Eleanor’s Ear
Services had just let out at the Church of the ‘T’, a sort of Reformed Pentecostal church and Lamasco’s largest non-denominational churches. The congregation was founded by three different disgruntled groups from three separate churches in town and had been named The Free Evangelical United Fellowship of the Tabernacle of Holiness. They had originally intended to call themselves The United Fellowship of the Evangelical and Holiness Free Tabernacle, but they worried folks might think they were “evangelical and holiness free,” so they changed the word order. But most of the people didn’t even know about that and even if they did they didn’t care because they simply called their church “The United Tabernacle” or just “the T” for short since it was built at the T-intersection of two main roads.
Oftentimes, after services, many of the members of the congregation would find themselves down the street at The Sword and the Shield, a restaurant with a chivalric English theme. The building resembled a medieval castle on the outside complete with a bubbling moat, stocked with large goldfish, and a drawbridge which one had to cross in order to enter. Two large mannequins each wearing a knight’s coat of chain mail stood in corresponding niches on either side of the double doors. It was a beefeater’s paradise.
“Ol’ Rev’ernt Pleasant sho’ was on fire today,” exclaimed Mrs. Eleanor Hawks, an overweight woman in her sixties, with big, bright yellow hair and oversized discount store clothing. She was crossing the drawbridge to the restaurant with her friend, Dawn.
“Once saved, always saved,” Dawn replied, a single woman in her late forties. She wore expensive tennis shoes and a pricey name brand shirt from the mall, but her tight polyester slacks had been picked up at a rummage sale. “I can’t wait to get to the mall today,” she continued speaking in a stream of consciousness, nearly in a hushed tone as she beheld the glass and marble facade of the mall opposite the restaurant.
“Tell me about it. They’re some big Y2K sales going,” Eleanor smiled as she and Dawn opened the restaurant’s large double doors.
As they walked into the restaurant, Eleanor’s eyes fixed upon the many instruments of torture displayed along the interior walls. Medieval tools of barbarism such as a mace and a morning star, stocks, shackles, bows and arrows, and some early firearms added to the decor, giving the place character. Eleanor stared off in the distance at the salad bar where a large sword and shield hung over the napkins and straw dispenser, the signature symbols of the restaurant since it opened nearly twenty years before.
Eleanor and Dawn made their way to the counter. Eleanor’s belly protruded slightly out from under her cheap flowered blouse. Together, they quietly studied the large scroll-like hanging menus behind the cashier’s stand.
“Welcome to the Sword and the Shield,” came an apathetically unintelligible voice of a green haired, tongue pierced teenage boy wearing a gray plastic breastplate and olive floppy hat. “Can I take your order?”
“You may—” Eleanor sarcastically replied, emphasizing her final word.
“How may I help you Ma’am?” the young man sarcastically restated his question, obviously angered by the rebuke from an elder. Eleanor and Dawn stood unresponsive for a moment, staring at the boys tongue.
“I’ll have a Super Sir Lancelot Beef,” Eleanor rattled her order off, “and a King Arthur meal...uh, with two extra-large French fries and a couple of knight-sized root beers.”
“Ma’am, we don’t have French fries, but we do have English Chips.”
“You know what I mean.”
The boy glared at her, tapping the cash register.
“And you, Miss, what’ll you have?” he asked Dawn.
“I’ll have that Round Table Special with French—er, English Chips and a regular cola.”
The cashier worked the register again, before looking up. “Would either of you ladies like a Guinevere Turnover. Since you ordered a Sir Lancelot and a King Arthur Deluxe, you can get the King Henry VIII Dispensation which allows you to get the Turnover for half price.”
Eleanor turned to Dawn, “Bill will be here any minute. Think he’ll eat it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure, sure, Bill’ll eat it,” Eleanor replied, smiling. “Go ahead. Give me two of the Guinevere Turnovers.”
The boy looked at Dawn. “Ma’am, would you like one?”
“No, thank you.” Dawn blushed.
The boy disappeared momentarily.
“That’s a vulgar name for a dessert,” Dawn turned to Eleanor, “something dirty about it.”
“But they look so deliciously tempting,” Eleanor cackled, licking her lips.
“Everything’s about sex these days,” Dawn snapped. “You can’t even watch the commercials these days without being offended.”
“It does seem that’s all people live for today,” Eleanor sighed. “Of course, me and Bill are through in that department.”
“Well, you’re not missing much. You ought to see some of the cases of venereal disease I have to look at every day down at the health clinic.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she grimaced, “I’m getting ready to eat.”
“STDs are a punishment from God,” Dawn continued, “especially AIDS for them homo-sex’yuls.”
