Cactus Flower
The cactus was ready to bloom. Father Luke gently brushed the tips of the needles with his fingers. “This goes, Donny.”
The Right Reverend Don was talking mile a minute gibberish about the Good Father’s landlord. ”. . .I mean Jeezus. If you had told me you had a one-eyed giant for a landlord I would’ve been prepared. Like to give me a heart attack or shit my pants when I saw the cocksucker,” the Right Reverend Don took the cactus. “Motherfucker. I knocked on the door and there he is, Polyphemus, in all his god damned glory.”
“That’s Pastor Ray,” said Father Luke
“Fuck the dumb shit, we’ve done been introduced at this point.”
Father Luke is a collector, a pack rat, one of those guys who never throws anything away. There are things he has which were given to him years ago still in proper working order. Poverty lends itself well to the opportunity of frugality.
“Cocksucker must be six foot eight, “The right Reverend Don said. “How’d he get that dead eye?”
“Knife fight, before he ever dreamed he’d be a Pentecostal Preacher,” said Father Luke. “Guys I know who are Preachers have one of two backgrounds. Prissy little fucks who were born with a silver crucifix in their hands. And rough and tumble, Rough Trade bastards who’ve seen the real guts and glory of this God’s world.”
“You keeping that fart magnet old ratty torn up sofa you been sleeping on, or are we shit canning it?” the Right Reverend Don asked.
“I figure we can dump it at the thrift store. They’ll take it.”
“Gimme a hand loading it up in the truck, Padre. And we’ll get rid of it right away before we finish loading up everything.”
“Okay. I gotta thank you again for helping me, Donny. Fucking back went out, and I was fucked up the ass. No way I would’a been able to do this shit alone.”
“Don’t worry about it Padre. You’re my best friend. That’s what we do.”
At the Thrift store, the boys were in for another sort of surprise.
“Say that again. You won’t take the sofa?” Father Luke said.
“No. We can’t. It’s in really bad shape, and no one will want it.”
“Padre? I know a place. C’mon, I’ll drive us there,” said The Right Reverend Don. And he waved his hand and said so long to the rasta man; the thrift store man with the dreadlocks tucked high up under the yarn knit cap and motioned to the Padre to follow.
In the truck, Donny turned to Father Luke. “So, Donny, where is this place?”
“Right back here after they close, Padre. We’ll just dump it behind the shop.”
The rest of the day was spent throwing books into boxes and wheeling out filing cabinets filled with writing out to the rented moving truck.
“You gonn’a be up for this in the morning, Donny?”
“Awww, sure Padre. You know, I hope you won’t mind me saying this but, Padre, this is a shit hole of a dive you are moving out of here.”
“No, Donny, I don’t mind. The landlords have been decent enough folks. ”
“Uh huh.”
“Donny. One of two things I usually hear when I am leaving a place:
‘Stay right where you are. I’m calling the police’
or this:
‘Get the hell out before I call the police’
Them folks, Donny, give me a hug and said they’d miss me.”
“See ya’ in the morning, Padre. I’m gonn’a go get a case of beer and cool the fuck off in this god damned Indian Summer heat.”
And, the next morning it was raining.
“This is a joke, right Padre?”
“Always rains when you move, Donny. You know that.”
“Let’s go dump that rat’s nest sofa you call a bed at that Rasta guy’s thrift shop and get the fuck outt’a Dodge and move you into The Pigeon Coop.”
The sofa fit nicely behind the Thrift Shop.
Pacific Ave was empty at 6:00 in the morning, and the Boys put the blinkers on the truck and began unloading.
“Look, ” said Father Luke. “There’s Blind Ed Kramer. Ed! It’s Father Luke. How the fuck are you?”
“Great, Father Luke. I’m out for a little stroll.”
“You know the Right Reverend Don, Don’t’cha Ed?”
“Sure,” said Ed shifting his white cane to his left hand to extend his right hand to shake hands with Donny. “How the Hell are you Reverend?”
“I’m okay Ed. Yourself?”
“Great. Getting a little stroll in the morning rain. It’s refreshing. So glad to see you fellas.”
“Ed?”
“Huh, Father Luke?”
“You mind doing me a little favor?”
“Sure, Father Luke.”
“Stand over yonder there by the moving truck I rented and watch to make sure no kids steal my shit, okay?”
“No problem.”
“Okay, Donny, help me unload this shit onto the elevator. And you and I can move the crap into the hallway on the fourth floor and then scoot it into my room.”
“What are you gonn’a do with all this crap once you got it moved in up there, Padre?”
“Well, what I’d like to do is just toss it out the window right back onto the street and be done with it. You okay over there, Ed?”
“Sure Father Luke,” Ed gave a little wave to a wall.
“Okay. Donny, let’s get this crap into the Hotel.”
Some kids advanced on Ed standing by the truck. “Hey, you got a smoke?”
“Fuck off, I’m blind,” said Ed.
After everything was moved in the rain stopped.
Indian Summers come and go, and life. . . Well, life is still life, which means it will probably rain when you decide it’s time to move. Donny is now dead. Ed is still Blind, maybe even more blind if that’s possible.
The cactus which the Right Reverend Don moved can still be seen in a fourth floor window from the street. Occasionally, long bony fingers can be seen touching the plant.Touching where a flower will bloom forth from something which is difficult to handle, and sharp to the touch.
