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'The Blade'

cont'd

The three men regarded the former Ford fashion model with her long legs and luscious lips with definite relish before Brit responded, 'I think the food is about done, let's do the pictures after we eat.'

Lucy looked at her husband with sudden affection and said with an appreciative smile, 'Okay, darling.' They had gotten into a bad fight on the way there, in part sparked by Lucy, in Brit's opinion, screwing up the directions to Artie's new house, and Brit had felt horrible about losing his temper. Taking the cue from her forgiving expression, he regarded her with equal warmth before she returned to the kitchen.

Brit recalled how hard he had courted Lucy and how out of reach she had seemed. He didn't even think that he had a chance until he had become the youngest Vice President in the history of the investment house, and even then it was a stretch, as he was seemingly competing with every other young bachelor for her hand. But he got her, yep he got her . . but the bile stirred in him and burned along his ulcer as he thought about the calamity at work, and the suspicion that he would be the fall guy. Everything he had, and chiefly his darling Lucy, the three kids, Brit junior, hung on what that G-11, Marshall suit-wearing, Ford focus-driving SEC investigator tool of the human determined; every late-night, every early morning, every fourth-and-long decision that righted their financial ship and brought he and his family greater financial wealth, all taken away, just for playing the game . . . and the sickening feeling churned in his stomach, corroding that much more of its protective lining . . .

Meredith, Artie's wife, called out, 'Honey, how much longer?'

Artie called into the kitchen, 'Honey, the steaks will be ready in about five minutes, I want to get them nice and tender.'

In the lull in the conversation, the three men found themselves watching their women busy about the table. Ed knew that technically Lucy was probably the most beautiful, but his Jane, his Jane Milford Crawford, Esq. was really the entire package, an accomplished lawyer, always so interesting and interested, by his own estimation, much more dynamic than he was. Meredith was, of course as he remembered from high school, this adorable fun-loving girl, the life of the party, no one thought Artie could pull it off, but the overweight offensive lineman did just that, and in the last year had opened his fourth hardware store. They were only in their mid-30s, but they had all done well, and so Ed was prompted to hold up his beer and say, 'Those are three beautiful women, we're lucky, we've done all right.'

The two nodded assent, and they all drank to that.

'And it's amazing they love us,' Artie said, moving the steaks and the pieces of chicken into the pan, 'when I opened up the latest hardware store, my hair started to come out, first in the shower then in clumps, but I've been on Rogaine for about six months, but it does nothing, I have an employment next week to get hair plugs. I know that I shouldn't be so freaked out, but it's killing me.' He gestured to the bald and cleanly shaven head of Ed and remarked, 'I know you lost your hair, but you have a nice looking skull like Michael Jordan, I've got weird crevices in my head, even Meredith was running her fingers through one of them and said, 'That's odd.''

'Listen Artie I was so freaked out when I lost my hair in medical school, but you get used to it. There's usually about a two-year bereavement period --'

'Listen to you guys, bereavement period,' Brit said, smiling and shaking his head.

'Brit, you've got a full set of hair and presumably not a misshapen skull. I might end up being a body double for the missing link . . .'

As Artie continued on, Brit smiled slightly, giving his best poker-faced. He began losing his hair in his late 20s, and like Artie, he tried all the tricks: Rogaine, hair plugs, Hair Club for Men . . . But then he heard about and went to a group called: 'The Foundation'. Someone had jokingly called it the secret society of hair clubs for men. It was exclusive, confidential, and since going, Brit had been sporting an All-American, naturally-occurring full set of hair, just like in high school.

The doorbell suddenly rang, and everyone startled. Meredith had hurried to the door and noticed a disheveled looking man, with wild, overgrown hair standing at their front window. Instead of opening the door, she darted out to the porch, appearing somewhat agitated.

'Artie, there's this man at the front door.'

'Honey, don't worry it's Matthew. I'll get it.'

The three men went to the door. Artie proceeded to open the door and all immediately upon seemed Matthew felt a sudden apprehension because of the change of his appearance since high school. And though he intended to warmly greet him, he was left speechless.

Matthew stepped into the foyer. He had long and bushy hair that, as if he had been shocked, flared out like the hair of a mad scientist; his beard was equally overgrown and unkempt. He wore a loose fitting, brown robe, which opened in front over a gray T-shirt, with canvass pants that seemingly had been splattered with paint, and sandals. He was definitely on the thin side, but in general appeared fit, tanned and healthy.

Artie finally forced out a: 'Matthew . . .uhm . . . welcome.'

He gently raised his hand as if to silence his flock and said, 'I don't go by that name anymore. The name is Silas.'

A perplexed silence pervaded the foyer. The more the three friends regarded Matthew, the familiar, and surprisingly unchanged facial appearance of Matthew that they all remembered from high school, began to show itself through the bushy hair, and this provided them with a measure of ease. Matthew furthered this sense of ease, when upon shaking each of their hands; he spoke in his familiar voice, which in contrast to his appearance and specifically the robe, was surprisingly normal.

