Swimming Upstream

As Mahala walked into the interview, she ran her tongue over her unbrushed teeth and thought shit.

Everything had gone wrong from the start.

The midnight power outage that reset the clocks and caused her to oversleep, the Google directions to the wrong building, the newly-discovered fact she was wearing mismatched shoes.

Close but no cigar, Chandit would have said, and laughed in the way that always made her feel things would work out.

You’re swimming upstream, he would tell her. Easy or not at all. 

What would he say now, walking into her fourth interview in as many days?

 

Friday Fictioneers

 

Let’s Get Out Of Here

Crouching, she tried to look out the grime-encrusted window. “You think he saw us?”

“Doubtful. Besides, people come here all the time.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Let’s walk around.”

Their feet crunched the rubble that littered the floor, motes of dust hanging in the still air as they moved through the vast room. Long tables and chairs stood at odd angles as though hurriedly shoved aside, their surfaces coated with shattered plaster and debris.

She looked around, eyes wide. “You think anyone died here?”

“I know they did.” He traced his finger along the table. “My gran told me about how in 1917 a boiler exploded and a bunch of patients froze to death in their beds. She said they were lucky.”

She walked over to see what he had drawn. A grinning skull. “Why were they lucky?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I could never get her to tell me.”

What Pegman Saw: Overbrook Asylum

 

 

The Overbrook Asylum  was opened in 1896 to ease overcrowding at the Newark mental hospital. Overbrook had a history of mysterious patient deaths over the years, including the incident described here.

The complex of abandoned buildings was reputed to be one of the most haunted places in the US and saw a surge of ghost-hunting trespassers, many of whom were arrested by Essex County sheriffs.

My daughter and I visited the place in 2015, three years before it was demolished. I can attest to its creepiness.

Hands Around The Circle

The tea was laid out, the sandwiches made with Arnold’s Brick Oven crustless  bread. Salmon spread from Klein’s, Cracker Barrel cheese and pimento.  Gladys had mentioned Girl Scout cookies, so Ethel had not laid out dessert, though she had plenty of reserves. Hydrox, marshmallow creams, Chips Ahoy.

The cars began to arrive around 2, the ladies driven by grandchildren or sons-in-law, Chryslers and Hondas and Janice’s son’s glittering Mercedes.

The ladies of the club were escorted to the door,  walkers and canes set aside as they seated themselves around the table on which lay this year’s quilt, the most glorious yet.

 

Friday Fictioneers

Pomp

In essence, it was a royal journey through the Carniolan estates so His Majesty might receive the hereditary homage in person.

Simple enough, but Emperor Leopold placed great value in pomp. Nothing less than three brigades of horse guards in full turn-out, fifteen gilt carriages to carry what amounted to his entire court, dozens of gallopers in silver armor, trumpets and flags, and so on.

Most important of all was that the Emperor be greeted enthusiastically by all the citizens along the route, so we had a job of it ensuring the local militias would be in full dress, muskets and cannons ready to fire the appropriate salutes as we drew near.

Because of the herculean efforts of my staff and myself, we managed to avoid disaster, save for one enthusiast who contrived to be in front of a cannon. Though the salute charge was blank, the man was still blown in two. Regrettable.

What Pegman Saw

Leopold I was Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary, Croatia, and Bohemia who ruled the Holy Roman Empire until his death in 1705, the longest reign of any Hapsburg. His reign is known for conflicts with the Ottoman Empire in the east and rivalry with his cousin Louis XIV.

After more than a decade of warfare, Leopold emerged victorious from the Great Turkish War in which he recovered almost all of the Kingdom of Hungary from Turkey.

The incident described above actually occurred shortly after Leopold’s election.

Exodus

Tante Sarah was having none of it. To the Via Dolorosa she said “it looks like Spain.” To the Wailing Wall she said “I’ve seen it on the television. I think George Bush kissed it. Feh.”

“Was it a bad idea to being her here?” Rachel asked her husband.

Moishe shrugged. “She’ll get used to it. It’s not New York.”

“When I was a girl she talked nonstop about coming here someday. She even gave me a copy of Exodus for my birthday. I was disappointed there weren’t any pictures of Paul Newman.”

“And yet you’re surprised when she complains?”

Friday Fictioneers

 

 

 

Five to Four

George stood at his mother’s door and composed his expression. For years now the mere mention of Arlington was apt to send her into fits, and her health had not been good. She could read his face like a headline. Still, this was good news––of a sort. He tapped and entered.

She sat upright in bed amidst a foaming sea of lace,  a  Bronté novel perched in her hands like a tract.

She peered at him over pince-nez, still formidable despite her frailty. He held up the envelope. She put down her book.

“You may as well get it over with,” she said, closing her eyes.

“They ruled five to four in our favor, Mother.” He unfolded the letter. “A sale made under such circumstances is invalid, as much so as if the tax had been actually paid or tendered.”