“Well.” Eleanor cleared her throat, motioning towards a couple of clean shaven men dressed in expensive looking suits who were walking into the restaurant and taking a place in line.
Eleanor turned to the boy behind the counter as he took the men’s order. She leaned close to Dawn. “Did you see that boys tongue?”
“Disgusting. How does he eat?”
“Every time he talks it clicks against his teeth.” Eleanor stuck her tongue out.
“Well, I know a nurse friend of mine who says that she heard about a kid who had to have her tongue removed because one o’ ‘em ‘ere body piercin’ parlors infected her.”
“That’s nothin’, I heard where one swallowed the thing and choked to death.”
“What’s the world coming to, Ellie?”
“An end.” Eleanor nodded.
“Amen to that” Dawn replied.
The boy glared at the women as he carried a tray with a mound of food to the counter. “Here’s your order, ladies.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Oh, by the way, it’s not an earring. It’s a barbell.”
“Oh.” Eleanor blushed. Dawn carried the loaded tray, as the two waded their way through the tables and chairs to get an open booth. Eleanor saw her husband, Bill, getting out of his truck in the parking lot just as they sat down. When Bill walked in, he looked around and saw his wife’s big hair. It was an easy way for him to always find his wife in a crowd of people.
“What took you so long?”
“Dumb kids these days,” Bill mumbled, as he came close.
“What? You, too?” she said, thinking of the green haired, tongue pierced, floppy-hat kid behind the counter.
“Ah, some dumb-ass punk had me pinned in on the parking lot.” He sat down in the booth next to Eleanor. “He had his stereo up so damned loud he couldn’t hear me honking at him, but don’t worry, I taught his ass a lesson!”
“What’d you do?”
“I backed into the side of his car.”
“Bill! Our insurance won’t pay for that.”
“That’s right. His will. That is, if he has insurance.”
“What happened? What’d he say?”
“Nothing. He didn’t even know I did it ‘cause his car was shaking and bumping up ‘n down with that damn rap music. Serves the little bastard right.”
“Bill, you’re awful,’ laughed Dawn.
“Rap is the devil’s music.” Eleanor stated as a matter of fact. “It’s foretold in the book of Revelation.”
Dawn nodded seriously.
“You know,” Eleanor pursed her lips in reply before looking behind her husband, “it’s about as bad as piercing your tongue—might as well cut it off.”
“I dunno,” Bill breathed out. “I saw some girl with a ring in her nose, her eyebrow and one through her cheek. Then about a couple dozen hanging out of her ear.”
“Bill, did you see them two guys up there?” Eleanor asked, batting her eyes.
“Where?
“Up at the counter.”
He turned and craned his neck to see the men in question. “Them?” Quickly turning back around, he said out of the side of his mouth, “They’re fags, ain’t they? That’s why you wanted me to look.” He glared at Eleanor. “Damned faggots. Make me sick”
Eleanor smiled. “Creatures in need o’ redemption.”
“Well, you can go save ‘em, ‘cause I shore ain’t interested.” Looking at the food on the table, he said, “What did you get me?”
“A King Arthur meal, with two extra-large French fries and a root beer.”
“Anything for dessert?”
“I got you a Guinevere Turnover. Since we ordered a King Arthur you get the King Henry VIII Dispensation.”
They began eating.
“Honey, Dawn and I are going o’er to that Y2K sale at Super Mall.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m going home and mow the lawn. I mowed it three days ago and it’s starting to look ratty again.”
“We got to stock up on some stuff because between Christmas and New Years people are going to finally figure it out, but when they get there, there ain’t going to be nothing left ‘cause it’ll be too late.”
“Oh, Elly, quit talking about that Y2K crap,” Bill bristled. “I’m getting tired a hearing about the end of the world.”
“It ain’t the end of the world, not unless the rapture’s already happened.”
“Oh, you’ll know when the rapture happens, believe me,” Dawn explained solemnly. “There’s going to be a lot of missing Christians on that day when we meet the Lord in the air and fly away home to glory.”
“Alleluia.” Eleanor turned towards Bill. “Ask Dawn what all she’s doing for the Y2K thing.”
“What?” Their chattering annoyed Bill. “Give your tongue a rest, Ellie, and let me read the sports page in peace.”
“Ask her, Bill.” Eleanor quit chewing while Bill ate some of her French fried English chips. “Dawn, tell Bill what’re you doing for the Y2K thing.”
“I’ve stocked up on tons of food, got four hundred gallon of distilled water, got me an industrial sized generator, and my brother’s got enough firewood for two winters, plus he loaded up on a ton of ammunition. We just live a few blocks from each other, so if things look really bad, we can take care o’ each other.”
“You watch, people will be begging to get their hands on a generator come January first,” Eleanor interrupted, “and there ain’t going to be none round.”
