The Mysterious Golden Robe (1) The dark and dingy interior of the junk shop filled Martin’s expectations admirably. Its muskiness and a thin layer of dust conveyed age - and endless possibilities of bargains to be found. Like a child in a candy store, his eyes flitted everywhere. Over the past few months he’d discovered some favorite haunts, but this place was an absolute treasure house. Martin was a sculptor. A very fine sculptor at that but, earlier in the year, he realized quite by accident that people wanted the unusual, an original and contemporary creation that reflected the new age. He described his recent work as ‘priceless crap’ but only to himself. Hey, he thought, I’m making a living, who am I to argue. Give the people what they want - first rule of business. So, he took to scouring second-hand shops and local flea markets, developing an eye for a money-spinner, anything that fired his imagination and, as a sideline, anything he could clean up or restore for resale. He always found a buyer. Today though, on his way to meet his girlfriend, he made a short cut down an alley and found this place tucked in the shadows. "Hmmm, a really old curiosities shop." He muttered to himself. "Can I help you at all, sir?" The feeble voice startled him. "No thanks - just looking around." Martin turned and gave a wry smile. Oh my Gawd, he thought, just as I imagined. The old man was short, balding with thin, gray hair unkempt, sporting a thick moustache, round spectacles on the end of his nose and a scruffy smoking jacket over suspenders and vest. His lower half was hidden behind a tall, book-strewn counter. "Whatever," answered the proprietor, "just yell out if’n yer see somethin’ yer like, sonny. Actually, yer lucky ‘cos ah wuz jest on ma way out t’ git me some supper." He then clunked a rusty old Smith and Wesson on the counter. Martin smiled again at the change of attitude, and caught sight of a decorative, little tin box. Its weight surprised him as he examined it more closely. "A solid-silver snuff box, sir." Martin nodded appreciatively. "Sold to me by a certain lady of the night," the old man offered, "when this here town were jest wooden shacks, an’ tumbleweeds were the only things that moved. She were down on ‘er luck an’ gettin’ on a bit, if’n yer understand." "How much?" He grinned at the unlikely tale. "Ten bucks?" Martin whistled and went to put it back. "Seven dollars fifty then!" Martin hesitated a little longer and then repeated his actions, knowing full well how to play the game. An audible growl came from the owner’s stomach. "Five dollars ought t’ buy me sumptin’ t’ eat, right sonny?" Hmmm, a red velvet lining and a good polish aught to bring me a nice profit, thought Martin, or make a nice present for my Sally. Earlier that week, he’d found a bargain of an engagement ring - solid gold complete with a solitaire diamond and exactly the same size as a dress ring he’d borrowed without her knowledge. Worth far more than he paid for it and, through bargaining hard, an old battered pocket watch thrown in to boot. Though he favored the former idea more than the latter, he almost parted with a five-dollar bill until he noticed a cardboard box marked Saffron and nudged it with his toe. "What’s this?" "An old saffron robe, sir. Sold to me by a certain Tibetan monk down on ‘is luck when this here town…" "Yeah, yeah…heard it before!" He opened the box and was amazed to find a fabric of wonderful quality and the most golden yellow he’d ever clapped eyes on. Martin became mesmerized! "How much?" "Well, it wants a good clean an’ a bit o’ patchin’ ‘ere an’ there…" "How much?" Martin was thinking the guy should get some new specs. "Ah sure could do with a beer… t’ wash down ma supper, ah guess." Martin stuffed the robe back into the box, parted with ten dollars and picked up his prize. The old man seemed pleased until he opened his mouth, not that it could be seen beneath his whiskers. "Darn government! Everythin’ wuz fine till they invents that there inflation. Ah tell yer, sonny, things weren’t as bad as this when ah wuz your age. If’n ah wuz hungerin,’ ah’d jest go an’ kill fer ma gritals." "Don’t you worry, old timer, I’ll be back to buy your next meal. Jest save me that there snuffbox, you hear?" he said, mockingly, and banged the door shut behind him. A quick glance at his watch told him he was going to be late. Oh boy, better run, he thought to himself, mustn’t upset my girlie…especially today, of all days. Martin skipped and dodged the heavy traffic, horns damaging his eardrums. He then executed a sliding ninety-degree turn at the park entrance and sped up the path until he saw Sally waiting by the fountain. He slowed