Voices of Midnight Page 2

  At the hospice, Jasmine saw that look every day in the eyes of her patients. Some of them had family to give them comfort, but most had no one. It was up to Jasmine to hold their hand or sooth their foreheads with a gentle touch. When Opal looked up at her, searching for answers, Jasmine realized that everything she did was futile. All her patients died. Opal died. Nothing Jasmine ever did saved anyone from death. That’s why she wouldn’t stay at the hospital when the doctor asked her to. Long ago she lost her life-saving skills.

  “Hardly ever unwelcome, but hardly ever of help.” She didn’t mean to say that aloud.

  Klaus said nothing. He stared into his coffee cup. He would drink a sip and stare at it in silence.

  She took a drink from her cup. The coffee was hot and strong, but the whiskey was stronger. A warm wave passed through her body from her throat. It met the heat of her skin and she boiled for a moment; a thin layer of sweat formed over her, and then she felt the coolness as the sweat evaporated. “On a hot night, there’s nothing like a hot drink to cool you off,” she said.

  “Really? Yes, I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t considered...” He broke off without finishing his thought.

  Jasmine looked around the room. The old couple was still talking. Mama was anxious, rubbing her hands and looking at the door leading to the living section of the house where Jasmine had gone to change. The bartender was trying to calm her, but his own anxiety sweated off his forehead. At the pool table there was no more talking, only the sound of the clicking and rolling of the balls as each player took a turn shooting. No one was keeping score. No one was winning. No one was losing. Before each shot, they looked at the door, expecting, dreading, shaking their heads and hitting the cue ball. The wind continued to howl and roll, the rain pounded, and the music on the radio faded out and the DJ’s voice whispered into the room.

  Are you getting any older?

  The kids are getting smarter.

  Maybe we’re just slowing down.

  Do you want to live forever?

  What will Babette bring for you?

  She’s getting closer.

  It can all be over in a moment,

  or we can linger on and on and on.

  If you can’t find life among the living,

  look among the dead.

  You’re listening to KMND, Galveston.

  I’m Mary Midnight.

  It’s time to welcome Babette ashore.

  She won’t knock, but you will hear her measure by measure.

  “You should not have come here.” Klaus’s words broke the silent lament creeping over Jasmine.

  “I couldn’t let Opal die alone. I see the lonely die every day.”

  Klaus stared hard at Jasmine. The expression on his face went from mild curiosity to infinite understanding. “When She comes, there is comfort in the hand of the living.”

  “When ‘She’ comes?” asked Jasmine.

  “She. The Reaper. The silent one. Babette. Death is a cold woman. She sees no pain, She hears no cry, She gives no pity. How can we dance her dance and follow to the river’s edge when there is only pain?” Klaus sighed. “The moment you gave to Opal was the moment of peace she needed. It allowed her to dance.”

  Jasmine had heard priests, rabbis, and clerics of many faiths preach words of condolence to the families of her patients but never the way Klaus described it. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. At last she could cry for Opal.

  “I am sorry,” said Klaus, “I did not mean to intrude upon your grief.”

  Jasmine smiled at him through her tears. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” Klaus asked, confused.

  “I didn’t think it was possible for me to cry for anyone. All my patients die. I didn’t know if what I did mattered, but you make it sound like it does.” Jasmine let the tears fall.

  Klaus reached across the table and touched her face. He caught a tear in his hand and pulled it close to him as though examining a rare gem. “I forgot the pain of grief. I only remember the pain of life.”

  A loud rumbling shook the building for a moment. The lights flashed once, twice, and went out. A loud bang roared beneath them and over them and through them.

  “That’ll be the generator!” shouted the barman. The room took on a golden glow. The scents from the candles filled the air with cinnamon and strawberries and jasmine. The old man turned up the kerosene lantern on the bar next to the portable radio. He unplugged the radio from the wall and flipped a switch on the back of it for battery power. “Now you all watch out for these candles. I don’t want no fire to start up.”