“That bit about having plenty o’ ammunition makes right good sense to me.” Bill spoke from behind his paper.
“When December comes, there going to be lots of idiots out there wanting stuff, and they just ain’t going to find any.” Eleanor continued.
“Oh, I agree. It’s going to be like the days of Noah. People will be banging on your doors wanting to get in, but the door’s going to be locked.” Dawn spoke with certainty.
“Any fool stupid ‘nuff to knock on my door, he’s going to be looking up the end of a barrel of my loaded twelve-gauge,” Bill had briefly pulled his paper aside, taking a drink of his Knight-sized Root Beer, laughing all the while.
“I brought me a couple of books over at the bookstore in the mall about how Christians should be preparing for Y2k, getting ready for the chaos.” Dawn nibbled on her sandwich. “Did you know that Bill Clinton has the military on stand-by and the National Guard in every state is ready to put down riots in the streets?”
“And there was this preacher on TV last night talking about all them asteroids that are going to hit this November. Every satellite’s going to come down.” Eleanor chomped on some of her Sir Lancelot. “There won’t be nobody talking on no cell phones and nobody watching HBO or MTV. There ain’t going to be nothing left of technology. That was his whole point. Technology is the world’s false god.”
“What else did he say?” Dawn eyes grew larger as she ate faster and faster, fascinated with hopefulness at the eschatological proportions of the coming apocalypse.
“Oh, there’s a lot that’s going to happen. You best go to the bank in the next few weeks and withdraw your life’s savings, ‘cause once them computers meltdown—unless you’re a banker—all your records of you having money’s going to be erased when the computers go belly up. Of course I ain’t even going to mention what might happen with the nuclear missiles.”
“I done heard that.” Dawn shook her head. “That’ll keep you awake at night.”
“I feel sorry for them people who think the year 2000 don’t mean nothing,” Eleanor shook her head, sipping her drink through her straw. “Wait till when the rapture happens, and we’ll be gone. They’ll have to suffer through the time of tribulation.”
“Yeah, and if anybody wants to steal my stuff then, they can have at it because I won’t be needing it where I’m going.” Dawn smiled
“Well, in the meantime, ain’t nobody going to get my stuff either way.” Bill snarled from behind his paper. “I worked hard for my stuff and it’s mine. No moochers better come knocking on our door, Ellie, or else it’ll be the last time they knock on any door.” He laughed aloud.
“The year 2000 could be the event that’s supposed to usher in the rapture.” Dawn sipped her cola.
“Oh, and then he had this chart where he showed how the past six thousand years represent the six days of creation and that the seventh day is supposed to be the coming of Christ. He said it was two thousand years from the creation of the world to the call of Abraham, two thousand years from the call of Abraham to Christ’s first coming, and it would be two thousand years from his first coming to his Second Coming.” Ellie smiled.
“Makes perfect sense to me, right out o’ the Book of Revelation.” Dawn drank some more cola. “I know this Catholic nurse down at the clinic where I work and she says us Bible Christians are wasting our time talking about his rapture.”
“What?!” Ellie’s face crinkled.
“Yeah. She says she’s still got lots of work to do down here bringing about God’s kingdom here on earth.”
“That’s pagan talk.”
“I know, but you know at the time I didn’t say anything. I just listened to her.”
“Well, whatever she says, no matter what, don’t believe a word of it, if she’s a Catholic.”
“I’ve been trying to get her saved for a year or so, but she won’t do it. She claims that Jesus is her Savior and Lord, but she insists on praying her Rosary, going to Mass once or twice a week. But I know she’s trying to work her way into heaven. She’s always down there at that downtown homeless shelter, spending time with the addicts, whores and winos.”
“Have you told her about praying the prayer of salvation?”
“I’ve tried, but she says she’s being saved. Then a time or two she’s told me she hopes to be saved. I’ve invited her to church with me, but she’s too busy with those whores and derelicts. I know the poor woman’s lost, just pray for her. I was talking to her one day about how the majority of folks she’s spending her time with those who ain’t saved, but she told me that she sees Jesus in them.”
“What?” Eleanor nearly spilled her drink as she put it on the table. “That’s blasphemy!”
“Yes, she even said that Christ ministers to her through them. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Putting Jesus on the same level as a drug addict or a homo sex’yul?”
“No. Well, wait, maybe. I think Oprah had some woman on her show one day who believed like that.”
“Sounds like some of that new-age gobbledygook.” Bill looked up from his newspaper. “You better not tell her much about your faith. She sounds like the type who would run to the Civil Liberties Union and charge you with religious harassment at work. Rush Limbaugh was talking about that the other day.”
