by John Davis Collins @1999 All Rights Reserved By John F. Clennan, Esq.
I closed my eyes to imagine poor Henry Miller before the entire body of the Association of Shopkeepers and Merchants trying to stumble over the time honored ritual words, "Most must await the final accounting to realize the reward for good deeds... However the Grand Auditor's..."
I remember my father in the study of our house on the hill coaching
Henry in the ritual words, before Henry left for Vietnam. Closing the book
with a clump, my father pulled the timepiece from his vest pocket and with a
repressed yawn said, "The Brotherhood will be easy. You're a soldier leaving
for war..."
When I opened my eyes, the momentary illusion faded on the wisps of
the aroma of Bill's freshly baked apple crumb cake. As I tidied up the
restaurant, Henry Miller sat with Bill, the Greek born owner of the Yankee
Imperium Restaurant. Bill's open shirt revealed a hairy chest glistening
with sweat from the heat of working in the kitchen.
Why did Bill get us involved with the stodgy Association of
Shopkeepers and Merchants? All the old Yankees in the Association cared
about was dressing up like fops and flopping in Bill's restaurant. Yet
despite grumblings, Henry, having long ago taken the path of enlightenment,
now hid a tuxedo, under his long Army coat buttoned up to the collar.
I remember my father laughing years ago when Henry on leave from the
Army first asked to be proposed as a member.
"To outside pheblians, our order may sound exulted, but…"
My father might never have recommended Henry, but for my insistence.
"Never be angry with someone, who speaks the truth," my father warned
me.
Today so few took interest, that when Bill, a recent immigrant from
Greece applied, the Association took Bill without question. Bill's
restaurant became the meeting hall.
The large gavel, the Gaveleer of the Association wields in a
conference, lay on the table. Around us the large dining room of Bill's
restaurant was deserted, except for a solitary bus boy sweeping up the
remains of lunch. Still Bill held the little blue ritual book which kept the
secrets of the guild cautiously open as Bill shot Henry a serious, but
sympathetic glance.
Henry laughed; "But for your bribe of that apple crumb cake I'd never
have endured this mumbo jumbo."
Years ago, "Bribe," my father had laughed, with the ritual book clasped
shut in his hands. "Jane plans to bake you an apple pie to celebrate your
enlightenment, the induction into our order."
I must have blushed as my father deliberately left the room.
"Watchout Henry, Jane's gone sweet on you."
Back in the present Bill strained a smile as he closed his ritual book
slowly and looked out at the late afternoon traffic building on the highway,
mentally estimating the size of the supper crowd that evening. "Laughter,"
Bill remarked, "is the echo of the emptiness of life..."
Bill paused deliberately. "Your slips from language of our ritual
are small... but, the old timers studying you for the post of Gaveleer... To
them, small variances from script merit no credit."
"I'm sorry Bill." Henry spoke in an apologetic tone. To Bill's wave
of indifference, "...For stealing time from your siesta between lunch and
dinner crowds in your restaurant..."
Bill shook his round face catching the sunlight in black curls.
"Necessary practice," Bill replied with a tired sigh, "Tonight you must
present an award to this Judith Skye in the prescribed word before the guild
assembled, right in this very room."
"Maybe," Henry lit up with a suggestion, "I could make it more
personal... find out more about..." Henry grabbed an announcement from the
guild, "Judith Skye's work with the American Rescue Consortium for Homeless
Vietnam Veterans ... That'll take the attention off some of the flubs with
the boiler-plate language."
Bill sighed and wrung the back of his neck.
"I guess you don't know about Vietnam, "I interrupted Bill. "What did
the Greeks have to do with it?"
Bill leveled his black eyes on me. "That's what I asked the Army
Recruiter when the cops brought me…"
To my accusatory stare, Bill responded, "Young man, newcomer, type of
trouble… The Recruiter said," Bill tried to hide his deep resonant tones in
an American accent, " ' Greeker, huh, Army can use a few good cooks…'"
savoring the aroma of the fresh apple stewing, Bill added, "I apparently have
learned well."
Greek Bill for all his foreign flavor spoke English clearly,
precisely and correctly, much as my father had taught.
"Henry," my father had instructed," the ritual harkens back to any
age when English was savored for its definitiveness… The argot that it is
becoming enshrouds it in ambiguity. Doesn't 'jive' means both to talk and to
lie."
Pointing to the blue bound pocket sized book of rituals, Bill warned
Henry through blood shot eyes, "Keep your attention on the script..."
"Empty words, sounds without true meaning, an empty spiritless
declaration..." Henry replied.
"It is true that we are bedeviling grown men with silly expressions
when the importance is our patronage."
Henry reached for the book and read it in chagrin. "Isn't it enough
to have the spirit and the intent?"
"What would 'spirit and intent' do for us? It is as if to serve the
aroma of that cake in the oven without the sustenance itself."
I raised my nostrils to savor the bouquet of the pie. Yes the night
of 'Henry's Enlightenment' I had baked a New England Apple Pie with a little
flag sticking up in the middle.
And Henry had come home with my father and complimented me on the
fragrant smell that permeated our house on the hill. "She's just 16," my
father patted Henry on the back, "but when a Yankee Girl sets her cap..."
Yes I was 16 and Henry was 24. That was then…
Bill yawned. "As tired as I am I can deliver the customary
presentation of the award from memory... `In keeping the balance sheet of
debt..." Bill's voice trailed off as his face lost expression and his eyes
rolled. He fell into a deep slumber.
