Henry’s in the study of his Key West bungalow. The phone rings, so he lifts the headset to his ear and says,
yes, hello,
this is Vivian Spot from Dwarf Press in Denver, we've yet to receive your story, It Never Happened Here.
Jesus, I sent it a month ago, maybe it evaporated in the mailbox. Come to think of it, a band of Gypsies was seen in the neighborhood a few days ago.
Evaporated? Gypsies? Oh my goodness, do you have a copy?
No, carbon paper’s messy.
Write another Henry, one about Gypsies. Fax it to me at Dwarf Press, Denver, 312 251 7867. Thank you, love.
Vivian hangs up, in a hurry like most editors.
Lucia, Henry’s piquant Cuban wife walks in his study saying,
Tienes hambre? There’s a Gypsy restaurante at Sugarloaf Key, let’s go for supper.
I’m writing a story for Vivian Spot at Dwarf Press.
Querido, the penny-pinching-puta doesn’t pay,
Lucia, the rag has nationwide circulation, it gets my work out there, let’s go eat.
They leave the Chihuahuas, Che, and Mia in the yard, lock the house and jump on their Vespa, driving north on the Overseas Highway, reaching Sugarloaf Key in twenty minutes.
Suddenly the sky turns pitch black and Henry says,
we should have driven the car, it’s an omen, I can feel it.
He steers the motorbike on the inkish stone road, the island’s small, desolate, so the restaurant should be easy to find.
The couple sees a thicket of twisting honey locust trees arching over the road and Lucia points through it saying,
there.
There’s a ramshackle building made from the wood of a scuttled boat with a small blue light neon sign on top that reads,
LUNA
Henry parks the scooter and they walk through an open doorway framed with wild boar bones, sitting at the bar.
The couple eyeballs the Gypsy cafe, the patrons are vacant but anodyne. The barkeep limps back and forth making drinks, looking like a loaded monkey with a hair lip. Approaching Henry and Lucia he introduces himself,
I’m Vlad, are you drinkin it or stinkin it, he ha he.
Vlad coughs without covering his mouth and they duck for cover. Sitting upright when the coast is clear Henry says,
whatever Gypsies drink, Vlad.
Vampire blood and Stoli, drink for gorgers, he, hoo, hoo.
The cleft lipped simian brings the couple a pitcher of cherry juice and vodka, pouring the goo into two Viking horn mugs that they lift to the sky saying,
Skål.
When they finish the pitcher they move to a table made from pieces of driftwood. A tiny girl, a dwarf maybe, with grey eyes, wearing a headscarf embellished with coins comes to the table and says,
Lachhi vat, I’m Banka, Vlad’s girl. I serve you Romani food today, wait gorgers,
Okay, Banka,
the little thing disappears, evaporating. The couple is unnerved and Henry does his best to put the mystic event in perspective.
I don’t want to overthink that, better to let it pass. Then, Lucia says,
el baro is queer querido, let’s get out of here.
Give it a chance dear, the cafe’s surreal, I like it.
Henry, you’re a freak.
Then the busboy shows carrying a tray over his head that brushes the ceiling. He’s a Gypsy giant over seven feet tall wearing trousers that are knee-length and blue leather sandals laying bare his fat dirty toes.
Lachhi vat, I’m Drago, Banka’s father, I bring Romni food, plenty.
The leviathan reaches towards the clouds, grabbing plates of food with his thumping great meathooks, positioning dishes of—rabbit stew, cabbage rolls, polenta, and beet soup on the couple's table, then bowing and walking away. Henry whispers to Lucia,
How could such a big man father a dwarf, inverse genetics?
I don't know bebe, but, this place is a circus.
As they eat, Henry says,
I was apprehensive about eating rabbit, but it’s tasty, better than chicken.
Sí, querido, when I was a girl in Cuba, my family was so poor that we ate hedgehogs and Zebra snakes.
Then, things begin to look up at Luna, the food is great and there’s a roving violin player with a Bolo hat on, no shirt, wearing a black vest, showing off his armpit hair as he fiddles.
Once again, shit gets weird, the cafe creatures dance a zombie two-step, swaying from side to side. Henry says as he sucks the last rabbit bone dry,
great chow, wacko joint, let’s pay and get outta here.
The couple gets up from the table, walking to the bar where Vlad’s gnawing on moldy cheese. With mouth open showing cheese he says,
LUNA and Gypsy food, big fun, hey?
Yeah Vlad, what-a we owe ya?
You got Romani leu? Vlad just kidding, ho ho, twenty-five Gringo dolla.
Henry hands over the gravy, says thanks, and they walk out the door to the parking lot.
Back on the Vespa, the couple begins the drive home, pausing for a minute at the honey locust trees and looking back at LUNA. Lucia's hit like a ton of bricks saying,
dios mío, darling, the cafe's dematerialized! And, Henry says,
look hear,
he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of rabbit bones, and as he shows them to Lucia they go up in smoke.
No comments:
Post a Comment