Installment Four

Arthur Vine bent over unsteadily, setting his hands on his knees, and took a closer look at the fish that lay glistening on the sidewalk before him. It was about three inches long, its fins colorless in the poor light of the deserted street. He searched the darkened windows of the buildings around him. He raised one palm and looked skyward at the dingy clouds that moved slowly across the sky. He bent down upon one knee heavily and brought his face to within a foot of the animal. The fish flipped violently into the air, sending Arthur back onto his rump. It flipped once more. "I'll be damned," he said, "It lives." He looked about the street and discovered a broken wine bottle standing at the foot of the next streetlight. It had collected several inches of rainwater. He came haltingly to his feet and retrieved a bottle, returning to the fish. Holding it between two fingers, he dropped it silently into the water. The fish took several quick turns around the bottle, it's fins flashing wide and came to rest peacefully on the glass bottom. Arthur picked up the bottle and raised it to his bleary eyes. "I'll be damned," he said.

The key scraped roughly outside the darkened apartment before finding its mark. The heavy lock clicked and a dim shaft of light appeared on the floor.
"I am ashamed to say, my dear fellow, that this is not the first time I have returned to my humble abode with a wine bottle in hand, but never has it contained such a mysterious gift," he said, lighting the small candle which sat melted into a plate at the center of a small wooden table. Arthur now saw that the fish had metallic purple scales. I do not have much dear fellow, but I believe I can provide more luxurious accommodations than this. He picked up the plate and went to the sink in which a large collection of cloudy glasses and food-caked plates rested. On the shelf above, among the piles of pulp magazines and newspapers stood a crystal vase. "This is all I have from my dear mother," he said as he filled it with water. "You are fortunate that I have never been without drink quite long enough to sacrifice it." He returned to the table and poured the contents of the wine bottle into the vase. "You are a handsome creature, bedecked in the robes of royalty. Of course, I must name you if you are to stay. King? King David? You do have a fierce beauty about you. Too ponderous for everyday conversation. No, I shall presume to call you Jonah," he said, studying the inscrutable animal. "It must have been a mighty whale that spit you from the east river to my front door." He chuckled softly to himself.



Mabel threw herself onto the bed and kicked her shoes into the air. One landed next to her on the bed and on at Paul's feet.
"Dangerous woman," he said as he began to lay his things on the vanity.
"Silly boy, I'm just a cuddly little puppy, after all," she said tossing her clothes onto a chair near the bed.
"Well, I've heard your bark, but I'm not sure I want to feel your bite," said Paul as he hung his clothes in the closet.
"Come on over and I'll give you a chance to compare, honey."

Paul heard the clatter of metal in the street and the sound of a heavy truck moving in the street below. Silhouetted against the light from the bathroom, he could see the outline of Mabel's clothes hanging on the chair. He turned away from the light and passed into sleep once more.

Dusky light flickered across his face from between the undulating balcony curtains. He was alone in the bed, but Mabel's clothes still lay crumpled atop the same chair. The artificial light still shone from the bathroom, softened somewhat by the dawn's aura. "She's still here," he thought. "Well, maybe she's quiet mornings." Paul's mind turned to business, running through what details needed attention before tonight's performance. Satisfied that any problems were minor, his mind returned to the quiet room. "Jeez, Mabel, I would have thought you were the kind of girl who'd talk to herself when no one else was around." Silence. "I'd like to see the size of the cat that got her tongue," he thought to himself.
He stood in the unoccupied bathroom, concern passed like rapid clouds across his face . His eyebrows arched and, whistling, he reached for the silver knobs on the sink.

Pallas at the Palace…
I feel the dust pouring into the open vein of ore…I have seen you in photographs and heard you on the radio…I pull you into me like a corner shop which sells post cards from France… On this street, behind this broken glass, I offer all I have for a kind word or a kind of word…I would stand on the edge of a radio tower to get a better picture of you…I think that is what it would take…Every time it rains, it rains, or so they say…I haven't said rain since I was a little girl and I promise to say it every day until you are mine…I wish I could say some words that would unlock the lock, solve the puzzle, make you hear me…I see you in the car, in the rain, on the street, and I wish for you…



Selene laid her bag on the wooden floor by the door and went into the kitchen. She reached into a cabinet and began pulling out jars and cans until she finally found the bottle. she poured a few inches of amber liquid, into a small glass. Walking back into the small living area, she dropped her coat on a chair, kicked off her shoes, set the glass on a coffee table and headed back to her bag. She pulled a folded copy of The Undertaker's Monthly from the bag, carried it back to the couch, picked up her drink, took a swift sip and settled down, unfolding the magazine and browsed the table of contents. "Nice work if you can get it..." she sang softly and set the magazine down. She drained the glass. She leaned back, cupping her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

"Selene?" Norvell leaned over her and touched her shoulder. "Selene, wake up and go to bed. It's late."
"Huh?" she said, stirring and sitting herself upright on the couch. "Oh, it's you, Norvell. What time is it?"
"Midnight," he said. He picked up her empty glass and went into the kitchen. She heard the sink running. "It's past your bedtime, isn't it?" she called.
"Mr. Vine and I were working. The man doesn't come alive until the sun goes down." He stood in the doorway wiping his hands with a towel.
"How's it going?"
"He's full of...contradictions," said Norvell with a wry smile. "He makes a lot of pronouncements on life, and yet his physical circumstances are atrocious."
"I don't see why you bother. Who's going to read a book about Vaudeville? America needs to face the future," Selene rose and headed towards her room.
"The past is the future," said Norvell, draping the towell over his shoulder, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "You're probably right about the book. But Mr. Bernarr isn't going to let Vaudeville die quietly, and that may be Vine's real value to me."
The door to Selene's room clicked shut and Norvell dropped his glasses into his pocket and went back into the kitchen.

Installment 5...