It was snowing, but the snow vanished as it hit the ground. The wind, blowing swift and cold from the lake, was capable of capturing a hat from an old man only to send him shuffling around the corner in pursuit. The unmovable mass of tourists and families spending, frittering, squandering, splurging, and consuming in order to keep pace, must keep pace, had given way to the melancholy soloists, scavenging paupers, and stargazing couples that dream, gaze, love, forget, and cry in order to defy, must defy. This cosmic shift, as well as the snow, praise the snow, all but ensured that the streets surrounding Water Tower Place were nearly empty by the time Joseph Holthausen and his parents decided to take a handsome cab tour of the area.
“Whoa, Echo,” the driver howled to the moon with a palm cupping his mouth as he stumbled away from the excited horse, tripping on the curb in the process. “Stupid animal.”
Joseph stood a few feet away, watching, always watching never performing, while his parents busied themselves by shuffling their feet and rolling their eyes away from the man clad in black who had now disappeared waist deep under the carriage.
“What a difficult mess you have gotten us into this time Maurine,” Joseph’s father said as he eyeballed a couple of men holding hands. “This place is a zoo.”
“Calm down, Harold,” his mother said fishing threw her purse. “We don’t get out enough as it is, so just deal with it.”
“I’ll deal with it when you do.”
“What is that supposed to mean, you’ll deal with it when I do? Enough with the riddles Harold, and button your coat. I think I saw Marcie and John Bloomer.”
“It means¾”
“Dad can I talk to the driver?” Joseph tugged on his father’s still unbuttoned coat.
It is said that a stream cannot rise higher than its source. Joseph looked up at his father, dwarfed by his size, dwarfed by his source.
“Oh sure,” his father said sarcastically even though it did not come off well. “Why don’t you go see what he’s up to. Maybe then we can get this mess over with. Maybe then your mother will shut her stupid trap. Maybe then I can talk without being interrupted.” Joseph’s father followed his lecture with a stare before he turned back to his wife. “Your boy,” he said as Joseph walked away.
Waiting for the driver to reappear out from underneath the cab, Joseph bent over to tie his shoes. Brown lace-ups. Double-knot in place, he looked up to see the driver adjust a few leather straps that led from the front of the horse to the captain’s seat.
“That about does it, you bastard,” the driver said as he adjusted his top hat. A handlebar mustache framed a misshapen nose that dominated his profile.
“What are those?” Joseph said pointing to the leather straps.
“The reigns!” the driver replied in his quick, over-exaggerated way as he threw his arms into the air.
Joseph took a step back from the whites of the driver’s eyes and the gold in his teeth that appeared as he screwed his mouth into an awkward smile that both mocked Joseph and welcomed him into the world of handsome cabs at the same time. Turning away from the grin, Joseph’s already pale complexion dropped another hue as he walked back to his parents muttering to himself, “the reigns.”
“Yes of course there are reigns,” his father said shaking his head. “That is a horse, this is a cab, and the driver sits on top of the cab and holds the reigns. He then guides the horse with them. Hopefully well, because I don’t want your mother getting sick. I say by the looks of him that he’s been drinking. Is it all clear now, or should we go into depth on what the bag between the horse’s legs are for? Honestly Maurine,” he said turning to his wife again, “your son.”
“Oh Harold.”
“Whoa, Echo,” the driver yelled.
“Can we get this over with?”
“The Reigns.”
“Calm down Harold. Don’t make another scene.”
“Whoa, Echo.”
“What scene? I’m not making a scene.”
“I want to hold the reigns.”
“Oh you know what I mean Harold.”
“At your service,” the driver said a little nervously as he appeared from the rear of the cab. “Your ride happily awaits you.” This time he bent over at the waist as he spoke, clutching one hand to his belly, and gesturing towards the cab with the other.
“Finally,” Joseph’s father mumbled.
Joseph slid into the bench seat facing the rear of the cab while his parents reluctantly occupied the other bench. His mother clung to the arm of his father with both gloved hands as if it were a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. She clung as if cold coffee was better than no coffee at all.
The horse pulled against the reigns as the driver attempted to pull away from the curb. First one front hoof, then the other, rose into the air and came back down. As the horse seemed to put its feet down over another ride around the block, the driver put his whip down across the horse’s back.
“Whoa, Echo,” he cried out as the horse unwillingly started to move. “I am sorry for the delay my dear passengers. It is the poor dear’s first day I am afraid, and it seems that she has a case of the jitters. Hopefully she will put them behind her and provide all of us with a pleasant ride. As for me, I will do my best to do the same. If you have any questions, just call out Gregor. As for the horse, her name is Echo.”
“What kind of name is Gregor?” Joseph’s father whispered to his wife.
Once they were on their way, Joseph looked out at the city from his backwards bench seat and examined the faces as they went by. His mother, on the other hand, drilled his father with a barrage of questions, forcing him to agree at appropriate times and disagree at others. Either way, it seemed to matter little to her.
