The Barefoot Evangelist Part XI

The End of the Line for One Angry Man

 

Meanwhile the area that he lived, farther north was being beaten by a merciless rain, vigorous wind and blinding streaks of fire that shot from the sky, almost touching the top of  Erik’s house and exploding with the  blast that sent Randy, stricken with an innocent pure fear, into his mother’s arms, who was sitting on the couch waiting for her husband to come home.

“When is daddy  coming home, Mommy?” cried the  little boy, hiding in his  mother’s embrace, listening to the roar of the  thunder and seeing the blinding lightning that  brightened the  universe and shook the  house on its foundation. The windows quivered  as if their teeth rattled and their bones screeched striving to get away from  nature’s  madness

“I am scared, Mommy,” cried the boy, trembling with  fear.

“That’s all right, honey, it will go away soon and your daddy will be home soon,” said the mother, with a quivering lip trying to hold back her tears.

While Erik sat there and waited if the red truck would come back he felt a lot of anguish and a lot of hate. The anguish was for him and the hate was for himself and for all the other creatures that had, in the name forever good, injured or maimed or killed another man. The hate was every human creature that, without ever been harmed at the hands of others, they only made others to suffer for pure enjoyment. He could not understand why Big Jake and the others did not wait to let nature take its course, to take their chances with the law, instead of going after him with the intentions of destroying him without any fear of consequences, putting him on the spot making him to destroy the already ruined and having him to suffer the consequences. After that long meditation, knowing what he had to do, pulled away after  forty minutes of  waiting for them to reappear, which never did. He stood there looking at loss for a moment or two then he got into his car and left. The bartender had told, without knowing, he was telling him that Jake lived on the third floor of a wooden house, two houses in from the corner drug store, near the Green Tree bar. As he drove around it was easy to find the house, but the red truck was missing. Parking a little ways from the house with a good view of it, he sat back lit a cigarette and waited for Jake to come to his destiny and meet his fate.

Looking at his watch and realizing the time was headed for four thirty, suddenly Jake appeared all alone driving his truck. Without any delay a moment or a moment of consideration, he drove and parked in the driveway. There after a short moment’s thought, he came out of his truck, stood and gazed around as if he were announcing that a great change had taken place in the position of his affairs. He first lifted his cowboy hat and placed on his head again rather cocked. He then brushed with the palm of his hand the red scarf that hung from his belt. It is a well known fact that some people acquire peculiar value and dignity from what they wear. Jake’s cocked cowboy hat, the hanging red scarf did as much for him as the general’s uniform, the butcher’s long apron, the judge’s gown, the nurse’s white dress and hat, they all have some significant offering to the pride and dignity of the wearer. He suddenly turned and rushed upstairs and a few minutes later, Erik saw the lights went on in the second floor.  Waiting for almost one hour, for the lights to go off again, but the lights stayed on, Erik could not endure the anxiety any longer, he felt he had to go after Jake. He removed his shoes and socks, which was his style before a confrontation, of defending himself, he rolled up  his  pants just above the ankles, and removing his shoulder holster, he suddenly appeared disturbed as he realized his revolver was missing. He slowly and calmly searched around the front seat to find it but he found nothing. But then, being a man of optimism thought that he would eventually find it, and having heavier thoughts in his mind, he put on a baseball cap to prevent the rainwater from running on his eyes and face, opened the door softly and closed it easily as he went out. Barefoot he rushed across the street and headed to the back of the house.

With the aid of the street lamp, Erik was able to see a detached old wooden garage with both doors closed tight and a huge tree between the garage and the house with its branches hanging over the lower roof of the enclosed back porch. He listened for a while for any out of  place sound while looking at the tree covered with green leaves. The house looked dark and dormant except for the second floor apartment lights.

Erik walked towards the tree, stood by the tree trunk looked up , trying to  figure out a way  of  sneaking onto the roof. He felt that nature was on his side by creating a loud noise as the rain came down. He avoided thinking that he was in the villain’s territory and the only way out was to destroy the dangerous villain or be destroyed.

