Keys
For a moment, the key was a glowing white hole in the darkness. It reflected the light drifting in from the small window just above the garage door. Then the key turned and disappeared into the ignition, into the blackness.
There was a click, then a slow growling and grunting that came and went like the squeaking of an old rocking chair, then another click, and the noises were gone, except for the echo which hung in the air a little longer. Then the noises started again.
There was also the sound of shuffling in the passenger seat. Slowly the light traced a line around a pair of glasses, a thick nose, a hat, a face, then an arm and a shoulder, finally a neck.
The growling and grunting switched to a deep rumbling accompanied by the sound of a little girl straining to get one last taste of pop through a straw, only a little more mechanical, a little more powerful.
"Do you hear that Charlie?" asked the driver.
"Eh?" responded the older man, turning his head away from the light so that his voice seemed to come from a patch of darkness.
"I said, do you hear that?" said the driver speaking a little louder.
"Hear what?" said Charlie.
"That sucking noise," answered the driver. His voice lowered again. "It sounds like somebody trying to suck up water from the bottom of a bucket with a vacuum cleaner."
There was a pause. Charlie leaned forward, back into the light, and opened his mouth to say something, but all he said was "Hmmm." He inhaled loudly as if he were about to try again, but stooped, distracted by the glare on the windshield as they pulled out of the garage. It blocked out everything outside the van. Charlie tried to cover his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt
"Sun's bright today, what?" he said, peeking over the top of his arm.
"I can hardly see where I'm going," said the driver. "Almost enough to blind you."
The van came to a stop sign, and the driver leaned forward, tugging at his thin, blond mustache. He looked left, than right, than left again, but the van didn't move. Charlie pulled up the sleeves of his tan coloured shirt and began to look left and right too. He lifted his hand, motioning for the driver to go, but stopped when he saw a car drive in front of the van. Charlie looked left and right again, this time a little longer, adjusted his thick rimmed glasses, and began to raise his hand again. Before he finished his motion, another car drove in front of the van. Charlie rubbed his pants and stared at the dashboard until the van finally started to move.
"How's your great granddaughter doing?" asked the driver. He glanced over to make sure Charlie was listening. "I didn't see her in church Sunday."
"They were away," said Charlie.
"So you had some peace and quiet this weekend, eh?" said the driver. He reached for a cup of coffee on the dash. "No little feet running all round above you."
"Eh?" said Charlie. "Don't notice them up there much at all." He reached over and hit the drivers arm, almost spilling his coffee. "If I do, I just turn down my hearing aid and I don't hear a thing." He started to laugh, looking up to the roof of the van and opening his mouth wide. The driver , who had just taken a mouthful of coffee, swallowed it quickly and starting coughing.
He was still coughing when they reached a traffic light. He put his coffee back on the dash, and reached into the back pocket of his dark jeans, finally pulling out a cassette tape. He slipped the tape into the van’s stereo, then looked up at the traffic light which had just turned green. The van started to move again, and without looking back down, he turned the stereo on.
"Pastor Phil!" said Charlie.
"What?" said the driver with a smirk that distorted the shape of his mustache.
"What's this?" ask Charlie.
"It's music," said Pastor Phil. "Don't you like it?"
"It's just a bunch of noise!" said Charlie. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows raised. "I could sing like that if I wanted." He closed his eyes and started howling. Pastor Phil laughed again and Charlie began to smile.
"Sounds like you're yodeling to me," said Pastor Phil. He turned off the stereo.
"It's a bunch of confusion," said Charlie. His eyes widened again and his smile started to fade. "God's not the author of confusion, says in the Bible. That leaves the devil." Charlie noticed his shiny brown pants that had become infested with wrinkles. He tried to wipe away the wrinkles as he spoke. "The devil's the author of it."
"Bible also says to become all things to all men," said Pastor Phil. His voice seemed to push against the windows of the van, looking for a bigger audience. "Go home and read first Corinthians chapter nine. We have to do all we can do to save souls, and if that means putting the Gospel in rock, that's fine with me."