to a saunter and whistled some non-descript tune. Sally looked anxiously to her right and, just as he covered a third of the distance between them, a bruiser of a man blocked her from view. Her squeal quickened his steps again. "Hey!" he yelled, "Hey you, what’s your game?" The last thing he saw was the look of horror on Sally’s face and the biggest ham fist aiming for his mouth. Martin reeled three times in slow motion and hit the deck. The box bounced on the ground in front and spilled its contents. Through the blur and ringing in his ears, he heard a gruff voice saying, "Nice figure!" Another pitiful scream, the gruff voice say, "Gimme that!" And then receding footfalls fading as he lost consciousness. Seconds later, he sensed Sally by his side. "Martin! Oh Baby, are you hurt?" She knelt beside him and, through blurred vision, he noticed her blouse torn exposing a black-laced bra. He struggled to his knees while trying to shake the fog from his brain. Tasting a mouthful of metallic fluid, he spat and turned the paving red, a front tooth dangling precariously from the top gum. The fall had knocked the wind from his sails. "Huh…are you…okay? Wh…what did he do to you…the dirty bast…?" He coughed. His lungs heaved to suppress a sickening nausea; his entire body quivered feverishly. Sally spotted the old robe and, retrieving it between two fingers, expressed her disgust and placed it over her boyfriend’s shoulders. "I need to call an ambulance." "N-no!" Martin insisted, "G-get the p-police!" "C’mon Sweetie, I’ll get you home and tidy you up. You can sleep on my couch where I can keep an eye on you." With Sally’s help, he clambered to a semi-upright position and meandered like a groom on his stag night. As they approached the gate, he imagined a dark figure passing them by; a figure dressed in a long, black, full-length overcoat and a black, ten-gallon hat. From then on, Martin remembered nothing until he sank, gratefully, onto the plush, comfortable sofa in Sally’s parlor. Some moments later, just as he was nodding, a stinging sensation aroused him and caused a hissing intake of breath: Sally daubed his lip with cotton balls soaked with antiseptic. "Ouch! That hurt!" "Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. I’m only trying to make it better. There, I’m finished! Now…you get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow." Sally tucked him up, still wrapped in the old robe, and kissed him goodnight on the forehead. Once she’d turned out the light and left the room, Martin closed his eyes and peered into the blackboard of his empty mind. He felt warm and snug encased in the robe, almost floating from his body in a trance-like state. And then, the movie began! A flashing countdown from ten to one; and the first image on the screen of his mind, the steps leading up to a front door. The door is ajar and the camera zoomed to the keys left in the lock. A torturous scream and pitiful protests of girl’s voice come from her bedroom. The next shot traces the stairs to the bedroom door; it opens slowly. Inside, the lens focuses on the girl crying, naked and trapped beneath a huge brute ravishing her slender body. Zooming onto a knife held at her throat, the attacker’s head turns to face the camera fleetingly; the lens blurs; a searing pain in the cameraman’s guts as the knife is plunged and twisted until the image pan’s out again and lowers to floor level. A struggle occurs after the rapist finishes his evil deed. A flash of cold metal and the girl’s head falls over the edge of the bed. The image zooms slowly on a growing red necklace and her lifeless eyes staring into the lens. A pair of booted legs moves towards the exit. A hand appears from behind the camera, fingers spread trying unsuccessfully to grab an ankle. The assailant escapes. The hand quivers and strains until it drops slowly on the carpet. The lights go out. The movie ends! Martin thought he opened his eyes but the darkness of the room was the same as the darkness of his mind. What he did know, however, was that he shook with an uncontrollable dread and soaked in perspiration. He couldn’t move, couldn’t feel his body and that created even more fear. A little while later, he became free of his catatonic state. Boy, that was some nightmare, he reflected. He acknowledged that the girl was Sally, the rapist was the mugger in the park and that he was the cameraman. As far as he was concerned, the whole thing was down to his subconscious expressing the emotional events of the day. A bad dream, he called it. It took him a good hour though before he felt calm enough to sleep. * A loud bang caused Martin to open his eyes with a snap! And then, they grew