Previously in The Maltese Sparrow…
Mystery and excitement have reared their heads. And as the sun set, so too did the possibility of love – crushed by the revelation of betrayal. These things became memories, and soon those memories will be gone. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain.
Is there a joke there? Or is the joke that there is no joke at all…?
And now, The Maltese Sparrow: One Part 7, Two Parts Cream…
Desperately, I launched myself sideways and hurtled through the window of a deli next to the sidewalk. With a deafening crash, the heavy window burst inwards and I spiralled through a whirlwind of cold cuts and plate glass before thankfully landing gently in a soft slab of pimento loaf. Ah, pimento loaf – nature’s stunt mattress. Outside, I heard the screech of tires and caught a glimpse of the panicked clown driver as his attempt to follow my evasive manuever proved too much for the top-heavy Wonder Bread truck to handle and it rolled over twice before skidding to a stop on its side.
Brushing myself off, I staggered through the new door I had just installed in the deli and ran for the wrecked truck. As I approached the truck, I caught the strong scent of gasoline. A crowd had begun to form and a policeman was busy trying to push them away, “Get back folks, that bread could go off and this whole place could go off with it.”
A curious spectator piped up, “How can bread spontaneously explode?”
“Maybe there’s something inside it,” said the cop.
Clambering onto the top of the truck, I cautiously peered into the passenger side window, but found the truck empty. I looked around the street, but could find no sign of my white-face, floppy-shoed assailant. I hopped back onto the pavement and stumbled on something. I bent down and picked up what appeared to be a deflated soccer ball. I tossed it towards the trash can, but it was intercepted by a young boy. “Don’t throw that away, Mister. It could be worth something.”
I looked at him for a moment and then said, “It’s not worth anything – it’s flat.”
The boy looked at me quizzically, “I could put some air in it, Mister. It’s worth more when it’s got something inside it, you see.” He ran off.
I watched him run up the street. Something very odd was going on here. I felt a tap on my shoulder to find a scruffy man in a blue and white checked dress facing me. “Can I help you?” I asked.
The “man” looked at me. “I don’t know. Do you want to share my Twinkie?”
“Listen, pervert, I dunno what….” I stopped as he produced a small yellow cake and split it in half. He pointed to the cream filling – “You see, it’s got cream in it. That’s what makes it special – otherwise it’s just a Twinkie.” At that point, man and Twinkie melted into a puddle at my feet and I was suddenly standing in the desert.
As the hot sun beat down on me, I suddenly felt myself breaking out into a sweat. What the hell was going on? I mean, weirdos dressed up as women offering snack cakes was nothing to get worked up about in a major U.S. city. And people melting in front of you was also nothing to be concerned about when you have the kind’ve LSD addiction that I have, but instant teleportation to the desert was something else entirely.
I looked up at the towering pile of brick and sand that formed the pyramid in front of me. A team of kahki-clad men were busily attacking a particular brick with pickaxes. I strolled closer and overheard one of them talking to another: “Look at it – merely a pile of sand decaying in the desert, but inside lies a wealth of treasure and information the likes of which we’ve never seen before.” As I contemplated my latest circumstances I felt someone tugging at my sleeve. Looking down, I found myself knee-to-face with Gary Coleman. Naturally.
Gary looked at me and said, “Pretty exciting, huh, Sam?” Suppressing a chuckle, I started to say, “What you be talkin’ ab–” Suddenly, Gary kicked me violently in the shins. “Why do I have to listen to that crap everywhere I go, huh? Is that all I am? A little catch-phrase generator walking around here? Don’t you think there’s more to me inside?” With that, he vanished in a puff of purple smoke.
Upon hearing some commotion behind me I turned to again face the pyramid. The men had finally had some success and were prying the heavy brick away from the pyramid. The was a rush of wind and suddenly a whiff of fetid air wafted over us as the entrance to the tomb was revealed. The men stood looking reverentially at it for a moment, and an unsettling hush descended upon us.
A moment later, a fuzzy, purple head appeared in the entrance. It looked at us for a moment, and then shouted, “Outside!” The creature then turned and shuffled back into the darkness where, a moment later, we heard a muffled cry of “Inside!” Another moment passed and the head appeared again at the door and once again remarked, “Outside!”
As the creature returned to the darkness once more, I began to wonder if I was going to have to watch this performance indefinitely. “Would you like to watch this indefinitely, hmmm?”
I lifted my head from the comfortable leather couch and looked at the bearded old man sitting across from me and puffing on a cigar. “What the hell’s going on?”
The man puffed his cigar again and then said, in the same thick German accent, “I don’t know. You were describing this clown attack and then suddenly you were in the desert watching a puprle monster explaining rudimentary spacial orientation.”
I lay back again. “What’s it all mean, then?”
The man stood up and paced across the thick carpet. “I would say your subconscious is trying to tell you something. Your subconscious functions on a different level than your normal self. Perhaps it has realized something you have not. What’s the pattern in what you’ve experienced? Does it have a deeper meaning? Then again, it may not. Sometimes, as I say, a cigar is just a cigar.”
I pointed to the cigar resting between his fingers. “Is that just a cigar?”
“No,” he said, “It’s a penis. You’re gay.”
With a sharp intake of breath I lurched forward, knocking the whiskey bottle off my desk with a crash. My shirt was soaked with sweat and I felt dizzy. In a moment, I began to recognize the familiar sight of my file cabinet, my coat rack, my Lazy Susan, and the scattered rays of the setting sun shining through the slats of my window blinds. It was all a dream. But what a dream.
When was a $20 statue not a $20 statue? When there’s something inside it worth a whole lot more. I reached for my phone but my hand was stayed by a knock at the door. Eva poked her head in. “Sam, you’re not gonna believe this….”
I cut her off. “Sorry, baby, I’m not taking anymore business today, I gotta do some work right now.”
“But Sam,” she hissed, “It’s her – she’s back. Ms. Bouvier!”
Well, well. I wonder what this is about?
To Be Continued…