While Drowning in the Desert

Chapter 20

Ah, night in the desert.

The open sky, the sparkling stars, a fire crackling in the brisk air.

Add to these simple pleasures the joys of no food, no water, no blankets, the inimitable camaraderie of an old man soliloquizing about the good old days, and a moronic Lebanese kidnapper pointing a gun at you, and the heightened sensibilities produced by the awareness of one’s imminent execution, and you have yourself one of life’s peak experiences.

It’s Miller time!

Nathan seemed to occupy a mental space all his own. I could hardly blame him. A man his age must have been exhausted after a carjacking, a kidnapping, a car accident, an explosion and a hike up a dirt road to an abandoned mine where he would be starved, dehydrated and frozen. I didn’t feel so zippy myself.

So it was little wonder that he had gone into the drone zone, a stream of consciousness that had innumerable pools and eddies.

We all leaned against our logs and stared into the fire. Sami held the gun in his lap pointed directly at yours truly while he used his free hand to alternately massage his sore crotch and rub his inflamed eye.

Nathan had been at it for a good two hours and had just worked his discursive way back to the DeLillo Sisters.

I was barely listening as Nathan droned. “… and the DeLillo Sisters were twins. You could not tell them apart except that Dorothy DeLillo had a mole on her tukus, but of course only Donahue knew this because the DeLillo Sisters were in vaudeville, not burlesque. Nobody saw Dorothy DeLillo’s tukus except for Donahue because Dorothy DeLillo was very proper except for one time, and that was when she shared a bill with the Great Rulenska. Hypnotists always have Russian names, don’t ask me why. But you never see a hypnotist with an Italian name. Rulenska wasn’t Russian, he was Polish, from New Britain, Connecticut. Why they call this town New Britain I’ll never know because it’s all Polacks there. I stayed one night in New Britain on my way from New Haven to the Catskills…”

There go the DeLillo Sisters, I thought. And I still didn’t know what had happened to Hannigan’s glass eye, either. Not to mention how Nathan had come to teach “Who’s on First” to Lou Costello.

I looked over at Sami, who had a dazed look in the one eye that wasn’t all red and swollen and rapidly closing.

“… because there was a snowstorm. You cannot get a lightbulb changed in New Britain, Connecticut, because there are so many Polacks living there. No Jews either, so just try to get decent deli. A Polish sausage maybe. Sauerkraut, drech.

“In the Catskills they have Jews. More Jews in the Catskills than in Israel. I played the Catskills many times. The delicatessen? Magnificent. Not Wolff’s perhaps, but very good. The one time I played the Catskills after spending an endless night in New Britain, Connecticut, I do my schtick to an empty room. There are maybe twelve Jews plus the waiters in the room. Try making twelve Jews and three waiters who are making no money laugh. They laugh at nothing. A fire maybe they laugh at, because the hotel is losing so much money.

“I told them the joke about the priest and the rabbi. Father Murphy goes up to Rabbi Solomon and says, ‘Sorry about the fire in your synagogue.’ Solomon says, ‘Shhh. It’s tomorrow.’

“Nobody laughed. To them this is not funny. That night, what do you think? I can’t get to sleep, I look out the window of my room, what do I see?”

Nathan had my attention. It finally occurred to me (duh) that what I was hearing was what we graduate- school types recognize as an allegory. Sami, on the other hand, was not really listening, but I don’t think he ever had the advantage of attending graduate school. So he was just staring into the fire. But trained as I am to find symbolism in everything, whether it’s there or not, I was listening, as they say, intently.

“I see Sammy Stein, the hotel owner, sneaking out the back of the restaurant with the gasoline cans. Sammy looks up and sees me. Then he gets into his car and a few minutes later, guess what? The restaurant burns down. I don’t say anything, I mind my own business. What am I going to do, testify?

“A few days later Sammy, that schmuck, calls me, tells me to keep my mouth shut if I know what’s good for me. I decide to go work Vegas for a while. In Vegas, I have friends.”

“What happened with the DeLillo Sisters?” I asked softly.

“Ah,” Nathan said. “Dorothy DeLillo’s mole remained just a rumor until there is a party at Donovan’s after-hours. Everybody wants to see the mole! In a nice way, I mean. Very friendly. Dorothy refuses. Finally Rulenska says, I can make you show the mole.’ Dorothy says, ‘Bullfeathers. I have seen your crummy act a hundred times, it’s a phony.’ Rulenska just laughs, gets out his big pocketwatch and starts to chant, ‘Watch the watch, watch the watch,’ over and over again.’”

Nathan was moving his index finger back and forth across his face.

“ ‘Watch the watch, watch the watch. You’re getting sleepy, sleeeepy, sleeeeepy, sleeeeeeeeepy…’”

Sami’s good eye was just about closed. His chin touched his chest.

“Sleeeeeeeeepy… sleeeeeeeeeeepy… sleeeeeeeeeeeeeepy…”

I went for him.

Sami opened his eyes and raised the gun.

I punched him in the face.

A knockout.