"Hmmm," said Charlie, his head still bowed toward his pants. Charlie had not been able to read his Bible since his stroke four years ago. The words would switch places in his head, or he would forget what the beginning of a sentence said by the time he got to the end of it. His granddaughter had bought him some Bible tapes a few years ago, but Charlie couldn't use the tape player very well and he didn't like the voice of the man who read. Too high and mighty, he complained.
Charlie was still rubbing his pants, but the wrinkles wouldn’t go away. He stopped and stared at the wrinkles on his pants, then the ones on his hand, before speaking again.
"Marla says music makes things make sense, even when they don't normally." He looked back to Pastor Phil. "And when it don't, it ain't music. It's just noise."
"She used to play, didn't she Charlie?" Pastor Phil’s voice was a little softer than before. He had come to the city a year ago, just after the funeral for Charlie’s wife. When he first arrived he heard stories of all the wonderful things Charlie and Marla had done for the church, and how sad it was that she had died and left Charlie alone. He had wanted to visit Charlie ever since, but there was just so much he had to do. It was his secretary who suggested he bring Charlie along on this errand.
"She used to play the piano for me all the time," answered Charlie. "We've a big piano in the living room, and she used to sit down every night and play. Almost always sat and listened, except when I had to work outside. Then I could hear it coming through the windows. Always played classical music. Beethoven and Bach, people like that."
"My wife just plays cds," said Pastor Phil, reaching for his coffee again. "Old Hymns and Gospel songs. But I'd even miss that if she died."
"Hmmm," said Charlie. He turned his head and began chewing on his bottom lip.
They had reached the highway now, and Charlie looked out the window. He tried to watch the trees on the side of the highway. He wanted to pick a tree and follow it, but he couldn't decide which tree. They all looked the same. Every time he picked one, another would catch his eye and he would change his mind. After a while, he decided to just stare straight ahead. All he saw was a blur of green and black. He didn't like that either and decided to look at the dashboard again.
His eyelids began to droop by the time the van pulled off the highway and into a driveway. Charlie looked up to see a building with several large garage doors. Pastor Phil turned off the motor and opened the door.
"I'll be right back," he said. "You'll wait here?"
"Hmmm," said Charlie.
Pastor Phil slipped the key into his pocket as he walked into the building. After a few minutes, he came back out with a woman in overalls. She was muscular, and had dirt smeared on her forehead. They talked, and Charlie could see their lips moving, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. As they got closer to the van, Charlie could hear their voices, but he couldn't make out the words.
By the time they got to the hood of the van they had stopped talking anyway. The woman stood there shielding her eyes from the sun while Pastor Phil climbed back into the van. He pulled a leaver and the hood opened. Then he put the key into the ignition and turned it. As before, the van whined a little. Pastor Phil tried again, and the same thing happened. When the van finally started, he got out and spoke with the woman again. Charlie turned up his hearing aid, trying to hear what they were saying, but all he could hear was the rumbling of the motor.
Pastor Phil shut the hood and shook hands with the woman. She smiled, waved, then walked back to the building.
"Well that's that then," said Pastor Phil as he shut the van door.
"What'd she say?" asked Charlie.
"Well, one of the parts inside is broken, and the van needs that part to start. This van is so old that they don't make that part for it any more. None of the new parts will fit. Guess we'll have to get a new van."
"Hmmm," said Charlie.
"Yeah, we'll have to get a new van," said Pastor Phil.
****
Later that evening, Charlie sat at home, watching television. He squinted as if he were trying to see something. He looked past the man and woman, past the parking lot behind them, past the window in the apartment in the background, but before he found what he was looking for a closeup of the woman's face appeared on the screen.
Charlie turned the television off and left the room.
He came back with a record of Beethoven and a long white candle. He turned on the record player and gently lowered the needle. The sound of scratching filled the room as he fumbled with the plastic wrap around the candle. Once the candle was uncovered, he placed it in a golden candle holder. While he lit the candle, someone began playing a piano. Charlie sat in his chair and closed his eyes. He forgot everything else, the sucking sound in the van, the stop sign, the tape, the trees, the voices. The music drowned it all out. He pictured his wife's fingers pressing the keys of the piano, thin and pale, so pale they seemed to be glowing. Her hands floated away from the piano, still pressing invisible keys as they drifted around the room, easing closer and closer to Charlie's head until they opened it up and went inside, and he felt her music in his belly.
