ready to get down to business.

"Hey ya all! Let's load us up some drinkin' money!" and with that the men would throw open the doors on the 18 wheeler full of salt-packed cow hides and begin to transfer them to the "boxers".

Usually, this took most of the day on Tuesday even though they rarely took breaks. There wasn't much sense in stopping since it was very rare that one of the guys would bring a jug of coffee to share and even rarer that someone might bring a bottle to suck up to. And besides, steady work kept you warm this time of year. The worst part of the job was the salt. It got into everything no matter how careful you were. And if you didn't have gloves…well , the salt would pack under your finger nails and real soon it would start to burn so bad it could turn a guy as big and tuff as Joshua into a whimpering baby. Eyes were even worse yet! If you got that rock-salt in your eyes, it was almost impossible to find something without salt on it to clean them out. Rainy Tuesdays were a blessing. For the "no-rain" Tuesdays, samuel carried a clean rag tucked under his belt covered by his shirt and jacket. Even as well protected as it was, salt often found its way there.

Today, they finished up at 3:49 p.m. exactly according to Jake. Samuel headed for the shanty where "Mighty Mike" the Leprechaun would be waiting to hand out that brand new $20 bill he had coming. It wasn't much pay for what they had to do but if you complained there was always another bum waiting to take your place.

Most of the time after collecting his pay, Samuel would leave until the following Tuesday. Once in a while, however, he would take the twenty dollars and go on a two or three day drinking binge. This always resulted in Isaah losing time and memory. On this particular Tuesday, Samuel left and as Isaah headed towards town and his one-room flat, Sarah mentally began to add the days earnings to what she had stashed away at home for food and rent. Of course, a certain amount would be saved for entertainment expenses.

Sarah puts things together. She handles all the finances and thank God for that. The way Sarah looked at it, Isaah couldn't do it since some flower or something might talk him into using the money for fertilizer. Jake was no good since he's always too busy watching the clock and "corkin' up uncorked business" as he puts it. Personally, I think he just likes to fight. Samuel, even though he stays for three days sometimes, mostly shows up just to work on Tuesdays so he's unreliable. Besides, on his three-day stays, we all take a vacation. Julius only comes around once in a while to deliver some outstanding piece of wisdom from the cob-webbed halls of history and Lazarus is the "Preacher". He only likes to show up when theirs a moral dilemma going on. Besides, Sarah's so good with money and she has been doing this job since…well, I don't know since when but it's been a long time…maybe forever.

Sarah knows exactly where every penny goes during the month and she controls the spending. She has the $80 from Samuel's job, the $15 from odd jobs (window washing, rug-beating, etc.), and the $10-15 from pan-handling all worked into a monthly budget.

• $27.50 to rent this one-room, community-bath dungeon. By the way, Sarah would never use one of the bathrooms in this complex.
• $7 or so for soap, tooth care products, trash bags (for collecting aluminum cans in the park), toilet paper (you always carried your own in and out), and once in a while a pack of smokes.
• $50 for groceries since it's no longer possible to eat at the mission because of Samuel's working. And…
• $10-$20 for "Mad Dog" (11 qt.'s/ mo.) or Bali High (5 gallons).

During the Holidays, people were always more generous with the handouts and at Christmas there was money to be made ringing bells. This usually resulted in splurging the extra money on a classy brew or even some beer on occasion. Sarah also saved some of the extra money to buy nice clothes which she kept in a locker at the bus depot. Clothes no one else knew about.

If it weren't for Sarah, things would be tough and Jake looks out for her just like he does for all the others.

Startled out of a sound sleep by Jake hollering "Time's a waistin'", Isaah jumps out of bed to start his Wednesday. It's exactly 6 am. Jake always hollers at exactly 6 am.

At the sink in the community cesspool, he lets the water run as rust slowly turns to chalk. He has his year-old, flat-bristled toothbrush up to his ear and is listening intently to its protests about being used one more time…

"Damn man, can't you see I just don't have it in me anymore. If you don't get a new brush you're gonna lose that molar what's been giving you pain. Besides, you got the OK to spend the money, didn't you?"

Isaah quickly looked around to make sure he was alone before answering.

"Well, uh, I think so…at least I got enough to buy one. You get me by today and I'll uh stop an pick one up. OK?"

"That's what you said yesterday."

"I's uh sayin' it agin' and…"

Isaah suddenly stopped as he heard the door to the hall open (he knows it isn't polite to talk to your toothbrush in front of strangers). In an attempt to cover up the noisy protesting of the toothbrush, he quickly smothers it in toothpaste and shoves it into his mouth. By pressing his lips tightly around the handle as he scrubbed, he hoped to cover up the gurgling sounds of the unthankful brush.

