Chapter 4: Three Wise Guys & The Little Zippo Girl
In the hours between midnight and 2 a.m., 11-year-old Mariquita Perez sold only two items: one to a woman shift worker who felt sorry for her, and another to an unsolvable man, but who nonetheless gave good advice. “Little one, nobody but a drunk's gonna buy those things on a corner like this. Go where customers are flush. The Regent-Imperial! Not a man in that hotel will pass you by. These are gentlemen's gems.” And he cuddled the fancy lighter he had just purchased.Mariquita, shivering in the cold, gathered up all the goods she had displayed on several overturned boxes. Before putting the last into her bag, she struck its flint and brought her hand in around the flame. Then she swapped hands and warmed the other. A voice sounded out of the bleakness, “Remember, the Regent-Imperial! Either that or Rumble Alley, where there's gentlemen, too, and just as much green.”
Stepping inside the lobby of the hotel was like entering an implausible dream; she half expected to see topaz canaries flying around. There were marble columns, walls of calfskin and onyx, a backlit waterfall which changed color every few seconds. And it was steeped with people hurrying in all directions. Mariquita took off her coat. While she was gazing round, another waif, with nothing to sell, raced across the atrium and snatched the coat. Mariquita got hold of an arm and the two tugged at it. The coat was light, not well-made and it began to tear. The girl seemed the very embodiment of frostbite. So Mariquita let go. Just then a trio of men with white shirts and red vests came at her. “Out!” they shouted. “Out!”
Out on the street Mariquita found the grime-covered waif sitting contentedly on a crate. The girl stood up. Mariquita said, “The coat's yours. Just tell me how to get to Rumble Alley.”
She instantly made three sales. “These seem awfully old,” said the first man. “Do they work?” And he took a lighter. The flame surprised him, and he stepped back as if his cheek had been brushed. “That's a healthy light. I'll take it!” What he most liked about it was the mother-of-pearl case. His confederate said, “You have Zippos?”
“Plenty,” said Mariquita. “They're windproof, you know.”
“How about Scriptos,” said the third.
“I do,” she said. Now there was $30 in her pocket.
“Where did you get these?” asked the first man. “They're not ordinary lighters.”
“My older sister. Inherited'm. They're pretty old, I know, but they work.”
“You're a real go-getter, kid.”
“Oh, no money for me. It all goes to Lucia's baby. And to help get our grandmother back. Hopefully before Christmas.”
The three men swept into the room where King Malvello was pulling at his chin, pondering a table full of jewelry. Damian Hunt stood studying his expressions. A thug at Malvello's side snorted and announced the three arrivals, “If it ain't the three candymakers: Jasper, Balto and Malcam!”
Balto recognized Damian, “Hey - whatcha doing these days, Hunt?”
“Same old ... building ice boats at Skipper's.”
“Ice boats?”
“It's a good craft ... honest work.”
“Not so good that you're giving breaking and entering a shot, eh?”
“I didn't intend to break.”
“It's not the breaking should concern you: it's the leaving and with how much!”
Malvello waved for quiet. He took a cigar from a silver case. Jasper brought out his new lighter. “What's this?” asked Malvello. “Awfully good taste for a nimrod. That's a $500 lighter!”
“Huh?” said Jasper, who described how the three acquired the lighters. Balto showed his find to Malvello, who said, “This one's worth as much. Let me see yours, Malcam.” And the three described the girl's collection. Malvello, an unmatched authority on rarities, said, “You fools, do you see that date?”
“1932.”
“And this kid has how many others like these?”
“Two or three dozen.”
“Which means you fellows are going to gallop right back there and have at this kid's inventory.”
Daimy stepped closer to Malvello, who gave him a steel eye, “You're not gonna steal from a kid?”
“Mr. Hunt, one never takes risks when risks are not necessary.” And he disappeared into a back room. When he returned he laid a small box on the table. “If for $10 she was glad to sell one, then she'll be euphoric to sell the whole lot for these,” and he stacked 10 gold coins on the table. Balto hiccupped, “Those are $50 Liberty heads!”
“Are they real?” asked Daimy.
“Oh, the gold is real, but they weren't struck by any American mint. Now, to sweeten the deal,” and Malvello brought out a silver tipped bottle of perfume, “She's a girl, right? Tell her this is from Salalah, the perfume capital of Arabia. And then give her this, too: straight from L'Erbolario's ... in Italy.”
Jasper read the jar: “Commiphora Luminous Body Cream.”