Soundtrack CLICK HERE
1998
There was a click, then a slow growling and grunting that came and went like the squeaking of an old rocking chair, then another click, and the noises were gone, except for the echo which hung in the air a little longer. Then the noises started again.
There was also the sound of shuffling in the passenger seat. Slowly the light traced a line around a pair of glasses, a thick nose, a hat, a face, then an arm and a shoulder, finally a neck.
The growling and grunting switched to a deep rumbling accompanied by the sound of a little girl straining to get one last taste of pop through a straw, only a little more mechanical, a little more powerful.
"Do you hear that Charlie?" asked the driver.
"Eh?" responded the older man, turning his head away from the light so that his voice seemed to come from a patch of darkness.
"I said, do you hear that?" said the driver speaking a little louder.
"Hear what?" said Charlie.
"That sucking noise," answered the driver. His voice lowered again. "It sounds like somebody trying to suck up water from the bottom of a bucket with a vacuum cleaner."
There was a pause. Charlie leaned forward, back into the light, and opened his mouth to say something, but all he said was "Hmmm." He inhaled loudly as if he were about to try again, but stooped, distracted by the glare on the windshield as they pulled out of the garage. It blocked out everything outside the van. Charlie tried to cover his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt
"Sun's bright today, what?" he said, peeking over the top of his arm.
"I can hardly see where I'm going," said the driver. "Almost enough to blind you."
The van came to a stop sign, and the driver leaned forward, tugging at his thin, blond mustache. He looked left, than right, than left again, but the van didn't move. Charlie pulled up the sleeves of his tan coloured shirt and began to look left and right too. He lifted his hand, motioning for the driver to go, but stopped when he saw a car drive in front of the van. Charlie looked left and right again, this time a little longer, adjusted his thick rimmed glasses, and began to raise his hand again. Before he finished his motion, another car drove in front of the van. Charlie rubbed his pants and stared at the dashboard until the van finally started to move.
"How's your great granddaughter doing?" asked the driver. He glanced over to make sure Charlie was listening. "I didn't see her in church Sunday."
"They were away," said Charlie.
"So you had some peace and quiet this weekend, eh?" said the driver. He reached for a cup of coffee on the dash. "No little feet running all round above you."
"Eh?" said Charlie. "Don't notice them up there much at all." He reached over and hit the drivers arm, almost spilling his coffee. "If I do, I just turn down my hearing aid and I don't hear a thing." He started to laugh, looking up to the roof of the van and opening his mouth wide. The driver , who had just taken a mouthful of coffee, swallowed it quickly and starting coughing.
He was still coughing when they reached a traffic light. He put his coffee back on the dash, and reached into the back pocket of his dark jeans, finally pulling out a cassette tape. He slipped the tape into the van’s stereo, then looked up at the traffic light which had just turned green. The van started to move again, and without looking back down, he turned the stereo on.
"Pastor Phil!" said Charlie.
"What?" said the driver with a smirk that distorted the shape of his mustache.
"What's this?" ask Charlie.
"It's music," said Pastor Phil. "Don't you like it?"
"It's just a bunch of noise!" said Charlie. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows raised. "I could sing like that if I wanted." He closed his eyes and started howling. Pastor Phil laughed again and Charlie began to smile.
"Sounds like you're yodeling to me," said Pastor Phil. He turned off the stereo.
"It's a bunch of confusion," said Charlie. His eyes widened again and his smile started to fade. "God's not the author of confusion, says in the Bible. That leaves the devil." Charlie noticed his shiny brown pants that had become infested with wrinkles. He tried to wipe away the wrinkles as he spoke. "The devil's the author of it."
"Bible also says to become all things to all men," said Pastor Phil. His voice seemed to push against the windows of the van, looking for a bigger audience. "Go home and read first Corinthians chapter nine. We have to do all we can do to save souls, and if that means putting the Gospel in rock, that's fine with me."
"Hmmm," said Charlie, his head still bowed toward his pants. Charlie had not been able to read his Bible since his stroke four years ago. The words would switch places in his head, or he would forget what the beginning of a sentence said by the time he got to the end of it. His granddaughter had bought him some Bible tapes a few years ago, but Charlie couldn't use the tape player very well and he didn't like the voice of the man who read. Too high and mighty, he complained.