even wider. He found himself outside the old curiosities shop, the cardboard box jammed under his left armpit. With a look of total disbelief and consternation, those same peepers darted about him trying to understand just what the hell was going on. His tongue protruded and investigated the swelling of his bottom lip, tasted dried blood in the cut and detected a loose tooth. These discoveries unnerved him even more. Martin groaned a very disturbing sound something short of an expletive. Then he recalled the previous evening, the dream, and the fear. His whole frame shuddered at the very thought. The highway in front appeared a blur as vehicles raced by, honking the same horns he’d heard before. And that, curiously enough, reminded him of Sally. A gut instinct caused him to launch himself into dodging and weaving amongst the traffic until he reached the other side, speed along to the entrance of the park, slide through the gate and race to where he knew Sally would be. He ran along the path full pelt until he espied Sally turning her head from the fountain to her right and., as he somehow expected, in an anxious stare. As he drew a little closer, the same brute appeared from nowhere. He saw Sally’s expression turn to one of horror, her cute, little mouth rounding in a silent scream, a huge hand rip her blouse and slide inside to manhandle her left breast. Anger washed through his innards as he grabbed the arm of the assailant. This time he ducked, but not quick enough. A simple dig from the giant’s elbow connected with Martin’s nose and sent him reeling once again. He heard a voice growl, "Gimme that!" and then the escaping footfalls, just as he landed on the ground in a heap, and…in exactly the same place as before. Sure enough, before he could come to his senses, Sally was by his side. "Martin! Oh Baby, are you hurt?" Martin picked himself up on unsteady elbows. "He…he took your pocket book!" He mumbled. His nose felt huge as if someone had their fingers in his nostrils. His eyes crossed and uncrossed of their own free will. And then he sneezed, turning the paving red. "Ugh!" said Sally, picking up the robe tentatively and placing it over his body. "I need to call an ambulance." Martin simply crossed his eyes again and shook his head. This isn’t happening, he thought. "C’mon Sweetie, I’ll get you home and tidy you up. You can sleep on my couch where I can keep an eye on you." He gripped the bridge of his nose and got to his feet with the help of his girlfriend’s arm. He knew there was no one else around but that didn’t stop him from looking. Sure enough, there he was, the figure dressed in black approaching the fountain on the other side, taking no notice whatsoever. They reached the gates this time before his memory faded, only to return once he’d parked his butt on Sally’s couch. The feel of the cushions supporting his feeble body and the warm touch of the golden robe annulled his fears. A cold compress on his forehead or rather, a small packet of frozen peas, stirred him from his reverie. "Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. I’m only trying to make it better. There, I’m finished! Now…you get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow." "Sal, tell me I’m dreaming." Sally tucked him up, kissed him goodnight and flicked the light switch as she left the room. "Yeah, I’m dreaming alright!" He muttered before closing his eyes to watch the movie again. * The bang seemed much louder than before and Martin’s eyes snapped open instantly. He knew exactly where he was, felt the pain from his injuries and became acutely aware of a shiver running down his spine. Nevertheless, his first thought was, "Sally!" He lurched into the thoroughfare, bounced off car hoods and fell to the walkway on the other side. Still clutching the cardboard box, he struggled to his feet, ran blindly onward through the park gates and tore at maximum speed towards the love of his life. Almost within arms length, he saw her turn her gaze from the fountain to her right. He saw her face change from a pleasant smile to a quizzical look and that’s when the bulldozer struck. The shoulder charge knocked him clean off his feet and sent him headlong into the fountain. The pain in his left brow caused a blackout but, when he came to, he found himself in exactly the same spot as he had twice before. He stared down at a clean pavement as his beloved robe was placed over his body. "Aha! Gotcha you bast…!" Then the blood dripped from his forehead and onto the ground. ‘Martin! Oh Baby, are you hurt?" Aw Jeez, he thought, I feel like shi…! "I need to call an ambulance." "No Sally. You need to call the police, the FBI, the Pope…anybody!" "C’mon