“I can’t believe that Marcie bought a Honda Civic. Can you believe that Marcie drives a Honda Civic, Harold?”
“Unbelievable,” Joseph’s father answered as he polished the crystal on
his watch with his necktie.
“That’s what Suzanne said,” Joseph’s mother continued, “unbelievable. Is John doing so poorly that he can’t afford, I don’t know, a decent car?”
“Dunno.”
“You’d tell me if he was doing poorly, wouldn’t you? You’d tell me if John was doing poorly, right Harold?”
“Uh huh.”
“That’s good, because there is no other excuse, except for John doing poorly at work. And you’d tell me so, as you just said. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, Harold, I just do and I don’t know why. I’m too good, that’s it, I’m too good. ”
“Sure.”
“Your right Harold, I’m too good sometimes. Maybe I’ll invite her to the club for lunch next week. That will do her some good. You know they have been trying to get in for a year now? Could you put in a word for them at work, Harold? They really could use a break. Then again, I wouldn’t want to be seen in that Honda Civic at the club. God knows what people would say. People can be so thoughtless sometimes, Harold. Don’t you think, Harold?”
“That’s right.”
“After all, it is just a car, and what does it really matter. Her hair on the other hand would be a problem. It looks like she has not been to the salon in weeks, Harold. Harold?”
“Yes dear.”
“Harold, if I let myself go like that shoot me.”
“Yes dear.”
“I’m serious, Harold, shoot me.”
As she said this, she stared at Joseph’s father until he nodded in agreement that he would indeed shoot her if she let herself go as Marcie supposedly had done. Her insistence grabbed Joseph’s attention away from the random comings and goings of people on the street. He looked at his mother as she went back to reorganizing her purse.
She would scowl and cringe at the people wandering about the city, her city. The novelty of the cab must have worn off, because she had resorted to whispering, even the most impersonal tidbits, in order to keep the cab driver as far away from her life as possible.
“Is that smell the horse or the driver?” She whispered to no one in particular.
“Maybe it’s you,” Joseph said, defending the driver for no reason other than to get a rise out of his mother.
“That’s rude Joseph,” she said looking him up and down. “We don’t talk about people like that.”
“Damn boy,” his father said without looking up from his watch. “No TV for a week, and clean your room.”
Joseph’s father was a tiny-eared man. His ears were not tiny in that they were physically smaller than a nice, regular pair of ears; they were small in proportion to the Olmecish noggin that rested firmly, with a little overlap, on top of his trunk, unlike most normally proportioned people whose heads tended to rest on their necks.
As Joseph shifted his gaze from one progenitor to the other, he witnessed the miracle of birth as his father created a second chin just by glancing down at his wristwatch. Unlike most new parents, Joseph’s father didn’t notice his child. In fact, he was more interested in the knobs and switches on his watch that controlled time. Joseph didn’t worry, judging by the size of his father’s rib eye at dinner, the little fella would be well fed.
The cab rumbled on, past a fountain and a few stores, when Joseph looked at his father and suddenly thought to himself, “he looks so much like himself.” He closed his eyes and tried to look through this man and see something, anything at all. When he found it, grasped it, and opened his eyes to compare it, he found that it fit. It fit too well, like a cookie in its cutter. His father sneezed.
“Some people look so much like themselves,” Joseph spoke in place of the usual god bless you or gesundheit. And he said it just like that; in a quick and offhand sort of manner. He said it not really meaning it, and without really paying attention. He might as well have said gesundheit.
“Boy, sometimes I think that something may not be right with you upstairs,” his father said, matching Joseph’s gaze before throwing it down like any father is capable of doing.
Like a prizefighter in his prime, he took out the inexperienced amateur that sat before him. Joseph crumbled from this blow, this all-knowing stare, this shot below the belt. As he lie on the metaphorical ground, Joseph saw the future; he saw the day that he would eventually win this fight, for every son does. As his future father lay on the ground, senseless, Joseph would parade around the ring, playing to the crowd, playing to his memories, playing to his past; for even memories can be changed. One day he may look back on this day and remember it differently, maybe he told his father to fuck off. But in reality, however, Joseph was driven to his shoes.
They were brown lace-ups, his shoes. That was what his mother called them, brown lace-ups. It was a cruel yet accurate description of the fine leather that was painstakingly constructed by someone who probably couldn’t afford shoes. Joseph stared at his shoes, broken, when the cab hit a good ole Chicago style pothole.
“My most humble apologies to my most esteemed guests, Gregor called out as he straightened the cab, “for it is dark and the horse is new. I am disgraced by the hole in the road that has disrupted your ride. Whoa, Echo.”
“You’re goddamned right you better be sorry,” Joseph’s father yelled from the back of the cab. “Can’t you see that you’ve upset my wife?”
