Henry hated time. The hours crawling by when Lucia's away shopping, the eternity it took for a Bach symphony to end. The foreverness of waiting for a hurricane to make landfall, the turbulent seconds it takes to move on, and the days of rain it leaves behind.
Time can be a Shelby GT500 racing a 930 Porsche Turbo on Highway 1 through Big Sur, or a toddler crawling on the living room carpet to his mother.
Time waits for no one and it won’t wait for me— a lyric from Time is On My Side penned by Jerry Ragovoy, loaned to the Rolling Stones for an unknown sum.
The summer is over, the harvest is in, and we are not saved— Jeremiah 8:20
Jeremiah's Old Testament proverb references the coming famine when the wheat, fig, grape, and olive harvest was shredded to nothing by a swarm of locusts in 600 BC.
For some, the proverbs of the Old and New Testaments have passed the test of times— oddly, biblical scripture is poetic, debatable.
Nineteen centuries later, in a schoolroom at a Buddhist temple, near the top of Doi Suthep in Thailand, a novitiate asks his teacher.
your highship, how can I influence people?
Butterfly, talk about, sex, LaLiga, TV, avoid telling the truth.
The master talks in circles to confuse his devotees, stupefying them— like the Zen monk in Alan Watt's The Wisdom of Confusion.
1984— a year when computers are as slow as molasses. Cell phones are bulky and rare. Stable operating systems are few, and the worldwide web is one year old. 1984 will be the last year cocaine is more popular than computers.
It’s 11 AM in Key West. Henry and Lucia are sucking down mugs of fresh Wisconsin apple cider mixed with Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and alternately swallowing eel sushi. He makes a promise.
I'm gonna blow a wad all over your face in the hot tub tonight. She's somewhat impressed, pulling his chain,
big man, mister pornstar, you’re kinky Henry.
Darling, do you worry about sitting in a hot tub that could be teeming with viruses?— hot tub lung, hot tub rash, Legionella, urinary tract infections.
The Legionella? It’s a Gringo disease?
In 1976 partying Gringos Legionnaires were victimized by a newborn fungal ill wind passing through the ventilator system of the ballroom at the St. Regis Hotel in Philadelphia. The deceased, survivors of World War Two and the Korean conflict, are sadly beaten down by a mere microbe.
It’s noon Saturday, July 1984. July is the hottest month of the year. Henry and Lucia have showered three times to cool down. She suggests,
Darling, let’s go to the Martin Luther King Jr. swimming pool.
Why not? It’s a pseudo-safe seawater pool, hopefully, the salt kills the viruses and neutralizes the urine.
Henry, I know you pee in the MLK Jr. pool.
And, you don’t?
no, it’s not lady-like, women have particular standards, we’re not dogs like men.
Honey, is the air conditioner plugged in?
She walks to the air conditioner, it sits snug, wedged between the window and its lower frame, she plugs it in. He says,
Let’s light one, stay home and listen to music. I don't wanna go to the Martin Luther King Jr. pool. No reflection on Martin, but there's no privacy because locals go there to eyeball.
He turns on his antique Grundig radio to Miami 101, All the Time Jazz, Miles Davis' brilliant rendition of the Concerto de Aranuez from the Sketches of Spain album is playing.
Feeling baked, the love couple nurses the same joint. Lucia brings up an infamous trick from her past, Fidel Castro,
I'd go to his Havana house in the evenings, we'd listen to records and drink Chivas Regal. Sometimes, I'd smoke a Cohiba cigar, one of Fidel's that was hand-rolled for him, he'd keep them in humidors.
Fidel loved the Concerto de Aranuez, he had many different versions on LP, including Mile's Davis's Sketches of Spain.
He and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have been best friends for years. Marquez would bring his beautiful wife, Mercedes, to Fidel's house. The two men would talk about jazz and Latin American literature late into the night. They were both the best at what they did. One night I said to Fidel,
mi amor, your passion for the Concerto de Aranuez reflects your deepest feelings. I can feel it. Fidel smiles and says to me,
In my position, it's impossible to wear one's heart on one's sleeve. When I listen to this sad concerto, I remember the El Movimiento 26 de Julio, and the soldiers of the revolution who fought and bled by my side. Henry asks her,
Do you still love Fidel?
He's arrogant to a fault, a wild lover hung like a burro. He’d rub cocaína on his pollo to stay hard. He had so many women, thousands, both wives were showpieces and puppets. I don’t think he knew how to love, how can you order an execution one minute and love the next?
Lucia, let’s get naked and rub-a-dub-dub in the hot tub.
Before they can turn on the hot tub the doorbell rings, Henry walks to the living room, opening the front door, seeing a Black man standing outside with a white cane in his hand and a large leather case slung over his shoulder.