“Well, she did let me have her opinion on guns one day. I had told her I was thinking of investing in a weapon due to Y2K, and I thought she would go through the roof, telling me how wrong we were for stocking up on weapons.”
“She’s probably one of those liberals who’s out marching in the streets for more gun control.” Bill smiled and looked at his wife and Dawn. “You know, I am for gun control in one aspect.”
The women looked stunned.
“I believe in hitting your target.”
They all laughed. About the same time, one of the employees of the restaurant began to wipe off an adjacent table. He was a crippled black man in his thirties, noticeably retarded.
“Dawn, Ellie, watch yer purses. Unca’ Tom’s cleaning house.”
“Bill!” Eleanor loudly whispered.
“Must they hire those pathetic people?” Bill said under his breath, but not quite soft enough for Dawn’s comfort.
“Now, now, at least he’s got him a job,” Dawn nodded. “That’s more than most of them people can say.”
The man glanced up at Bill and waddled off to the opposite end of the building. Bill turned away.
“What were we talking about?” Dawn said to Eleanor.
“How Catholics ain’t saved.”
“Oh, yeah. Anyway, this woman told me that Catholics believe Christians should seek to help those in need, giving them help before preaching the word to them.”
“See. They’re wrong.” Eleanor spoke between bites. “You get them saved first, then you can help them.”
“Just like Rev’erndt Pleasant says, the Catholics still got Jesus up on the cross, but we know he’s risen to glory!” Dawn closed her eyes.
“Hallelujah! They just don’t get it, do they?” Eleanor shook her head.
“I guess not. They talk about suffering, but there ain’t no more suffering. He’s alive! He done rose from the dead. Why they still got him up on the cross makes no sense to me.”
“I guess they don’t believe he rose.”
“Well, the Methodists are getting just as bad.”
“How’s that?” Eleanor leaned against the table.
“They’re having communion nearly every Sunday and they’ve started having a Saturday night service so people can stay out late and sleep in on Sunday.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“One of the Methodists who’s been coming to “The T” told me she left their church when one of the deacons told a prayer group that he wondered whether the bread and grape juice might actually become Jesus’ body and blood.” Dawn cringed at the words.
“At least it’s just grape juice. Them Catholics serve up real wine and then wonder why their priests do the sort of things they do.”
“Speaking of deacons, what ever happened to that black deacon we had?”
“He probably figured out that he was in the wrong neighborhood.” Bill’s voice sounded out from behind his newspaper.
“Bill!” Eleanor screeched, knocking the paper out of his hands.
“What I meant, you know, is that Blacks ought to have their own church, because, you know, they like to hoot ‘n holler like they do in Africa. Don’t you ever look at National Geographic? They’re all naked and painted up, hopping around dancing and whooping it up big time.” Bill bent over and picked up his paper.
“But this morning that one new preacher kept preaching about taking up our cross.” Dawn took a sip of her drink before continuing. “What was that all about? Jesus done did it for us. He rose from the dead. The Bible says there ain’t no way we can be good.”
“I remember old preacher Hobson at Bethany used to say,” Eleanor reminisced, “If God called you, then you was his. No use working on salvation, salvation works on you. Either you belong to God or you belong to the devil.”
“Makes me wonder sometimes whether we ought to even worry about the unsaved since God knows everything and he predestines us anyway.” Dawn said in her reverent voice.
“You got a point there. I’m just glad we’re saved.” Eleanor smiled and patted Dawn’s hand.
About that time, a man dressed in tattered clothes entered the restaurant and wandered up to the counter as if to place an order. His face was unshaven and his hair was badly in need of a comb. The end of his nose curved down like that of an eagle and was smudged with dirt. He wore a torn and grimy white t-shirt.
“Oh, boy, look at that one.” Dawn wrinkled her mouth, gesturing towards the door.
“What’s he doing in here?” Eleanor turned around in the booth.
“I think I’ve seen him come to the clinic before.” Dawn turned away so he wouldn’t see her.
“I think I smell him from here,” Eleanor imagined. “They sleep in trash dumpsters, you know.”
“He probably thinks he’s in a bar.” Bill snickered to himself, lowering his newspaper below his chin.
“That homeless shelter has ruined the price of property downtown, scaring off businesses, and all those do-gooders know how to do is make excuses for a bunch of freeloaders and addicts,” Dawn lectured. “Uh, oh...here he comes. Hold your breath.”
“Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“Have you been saved?” Eleanor looked into his deep brown eyes.
“Excuse me? I’m flat broke.”
“No, are you saved in the blood of the Lamb?” Eleanor rephrased her question.
“Well, I was baptized and confirmed.”
Eleanor looked away, annoyed.
“Are you, by chance, Catholic?” he asked. There was a fleeting sparkle in his eye and a trace of hope in his voice.