Charlie was still rubbing his pants, but the wrinkles wouldn’t go away. He stopped and stared at the wrinkles on his pants, then the ones on his hand, before speaking again.
"Marla says music makes things make sense, even when they don't normally." He looked back to Pastor Phil. "And when it don't, it ain't music. It's just noise."
"She used to play, didn't she Charlie?" Pastor Phil’s voice was a little softer than before. He had come to the city a year ago, just after the funeral for Charlie’s wife. When he first arrived he heard stories of all the wonderful things Charlie and Marla had done for the church, and how sad it was that she had died and left Charlie alone. He had wanted to visit Charlie ever since, but there was just so much he had to do. It was his secretary who suggested he bring Charlie along on this errand.
"She used to play the piano for me all the time," answered Charlie. "We've a big piano in the living room, and she used to sit down every night and play. Almost always sat and listened, except when I had to work outside. Then I could hear it coming through the windows. Always played classical music. Beethoven and Bach, people like that."
"My wife just plays cds," said Pastor Phil, reaching for his coffee again. "Old Hymns and Gospel songs. But I'd even miss that if she died."
"Hmmm," said Charlie. He turned his head and began chewing on his bottom lip.
They had reached the highway now, and Charlie looked out the window. He tried to watch the trees on the side of the highway. He wanted to pick a tree and follow it, but he couldn't decide which tree. They all looked the same. Every time he picked one, another would catch his eye and he would change his mind. After a while, he decided to just stare straight ahead. All he saw was a blur of green and black. He didn't like that either and decided to look at the dashboard again.
His eyelids began to droop by the time the van pulled off the highway and into a driveway. Charlie looked up to see a building with several large garage doors. Pastor Phil turned off the motor and opened the door.
"I'll be right back," he said. "You'll wait here?"
"Hmmm," said Charlie.
Pastor Phil slipped the key into his pocket as he walked into the building. After a few minutes, he came back out with a woman in overalls. She was muscular, and had dirt smeared on her forehead. They talked, and Charlie could see their lips moving, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. As they got closer to the van, Charlie could hear their voices, but he couldn't make out the words.
By the time they got to the hood of the van they had stopped talking anyway. The woman stood there shielding her eyes from the sun while Pastor Phil climbed back into the van. He pulled a leaver and the hood opened. Then he put the key into the ignition and turned it. As before, the van whined a little. Pastor Phil tried again, and the same thing happened. When the van finally started, he got out and spoke with the woman again. Charlie turned up his hearing aid, trying to hear what they were saying, but all he could hear was the rumbling of the motor.
Pastor Phil shut the hood and shook hands with the woman. She smiled, waved, then walked back to the building.
"Well that's that then," said Pastor Phil as he shut the van door.
"What'd she say?" asked Charlie.
"Well, one of the parts inside is broken, and the van needs that part to start. This van is so old that they don't make that part for it any more. None of the new parts will fit. Guess we'll have to get a new van."
"Hmmm," said Charlie.
"Yeah, we'll have to get a new van," said Pastor Phil.
****
Later that evening, Charlie sat at home, watching television. He squinted as if he were trying to see something. He looked past the man and woman, past the parking lot behind them, past the window in the apartment in the background, but before he found what he was looking for a closeup of the woman's face appeared on the screen.
Charlie turned the television off and left the room.
He came back with a record of Beethoven and a long white candle. He turned on the record player and gently lowered the needle. The sound of scratching filled the room as he fumbled with the plastic wrap around the candle. Once the candle was uncovered, he placed it in a golden candle holder. While he lit the candle, someone began playing a piano. Charlie sat in his chair and closed his eyes. He forgot everything else, the sucking sound in the van, the stop sign, the tape, the trees, the voices. The music drowned it all out. He pictured his wife's fingers pressing the keys of the piano, thin and pale, so pale they seemed to be glowing. Her hands floated away from the piano, still pressing invisible keys as they drifted around the room, easing closer and closer to Charlie's head until they opened it up and went inside, and he felt her music in his belly.
Soundtrack CLICK HERE
1998
posted by deadwriter at 2:58 p.m.
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