He’s a heavy-set man dressed neatly in khaki pants, a short sleave-blue shirt, black wingtips, Ray-Bans, and his hair is cut tight. He says,
My name is Andy Higgins, I’m a blind man, a door-to-door salesman, and a photographer.
Come in, Andy.
Henry takes the blind man's hand, leading him to the kitchen table, getting him seated, bringing him a coffee. Andy uses a teaspoon to pour and blend three spoonfuls of sugar in his cup. Saying,
you would think I'm sweet enough already, all this sugar. Henry, would you say, a gorgeous Black woman has much more going for her than an average-looking White guy? As you know, nothing concerning Black and White folks is written in stone.
When the Lord deals you a poker hand you’re stuck with it no matter what color you are. So luck is more important than color.
You got that right Andy, where do you stay?
Right now I have a room in Little Miami. This morning, I got up at 5 AM to catch the Greyhound bus, grabbing a quick cup of coffee at the Key West station, then taking a taxi here. When I finish I'll go to the next neighborhood, focusing on Key West for a while. There are better ways to make a living, but I get by.
More coffee Andy?
How about a drink, Henry? Can you mix me a Seagrams and 7? Let’s move to the living room, I'll follow you at arm's length.
Andy's a controlling person, he has to be, being blind.
Henry leads him to the living room to a stuffed chair, the blind man smiles as he sits in the chair.
Lucia's been in the shadows listening. She walks to the living room in a sexy kimono and hands Andy his drink. He says,
you must be the lady of the house. I can smell the perspiration between your legs, what's your name?
I'm Lucia, so you like smelling my body, well, I guess I can't stop you.
She walks to the stereo, cranking it up, putting on George Shearing's album, Unattainable Heights. Then moving to the sofa to sit next to Henry who comments,
George Shearing, he's blind you know, how in the hell can he play without seeing the keys? Andy says,
we blind folks have to develop a special talent, mine is photography, or we'll end up on a street corner with a tin cup, or stringing brooms in a factory.
Andy reaches into the pocket of his polyester shirt, pulling out a joint saying,
Do you people imbibe?
oh yeah,
This is very special, Thai Stick, it’ll knock you down. Henry quips,
we’re braced on the sofa, thank you. He sounds square.
The partiers smoke grass, enjoying the high life. Andy says,
Let's get to work. Henry grab my Polaroid camera and the tripod. Set the kit up facing the sofa, like you're going to shoot a portrait.
He secures the camera to the tripod, looks through the lens, frames the shot, going back to the sofa, sitting next to Lucia.
He's wearing shorts, a Grateful Dead T-shirt, and his long hair is down. Lucia takes off her dress, she's wearing a one-piece swimsuit underneath. Henry wonders,
what’s with the fifties swimsuit?
Does it make a difference?
I guess not.
Andy stands, walking with his arms extended a few steps towards the camera, walking into it, knocking the tripod forward then catching it with one hand. Ready to work he clicks a neat packet of film into the Polaroid.
How’d you’d catch the falling tripod?
Everything's feel for a blind man. OK, here we go, I’m going to say, get ready, count to five, and shoot, how bout some cheesy smiles folks?
Henry and Lucia don't pose, they ignore Andy, making out, playing scissors, rock, and paper, even wrestling on the sofa. She takes her old-fashioned swimsuit off, throwing it anywhere, it lands on the TV, covering the screen. Andy says,
Lucia, I know you took off your dress.
Keep your nose to the grind, nosey.
Funny girl, OK, I think we have enough shots, I’m going to immortalize your portraits in plastic.
He walks back to the stuffed chair, sitting down reaching into his camera case, pulling out a new photo book. In twenty minutes Andy's putting the finishing touches on the portrait book. There are six pages, front and back, with Polaroid portraits set in the photo-sized plastic windows. He says,
Who wants a sneak peek?
Lucia gets up from the sofa, walks to him, taking the photo book, going back and sitting again.
Henry has been mixing drinks in the kitchen, he returns carrying a tray.
He hands Andy a Seagrams and 7.
At the sofa, the couple pages through the polaroid portraits, laughing insanely.
They love the photos, the spontaneous portraits are full of movement, reminding the couple of photographers Robert Frank and Diane Arbus. Andy says,
Well— you all know how much Polaroid film costs, how about a hundred dollars for the whole nine yards?
Henry stands, reaches into his pocket, walks to Andy, handing him a hundred-dollar bill, the blind man says,
I hope this is a hundred not a five. Can you call me a cab?
Henry laughs saying,
Trust in the Lord, Ray Charles.
I'll be trustin in the Lord alright, Henry, gotta go, don't wanna miss the bus.
Lucia leads him by the hand to the front door, down the porch steps to the sidewalk, where they stop. He faces her saying,
My cab will be here soon, I'll be back next year. She says,
how do I smell, sexy? Andy laughs.
Andy Higgins, without a doubt, the greatest blind photographer in the world.