Back in his cold, dimly-lit room, his thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the daily arrival of Lazarus…

"Lord, hear me now!" the Preacher says in his exaggerated southern drawl. "We is all sinnahs and all what we can do is sing da Praise's of da Lord and hope for salvation. Let us bow our heads in prayer. Dear Lord, as dis day might juz be da last day we is spending away from you'all, send down your blessin's upon us…"

He's always talking in that dooms-day tone of voice.

"…so's we may walk through da day gracefully not stumblin' into da lap of sin! Help us to watch fo the demons traps Lord."

Old Lazarus might very well be one of the sweetest versed tent preachers Isaah had ever heard. If he wanted to, I'll bet he could turn six-day-old urinal piss into sweet smelling wine just by talking to it. But on this day (the 10^th day of November), there was something ominous in his ranting.

"You know's you has sinned in da past…Ask now for da love of God to shelta you from da evils what's comin' your way. He's da only one gonna be able to shelta you now sinnah!"

Those words were still ringing in his ears as he slipped the last part of a bottle of Mogen David 20/20 into his garbage sack and headed out the door for the park. Wednesday started like every other day; get up, get dressed and cleaned up, Morning Prayer, and his usual walk in the park searching for discarded aluminum while drinking breakfast to stop the shakes.

Too bad it wouldn't stay that way.

On this particular day, Isaah decided to look in the underpass which allows you to go from the park on the West Side of Sheridan Drive to the park by Lake Michigan on the East Side. This was sort of "No-Mans" land and usually Slick (whose area was along the lake front…the best area of all) covered it, but Isaah liked Slick and hadn't said hello for quite some time so he decided to check it out. He was barely through the opening and his eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark when Jake spoke up in an apprehensive tone of voice…

"Hey man, it shouldn't be dark in here. They always keeps these lights runnin' for the "Classies" goin' through here durin' the day."

Jake had no sooner said this when a man stepped out of a dark shadow and grabbed Isaah pulling him deeper into the darkness. Suddenly there were more hands on him…some holding…some groping for his pockets. As his eyes slowly adjusted, Isaah recognized his assailants. They were Crypts. Even the Hell's Angels were afraid of these assholes. Then, Jake spoke up again. No longer apprehensive…

"Hey boys, back off !! I ain't got nothin' you want so just back the fuck off !"

This is one time Isaah thought it would probably be best if Jake just sat back and relaxed but there was no way Jake could do that. It was his job to "protect" and he just couldn't stand by and let people push Isaah around. Like I said before, I think Jake just plain likes to fight. The leader of the gang let go of Jake, stepped back, and did the talking…

"Well looka here brothers. We got us dat looney-tune beggah what's always jammin' wit da wind. Hey bro, what you doin' in are tunnel?"

"This here ain't your damn tunnel no way and I ain't you're bro!" Jake said defiantly while trying to free himself from the steel-like grasp of two other gang members.

"Now what you mean you ain't my bro. You got da same color skin I does. You sure as hell ain't dressed no better and I know iffin' I was ta jam dat empty head a yours up my ass da smell'd be the same as your brown eye nigga."

At this comment, the others in the gang burst into laughter which was not good. Jake simply couldn't stand to be laughed at.

Just then, Julius spoke up for the first time in three years and said to Jake, "Settle down son. Do you recall the last time I was here and I tried to warn you not to push those migrant workers who were trying to take Samuel's job at the yards? I know you do. You just wouldn't listen and you landed us all in the hospital for two days. Samuel's built lots of muscle and we all know you have lots of nerve but it would be wiser to just let it go this time."

But Jake didn't know how to let go. As a matter of fact, he was of the opinion it would be better if the Crypts let go of him! Something had to be done and Jake knew it was up to him to do it and now was the time.

The "Big Cheese" continued…

"S'pose we all juz split his guts and see iffin day ain't the same as are's."

Again the laughter rolled out of the gang and with the laughter came a loosening of grips on Jake as they seemed to relax over the humor of the situation. After all, he was just an old wore-out bum and crazy to boot. Jake was getting impatient and he simply could not stand to waist time.

Jake, his senses sharpened, waited stealthily (while the gang continued to laugh) thinking to himself what fools they were not to have heeded his warning. If one of them would just let go for a minute he felt he could easily shake off the other one and then he would have two free hands to throw blows.