Sweetie, I’ll get you home and tidy you up. You can sleep on my couch where I can keep an eye on you." "But you aren’t keeping an eye on me, are you? You don’t even know what’s happening. Hell, I don’t even know what’s happening!" From the corner of his vision, he caught sight of the man in black. He lurched to his feet but spots swam in his brain. He took a rag from his pocket and dabbed the gash above his left eye, while holding Sally’s ever supporting, freaking arm. They left the park and even got across the road. His chin resting on his chest, Martin could see Sally’s torn blouse, the black-laced bra he’d bought her for Christmas, the warm, pink, delicate flesh of her…! Arrgh! He came to again, on her settee. The familiar smell of antiseptic reached him before Sally even entered the room. He winced as soon as the fluid touched the gash above his eye and again when a dressing was fixed in place. "Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. I’m only trying to make it better. There, I’m finished! Now…you get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow." She followed exactly the same ritual and left her boyfriend blinking dejectedly in the dark. Oh, you’ll see me tomorrow all right, thought Martin cynically, that’s for sure - or should I say today - or even yesterday? In fact, he thought long and hard but his mind kept on going blank. He had to change something, but what. How do I stop a gorilla in his tracks? If I managed to hit him, I doubt he’d feel anything…even if I used a baseball bat. This is a freaking nightmare! Then it dawned on him. Yeah! Yeah…that’s what I need…a weapon! He fumbled his way to the kitchenette mildly aware of a pain in his hip that caused a limp. Finding the switch, he waited patiently for the strip light to blink on. Cupboards and drawers opened and closed until he found the cutlery, a bread knife glinted invitingly. Humph! He considered he wouldn’t have the nerve to use it, and slowly shut the drawer. Peering around him through hooded eyelids for something more suitable, he fixed his gaze on a pair of imitation colts mounted on a plaque; a legacy from a father to his daughter. The first time he saw them he thought they were real. If they fooled him, they’d fool the big guy. He checked a chamber and found it wasn’t loaded, thankfully, but reasoned no one else would know that. As long as it scared the attacker away is all that mattered, as long as he didn’t get Sal’s pocket book and kept his dirty paws to himself. With a feeling of great optimism, he returned to the sofa, draped the robe over him and pointed the gun to the ceiling, getting the feel of it by acting out the scenario. "Whoa! Hold on there, Buddy! Let’s think about this a moment!" He sat bolt upright. His eyes narrowed into slits and his frown tugged at the head wound. You can’t appear in the street brandishing a gun in public. What if the police turned up? What if you were surrounded and they prevented you from getting to the park? He remembered dodging at least two police cruisers. By the time you convinced them of your story, that’s assuming you could, who knows what that ‘meathead’ would do to Sally. What if he intended to drag her into the bushes and I interfered with that plan? His eyes snapped shut and he shook the thought from his mind. He lay back down. Must remember to keep it hidden. He slid the colt under the robe and inside his jacket feeling the thump of his heartbeat on his hand. Must remember that…he yawned…and caught the movie just in time. * The familiar noise woke him right on cue to familiar surroundings. He glanced to and fro feeling the reassuring presence of the colt in his grip, hidden under his coat. A leer spread across his features and he ignored the agony of his injuries. Making haste and limping along his usual route, he rounded the gates just in time to see Sally turn her head. "Oh Jeez!" Hobbling as fast as he was able, he crossed the halfway mark as the shadow stepped into his vision. He saw every detail and heard the gruff tones growl, "Gimme that!" "I’ll give you something, Buster! Stick ‘em up before I blow your freaking guts out!" The guy turned his head and two black, malevolent eyes burned right into Martin’s soul, making him swallow hard; the face in the movie. The same evil orbs glanced downwards resulting in a sickening, toothless grin that cracked the mugger’s stare. Martin did the same and broke out in a cold sweat once he noticed his hand holding a gun that wasn’t even there. "Ohhhhhhhh shi…!" He never got to finish the sentence. The agony in his groin caused by the mugger’s boot put paid to that. Gasping for tiny intakes of air and bent almost double, Martin