In his mind there was another and a darker subject to overcome. Perhaps upon coming face to face with the villain, he would recoil from the act of taking big Jake’s life, he then would not be able to escape from the villain’s fury and insanity, without losing limps or perhaps his life. These thoughts passed through his mind during the short time he spent under the  tree planning his climb to the  porch roof  from  which he would be able to  see inside and observe Jake’s activities and pinpoint his whereabouts. Being a Greek and cursed with the old Spartan thought “I tan, I epitas’ which the mothers uttered to their sons as they sent them off to the war, which is equal to the  America saying “Do or Die”, but more dramatic. Erik with an acrobatic jump was upon the tree. Laying low in the tree like cat, although the night was very dark, he was able by the neighbor’s rear-yard  light to see the  surface of the  roof which looked  clean and shiny from the running water from the  main roof. He chose to take the branch of the  tree that led more or less to the porch roof. He advanced as near as he considered prudent.

Erik  climbing the roof of Jake’s house

Not knowing the strength of the branch for he was unable to see the main part, he stopped and looked around nervously to find an exit in case the tree branch would  break. Satisfied with his findings, he seemed to gather courage as he crawled along with steadier hands and feet. Suddenly, before he was able to jump and land on the roof the sound of a door coming open was heard right below him. Two figures emerged in silence into the back courtyard a few feet away from him. One figured, which advanced with a swift and rapid steps, was that of a woman, who looked eagerly around as if to see some expected object, the other was that of a man who pulled back in the deepest shadow under a small canopy.

They both stood there in silence, and looked at each other as if there were something of importance to say to one another, the man under the canopy and the woman by the corner of the house with her umbrella stretched over her. Neither spoke nor spoken to. Suddenly, the woman turned and threw a kiss to the man and disappeared around the corner and the man remained outside listening to her footsteps fading away. Eventually he turned and walked into the house closing the door behind him.

After the lapse of a few minutes, Erik, guessing the man was already back in bed,  swiftly landed on the porch roof. The way he moved  his slim body it was obvious to the  beholder, Erik  was by no means a spying novice. Eager to spy and more eager to accomplish his mission, taking a chance on the strength of the roof, hastened towards the wall of the second floor, where he drew himself straight upright against the wall and scarcely breathing, listened attentively.

Hearing no other moaning sound of the wind mixed with the raindrops splashing on the roof and everywhere about him, he looked in the widow, which was half open. There was the  big  man’s den at the end of a long hallway. It was not richly furnished nor expertly decorated. His small amount of  belongings were placed neatly in several places, clearly indicating, no matter how rough he intended  to be, he was still a member of the struggling class of our society.  There was something so uncommon in the manner that Big Jake was stretched out on the couch with a revolver on the coffee table, placed in a manner to be picked up at moment’s notice. Erik’s flesh crept and his blood chilled within him, seeing his prey close up to him. He had never experienced a greater relief than hearing the  big man snoring ever so loud. But Erik felt himself recoiling from going on with his mission. Seeing the big man laying there in his own living  quarters, snoring most satisfactorily, peaceful and unaware of his destiny; it was so different from what he had been led to expect, that he was thinking of giving up the matter for lost and  persuaded himself to retreat and he could resort to some entirely  different method. He squatted down for a minute with his back firmly against the wall to gather his thoughts. Erik at that moment believed that he himself had not led a perfect life either, but there weren’t many who had turned against him and if the truth was ever forced from him, there must have been circumstances in his life, which would bring painful memories upon him. He also thought, according to the big man’s behavior, if he were, by any remote chance acquitted, Jake, being an untamed beast, would make attempts on his wife and son’s life. Erik stood up and without a further thought of recoiling, crawled in through the window; and tiptoed to where the man and the gun lay. He looked at the big man’s face and listened to his snoring for a long moment. He then picked up the revolver, emptied the bullets in his hand placed it back on the coffee table the way he had founded, and without any further ceremony rushed to the window and climbed out so hastily he intently became careless and slipped and fell on the canopy than he hit the ground. Being a paratrooper, he was trained to jump securely. The sliding down to the canopy, the impact on hitting the ground and turning over some garbage cans woke up the neighborhood dogs and they started to bark. Erik delighted  by the commotion knowing that the  big man would go after him. Erik’s plan was not to kill the big man in his own house for some legal logic, but near his car would be self-defense.