Joseph looked to his mother. As if taking a cue she put on a frightened look. She knew her part well, and Joseph’s father was very good at pulling off things like free handsome cab rides. Joseph looked at his father, he was all puffed up and red and ready to roll. He was in character, and he knew his lines. The play continued.
“She’s spilled her purse all over the cab, and I think my watch has stopped,” his father said as he shook his watch next to his ear. “That deserves some sort of discount.”
“I am not allowed to discount the rate, or it comes out of my pay,” Gregor said, bowing his head. “I could give you the special tour?”
“No special tour, we want a discount for the lack of comfort and quality.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“I’m sorry too. Do you usually make good tips?”
“Usually sir.”
“Not tonight.”
After the cab had been settled for awhile, and his father had gone back to adjusting his watch, Joseph turned in his seat to get a better look at Gregor and his top hat that bobbed up with every clip and down with every clop. His nose stood out like a door knob on the front of his face. Joseph thought that he looked sad, all hunched over like he was. Noticing Joseph’s attention, the driver winked and pointed out at a building without any explanation. Joseph wondered if it was an apartment complex or office building. After some thought, he decided that the driver lived there or maybe his mother. The man continued to smile.
“Would the lad like to ride up front?” He said loud enough for Joseph’s parents to hear. That tip may not have been out of the question yet; his eyes seemed to say.
“No he doesn’t.”
“Yes I Do.”
“Let him ride, Harold, after all he is just a boy. Something like this could make his day.”
“Whatever, but don’t mess with the driver. You know how your mother gets. We don’t want any more potholes.”
Gregor pulled the cab to a stop so Joseph could hop over his seat. After they were on their way again, Gregor sat the reigns in his lap and said, “see, after awhile she does it by herself. It is like she is on auto pilot or something.”
“Does she have to do this her whole life?” Joseph asked looking at the limp reigns.
“Until she is too old,” Gregor answered looking into Joseph’s eyes. “But don’t worry, horses get older faster than we do. Soon enough she will be out in the fields chasing the rabbits.”
“Horses chase rabbits?”
“Yup, they are natural enemies. Like cats and dogs.”
“Hmm…. Does she like being a handsome cab horse?”
“Not right now, but we’ll break her down.” Joseph’s eyes shot to the horse.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, but it has to be done,” Gregor said, pulling Joseph’s chin away from the horse. “After all, how else would we give nice people like yourselves tours of the city?
He said this last part loud, but Joseph’s parents paid no mind. “Well, let’s head on back,” the driver said picking up the reigns again.
“Okay.” Joseph blinked.
The cab turned at the square, where a group of teens a little older than Joseph stood like guards in their khaki’s, drove along the length of the tower and came back by way of the mall. Joseph looked inside hoping to get a glimpse of the mini-fountains that lined the escalators up and down, taunting both child and adult to reach out and get a hand wet. Earlier that day, Joseph’s father had let his guard down long enough to catch a handful of water before returning to the land of bitterness and anger. Joseph smiled.
“And I bring you back just as I found you. In one piece.”
“Barely,” Joseph’s father muttered as he stepped out of the cab, making way for the next family.
“It was bearable, Harold,” his mother said doing the same.
“Can I stay on for the next ride, Dad?” Joseph began without leaving his seat. “I promise to clean my room like you said.”
“No, get down.”
“I would take good care of him, you can count on me,” Gregor said still playing for his tip.
“No.”
“But Dad.”
“No Damn it, now get your ass down hear or it will be singing by the time I’m done with it.”
“Whoa, Echo.”
“Da¾”
“Put a lid on it and get down here.”
Joseph jumped from the captain’s seat and started walking towards the next corner. After making the turn, he sat on a bench with his arms across his chest. Tears burned on his face as he watched other handsome cabs cross by on their tours. Tears stood motionless as he ignored the pleas of his mother to get into the taxi. Tears came again as his father twisted his arm and forced him into the cab.
The taxi headed north and Joseph thought of echo chasing bunnies after many years put into the handsome cab business. He thought of himself walking on a college campus after many years put into his family. A campus similar to the one he saw when his father took him to football games with his Uncle. Those five years seemed like an eternity to Joseph, and the tears flowed again. He covered his face with his coat and stared out the window at all the lives driving past. He thought to himself, “why me, why this family?” As Joseph thought this in the taxi speeding away, across town, Echo, without the reigns to guide her, walked headfirst into oncoming traffic.
London: Lashed, Lacerated, Lampooned and Lambasted satirizes 18 popular Jack London novellas with adult content and language and the work is author Jay Dubya's 37th published hardcover/paperback book.
This is the trade paperback edition of the mythopoeic paranormal novel recounting the attempts of one Danny Blue and his friends to come to terms with a series of unusual events in his life. A Kindle eBook edition is also available.
