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'The Blade'

cont'd

At some point, Jane interrupted and asked Matthew, politely enough, 'What do you do?'
'What do I do?' Matthew repeated this question at length as if he was just asked a metaphysical question like, 'Is there a soul?'
'Well I'd call myself sort of a freelance spirit, tackling the big questions, a temp on this earth, seeking, observing, I experiment a lot with diet and exercise regimes, as you saw earlier, I'm big into the push-ups --'
Meredith asked helpfully, 'Are you still writing books or are you . . . uhm . . . affiliated with the University?'
'In a manner, yes to both. I am affiliated with the University, they're allowing me to construct my own postgraduate program, right now I'm just taking a film class, which focuses on the films of John Hughes --'
Nila interrupted him and handed him his book.
'Speaking of my new books, here's the one that has been recently published.' He handed it to Brit, so he could see it.
Brit took the book and opened it with apparent interest as his wife Lucy looked on. Their interest soon turned to bewilderment.
'I'm sorry, what language is this in?'
'Polish. The best my agent could do was land a contract with a niche publisher in the Greater Warsaw area. You know Hemingway was actually published first in German. F.Y.I.'
Brit turned the pages so his wife and Meredith could see the photos. Meredith remarked, 'The bamboo cages look very lovely.'
'The Japanese have a long and time-tested history of developing this craft.'
Lucy noted with appreciation, 'Look at the carvings on the corner of this one cage, impressive.'
Ed walked over to the other side of the table and looked over Brit's shoulder. He remarked matter-of-factly, 'You really wrote a book on bamboo cages in Polish' and then returned to his chair.
As Brit returned the book, pictures fell out which were picked up by Lucy. When returning the pictures to Nila, she noticed what was on the pictures.
'Oh this is great,' Lucy said, holding up the pictures to show everyone.

Nila was carrying two buckets of water hanging from a pole which was balanced cross her neck while she walked away from a well. In one of the pictures, her face appeared tense with gritted teeth from the weight of the pole. Matthew was standing next to her, holding a bottle of mineral water, with a relaxed and carefree expression on his face.
'Wow, that's the real deal, were these pictures taken back where you've lived on the island of Pingelap?'
'Actually, these are from the backyard of our place - the Owen's mansion. The water was making her sick, so she and her extended relatives took some shovels and dug a well in the backyard to get to the natural springs. You know what they all say, you can take the girl out of Pingelap, but you can take the Pingelapese out of the girl --'
Appropriately, another awkward pause and the usual chorus of 'uh-huh's followed as everyone considered: . . 'you know what they all say --'
Jane then asked with just a hint of remonstrance, 'Why didn't you carry one of those buckets of water for your wife?'
'Well because it's bad for the back to just carry one bucket because the weight is on one side your body, putting uneven stress on the discs your spine. The persons much better off with an offsetting weight to carry both buckets --'
'--Well then, why didn't you carry both?'
Matthew's eyes suddenly closed, and then he put two fingers on his neck as before. He then fell to the floor and proceeded to clap out thirty push-ups.
By the time dessert was served, he had returned to his chair and proceeded to eat as if nothing awkward had transpired. He did remark, though, 'it's a very strict exercise regime.'
'I can see,' Brit said.
As Ed ate his chocolate cake and ice cream, he kept glancing over admiringly at Nila until he said, 'You know, I've always sort of wanted to go to the South Seas, are there places to stay in the island of Pingelap?'
'Not really, the Pingelapese people tend to be shy and standoffish, and they really won't interact with you unless you speak the language, again, I'm reminded every day the best decision I ever made was to drop out of Harvard and learn how to speak the Pingalese language because I don't think Nila, or for that matter her other six sisters, would have talked to me during our coconut hunt if I didn't speak the language. He then turned to Nila and said, 'Rau lao nui . . . ' appearing to present this opinion on the importance of knowing the Pingalese language to Nila.
She nodded her head in full agreement.
Artie came to sudden attention, as he wiped the chocolate from the dessert from the side of his mouth.
'Six sisters?'
Meredith noted his awed expression with a role of her eyes.
'Artie, really--'
Brit quickly changed the subject and asked to satisfy his curiosity.
'I heard the damnedest thing about you at our high school reunion. Someone said, and I know that this sounds ridiculous but again it is what I heard, that you were up in Chicago about five years ago and you were working as some sort of a pimp running prostitutes, and you went by the name of 'The Blade', I know it sounds crazy but --'
Matthew's expression was fairly blank, as he listened to this story.
'They said, 'Matthew',' he said in a leading manner.
'Yeah,' Artie replied.
'They were talking about Matthew Santo, I think, remember his father and Uncle were connected to the mob up in Chicago, and I guess maybe they were involved in prostitution, do you guys remember that?'
'Oh that's right,' Artie responded, 'Matthew Santo yeah I remember him . . .'
At that point, Meredith offered everyone coffee and suggested that they have it around the living room where it would be more comfortable for everyone to sit. Everyone moved into the living room and sat on the various lounge chairs surrounding a large stone hearth. Coffee was served, and as everyone sipped their drinks, the discussion mainly focused on their high school days, and many anecdotes were exchanged. Artie even brought out their senior yearbook and showed everyone and in particular Nila, the 18-year-old picture of a youthful-looking Matthew with his coat-and-tie, neatly cropped hair, clean-shaven, with a bright, cheerful smile.
'Who would've ever thought that you looked like that?' Artie said. 'I was a model prisoner,' Silas said.