  The pool players resumed their game. The clicking of the balls and rolling of the thunder under the music on the radio filled the room with nothingness. As the smoke of the candles filled her head, she realized that the radio was playing music instead of reporting on the weather. That’s good. We already know it’s coming. Why listen to the details of it? Then came the expected moaning and creaking. Water. Water was pushing against the pylons below them.

  She announces her arrival with the splendor of the gods.

  The luscious woman in a wave of passion.

  Ask her in,

  have a drink.

  What’s life done for you, anyway?

  I’m Mary Midnight and you’re listening to KMND, Galveston.

  Ready or not, She’s on our little island.

  She’s come for you.

  “The water is rising fast. She will be here soon.” Klaus took another sip of coffee and sighed.

  “I think She’s already here.” Jasmine grew up on the island and sat through many storms, but she still thought it strange how everybody talked about a hurricane as though it were a person.

  “No, not yet. She’s just telling us that She’s near.” Klaus stared up into the emptiness of the ceiling. “Soon.”

  Jasmine was no longer sure that Klaus was talking about the storm. A silence fell on the room. The silence grew louder until at last Jasmine spoke. “The eye.”

  Inside and outside the bar stood stillness. No one moved or spoke, afraid to break the spell of the calm. No matter how many storms Jasmine had sat through, the silent calm of the eye still fascinated her. She watched the flame of the candle on the table.

  “It’s midnight,” said the barman.

  “Then it’s tomorrow,” added Klaus.

  “That makes it my birthday.” Jasmine hadn’t meant to say it so loud.

  “Your birthday?” said Klaus. He grinned wide, and a sparkle of life that had not been there before took residence in his eyes. “Then you should dance.” He stood up and held out his arm for her. She looked at him and wasn’t sure what she should do. No one had ever offered to dance with her on her birthday. The radio blared its rock-and-roll, but she didn’t hear it anymore. She put her hand in his and stood up. He drew her close to him and they danced.

  The beating of her heart set the rhythm. The dance lifted Jasmine from the mundane to the divine. It didn’t matter who Klaus was dancing with. A long-ago memory came alive in his eyes. And they danced. And the dance was joy. And the dance was peace.

  Have you ever danced the dance in your heart?

  Have you ever heard the music that plays in your soul?

  The world turns to its own rhythm,

  but Death plays the beat.

  For a moment in time two may find the harmony

  that one never knew.

  And when the song is done,

  who will dance the last dance?

  Babette is here, my dears.

  You’re listening to KMND, Galveston.

  I’m Mary Midnight.

  Dance.

  It ended. Klaus hung on to Jasmine’s hand. If they breathed, the spell would be lost. For the first time in her life, Jasmine understood a deep love for someone - not the passion of a lover or the familiarity of a brother, but the love for a soul in need. Each needed someone to share love with.

  A shadow closed over Klaus’s face. All was not
as it seemed. “Jasmine,” he started.

  “Yes?” Jasmine watched as the shadow glided across the room. Was it a shape?

  “She’s coming.”

  Jasmine said nothing. Her hand burned with pain. A moment before, her smooth palm had clung to Klaus’s hand. Now, he held her hand in his, wrapping a handkerchief around the torn, bleeding skin. She remembered reaching for the post as the wind and water pushed her away, grabbing the rough, rusted ring, her head pounding onto the end of the post. A sharp pain thudded onto her forehead, and she remembered hitting the hitching post with her head and the warm salty water filling her mouth and nose.

  “What will happen when She gets here?” Jasmine looked into Klaus’s eyes and saw a thousand storms. She reached up to touch the small, black hole oozing on his right temple as his final breath left his body. His beautiful, dark hair lay matted and tangled around a large hole on the left of his head.

  “Maybe She will take us with her. Maybe She will leave us here.” Klaus paused for a moment, “We wait...”

