Friday, May 01, 2015
Dialog By Northern Water
-You were giving me the history of the cannery.
-Not much left up there. When everything got
so fished out, Mom and Dad sold the prefab
buildings to the Japanese.
-So, just that warehouse thing remains.
-Yes, and in good shape. Last year the Norwegians
bought the machinery. That's my retirement, and
when Social Security kicks in, off to Florida...
well, one thing holds me here.
-Which is?
-Back up a bit to right after the Norwegians
loaded their trucks. I walked through the
hulk once a week, checking to see if any
critters broke in etc. All fine, except six
months ago?
-Momma and Papa Bear?
-A man.
-Squatter? Off with him!
-We looked at each other, and formed an
understanding. He'd watch out for things.
-Never spoke?
-Never. A rule.
-Well, how did he live? There's no electricity
or anything. How did he keep warm, cook?
-It gets good sun, and while not exactly cozy...
And he...carried in furniture from somewhere.
Maybe he’s a raw foodie, because he doesn't cook.
Hey! Now that we're the Oldy-Fishy-Villagey
with attendant crappy souvenirs, no shortage of
restaurants. He enjoys life. Seems to. Something...
familiar about him.
-There's still a...danger in...
-He's quite the neat one! I have a sense of security.
-You should talk to him, even charge a nominal
rent or something. Did you consult your lawyer?
-Stop it! Why monkey with simplicity? Besides,
WE have often talked, the two of us here present,
about charity: how we give to quake victims in
Indonesia or somewhere, but neglect wretches
close by? Well, I'm not neglecting this one.
-Charity begins in your warehouse?
-Why not? It’s pretty easy.
-One thought–-if you excuse the expression? With all your
cameras and darkroom here--and you're really a throwback...?
-I don't have a picture of him.
-I'd get one.
-But...I do of her.
-Her? WHO her?
-A couple of weeks ago, he became...
-You're pulling my leg now!
-Very attractive female clothes, and the little
place even more spruced up: curtains and
doilies.
-Maybe it's someone else.
-No, you can tell--even though I didn't get the best look.
It's the same person, but female.
-Is this the LAST bizarre twist in the story, or must
you sustain the Victorian crap even longer?
-Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde? That's rich! Anyway, I felt even
more secure with her up there. Women better at detail.
-I think it's sick, you think it's healthy!
-But, as you suggest, I do finally get a picture. Which...is here!
-So domestic! Frilly even!
-And...compare it to THIS old one.
-Oh no! Oh no! I don't need a ghost story too!
That’s where you’re going. I know you!
-My mother when she led the Women's Club.
-Identical! Jesus H. Christ on a bicycle!
-Yup. Mom "lives" up there now, having forced
out the other woman. She was always a strong
person, that's for sure.
-Have you...spoken...?
-Wouldn't dare! She was ever the intensely
private one in this house. She’ll pick the time.
-I'm shattered! Anything to drink, or have you
drained it all into your fevered imagination?
-No time! I can see Mom approaching through my
un-curtained window. You were always a favorite of
hers as a very little boy.
-If she comes in, I faint.
She did, and he did.
If this were Hitchcock, she’d prove an actress
from Central Casting, and he’d pay her off.
but Mother didn’t linger, given the situation.
She enters and sort of instantly leaves.
More or less departs permanently.
He eventually sells out to a toy distributor, and moves
to Cocoa Beach, on the border with Cape Canaveral.
Enjoys hearing the rockets go up.
Labels: Cape Canaveral, Cocoa Beach, fish, ghost, Mother, rocket, sex, sex change, squatter, touristy