Meanwhile, Isaah cowered in a corner waiting for something to happen. He suddenly recalled the warning of the squirrel the day before…

"Look out!! Here comes the cop!! Here when you need him the least…ya need him the most he's not!!" it had chattered while bounding toward the tree.

Samuel flexed his muscles which were already taught and they bulged perceptibly under his jacket.

Sarah, in a business-like manner, was calculating the loss of revenue from the dropped bag of cans and possibly the two dollars and seventy six cents in Isaah's sock. She was also considering how to make up the losses before the end of the week.

The warning of Lazarus had fallen on deaf ears for if just one person had heeded his "Preaching" they could have warned Isaah to stay away from evil, dark places today. In a strange, sort of perverted way, he deemed it "justice". After all, no one listened to Jesus even as he forgave his tormentors while dying on the cross. Maybe a good lashing would make them pay attention in the future.

Julius had spoken his words of wisdom, and warning, to Jake and now he was nowhere to be found, as usual.

All of that mattered little to Jake who, without warning and with a voice more ominous than the preachers, yelled, "Time's a waistin'!" At the same time he dipped down slightly in order to swing his arms behind the two men who by now held him loosely by his shoulders. Then with the suddenness of a bolt of white-hot lightning and the strength of Hercules, he pulled the two "leather-clad street-monkeys" (a term he coined) in front of him and literally smashed their faces together. There was an audible 'snap' as someone's nose gave way. Both slumped to the ground without so much as a moan.

The next closest man (who just happened to be the leader) took a punt-launching, child-preventing kick in the rubies which lifted him six inches off the ground. Mr. Tuff Guy's face told the whole story…his eyes were bulging, seemingly ready to pop from his head…his mouth was in a curiously-cute pucker, reminiscent of someone who has just bitten into a very sour lemon, as he sucked for air he couldn't inhale. There was plenty around, but there wouldn't be any for him for the next few minutes.

By this time, the other three hooligans had come to life and Jake slowly started to back toward the tunnel entrance. He had certainly gotten their attention. He watched from the corner of his eye for his bag of cans he had been forced to drop. Just a few more steps…

Jake clearly saw the glinting flash off cold steal as the rest of the "monkeys" pulled out their knives. One was serrated on top and looked about a foot long. Beads of sweat on Jake's forehead were joining forces to create little rivulets which streamed southward to drip off his eyebrows. They looked more like wet tar than water as they hit the black asphalt of the tunnel. They marked his retreat like a trail of black-liquid bread crumbs.

The "monkeys" were howling obscenities, much as they do in the park's zoo, and quite rudimentarily explaining to Jake what they intended to do to him because of his unruly behavior with their friends. He paid no attention to their ranting. His mind was focused on one thought…the bag of cans with the empty quart bottle of Mad Dog in the bottom. A small grin, barely perceptible, escaped the corner of his mouth as the irony hit him. He felt like a "mad dog" being stalked by "kennel-catchers" and here he was looking for a bottle of Mad Dog.

He abruptly stopped his retreat as he spotted the bag out of the corner of his eye. The "monkeys" stopped too and looked at each other as if to say, "Do we go now?". In that split second of indecision, Jake reached down and grabbed the bag.

"Ya think that bags gonna help you nigga?" said the serrated knife. "Ya'll gonna be one dead-ass-beggar fore long!!"

Jake simply stood his ground. No more grin. His plan was to swing the bag, with the disguised bottle in it, and hopefully knock out one more of the "leather-clad street monkeys" with a good pop on the chin. That was the plan anyway.

Apparently the gangs "silent-eye" communication had decided "Mr. Serrated Knife" would have the next chance at Isaah and he was slowly approaching, flipping the blade from hand to hand. Jake gave the bag a twirl in his right hand wrapping it once around his wrist as he did it. He waited for the distance to close and then he waited a second longer until the knife was in mid-air headed for the guys right hand.

In mid-flip, Jake swung the bag with all his might to deliver the "knock-out" blow. A mere moment before the bottle would have hit the target, the bag split open. Isaah guiltily thought to himself how he would never again buy the cheapest bags at the market. At the same time, Jake had his first thought of a back-up plan…running.

The bottle, however, seemed to have a plan all its own. As the bag split, all of Isaah's cans he had gathered flew out like shimmering sparks from a sparkler on the 4^th of July. The bottle was in the lead and, like a laser-guided missile, it hit "Mr. Serrated Knife" squarely in the temple and most likely killed him on the spot.