And slowly, but surely the discussion turned to Nila, who - as it happened - was sitting in an easy chair that was at the center of everyone's attention. Matthew translated, and Nila's pretty features animated, as she responded to their various questions about her transition to America and her life growing up in Pingelap.

Throughout the entire evening, it had been frustrating for the three men to try to listen and maintain eye contact with whomever was speaking about whatever the subject happened to be at that moment, and not give into the gravitational pull and gaze over at Nila's intoxicating beauty. Indeed, when anyone of the three men dared to steal a glance at Nila, they were conscious of their respective wife's watchful eyes. So when the focus turned finally and completely on Nila on display on that easy chair, the three men experienced an unspoken, collective sigh and avidly locked in their gaze on her bright, fresh smile, mesmerizing blue eyes, the light brown complexion, and beautiful body that was that perfect mixture of tone and shapeliness. But alas, as much pleasure as they took in regarding this visual delight, this rare beauty, it was greatly tempered with this disconcerting image and the accompanying cognitive dissonance, that is, the image of a grown man in a dingy bathrobe with a mop of wildly overgrown hair, who presently had stopped translating for Nila mid-sentence, to flop on the floor and do push-ups, which were punctuated by the most obnoxiously loud claps.

Later, the evening had come to an end. Matthew and Nila thanked everyone and said goodbye. As the evidently happy couples left the house, they walked over to a four-door sedan. Matthew had something in his hand, which he must have picked up on the front porch because he walked out of the house with only Nila on his arm. In addition to the identity of the unknown object, Ed was as well surprised that they both appeared to be getting into the same car
'Didn't they arrive separately?' Ed asked, articulating this thought.
Ed's question was answered when they noticed Matthew throw the object, which now away from his body, was very clearly a skateboard into the back trunk. Matthew hopped in the front seat.

The remaining three couples returned to their seats in the living room. Everyone expected someone to blurt out, 'What the hell was that?', but a reflective silence pervaded the room. As the sound of the car motoring away dwindled, the three men fell back more deeply into their respective chairs and just took it all in. Each in their own way reflected that their entire lives had been a calculated exertion to attempt to obtain or actually get 'the best of everything'. It was an exertion that had taken its toll, most notably in the loss of their hair. And then Enter Matthew, and the three considered, Matthew . . . the Owen's mansion . . . and Nila . . . the South Seas . . . Their postures grew rigid, as they stared off in the distance, as they each in their own way compared their situations to his, and a momentary depression set in.

And right before Ed was about to break the silence, a cellular phone rang. It was on the armrest of where Matthew had been sitting.
'I think that's Matthew's cellular phone,' Meredith remarked, walking over to it.
But she didn't answer it, and the phone kept ringing.
'Should I answer it?' Meredith asked.
Jane said, 'Nila might have realized that he left his phone, and she might be calling it.'
With this prompting, she answered the phone.
'Hello?'
Meredith appeared confused by what was said on the other line.
'Who is it?' Artie asked.
Meredith replied, 'Someone who's asking for . . .the Blade?'

July 5, 2003

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