“No, thank God,” Eleanor smiled, sitting up straight in the booth. “We’re Christians.
“What denomination do you belong to?” the man asked.
“None.” Eleanor lifted her chin. “We’re non-denominational.”
“That’s interesting.” He combed his fingers through his gritty hair. “Did you see that article in U.S. News that said the fastest growing Christian denomination in America is Non-Denominationalism?” A smile crawled across the man’s dirty face.
“You can read?” Bill was not bashful.
“Yes. I have a Masters Degree in Business Administration, with a double minor in Fine Arts and Religious Studies. I stop in at the Public Library regularly.”
“You should go to the unemployment office.” Bill took a bite of his sandwich.
The man’s shoulders slumped.
“God helps those who help themselves,” Dawn replied.
“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” Eleanor persisted.
“I guess,” the man answered, looking intently at her.
“If you was saved,” she replied, “you wouldn’t hem-haw around about it, you’d know.” Turning to Dawn, she continued. “Don’t give hem any money, he’s not of the household of faith.”
“You’re awful dirty there, man!” Bill put his paper down.
“Yes, I live too near the street.”
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” Eleanor sniped.
“I know,” he put his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Buses have ghastly exhaust.”
“Move to the suburbs,” Bill replied, eating away. “I did.”
“I would, but I have this little problem,” he said, pulling his pockets inside out. “I have no money.”
“Look, bub,” Bill said as he put his sandwich down. “I can’t help you.”
”I have a name.”
“So do I.” Bill rolled his eyes.
“My name’s Joe.”
Bill turned and picked up his newspaper again, ignoring Joe. Eleanor and Dawn followed suit, eating their food and looking the other way.
Meanwhile, Joe took the hint and walked over to another table.
Bill got up and walked outside.
“Where’d Bill go?” Dawn asked Eleanor.
“Beats me. He probably had to go cool off. He does that to me all the time. He’ll get up and go all the time without ever telling me nothing. She turned around in her seat and looked out the window. “Ah, there he is, out there in his truck.” She spied him leaning in the open door on the passenger side. “Him and that truck o’ his.”
“Men,” Dawn laughed. “They love their pick-up trucks.”
“Yeah, but he’s mad at old Troy Dowser.”
“Why’s that?”
“Troy went out and bought a new pick-up truck.”
“That don’t make no sense. Shouldn’t Bill be happy?”
“Not if you go and buy one made by Japs.” Eleanor said.
“He didn’t?” Dawn put her drink down.
“He shore did, big as you please.”
“But didn’t he use to work for the old battery plant here in town?”
“He did before it was bought out by those Mexicans.” Eleanor reached for her drink.
“He used to be such a good union man.”
“I know. He ain’t paid his dues in three years and he quit riding the union float during the fourth of July parade.”
“No?” Dawn exclaimed.
“Yep. He don’t even put his flag out on Decoration Day or the fourth anymore.”
“When did all that happen?”
“Ever since him and Agnes split up, he’s changed.” Eleanor took a drink.
“I ain’t surprised none. It seems like some folks just up and lose their morals these days.”
A minute later, Bill came walking through the doors again. As he approached their booth, Eleanor asked, “Where’d you go?”
“Out to the truck.”
“What for?”
“Don’t you worry none. I just wanted to make sure I had something.”
“What?”
“Nothing, woman. It’s just that with loons like that bum hanging around, I just like to be prepared for the unexpected, if you know what I mean.”
Eleanor gave an acknowledging glance and sighed out as if she knew exactly what he meant.
“I don’t know what you mean, Bill.” Dawn said with a lilt in her voice as if hoping he might let her in on whatever it was he and Eleanor knew.
“Don’t pay him no attention, Dawn,” Eleanor interrupted. “He’s just being obstinate.”
“What’d you call me?” Bill asked as he stuffed a handful of French fries in his mouth.
“Hard-headed.”
“Oh. Why don’t you just say so and quit using them big words trying to sound smart.” He buried himself in the sports section of the newspaper. “Just tell me if that weirdo comes over here again. I’ll give him something he’ll never forget.”
Meanwhile, Joe was making his way around the restaurant and stopped two tables from the threesome. “Bill,” Eleanor said sweetly, “Your friend’s back.”
Bill looked at Joe and called out to the family at the other table. “Don’t give him nothing. He ain’t hungry, he’s just thirsty. He’ll take that money and go buy himself a cheap bottle of booze.”
“I am not going to buy booze.” Joe turned around and angrily faced Bill. “How do you know if I’m hungry or not? And if it really matters, yes, I’m thirsty, too. One usually drinks something with a meal. I see that you are.”
“You need to go home and read your bible, bub.”