I parroted as I leaned over the table to pour coffee for Henry, "In
keeping the balance sheet of debt and repayment, one must await final
accounting for realization of all good deeds…' "
Henry rebuked me with a playful glint in his eyes, "Jane, you're not
supposed to know the words of our secret ritual."
"Last time I taught you I got a kiss."
Yes, right on the front stoop. My father discretely turned the
light out as he trudged upstairs. And Henry broke the embrace and was off to
Vietnam.
Henry's practice continued as Bill's snoring grew louder. Yet each
time, despite my prompting, Henry had confused a word or two.
Car headlights were flicking on I shook Bill to wake up from his nap.
His eyes caught the clock on the wall and widened in horror. "I have barely
enough time to shower, throw on my tuxedo and powder that apple crumb pie."
As Bill fled to the kitchen, Bill threw Henry the book, "I'll have the
waitress set up the room. Study the presentation..."
"The waitress," I growled, "knows what has to be done."
While I rearranged the room I recalled my father's warning. "Henry's
a bright boy with promise, but two years will change him and you."
I bit my lip. My father had taught me never to pout when someone
told you the truth.
"Two years from now… things will have changed, as much as you'd like
to hold onto the dream."
In the present tense, Henry sat alone in the booth, trying to recite,
"In tallying the final balance of debit and credit, one should wait for all
good deeds..."
When Henry looked up from his practice, I had transformed the room.
It was now re-arranged into an official meeting with four tables blocked in a
square against an empty center. Three chairs sat behind one of the tables
where Henry would sit with Bill the Gaveleer.
In formal attire, members were beginning to gather as Henry joined
Bill at a table with three chairs. I retreated to the kitchen when Bill as
Gaveleer began, banged the gavel three times and ordered Security to remove
non-members from the conference before he began the formal introduction:
"Trade is a higher calling of mankind, for when the first people
decided to trade rather than fight or kill, they discovered the secret which
made possible all that we know today..."
Things had changed. The pressure of business had carried off my
father. When Henry drifted back from Vietnam, I had been reduced from
greater dreams.
I sniffed the fragrance of Bill's Apple Crumb Cake.
I remember serving Henry his welcome home pie right at the lunch
counter.
"T'aint in the house on the hill, but…" I started.
"Apple Crumb… Apple for American value and Crumb for the Vietnam
Veteran." Henry grunted pushing the pie away."
I listened from the door to hear Henry recite his part.
"The business of this evening is," Bill returned to the ritual, "the
conferral of the Guild's Award for Productivity and Industry. For that
purpose, I call on the General Manager." Bill tapped Henry to rise and
warned me with his eyes to hide the ritual book.
"Security will admit Judith Skyes, neither employed nor associated
with us to our conference table," Henry commanded Security at the door.
In response Bill intoned a short ditty which preceded recognition
accorded to an outsider.
No misty mystery to be wrung
In walked an attractive blond haired woman in a black business suit.
Security stopped Judith Skyes just in front of the linked tables as
Henry continued, "None may enter the precincts of our council, except by our
invitation, And it is you, Ms. Skyes, whom we invite to sit with our chief
executive officers and impart your advice to our conference."
She preceded to the Gaveleer's table as Henry intoned the time
honored words: "In keeping the balance sheet of debit and credit, one must
attend final accounting for recognition of the sum total of all good deeds...
Yet the Grand Auditor's call for Industry and Productivity would go unheard
if we did not occasionally reconcile the books."
Henry invited Ms. Skyes to say a few words. With a nod she drew
large circular glasses from her pocket and spoke...
Henry remained at the table. I poured coffee and smiled.
Voices... some hushed debating the precision of the execution of the
ritual... some light hearted talking about vacations or homes... A few
clustered around the recipient of our award indulging her in praise.
"They'll always be criticisms Henry … " I looked at the
complainers, "from people afraid to do it themselves."
Hadn't my father told Henry the same, right before the Enlightenment?
I stole away as Bill returned to his seat and patted Henry on the
back with words meant to be encouraging. "Half of the old timers didn't
really hear the words, properly uttered or not, and our guest was too intent
on the check that comes with the award to appreciate the difference." Henry
looked to a side table where one piece of apple crumb cake remained.
As Henry reached for Bill's moist apple crumb cake, his wrist was
grabbed by the slender hand of our honored guest, Judith Skyes.
"Excuse me," Judith laughed, "The praise was so lavish. I got
nothing to eat."
"Take it." Henry offered, "As a tribute to the exceptional and
saintly patience needed to shepherd your charges ..."
As Judith clutched the apple crumb cake like a bird of prey, an evil
smile formed about her lips. "I wouldn't know." Her eyes were clear and
watery as those of a predator. "I rarely go to work. Staff only calls me if
some important politician shows up. I wasn't there, but three times last
year."
Their glances locked for a full minute, before she stole away with
her reward.
Henry returned to the gaveleer's table and stared at the long hammer
which called and closed meetings. "You wouldn't believe what our
Humanitarian friend told me." Henry gritted teeth and snarled in disgust.
Fixing piercing black eyes upon him, Bill snickered. "Should I be
pleased by her candor or shocked by her perfidy?"
I laughed, "Henry you were Enlightened by my own father who taught,
never to be angry with someone who speaks the truth."
From silly cryptic seal,
Abhorring mediocracy
However trite and facile.
Henry had ceased listening. Henry was relieved. The ordeal and the
conference were over.
"I work with exceptional people... Veterans so
hopelessly crippled by terrifying experiences
that without our guidance they would waffle in
a strange and forbidding world... And in my
care, I come to know them as my children...
They are all our children who are deserving
of the love, kindness and attention..."