  The front door blew open, and the wind poured into the bar, blowing out most of the candles, but not before Jasmine saw the burns on the barman and Mama, and not before she saw the gaping wounds on the bikers at the pool table. The lantern on the bar crashed onto the floor. Jasmine smelled the kerosene leaking onto the floor.

  The music is all around you.

  Listen to the music that is the dance.

  The music of life surrounds our souls,

  Death plays the drums.

  She, alone, sets the beat.

  Will you stay or will you dance?

  You’re listening to KMND, Galveston.

  I’m Mary Midnight.

  Babette ravishes our little sandbar we call home.

  Will you dance with her?

  Jasmine turned to the door, as did all the dead in the bar. Darkness beckoned them. With a crack and a boom, the thunder struck. The eye of Babette moved off the island, and the storm returned in its fullness. Lightning filled the sky beyond the open door. As it filled the darkness, a figure stood black against the blackness. She stood, motionless. Jasmine strained her eyes but saw few details. Her long coat covered Her figure. Its collar reached up, touching the edge of a large brimmed hat that covered Her face. Tall boots led Her in without motion. Her hands were in Her pockets.

  The last shiver of life passed through Jasmine’s spine. Klaus moved his hand to her shoulder.

  “What’s She waiting for?” Jasmine asked him. He shook his head.

  The figure’s hands left Her pockets. This moved Her coat a little, and Jasmine saw long white hair tucked under the coat. Jasmine remembered the shadows from the tree outside her window when she was a child. They had frightened and fascinated her. Yet, she laid in bed all night and watched the shadows of that tree dancing and shifting in the wind. This figure did more than frighten and fascinate. It enthralled her.

  The figure struck a match and lit a cigarette hanging from unseen lips. The flame was like a beacon for Jasmine’s eyes to follow. She saw nothing else of the shadow against the lightning backdrop behind the door, except a glimpse at the face of Death. She shuddered at the utter darkness that were the eyes and turned away. The smell of kerosene filled the room. The flaming match floated on the wind, drifting toward the floor. Jasmine spent her life calming her patients in their transition between life and death. Now she understood that look they all had just before they died. Jasmine looked into the face of Death and she smiled. It was the face of the Keeper of the Music.

  “Klaus.” Jasmine turned to face him, but he was looking away. “Dance with me.”

  Klaus looked confused, “But...”

  “Dance. It’s our death day.”

  As the dancers take the floor,

  the drum set the rhythm.

  Death leads the band in the concert of life.

  A moment of joy and a moment of pain,

  and life ends.

  As they clasped their hands together, Jasmine and Klaus felt the rhythm building in their hearts. They danced, and they danced to the beat set by the Maestro.

  The kerosene ignited in a rush. Jasmine and Klaus danced with the flames, and Death stood on a table and beat the drum to the rhythm of the song in the souls that linger too long.

  The bartender yelled for Mama to come to him, but Mama beat the back door until her hands bled. She screamed the name of her lost child. Flames covered each as they did every time She came to the island. Neither Mama nor the barman would dance.

  The pool players cursed and fought with fists until switchblades flashed in the flames. Blood poured from wounds cut deep into bodies so long ago they had forgotten why they had the wounds. A great bang from a shotgun, and the woman with too much eyeliner no longer had a face. The others sliced, stabbed, and shot until neither blood nor tears fell. Still, they would not dance.

  The storm surge crested the Seawall. The great wall of doom rushed over the island. It crashed through the front door of a bar near the Seawall called the Dead Man’s Post. Jasmine and Klaus danced in the water as did so many that night, and they danced on the beams of the sun’s first rays into the eternity that is death.

  Death is only a moment

  and then it is gone.

  If you hear the music, dance.

  Now this is the end of my night,

  till She comes again.

  This is Mary Midnight on KMND

  Sleep well, Galveston.

  Babette has left our shores.

  The sun rises, and I to my rest go,

  until the next tale begins.