He started to run towards his car to get his pistol, which he suddenly remembered he didn’t have, but he continued his rushing. Before he crossed the street, not having enough time to get to his car realized the big man was at his hills holding the gun and Erik kept on going.

“Stop, Greek, before I shoot,” shouted Jake. Erik disregarded the command, he still kept on walking towards his car, striving to get away from Jake’s house. He eventually stopped by the corner and Jake went near him unafraid.

“Very good, very good Erik Karas. Oh! We used to be friends. Do you remember?’ you didn’t think I recognized you in the bar. Oh! You don’t want to be recognized, do you like I don’t? But my dear friend you must answer more questions than I do, once we are caught.

“I answered all their questions,” replied Erik.

“Oh! Yes. The spell of the storm fell on me. I was penetrated by it, absorbed by it; I was rooted in it with a rigor of a dump act. You answered in a customary manner. The whole blame was placed on me. You hung it around my neck as heavy as milestone. They helped you to calm the storm to create peace for the upper ups. They figured a bird in hand was better than two in the bush. I was the bird in hand, you were the bird in the bush. They couldn’t pin nothing on you so they made you hero and they made me the villain. Now it is too late for me.”

“You are wrong, Gottner,” returned Erik, with an almost pleading voice.

“Go ahead now! Teach me something about men and manners,” said Gottner, holding the pistol. As he expressed himself to this effect with assumed carelessness, seeing Erik unarmed became more arrogant, “You have given me the most unusual chance of killing you and I want you to be better prepared for it. What can I do to serve you?”

“Nothing,” replied  Erik, coming face to face with him near the corner.

“You will not persist in saying that. I caught you in my corral trying to steal my horse. That’s a good reason for hanging. It is too late for you to learn our American costumes and manners,” rejoined the big man, as he stood out of the view of the oncoming light traffic, being early Sunday morning. His voice was so kind that might have touched a much harder and more obdurate heart. “Think now and tell me. What are you besides crazy and what favor do you want from me before death visits upon you. I am the angel of death for you, Greek,” said Gottner softly, “I am the one who is sitting at the left hand of God waiting for his orders to do his dirty work. He has called upon me to bring you a good message, that God wants you off the earth. To reach God and be judged by him you must first die here on earth and I am your death.”

“You see, Gottner, you have already been judged. You are already dead. Nobody is going to miss you,” said Erik with poise. “I am the one to tell you that you are dead. That is good message from God.”

“For me to die is your good message? Then you must be the evangelist. You are as I see the barefoot evangelist,” said Jake with an ironic smile. “Come on, barefoot evangelist, death is not such a good message.”

“It has not been disputed otherwise,”

“I do like your choice of words. That goes to show us Americans that Greeks are not only capable in making a good salad, but they are also good bluffers. Now hear final message,” began the big man, still standing a few feet in front of Erik and still holding himself out of the view of the oncoming traffic to avoid the sight of the revolver. “Before the river wakes up to the first glimpse of daylight, you will be placed in its waters and the river will spit you out into the blue ocean at the dawn of morning.” Saying this he wiped his forehead and smiled, as if it were a relief to describe Erik’s horrible death, but Erik showed neither fear nor any concern, he just seemed to consider that as common threat coming from an insignificant source. Jake, noticing Erik’s unaffected manner pulled the trigger and much to his surprise nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again and again with fruitless results.

Go Greek! You should have learned to make salad

The first feeling Jake experienced of the fact was conveyed in a hollow sound, immediately succeeded by the sudden flying off towards Erik. The big man clasped him tight around the throat with one hand, inflicted a shower of blows upon his head with the other. But Erik too was able to inflict some powerful punches on Gottner’s stomach and groins which sent him backwards and against the building wall.