“My name’s not bub, it’s Joe,” he cocked his head to the left. “And I have no home and I lost my bible.”
“There’s your problem. If you was saved, then none of that would have happened to you.” Eleanor clicked her tongue.
“So, the good do not suffer? What would you have told Job?”
“Oh, so now you’re going to quote me some scripture!” Eleanor persisted. “C’mon, let me here you preach it.”
“Just because you can quote the bible doesn’t mean anything. I’d rather understand what the scripture means, than have it memorized and hold it up like a placard.”
“You’re a blasphemer,”
“Have either of you ever read Matthew twenty-five?” Joe asked.
“I suppose.” Bill answered.
“It says, ‘whatsoever you do to the least, that you do unto me’.” Joe said.
“He meant for that to only apply to those Christians who was saved,” Eleanor replied, answering for her husband.
“Well, now, isn’t that nice,” Joe smiled sarcastically. “I guess there’s still no room in the inn.”
“Jesus said we’d always have the poor among us,” Eleanor shooed him away.
“You have ears but do not hear.” Joe sighed. “Things are often spoke and seldom meant.”
“Look, I’m trying to read my paper.” Bill growled.
“Often goes the Christ in the stranger’s guise.” Joe whispered in a hush and shook his head.
Bill threw his paper, scattering it on the floor. “Just shut up!”
“Pharisees! Pharisees all!” Joe said loudly, flailing his arms wide.
The table conversation and noise in the restaurant ceased as all eyes were upon Joe, Bill, Eleanor, and Dawn.
One of the female employees approached Joe. “Sir, you’ll have to leave.”
“Ma’am, all I’m doing is trying to get somebody to buy me lunch.”
“That’s the problem,” She answered softly, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Tell me about it. I haven’t eaten in three days and I’m hungry. That’s what I call a problem.”
“No, you don’t understand. Other customers have complained about you.”
“Have they now? Well, I got a couple complaints of my own,” he stood tall. “Have you seen the size of some of these people? I’m telling you, they’ve never missed a meal! But then again, you ought to go down to the King’s Buffet Ranch and see the size of the people there! Whew, baby!”
“Sir. I’ve asked you nicely. Don’t make me call the cops.”
“That’s all you people know how to do. I’m a real person! Don’t treat me like a problem! I know my life’s in the toilet! You don’t have to tell me that for me to know it! Think about it! All I was making was minimum wage at this video rental place with no health benefits! Oh, I had a fringe benefit, all the video rentals I wanted for free. But how did that help me when I didn’t even have enough money to buy a TV or a VCR to play the tapes on! Of course, I didn’t even have enough money to rent an apartment to put the stuff in! But I suppose you’ve got your problems, too. Whether to go to Disney World or The Grand Canyon, or whether to buy a second BMW or a pick up truck, huh? Well, go ahead and call the cops! Throw me in jail, at least they’ll feed me there. I’ll even get to watch cable TV.”
“Sir, you’re making a scene.”
“Am I now? Well, I took drama classes in college, and honey, this ain’t no scene. You want a scene? I’ll give you one!” Joe ran to the other end of the restaurant up to the napkin and straw dispensers. “What the hell does a man have to do to get you people’s attention, kill someone?”
At that, Joe climbed up on the condiment counter-top and yanked the sword and shield off the wall hangers. He put the shield up against his chest as a breastplate and handled the sword as if he were one of the knights of King Arthur’s Round Table. Standing high above everyone, he cried out, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!”
Suddenly, he jumped down, swinging the sword all about. Quiet ruled the look-alike castle as every head turned to face the spectacle.
“Keep up your bright swords,” Joe laughed, looking up at the outstretched sword, “for the dew will rust them!”
“Tis mad idolatry to make the service greater than the god, you Pharisees! You brood of vipers!” Joe began hopping around, waving the sword about in a flourish. “Forebear to judge, for we are sinners all. I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, and I know that the devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”
He paced around the dining room, giving pause to all who were eating. “Our basest beggars are in the poorest things superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs. Man’s life is as cheap as a beast’s.”
“He’s drunk!” Bill yelled.
“Either that or else he’s an escapee from the psych ward.” Eleanor echoed.
Joe jumped up on one of the seats of an end booth and held the sword up high. “That he’s mad, ‘tis true, ‘tis true ‘tis pity, and pity ‘tis ‘tis true.” Joe cocked his head to the right and continued, “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”
He straightened up again and smiled wide. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” He jumped down and made his way over to the table of a family of six children, ranging in age from teenagers to a baby seated in a high chair. The father and mother looked at Joe with half chewed food in their mouths. He pointed to the youngest child. “At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.” Then he looked at the older son accusingly, “When the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwilling to school.” The mother grabbed up the baby and the father guarded his family, shooing them out the door leaving their meals on the table unfinished.