  Considerate Things

  FIVE THIRTY IS entirely too early for any decent person to get up. She rolled over and hit the snooze bar. The red numbers said five-twenty. Way too early. She settled back into the pillows. The radio clicked on again. Five-twenty-five. This time she listened. He’d make sure she got out of bed on time. He was considerate that way.

  Slowly her eyes focused on the heavy bed curtains tied neatly to the bedposts. She saw the shadows of the pre-dawn hour lying in the corners of the room. She listened to the roar of the air conditioner blowing and the surf washing up to the beach. Then she smelled the coffee. His noises were imperceptible. She sensed him more than hear him. The stereo took over the sounds from her small clock/radio. He knew she was awake. He never turned on the stereo until he knew she was awake. He was considerate that way.

  She would be happier when the long nights of winter came, and she didn’t have to get up so early. The endless hours of summer sunshine robbed them of so many precious hours together. Getting up at five-thirty meant they had an hour before sunrise to spend with each other.

  She hadn’t moved when he opened the door to the bedroom. The night light in the hall illuminated his long thin form. He’s too skinny. He closed the door quickly. His movements flowed with the doo-wop he liked to listen to as he unbuttoned his jacket. She liked that jacket. It was the long black one with no collar that buttoned up to the neck. He sat down to take off his boots. She smiled as he bent over. The paleness of his bald head almost glowed in the darkness of the room.

  “It’s time you got up.”

  “I’m awake.”

  “I lost a button on my jacket.”

  “Leave it on the chair. I’ll fix it when I get home.” He hated asking, but she loved helping. It’s those little, considerate things that count in a relationship.

  “Didn’t find the button.”

  “I will.”

  He stood, swaying to the beat. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly. In the darkness, it was hard to tell the difference between the whiteness of his shirt and the whiteness of his torso. She liked to watch him. He liked to watch her watching him. He held out his hand to her. She smiled and got out of bed. If there was a love song, there was a dance, and when they danced, they dreamed. They pressed against each other. He sang the words in her ear. She kissed his face. He kissed her neck. Dip.

  The first rays of sun snuck in through the
seams of the storm blinds. They stepped away from each other. He stretched out on the bed. She drew the window curtains close then dressed. She dressed slowly. He liked to watch her dress. She liked to watch him watching her. Soon he was asleep.

  She slipped out of the room. The morning sun was already filling the living room. She closed the storm blinds and heavy curtains. Now, he will sleep well. She closed the bathroom door before turning on the light to put on her makeup. He appreciated the little things she did.

  He had made the coffee for her. He even stopped by the bakery she liked down on Broadway and picked up a fresh kolache. He was always so considerate to remember what she liked.

  *****

  It didn’t take more than five minutes to reach her office. She pulled up to the receiving door as she always did to her reserved parking spot, unlocked the door, and turned off the alarm system. She turned on lights and made coffee. She fired up the crematorium. Then she returned to her car to remove the body.

  It wasn’t a very big body, not much larger than herself. The large ones he cut up and bagged for her - easier for her to lift out of the trunk. He was considerate that way. Stretched out on the gurney, it wasn’t much to look at - a boy, an ordinary street urchin.

  Mostly futile, she knew, but she searched the pockets for identification. Cigarettes. Matches. Hair comb. Condoms. She recognized the brand—the ones handed out at the run-away shelter. Time to visit the shelter with her usual donations. She never brought hand-me-downs or leftovers from clients. She bought clothes and blankets at thrift stores and leftover cupcakes and rolls from the bakery. They loved to see her at the shelter. Mr. Fenny, the manager, would make a fresh pitcher of iced tea. They would sit and talk about the boys and girls who went through the shelter. She might mention Mr. Fenny’s greatest sadness: those who leave the shelter without hope. She could find out the boy’s name. Mr. Fenny’s the only one who will miss this one. She felt a tear run down her cheek.