The cans were creating quite a commotion as they banged off the walls and scattered on the asphalt so Jake took advantage of the moment. He stepped forward and picked up the blade and with a loud bellow said, "Come on Kiddies, time's a waistin'!" Jake was ready to cork up uncorked business.

Well, if you could've seen the look on the last two guys faces you would have laughed as hard as Jake did as they turned, grabbed their gasping leader, and half ran, half dragged him towards the far exit. The laugh must have sounded almost maniacal because the louder he laughed, the faster they ran. Isaah joined in the laughter as he slowly immerged from his corner of fear. Now, this would be a good place to end this story but what happened next I think you will enjoy…

Somewhere in the midst of all the laughter, Julius showed up and sarcastically said, "Well, isn't this just wonderful. Now every time someone rubs you the wrong way "good-old" Jake will simply step up to bat. Won't that make life interesting."

But Isaah was rolling with laughter by now and barely noticed the admonishment.

Sarah, on the other hand, was strictly business once again as she examined the bag wondering if it was repairable so Isaah could get the cans home. She was also inwardly pleased at the outcome of events but tried not to show it for fear of encouraging Jake.

Samuel relaxed his muscles for the first time in what seemed like hours and chuckled to himself, "Who's the nigga now?".

Lazarus was planning his next sermon on the evils of gang violence but was somewhat puzzled looking for a peaceful resolution. Maybe there was no purpose.

Jake simply roared with laughter as what was left of the gang disappeared from the far end of the tunnel.

Now here's the good part…

Ironically, Officer Campbell entered the tunnel behind Isaah. He was huffing and puffing like a steam engine as he stopped and reached for his flashlight. When the beam came on, his bottom jaw dropped and hung there unhinged. The beam moved about and it must have been quite a sight to see; simple-minded, old Isaah standing amongst four bodies, 50 or so cans, and one broken bottle of Mogen David 20/20 while wielding a fearsome looking knife and laughing like a loony. He was so dumbfounded he never thought to draw his weapon until one of the first two men groaned, spitting blood, as he re-entered reality.

Overweight, close-to-retirement, officer Glenn Campbell was on his morning rounds of the park to get all the sleeping bums woke up when he heard the loud clattering of the aluminum cans. He immediately thought that most likely some kids were throwing one of the parks disposal cans around in the underpass. He had started walking in that direction when he heard Isaah yell something about time and then the maniacal laughter started. Figuring the old wino was in trouble, he had run the last fifty feet. Something he hadn't done since he was a real cop on a real beat. He might rib the old buzzard now and again but he had a soft spot for him. Blinded by the darkness of the tunnel, he reached for his flashlight on his belt.

Now, regaining his composure, he exclaimed, "MY GAWD!", but nothing followed for lack of breath. Then he heard one of the perp's start to groan and he drew his weapon.

He startled Isaah with the flash of light and the loud exclamation. He hadn't heard his approach due to his loud laughting. Now, as Officer Campbell moved past him he finally started to sober from the intoxicating effects of prolonged giddiness.

As Glenn put his "flat-foot" in the middle of the perp's back he said, "Now you just stay down maggot while I put these cuffs on ya!". He put them on one wrist and then stretched his arm out and hooked the empty one on the still unconscious perp's wrist.

"There…now if he wants to boogey he'll have to drag his buddy. What's the story on this other creep Isaah?"

Still chuckling, Isaah answers, "Well, uh, I think this'n jus might be dead."

"You kill him?"

"Well, uh, Jake flung da bag ."

"Who the hell is Jake and where'd he go? Was that him runnin' out of the tunnel? Who was he with? How many were there?"

The sound of approaching sirens was deafening as it echoed in the tunnel. Campbell had called in an emergency "officer needs help" call while chugging towards the tunnel. The "blue and whites" had swarmed into the park on the service roads and one was even stopped on the highway just above the entrance.

While waiting for the deafening noise to subside, I decided it was time to step up and clarify the days occurrences. By the way, my name is Elijha. Those who know me (very few indeed) call me Eli. I'm the "story-teller". I never interfere unless there is a definite need for clarification, like now. You see, I'm the only one who knows all the characters and therefore I am the only one who can make sense out of what happens. I let the others pretty much run things until there's a need for definition. I am the only one who can clear things up because I know all the facts.

Now you'll have to excuse me because I need to explain things to the kind officers in a way that will make sense to their limited intelligence or someone is going to go to prison or get shoved in a nut farm and I don't belong in either.

"Yes you do" says a very small, unidentified voice.

Isaah looked around nervously and asked, "Who said that?"

The End?