“Tonight is your last night , Greek,” growled Gottner, with a very rueful face, producing a long knife that glistered in the dark and placing his pistol on his belt charged again against Erik with more vigor and determination than before. He had already reached a striking distance and raising the hand with the knife to impart a strong vertical blow, Erik heard a sound resembling a shot behind him and Jake suddenly stopped, erected with his head up high, his hand opened the knife fell on the ground. He then staggered towards the street with an unsteady step and with his hands grasping onto his chest as it to keep something from leaving, he fell on the road as soon as the front tires of the passing eighteen-wheeler had gone by, and landed under the following wheels which went over his body. Being dark and a rainy night, the truck driver drove away without knowing his truck had gone over the big body of Jake; if he had felt a bump, he probably thought that, while making the turn the wheels went over the curb.

 

 

Erik now, turning around to see where the shot had come from, saw Carol standing a few feet away holding the gun in her hand, unaffected by the entire incident.                                                                           “You killed him!” screamed Erik.                                                                                                                         “Goodnight,” said the young woman, coming close handed the gun to him, removed her gloves and walked away, rather slowly.                                                                                                                                                 “You killed him with my gun,” he yelled. “I have no alibi and the only thing you say is Goodnight.”                                                                                                                                                                                                  “Live with it cowboy,” she mumbled as she continued to walk at a faster pace now.

After standing there and watching her walking away, he hadn’t yet decided to feel relieved with the death of Gottner or worried about the consequences and seeing with excruciating feelings the arrogant manner of the lady who had just taken a life and preceded on her chore without showing the slightest remorse, he looked dejectedly around. He then turned his eyes on the lifeless and destroyed body of Gottner; for the first time he felt cold sweat running out from every pore of his body, thinking that the laws of nature were too harsh upon people who had wronged, but justice should visit with no punishment for the ones who had suffered all through their lives as Gottner had. Looking at his stretched out almost flat and bloodied, holding on to a mere image of human likeness, in the middle of the street with no other vehicles or persons in view, he remained motionless. When this was done, Erik, out of habit, checked his pistol and an irrepressible delight sprang upon his face, finding it to be fully loaded and bringing it to his nose, realized it had not been fired, he then turned with a new smile, bigger than the first, looked at the direction Carol had taken, after he emptied the pistol and placed the revolver in one coat pocket and the bullets in the other. Without any further ceremony, or delay, or without bestowing another thought, he raced into his car and drove away at a very normal speed.

At that very moment, Erik’s little son, Randy, at his house some miles away, was awakened again by the lightning and thunder and terrified by those sights and sounds got up and rushed into his mother and father’s bedroom. Finding no one there he screamed in a high-pitched voice and ran into the living room where Susan, Erik’s wife, was lying on the couch. She jumped up and grabbed her little boy who flew into her arms still screaming.

”It’s only thunder. Don’t be afraid, honey,” said Susan, drying his tears with a handkerchief that looked like it was used not too long before for the same purpose.

“I’m not so afraid of the thunder.  I had a dream.  I saw a woman coming into the house looking to kill you,” cried the little boy while struggling to catch his breath.

“It was only a dream; it will go away,” replied Susan, soothing his face with her hand. It didn’t take long for the youngster to fall asleep again. She picked her son up and took him into his bedroom where she tucked him in with care and adoration. She then went back to the living room and sat on the couch. In her agonies of rationalizing her husband’s attitude and absence, she looked sometimes at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, sometimes at the wall; when neither the carpet, the ceiling, nor the wall, offered her any consolation or any small bit of inspiration, she got up, went to and stood looking out of the window. She saw the rain shining in the light like long silver needles hitting the ground and breaking into small pieces that jumped in different directions before hiding under the grass.  Her heart found home when she saw a pair of headlights pulling into the driveway, but her heart sank and then accelerated when she noticed that two men came out of the car and ran towards her door. She rushed to open the door with a horrified look on her face.

“Something happened to my husband,” she cried out.

