Frank Georgalis – Writer

An Eye for A Tooth: (Book; Part V)

“Please tell me, do you think that you’re a man of the world?” “Probably the jack-ass of the world,” replied the man, in an almost regrettable voice. “Why are you asking me. Do you think I am a man of the world for having had many women?” “Let me tell you how I see you up till now,” she began, stirring her body into a more comfortable position.                                                                 “Go on, fire when you ready,” he said “It is evident at this point that you, the man, with a slight push from me, a woman, you maybe ready to tell me the lamentations that ensued. When you find yourself captured, then deserted by the faithless jungle of human hearts that you made the attempt to conquer and to care for and to hold it becomes a challenge for you to continue the game. You are a philosopher, and not a wise man. Philosophers are men in a shield; many a time the arrow of love penetrates through their philosophical harness, to their very heart and they live with the wounds of guilt and reject, for which there is only a preventive medicine but not a curing one. One good thing about philosophers is that they are placed far beyond the reach of many mortal frailties and weaknesses, which ordinary people cannot endure. Philosophers sometimes pretend to have overcome, but they only endure them.” “I must be doing something wrong for putting my self in a position to allow a woman with undesirable past and not so bright future to analyze my actions and my way of life.” “Don’t be mad at yourself, we all allow people we don’t know to have some influence on us                                                                                                                             “Please, tell me your name,” he said softly.                                                                            “You must first tell me the difference between E. Main St N. Vermillion St. “That is simple. Ladies who enter the field of the oldest profession in the world, began working at North Vermilion St. which is a little more refined and a little more influential than any other commercial district of the town. Those who start at the top, they stay there for a little while, until their luster turns a little dull, then they began going down hill and they wind up on E, Main St. where they become less demanding and of course less money. Once they reach the end of the line there they go to Green St. There is the end of their life as they knew it.” “You’re still finding me interesting enough for your book?” the young lady asked as if she either knew what was happening or didn’t care to know the details. “Firstly, I am not about to write a book, but if I were and if I couldn’t find any interest in you, I wouldn’t be smart enough to write one.” The girl smiled most satisfactorily, “Okay, my name is Alice, and I am from Chicago. I haven’t been here too long.” she said. 1“That’s funny,” remarked the man with a thoughtful smile, “ I always thought that people from small towns find themselves lost in a big city, I never thought a girl from a big city would be lost in a small town.” “What makes you think that I’m lost?” “Like I told you, this is E. Main St. If you’re here for what I think you are, then you’re lost. It’s not bad being lost, sweetheart, the worse is when one is lost and is not looking for a way home. Remember! Both nature and men in you profession are cruel. It’s like you have come to a party. A party of people, who are nice to you, you think that they know nothing about you, because they treat you nice. You think if they knew something about you they wouldn’t be that nice. Eventually you will find out that they know a lot and they are not so nice. They are selfish. From the beginning you made up your mind and you did not really intend to stay. You are quite certain that you are going to leave as soon as you pay your dept…” continued the stranger with a sullen tone as if it were an oath. He stopped and looked at her for an instant. He met her fervent, curious and childishly patient gaze fixed on him. “You think that they are nice to you because they have placed a high value on you. But after a year of this sort of life you’ll be different. Nature will impose its cruelty on your face and will reduce the splendor of your looks.” “After a year?” “Well, after one year your price would have dropped, any way,” he went on now spitefully, “You will find yourself in little lower class party of people, in some lower establishment then, in another year a third party, lower and lower. And in about five years you’ll get to the corner of E. Main St. and Green St, if you are lucky and you don’t turn a slut before then. If you are lucky you’ll die, before you get to Green St.” “All right, so I’ll die,” she replied, very maliciously. “But aren’t you sorry?” “Sorry for what?” “For your life. For your mother, who has suffered carrying you around in her body, thinking she was carrying around in her belly a precious little creature.” “Why don’t you mind your business, Mister Big Shot?” “I am sorry. Why are you so angry? It’s not my business, of course. But I can’t help feeling sorry for you. That’s all.” “Sorry for me, for having talent charisma and charm?” “God never intended for you to use your talent, charisma and charm, in this manner and in a place like this. If you believe that, you haven’t read his instructions very carefully.” It appeared to him that Alice, like most girls in her station, considered herself important, for every man she had met felt himself bound to unite with her in heart and soul, but the this man’s words rang different tune in her ear, thus she remained silent and sullen for the moment staring at him intently. “Alice, I saw you yesterday, coming out of a basement of a house near Green St.” said the man with a serious face. “Oh?” “Oh, yes,” he retuned, shaking his head mournfully. “What’s your name?” asked Alice abruptly, as if his name were connected closely to the next words she was preparing to utter. “Lukas. But they call me Lucky.” “Lucas means the light to the world. Are you that light?” “Hardly. I’m more of a burned out candle,” he said, “I saw you following a covered stretcher. I saw them carrying it out and they nearly dropped it, for they were joking loudly. They were laughing, and promising to have a few drinks to her memory.” Silence. A profound silence lived between them, just glancing at each other, half pity and half astonished.