“So we won, then? Our beloved Arlington will be restored to us?”

He swallowed. “Not exactly.”

 

What Pegman Saw: Arlington

Historical Note:

Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s wife Mary was confined to a wheelchair, so she sent a representative to pay a $92.07 tax bill for the family estate at Arlington, once the property of Martha Washington’s grandspn. A new law stated that such bills had to be paid personally, so the US government seized the building and grounds in 1864.

Washington DC’s cemeteries were unable to handle the immense volume of dead soldiers arriving weekly, so  Quartermaster General Montgomery C. Meigs proposed Arlington as the location of a new military cemetery. The first soldier laid to rest there was Pvt. William Christman, 21, of the 67th Pennsylvania Infantry, who was buried in a plot on Arlington’s northeast corner on May 13, 1864. Thousands more burials followed.

More than a decade after General Lee’s death, the Supreme Court ruled that the U.S. government had seized his estate without due process and ordered it returned to his family in the same condition as when it was illegally confiscated.

If followed, the ruling could have required the exhumation of all of Arlington’s dead. Realizing the enduring horror of such an event, Lee’s son George officially sold the property to Congress for $150,000 in 1883.

 

The Lost

“This store like one of those charm bracelets,” she said, “only the chain is broken.”

“Uh huh.” He was inspecting a framed set of trout flies, each with its  name neatly inked below it. Yellow Stone Fly. Beetle Bug Fly.

She plucked a photograph from a basket marked 2 for 50 cent. A man and a woman standing in a dusty field before a hulking old car. Neither was looking directly at the camera, nor were they smiling.

She flipped it over. Jim and Ethel written in faint pencil.

“I wonder who they were.”

“No way to ever know,” he said, distracted.

Friday Fictioneers

Sükhbaatar Well Met

“Have you ever seen such a horseman?”

Yanjmaa had not. Certainly she had seen great riders, even a Mongol cavalryman famous for throwing a dagger and skewering a running rabbit as he galloped past,  reigning in and bending in the saddle to retrieve both weapon and quarry in one quick motion.

But she had never seen a a rider sprout from the horse like a tree from the plain,  man and horse become a single being of boundless grace and power.

Yanjmaa had never seen this horseman.

“Here he comes,” her friend said.

Indeed the rider was coming straight at them, the new sun glinting off his sword and buckles.

As he got closer Yanima was struck by his handsome young face, its smooth beardlessness belying the broad muscular shoulders of a hardened man.

He drew up and dismounted with the grace of an eagle taking flight.

Yanjmaa felt her insides grow warm.

 

What Pegman Saw: Mongolia

Damdiny Sükhbaatar (literally meaning “Axe Hero” in the Mongolian language)  was the leader of the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party, a major force in the founding of the communist Mongolian People’s Republic. A stellar horseman and brilliant tactician, he fought for Mongolian independence before dying in 1922 under mysterious circumstances. He was only 30.

His widow Yanjmaa went on to serve in a number of senior positions in the Mongolian government, including acting president.

The Sükhbaatar province is named for him.

Principles

“I’m a pacifist,” he’d told Eddie Arnold, a foot taller and two grades ahead of him.

“So that means you won’t fight back if I hit you?”

“Violence doesn’t solve anything,” he’d said. “It’s barbaric.”

“What did you call me?” said Eddie, who immediately whipped him two hard blows in the face that knocked him sprawling to the pavement.

He wiped the blood from his nose and stared up at the jeering kids

Pussy. Weakling.

“Had enough?” said Eddie Arnold.

He got to his feet, stood defiant.

“Pussy,” repeated Eddie.

The kids dispersed.

One girl stayed behind. She was smiling.

Friday Fictioneers

”

 

Bump In A Long Road

She ran her hands over her leather-clad thighs, flexed her fingers.

Her trusty Bell helmet had been knocked askew in the tumble but seemed sound enough. She pulled it around so she could see her situation.

Her motorbike was on its side, about six feet from the cliff edge.

She breathed a sigh of relief, felt a sharp stab of bruised or broken rib.

She closed her eyes in silent prayer, then slowly climbed to her feet. Everything seemed to be okay.

She took off her helmet and inspected it. No cracks, but the side had a deep gouge where it had dragged along the road.

The left handlebars bent upward at a sharp angle, the headlight shattered to shards. Two of the custom aluminum cargo boxes were still attached to the back, the third one nowhere in sight. It must have gone over the edge, dropped a thousand feet or more.

She’d not expected the patch of gravel, a rookie mistake if ever there was one.

What Pegman Saw: Switzerland

Elspeth Beard is the first Englishwoman to ride a motorcycle around the world solo.Her bike was a 1974 BMW R 60/6 flat-twin, for which she paid 900 ($1800) in 1980 – a substantial sum for a bike with 30,000 miles on it. She had many adventures and a few wrecks, but not this one.