”No!” said one of the men, fixing a grin on his face to make her feel better, seeing the terrified look on hers. Soon after she heard the message she backed off and gestured the two men to come in. She leaned against the wall, still holding on the doorknob, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

”We are the police,” said one of the officers still wearing a pleasant grin.

“I know.” said the lady of the house, walking towards the easy chair.  “I saw your car with the light on the top. Sit down, please,” suggested Susan, taking a seat for herself.

“No, thank you ma’am, I assume your husband is not here.”

“No! He is out,” replied Susan without much emphasis on her statement.

“We received a report from the Middletown police that a man driving your husband’s car sped down the road and the park, right after two shots were fired by a man who was quick enough to read his license plates “DEAREST 1” and called the police.”

“It sounds like my husband. He gets into some kind of weird mood when he listens to Greek music and fires his pistol. He has a recreational permit to carry one.  He is an expert with the pistol. He is also a court constable in the next county and weir things do happen. There was one time when my husband attempted to repossess a car the owner called the police and informed them that there was a thief on his property even though my husband had identified himself to him.

”We know,” replied the officer.

“Did he break any law?” asked Susan, with a little more life in her question.

“We don’t know that, Mrs. Karas,” interjected the other officer, who was heavy and a lot shorter than the other. ”You see, ma’am, I know your husband.”

“Then you should know that my husband never breaks the law,” added Susan, with a more definite tone in her voice.

“Did he ever threaten you with the gun?”  asked the fat officer, disregarding her statement.

“No!” declared Susan, showing traces of agitation on her face and in her voice.

“Did he ever threaten anyone else that you know of?” persisted the officer, determined to investigate the matter to its very bottom.

“No!” she said sternly.

“Did he ever hit you with his hand or something else?”

“Officer, what is your name?” asked Susan, waiting to hear his name.

“Officer O’Rielly. Did he ever hit you?” asked the officer again, oblivious to her feelings and visible agitation.

“Did I ever call the police for help?” snapped the wife smartly.

“That doesn’t mean anything, ma’am.  Sometimes when American women marry foreigners they suffer from physical violence by their husbands, because those people have different ideas about women.”

“O’Reilly!” warned the other officer. “Let’s go!”

“Shut up, Gary, this is my case!” said O’Reilly, looking into the other officer’s eyes with a poisonous look in his. “Where were you, ma’am, about two hours ago?” inquired the fat officer, standing with his legs far apart and shifting his weight from one to the other, as was his habit.

The wife remained speechless though visibly angered.

O’Reilly threw his eyes around the room aimlessly, then turned to her and gazed upon her with a grin. “It has been reported that your husband was accompanied by a woman at Dunken and Donut shop not too far from where the shots were heard in the early hours of the morning.”

“What do you mean by this, Officer O’Reilly?” demanded the wife with great indignation and rapidity in her speech. “Now I know what your problem is. You are a chauvinist. I don’t like you, Officer O’Reilly; I don’t dislike you because you are bald and fat. I don’t like your character or your attitude. You are exactly what American people hate about policemen. Now you heard it from an American, who is paying your salary. I wish you would leave at once, before I ask this officer to arrest you based on the complaint that I’m about to file against you for harassment.  Do you hear me, O’Reilly?” screamed Susan, bursting with anger.

“Let’s go, O’Reilly!” demanded the other officer, taking O’Reilly by the arm.

“Leave me alone!” hissed O’Reilly, freeing his arm with a forceful movement and walking away, slowly enveloped in visible frustration.

The tall officer followed, but when he reached the door, he stopped, turned and said with a sincere smile, “Ma’am, you are a good woman.  I like the way you defended your husband.”

Susan only nodded and locked the door when both officers were in their car.  She threw herself on the easy chair, wrapped in the contemplation of her indefinite future. Then she began to sob. She sobbed violently and wiped the tears off softly with the same handkerchief she had used to wipe her son’s tears earlier. She carried out that feat with sadness and dexterity.  Then she leaned back, tilted her head to the left, sighed deeply and closed her eyes, striving to steer herself through that turbulent sea of reality, with an empty chart once drawn by dreams.