Reckless life

Poor funeral

“You don’t suppose it would have been better if she would have died in a hospital?” asked Lucky, adding a little irritability. “What the difference where we die? Hospital, house, office—home,” “Warehouse, street,” he interrupted, “ we die where and how we have lived.” “I’m too young to think about dying,” said Alice. “How old are you? Twenty-one, twenty-two? The girl on the covered stretcher was also young, no?” “She was twenty four.” “No! She was twenty five,” he replied angrily. “You knew her?” she asked astonishingly. “She was twenty five,” repeated Lucky, sternly. “I don’t care. She had been my best friend, but she became a slut.” “She wasn’t a slut when she was your age,” returned Lucky, with the same sternness as before. “I don’t care. I am not Angela,” she replied, very spitefully, and made quick movement. “Don’t be so sure of yourself! Now you’re young pretty, sexy, fresh and starched, like Pier Cardin dress shirt. And that’s why they put such a high value on you, but you’ll lose some esteem and your face will change and you’ll lose some of your looks and some of the pleasing attitude.” “I don’t think about that.” “Well, what do you think about? Do you think you’re on the right path, do you?” “I don’t think of anything.” “That’s what’s wrong with you— you don’t think. Come to your senses while there is time. You’re still young, pretty, you might fall in love, be married, be happy—“ “Not all married women are happy,” she snapped out, in her former harsh, quick and abrupt manner. “Of course not. But it’s a thousand times better than here. If you love, you can live even without happiness. If you had fallen in love in your younger years, you wouldn’t be here today.” said Lucky. “What?” asked Alice, laughing, “You must be crazy. You just more or less called me a whore. You’re really crazy, mister.” “No I’m not crazy, maybe a little eccentric. Virginity, my dear lady, is not something physical, it is mental and spiritual.” Suddenly she turned and faced Lucky, feeling, for some strange reason, she was the subject of unqualified eulogium. She seemed to have felt a sensation of pride which she could not express and a consciousness of having done nothing to merit immorality. “You’re kidding me,” she remarked. “No I’m not. Having sex would not affect your virginity. Falling in love, for the first time in your life and having sex that’s when you lose your virginity.” Lucky stopped and looked at her astonished eyes. Her lovely face, her manner, the dignity in the air around her, a touch-me not-ishness in her walk, which distinguished her from any female on whom Lucky had ever gazed. There was something kindred in her nature, something congenial in her soul, something mysteriously sympathetic in her bosoms. But had her agitation arisen from an amiable and feminine sensibility, which would have been equally irrepressible in any case; or had it been called forth by a more ardent and passionate feeling, which he, of all the men living, thought he could alone awaken? These were the doubts which racked his brain as he stood there and studied her: these were the doubts which he determined should be at once and for ever resolved for some mysterious reason that he couldn’t place his finger on it. “I have never been in love— that I know of,” said Alice, seriously without making an attempt to connect to what he had said in reference to virginity. “Alice, do not allow me to preach to you. Don’t pay much attention to what I am saying. I am probably much worse than you are. But I am a man.” “What does that mean? I am a man!” “A man is not a good example for a woman. A man can commit many immoral and bad things and they can easily be forgotten, but a woman cannot shake them loose. A woman’s feet that walk on muddy streets cannot be made clean once stained with mire, ” explained Lucky, “It may be nature’s way of keeping a woman clean for she is destined to bring a new innocent life into the world; or it may very well be cultural tradition. But most traditions are connected to nature. After all God wishes his children to be moral. How can an immoral mother teach morality to the new life she is bringing up.” he continued, “That is why prostitution is forbidden in many cultures, looked down by most traditions and condemned by the all religions. I personally agree with those cultures, traditions and religions,” said Lucky, seeming comfortable with his thoughts. “Is that how people love one another? Is that how one human being should make love to another? It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” “Yes!” she said, sharply and promptly. The hastiness with which she had uttered that ‘yes’ surprised him and made him glad. “In every battle, one conspicuous and steady figure stands there in every fighter’s mind and that is the figure of a woman. She stands there immovable close to him, remains immovable close to him when he is attacked from all sides, remains immovable and shows him to stay alive, remains immovable close to him when the rain of bullets and fire fall upon the battle ground, stands close to him and encourages him to go on fighting for justice and victory and self respect. That’s what a woman is to me, an honest woman who is worth dying for. An honest woman doesn’t sell herself short,” he concluded, with a deep sigh. She bent her head downwards in a most courtly manner and smiled. There was secrecy in her smile as if the air of mystery to his words struck her eyes and ears forcibly and she said, “Now I know why I said that you speak in circles. You move in circles allowing only the beholder to peep in to your soul for a split second as if the beholder does not deserve to see who you really are or because you think the beholder wouldn’t understand. I don’t know whether you hate or love women.” The man remained silent, looking at her with a steady glance. “I know one thing. You give women a big part in life, bigger than that