clutched his privates and, with knees locked together, made slow progress to the spot where he knew the paving so well. He fell to his knees hard, the box leaving him in his miserable predicament. "Martin! Oh Baby, are you hurt?" "It’s not a dream!" Holding himself with both hands, he lurched forward landing on his forehead. The little breath he’d acquired promptly expelled itself in a pathetic groan. He raised his head to catch sight of, through eyes now bulging, the black figure making his entrance. "It’s not a dream…!" Then the tears rolled, his face turned ashen, nausea hit his stomach and his blood stained the ground yet again. Shortly after, he felt the robe on his shoulders and Sally’s sweet voice, repeating those same words, seemed more like a cheese grater. His gait became the amble of a chimpanzee with a hangover and, once they’d crossed the road, an ironic yet alien thought entered his mind. From his new height, he couldn’t glimpse Sally’s cleavage; the one thing he wouldn’t mind seeing over and over again. Although he retained even more of the journey home, Martin’s mind focused on the memory of soft and gentle cushions on the couch until it faded. Once there, his consciousness returned and he sank gingerly but gratefully into sheer comfort and relief. He spread his legs and allowed the robe, his personal comforter, to fall from his shoulders. Sally changed his dressing, stemming the reopened wound, and then slapped a large bag of frozen peas onto his lap. He jumped almost six inches from his seat. "Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. I’m only trying to make it better." She said, while molding the bag gently into place, "There, I’m finished! Now…you get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow." The tuck, the kiss, the light, and then she were gone. Martin sat unmoving, staring up into black space. It’s not a dream; he repeated to himself, it’s a premonition! I’ve got to change things but there’s just not enough time. I can’t get any further forward. Why won’t that guy in black help us? Who the hell is he, anyway? The cold in his groin spread into his body making him shiver. He drew the golden robe around him and continued with his reverie. What else can I do? He remained in that position for some time but no solution came to mind. At some future date, he and Sally were going to die horribly. He was the only person to know that yet he couldn’t prevent it. Suddenly, he felt utterly defeated. Large globules appeared in the corners of his ducts, traveled slowly down his cheeks, tickled his neck and wet his shirt collar. And every now and then he sniffed. In the dark, where no one could see…he sobbed. A long while later, he moaned audibly and dabbed his eyes carefully with the edge of the yellow fabric. Hauling himself upright, he removed the peas and rested his elbows on his knees. I’m missing something, he sniffed, I must make some time but how, that’s the problem. Amid his aches and pains, he forced himself through every detail since first leaving the shop. A pattern began to emerge. Things didn’t happen exactly in each case but there is a pattern. Sally does and says the same things no matter what. The meathead repeats his words and certain actions but only until I appear. The guy in black shows up at different stages but that only depends on when I see him. I’m the only one who doesn’t stick to the script so, he concluded, I’m the only one who can change it. Yet…how? How do I do that? Acutely aware of a headache forming as well as his injuries, he heaved and staggered to his feet, wavering on unsteady pins. Feeling his way to a corner lamp, he pulled the robe tighter and fumbled for the switch. The huge mirror above the mantelpiece reflected the dimly lit interior of the room. As Martin moved toward it, he caught his own image and became instantly horrified. His face was so badly damaged he hardly recognized himself. He looked more like the hunchback of Notre Dame! He thought long and hard again, until his expression changed to one of curious concern. "Wait a minute…!" He peered into the mirror, down at the robe and into the mirror again. "Well I’ll be…! How the hell…?" What he saw was a dirty, discolored rag complete with holes and rips. "That’s what the old guy saw. And Sally, too!" He recalled her disgust when she picked it up from the ground with two fingers. Did this thing have something to do with my problem, he wondered. His stomach flipped. Doesn’t Sal notice my face? Hmmm, apparently not, otherwise she would have said so. The excitement waxed and waned. No, not true…she does everything in the same way. The flutters came back again. No, that’s not true either; it suddenly