Everyone took their seats at the table, and soon Artie and his wife had placed the steaks and the other hot food on everyone's plates.

'Artie, this is wonderful,' Lucy remarked, savoring the food, 'The steak is so tender.'

Brit seconded, 'Delicious.'

After sitting down, Meredith asked politely, 'Oh, I'm sorry, does anyone need anything else?'

'Could I get a sharper knife?' Silas said, matter-of-factly.

And Meredith went into the kitchen and momentarily returned with just that.

As everyone began eating their meals, it was apparent that the awkwardness had returned in full force evidenced by the lack of conversation safe for a few idle comments regarding the delicious taste of the meal.

'Uhm . . . Matthew,' Artie began.

'Silas --'

'Okay right there why the name change --'

'Mostly out of phonetic considerations.'

'But why Silas?'

'It just came to me.'

'H'm' . . . and another awkward silence followed when a cellular phone rang.

As if expecting the call, Matthew opened up his robe pulled a cellular phone and and spoke into it, 'Alyo, Nila . . . Paratak oing poi, renoi, takwakdoi . . . ' and spoke like that for some time. When the conversation ended, he hung up the phone.

'That's great news, that was my wife, the first copy of my book was just published --'

Everyone appeared suddenly relieved, and Meredith articulated this relief by stating, 'So you're married that's wonderful!'

'I hope you don't mind, she's coming here now.'

'Absolutely not,' Artie responded enthusiastically.

Jane said, 'And published, that's wonderful. What is the book about?'

'It's a survey book on the art or more precisely the craft of bamboo cage making in Micronesian culture, it actually represents the Japanese influence on the culture of those islands, and really what I did was try to look at this craft or these structures as an example of Bauhaus, you know, form follows function --'

A round of 'Uh-huhs' came out, like a feeble wave working its way around the stadium during a sporting event

'I'm curious that language you were speaking, what was that?' Ed asked.

'It's called -- Pingelapese.'

'Did you learn that at Harvard,' he further inquired.

'No, I didn't learned it at Harvard, but the reason why I learned it sort of relates to events that occurred at Harvard, did you know about what happened to me at Harvard?'

They remain silent, but their faces appeared eager to hear what had occurred and to learn why he dropped out.

'No uhm ... hadn't really heard anything ...' Artie stumbled out.

'Well it was my junior year and I was engaged the married to a young lady in my class, and her father had gotten me a job, essentially as a manager in training at this business, and I was working behind a desk, crunching numbers under the fluorescent light, and well they say, I snapped or panicked or was on drugs or I couldn't handle it, but I was excelling at the job and at Harvard--'

'-- so clearly you could not have been on drugs,' Artie helpfully volunteered.

'-- I mean I was on drugs, but again that wasn't a problem at all with the exception of that one time during a board meeting that a No. 2 pencil on the table turned into a serpent and tried to eat my hand, which more than likely did not happen, but again that is neither here nor there, the real point is, I looked about me and asked why? Did the universe and the human evolve over tens of billions of years, just so I could sit behind a desk crunching numbers under this white and purplish light, watching the clock for lunch, so I can go to Applebee's. I knew that I needed to go away and just reflect and meditate and sleep in late and just take on the larger issues of life. So without telling anyone, I got on a plane without any possessions, but my passport and a few thousand dollars in cash and a book bag and went to whatever random island I happened upon in the South Pacific. After some months of island hopping, my money had run out, so I eventually settled down on the island of Pingelap.

'The island was known for a form of Neo-zen meditation, and at Harvard I had very much gotten involved in Eastern mysticism, you know detachment and what not, and uhm I well meditated religiously everyday right when I woke up around noonish. I had befriended a group of devotees of Master Pampeau. He had penned a book on meditation called: 'Seven Stones of Silence to Nirvana', it was colorfully illustrated. One day, Master Pampeau's assistant called us over by saying, 'if you are interested in learning about meditation, Master Pampeau is ready to show you.' Well, I was young then, pretty brash and competitive, so I told him, 'if Master Pampeau wants to learn about meditation, you should tell him to come over here and watch me,'' -- Matthew proceeded to take a few bites of his food before asking, 'Do you have any steak sauce?'

Without saying a word, Meredith hurriedly stood up and went to get some, while the others waited for some closure to the story.

Jane then prompted, 'Did he?'

'Apparently he was crippled, but in any case, I began to study with him, Master Pampeau, quite the chatty bastard, and --'

Meredith asked, 'But how did you eat, what was your source of money?'

'I got a job as a security guard at a banana plantation, those monkeys - sneaky thieving bastards . . .'

Without warning, Matthew's eyes trailed off in the distance, and he placed his finger on his neck as if taking his pulse. Suddenly he stood up, fell to the floor and proceeded to do push-ups, while clapping after the completion of each one. Everyone at the table shot inquiring glances at each other with expressions that had a mixture of both bewilderment and even fear. Then it as if nothing happened, he returned to his chair and continued on his point, 'Oh yes, the monkey, vile, vile creature, prone to monkey business ...'

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