Joe leapt away, swinging the sword, swishing it through the air. He alighted near a young couple in their twenties, who, prior to his thespian display, had been engaged in caressing each others’ fingertips across the tabletop. “And then the lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow.”
Joe ran over to a chair and mounted it, nearly spilling onto the floor. He turned to a wooly mammoth of a man. The unsuspecting stranger, a character whose head was buried in facial hair, wore a sleeveless shirt exposing hairy arms and darkly tattooed flesh, and camouflage pants and spiked leather-wear about his wrists. The man stared at him without so much as flinching while continuing to munch away on his sandwich. Joe turned away, still atop the chair, speaking to his captive audience. “Then a soldier, full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth.” The hairy man remained unaffected.
Joe sprang off the chair, ran halfway across the dining room, and perched near the table of a respectable family all wearing their Sunday go-to-meeting-clothes. He addressed the father, “And then the justice, in fair round belly with good capon lined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances; and so he plays his part.”
Looking down upon the customers, he focused his penetrating gaze on Bill and Eleanor Hawks. “The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; his youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide from his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, turning again toward childish treble, pipes, and whistles in his sound.” Joe pointed the sword at Bill as he jumped down to the floor.
“This is ridiculous,” Eleanor huffed. “Somebody call the cops and stop his mouth before he kills somebody.”
Walking slowly away from them, Joe crept towards a woman in a wheelchair, breathing from an oxygen tank. One of her family members was cutting her food for her and feeding her. “The last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion, without teeth, without eyes, without taste, without everything.”
Eleanor called out, “Leave that lady alone!”
“Oh, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Joe paused, taking a drink from a water glass on an abandoned table.
“And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, and then from hour to hour, we rot and rot; and thereby hangs a tale.” He jumped atop another table, knocking the table’s condiments on the floor. “To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-no more-and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to! ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-to sleep-perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause….” He paused and not a sound was heard; he took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.’
“Oh, how I wasted time, and now doth Time waste me.” Joe looked Eleanor in the face pleadingly. “Oh, people, can’t you hear? If you don’t listen, then what good is it to have ears? Some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, showing an outward pity.”
“Hey, you,” Bill called out, “wasn’t it Shakespeare, who said, ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be’?”
“Ah, yes. This above all, to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any—”
“Can the Shakespeare!” Bill shouted.
“Very well!” Joe replied. “Brevity is the soul of wit!”
Joe glowered at Bill and seemingly aimed the sword directly at Eleanor’s head. A young man seated at the table behind her stood up and tried to take the sword from Joe’s hands, but he fended him off. At the same time, Bill circled behind Joe.
“My dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath! It is the sixth hour, when beasts most graze, and birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper.”
“Put away your sword!” Dawn said. “All who live by the sword shall perish by the sword. That’s what Jesus told Saint Peter.”
“He also said, ‘I have come to bring a sword, not peace!’” Joe raised the sword up high.
The sword came down hard on Eleanor’s table, slicing through her sandwich, splattering ketchup up in Dawn’s face, spewing food and drink all over the floor. Dawn screamed, thinking she had been cut. Eleanor froze in position, her mouth agape and eyes wide with dread.
“Give every man thine ear—but few thy voice.” Joe looked at Eleanor out of the corner of his eyes and smiled. “The fool doth think himself wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. Be just and fear not!”
“You’re evil!” Eleanor yelled.
“The tongue is sharper than the sword,” he pointed the sword at her, “but it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that troubles me about you!” Lifting the sword back and swinging it to the right, he sliced the left side of Eleanor’s face, cutting off her left ear. Eleanor screamed, holding her head in her hands. Tipping over in her chair and tumbling across the floor, her fat thighs wiggled as she sprawled out.
“Be checked for silence, but never taxed for speech.” Joe’s eyes were wild with rage as he brandished the blood-tainted sword.
Again the young man struggled to get the sword out of Joe’s hand. Bill looked on in horror at his wife as Dawn immediately bent down to tend to Eleanor who was bleeding badly from the left side of her head where her ear used to be.
Dawn looked on in horror as Eleanor’s face and hands were covered in blood.
Bill looked down at the floor and saw Eleanor’s ear lying next to an onion slice and a couple of mushrooms.
Joe pointed the tip of the sword down at the severed ear and glared at Eleanor.
“You son of a bitch!” Bill shouted, raising his fist at Joe.
“That’s my mother you’re talking about!” Joe retorted softly. “Her voice was ever soft, gentle, and low...an excellent thing in woman.” He brought the red-smeared sword up under Bill’s chin.