of men and if they don’t perform according to your expectations, may God help them,” said the woman. “Why did you come here?” asked Lucky, with a sudden change in his voice, “you know this is the headquarters of a call girl ring.” “Oh—” “Wouldn’t it be nicer to be living in your father’s home? Warm, clean and free?” asked the man. “But what if it’s much worse than here?” “That is also possible,” he returned, shaking his heads mournfully, “I am sure someone must have wrong you. I don’t know anything about you, but it’s quite clear to me that a girl like you wouldn’t come here of her own accord, would she?” “I have been wronged since the day I was born. But what kind of a girl do you think that I am?” “I don’t know, my lady. I think you’re a nice girl in a not so nice place.” She smiled. “Let me tell you something, Lucky, you are worse than I am, even if I were the worse you’ve ever seen. I didn’t come here to harm anyone like you intend to do.” It was a pleasing sight in that moment of confusion to behold the placid and philosophical expression of Lucky’s face although flushed with passion. “I once knew a father who was very strict and very stern man, but he loved his daughter. She was a rebel. No matter how many bad things she had done he would go down on his knees and kiss her hands and feet. At the beginning she was a topless dancer at a local bar. He would go there and would sit on the farthest corner, disguised, not to see her but to watch over her. Her mother, who was also Greek born here in America, had left them when she was only two years old. He never called her name since then. Her name was Ypapandi, they called her Pandi, I found later that his selfishness was a very hard man to live with, she left him. The father raised her the best way he knew how. Depriving himself of many things in life, he would buy her expensive presents and he would be overjoyed if she were pleased. Fathers always love their daughters more than mothers do. Fathers tend to be very jealous. They hate the idea of their daughters kissing and loving a stranger. Of course every father would come to his senses in the end. The man I am speaking about was my friend and he was Angela’s father. Her real name though was not Angela was Dora.” “Theodora,” inserted Alice sadly. “You knew her well, then,” replied Lucky in amazement. “Yes, I did and I told you,” returned the young woman, shaking her head mournfully. “Any way,” continued Luck after a long pause, “He lived a sad life with his daughter’s path in life and his wife’s departure whom I have never met .Six years ago he got sick. I was living in Indianapolis, Indiana. He called me to tell me that he was dying and the only favor he asked of me was to watch out for his daughter…Angela. He died shortly there after and Angela disappeared. I tried to find her but everything was in vain. A couple days ago, I was told by a man, who said he was one of my old friends since school, that Angela had reappeared back here in Danville, but she worked, as he put it, near Green St. I came here as fast as I could, not that I thought I could reform her, but I was willing to give it a try. I learned that she had died. I went around and that’s when I saw you following the covered stretcher. I went to the police to claim her body, the least I can do is to give her Greek Orthodox burial, but the police, who break the rules of society more often than the criminals do, basing their decision on misinterpreted laws of the land, refused me. Then here I am, not to harm the man, I’m sorry, not the man, but the animal that is the head of the hookers’ ring, to allow me to search in her room to find something of interest that would support my claim,” he concluded. “First, I must tell you that Angela was my friend almost five years ago, in fact we looked alike and some people mistook us as sisters. She came to Chicago and started college under the name, her legal name, Theodora Soulos. We met in college and ran around together, doing the normal college girl stuff. Being a girl of a free spirit in body and in soul, Angela got involved with the wrong crowd and left school. I lost track of her up till couple days ago when another girl called me and brought me up to date with Angela’s life and activities, since. My mother and stepfather died so suddenly, several rumors circulated about my roots that I have been trying to clear. The girl who called, knowing that, indicated to me that Angela obtained information about the subject in question. Knowing that I don’t know or I haven’t met my biological parents, and also knowing that I have been looking to connect with my roots, since my adapted parents died in car accident last year, that Angela had obtained information about the whereabouts of one of my parents. I was never told that I was adopted, I only found out at my mother’s funeral. My stepfather died instantly but my mother was in a comma for 27 days before she passed away. A man, a heavy set man, a sloppy dresser I may add, whom I had never seen before or have seen since sat next to me at the funeral home and whispered the news to me and he also mentioned that he could help me find them, but it was going to cost some money. He left abruptly as soon as he finished the news saying he was going to get in touch with me later. It’s been more than a year and I haven’t heard anything from him, I eventually began to think that it was hoax. I have inherited a lot of money with my stepfather’s and my mother’s death, and somebody was trying to extort some money, except the girl’s call a few days ago. That is why I am here. I teach high school in a Chicago school. That answers your question why I am here,” she concluded smiling, “You see, Lucky, I am looking for some information as you are.” “I’ll be darned. Why did you allow me to go on with that sixty nine dollar lecture?” “You see, Lucky, you learn from women and I learn from my elders,” responded the girl soberly