dawned. She cleaned my lip, put peas on my nose, a dressing on my head, peas in my lap…whoa, what am I missing here? Martin retraced his steps and plonked himself down, his hip more painful than the rest of him. Right, let me think. Sally treats every wound differently. So what? What does that prove? It proves that everything repeats itself unless it involves me. Therefore, I must be able to change the script somehow! "Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart." He mimicked in sarcastic tones. Not as sorry as I am, he thought. "I’m only trying to make it better." He went on. "There, I’m finished!" Yeah, and so am I. Doomed, that’s what I am. "Now…you get some sleep and I’ll…" He stopped dead. "Well, son of a…that’s it! Don’t sleep, you dumb ass." He changed his voice to ape the old man. "If’n yer don’ sleep yer can stays awake. An if’n yer stays awake, yer can ring ‘er up an’ arrange t’ meet ‘er somewheres else, you freakin’ great idiot!" Now, why didn’t I think of that? His heart thumped like a hammer on a drum and butterflies flitted in his guts. Some hours passed and Martin’s head bobbed like a cork on a tumultuous sea. He’d deliberated upon his solution and became totally convinced of the outcome but now, his eyelids ached; he fought a desperate battle to keep them open. Counting roughly the hours he had to go before he could make his phone call when he did this morning, he knew he would lose the fight. It was a pity he couldn’t go and wake her up there and then, but he knew instinctively that wouldn’t work. His chin touched his chest and he jumped bolt upright and wide-eyed. He yawned, stretched and wondered at the exact time. Peering at his pocket watch in the dismal light, he realized it had stopped. Shaking his hand, he raised the watch to an ear. Nothing. Oh well, should’ve known better. Never buy moving parts from a flea market - second rule of business. He stared at the pointers for some time. Even if they’re free. He stared some more. Then it hit him like a brick in the face. "Well, I’ll be a son of a God dam…!" He’d arranged to meet Sally by the fountain at 6.00pm. A nice romantic spot for a proposal of marriage, he’d figured. The watch had stopped at 5.50pm, the time he’d left the shop. He was wide-awake now, knowing he was so close to a real solution. Each time I wake up I’m outside the shop. The watch has stopped at ten to six. What am I missing, he snarled. What’s my problem? He pondered. I need to buy some time, God dammit! He considered his statement. I…need…some…more…time…so? His face broke into a huge grin, "So then, turn the freaking watch back, you asshole!!!" Martin reckoned he was in the shop a good ten minutes, so he set the pointers at 5.40pm, checked the watch wasn’t ticking and settled down to a good night’s sleep. He couldn’t wait to see what would happen but he reckoned he had it all figured out. * There was no door slamming to wake him this time but, when his sight returned, Martin was surprised to find himself in motion, strolling casually down the alley. Punching the air with a fist, he shouted, "Yahoo! I did it!" Feeling mighty pleased with himself, he realized that all but one of his injuries had disappeared; his hip still bothered him somewhat. As he came to the store, he paused to look through the window. "Stick yer God dam robe up yer God dam you-know-where, old timer!" He laughed. At the thoroughfare, he found very little traffic. With a hop, skip and a jump, and a pain shooting up his side, he landed on the other sidewalk and headed for the gates. As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of his Sally approaching the fountain, retrieving some coins from her wallet to throw into the water. Bless her, he mused, she’s making a wish. "Oh, you idiot!" Panic chewed his guts to shreds, "Why didn’t you set the watch hours earlier, you knucklehead?" He broke into a mad dash. Sally had appeared from the same approach as the mugger, which meant he was either following her or not very far behind. "Sally!" He screamed. She looked up and waved. "No! No! Sally!" He waved both arms to get her attention and draw her to him. But Sally just waved some more. He was almost there but had very little time left to explain. He grabbed her arm, "C’mon Sal, we gotta get out a here!" His lungs heaved and his hip ached. Sally pulled away saying, "There’s no hurry. We’ve got plenty of time, Sweetie." "No we haven’t, that’s just it. Now, c’mon!" He grabbed her again, attempting to drag her into a run. But Sally stood her ground. "Don’t I get a kiss first?" He rolled his eyes and gave her a peck.
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Copyright © 2002 Stan A Fowler |