Bill clenched his teeth as Eleanor wailed in pain. “You just cut my wife’s damned ear off! Look at her! Listen to her! You could’ve killed her!”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Joe lowered the sword. “Perhaps now she shall learn to hear with her ear—”
The sound was deafening. Joe flinched. The bullet ricocheted off of the armor shield. He held it out, stunned by the shot. Bill squeezed the trigger again. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. Joe fell backwards from the force of the blast, the second bullet finding its way around the shield. The sword was still in his hand but it held none of the fury that it had threatened with moments before. Blood gurgled forth from his mouth as he struggled to speak and come to his feet. Lurching back and forth like a tottering wall, Joe stood again. “His sword can never win the honor that he loses—” He gasped for air while the front of his dirty white shirt turned a crimson red. “Weep I cannot, but my heart bleeds.... Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once... Death, as the psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die…and enter the undiscovered country, from whose region no traveler returns….” He twitched violently.
Smoke hung in the air tracing from the short barrel of the handgun still clenched in Bill’s hand. Joe’s staggering body swayed under the weight of the shield still firmly gripped in his left hand. He fell on the floor next to Eleanor Hawks’ severed ear while the sword fell across the shield upon his chest.
By then many of the customers had either bolted for the doors or had crawled under a booth or table. After the shots had been fired, the remaining crowd made their way over to the middle of the floor. Bill stuck his gun inside his right front pocket. A doctor who happened to be eating in the dining room knelt beside Joe’s body and checked for vitals. Blood issued forth from his pierced chest; the bullet had entered directly into the heart.
The doctor shook his head. He pulled out a chain that hung from around Joe’s neck. There was a medallion attached. He held the blood covered medal and read it aloud. “I am a Catholic. Please call a priest.” He looked around at the crowd. “Well, someone call a priest!”
There was silence.
“Don’t worry about that no good bastard,” Bill shouted. “My wife’s just had her ear cut off!”
Eleanor whimpered. Dawn reassured her, “Don’t worry, Ellie. He won’t be bothering you no more. We’ll pray him into tarnation.”
“What happened? Who got shot?” She said as blood gushed from the left side of her face.
Dawn reached over to one of the tables, grabbed a towel, and pressed it against Eleanor’s wound. “Don’t you be worrying none,” she said. “Bill took care of everything.”
“Is Bill all right?” Eleanor asked, squinting in pain.
“Here I am, Ellie.” He knelt down beside her, held her right hand in his right, and tried to smile.
“Did you kill that man?” Eleanor whined as she held the towel against her own head.
Bill quickly pulled his hand away. “Somebody had better call the police!”
The doctor was already in the process of doing so, pressing buttons on his hand-held phone.
The doctor gave the necessary information. “Yes, that’s The Sword and the Shield...a shooting...yes...well, the same man’s been shot. Yes…okay, and make sure you tell them to get a priest down here...uh, huh...he’s wearing a Catholic medal.”
“Get an ambulance for my wife!” Bill angrily barked.
“They’ve got one on their way,” The doctor put his phone away.
“Don’t worry, Bill,” Dawn said, “We’ll try to stop the bleeding until the ambulance can get here.” She continued to work to contain the bleeding from Eleanor’s ear with the kitchen towel as the doctor made his way over to her.
“Where’s the ear?” The doctor asked.
“There, on the floor.” Dawn pointed to the ear among scattered food.
“No, that’s a mushroom.” The doctor placed a towel with ice on Eleanor’s wound.
“No, one of them is her ear,” Dawn insisted.
“Oh, okay. Just bring it here.”
Bill picked up the ear and handed it to the doctor.
The doctor then called out to the kitchen help. “Somebody bring me a large glass of ice and a Styrofoam take-home containers. We’ve got to keep her ear iced down so the surgeons at the hospital can reattach it.”
Eleanor continued to cry while Bill went to the restroom and washed his hands. He then walked outside, crossed the drawbridge, and put his gun back in the glove compartment of his truck.
At the same time a police cruiser soared into the parking lot and screeched to a stop. An officer hopped out with his hand on his weapon.
“Hey, Bill,” the cop called out upon seeing Bill.
“Charlie, am I ever glad you’re here.” Bill shook his head and put his hands in his blue jeans’ pocket.
“What’s going on?” the cop relaxed his hand from upon his gun. “We got two calls, one about a disturbance, and another about a shooting.”
The two hurried across the drawbridge to the entrance.
“Aw, some drifter went off his nut and damn near killed the wife.” Bill was smiling nervously. “But don’t worry—he won’t be bothering nobody no more.”
“How’s that?”
Bill looked at one of the mannequin knights and chuckled. “Never bring a sword to a gun fight.” He opened the door allowing the policeman to enter first.