“But she's just a kid!”
“She's a girl who wants to be a woman.”
Daimy stepped between the men, “But her collection is worth thousands!”
“If she has even twenty similar to these three, then I estimate they're worth half as much as your whole glittering hoard here, Damian.”
“It's not right,” said Daimy.
“Better to cheat than to steal,” said Jasper, sneering.
“One sale and she'll be able to come in from the cold. What can be wrong about that?” said Malcam.
“They're probably the only Christmas gifts she'll get!” said Balto. “So be glad.”
“Where is she?” asked Malvello. “In Rumble Alley.”
Malvello waved an impatient hand and the three were gone. Daimy raked up his jewelry, stuffed his bag and departed, “I'll think about your offer, King.” He took the stairs in threes. Halfway down he stumbled and took a violent fall. He lay for many minutes quite faint. When he rose he felt the piercing bruises in his thighs. Out on the street he walked with a patent limp, his left hand throbbing. By the time he found the trio, they had already completed their transaction; the little coatless girl was walking away. Each of the three held a little satchel that rattled with lighters. Daimy yelled down the alley, “Hey, kid!” Then he lunged at the men, “You cheats!”
The three stepped easily aside and as they walked away shouted, “Merry Christmas, boatbuilder!” And as they outpaced Daimy, who gave chase, the little girl disappeared round a corner. If Rumble Alley were just a single sinister lane it would not have taken Daimy long to find her again. But the name is given to a wide swath of underbelly. Daimy sped the best he could through the gloomy streets where she might have gone, desperately looking. After nearly two hours he spotted a small figure on a high doorstep at the end of the Alley's most baleful street. It was her.
When he came upon her she was staring into the brickface of the building opposite, whispering, a faint smile on her lips. “Why are you still out on the cold? Have you no home?” Daimy threw off his coat and wrapped it round her. He smelled the perfume she'd applied: old lady's perfume. On one of the steps was an open jar of cream. She said softly, “It's so hard; it helps to warm it. I sold all my lighters, though.” Daimy tucked his coat in underneath her. “But mi abuelo gave me his,” she said, nodding to the brickface. “Don't go, Tato! We haven't finished our cakes yet,” she said. In her hand was an old lighter, clearly not one of the valuable ones. It looked oddly familiar to Daimy. He huddled close to her, transferring all his warmth to her shivering body. She seemed to warm. Then her eyes focused on Daimy, alert. The blue in her face receded.
“They took your coat!” was all he knew to say.
“No,” she said. The remoteness in her eyes had vanished.
“But they left you without one!”
“My sister will bring me one. Will you go to her and ask for a coat?” And the little girl reached weakly into a pocket. She gave Daimy a postcard. On the front were several views of the North Pole: Santa, reindeer, elves. On the reverse was a brief inscription, “Regresa a casa pronto, pequena hermana!” The addresses were clear. “You're Mariquita, your sister's Lucia?”
She nodded, but Daimy felt her head fall back, heavily.
“I will get you to a warm place. And get your lighters back, too. I promise.”
“You're one of them, aren't you?”
“No. ... I'm not of them.”
“You are. You're the fourth man. I thought there was another in the shadows. They gave me gifts.”
“No, I've never been with them.”
Mariquita tried lifting her head, as if to struggle to see Daimy in what little light there was. “See, I'm a silly girl. I forgot that I'd need my lighters to stay warm. And to see.”
“I'll keep you... ” Did she just kiss his hand? Or just roll her head?
The little girl closed her eyes, whispering lowly, “The fourth man: it is you.”
Daimy shook his head vigorously and whispered, too, “I swear!”
A pieta-like silhouette of the pair formed, crouched as they were on the jagged steps - half prone, half seated. Daimy rocked Mariquita in his arms and in his arms the girl took her last breath.
“No!” he sobbed, shouting up into the void of the black sky. “God, no!”
At that moment, the three men entered the alley. “We thought you'd be trouble,” said Jasper. Then Balto hollered, “The girl's froze to death!” Daimy brought her body closer to his. “This is gonna tangle us,” said Malcam. “And we can't have no ties. No risks.” They pulled Daimy away from her and retrieved the gold coins. “You swine!” he shouted. “Utter wicked rats!” But his one fist was no match for their six, and soon there was blood upon the street.
They carried Daimy back to King Malvello. “You did the right thing, boys.”
“They just left her there!” Daimy roared, his eyes so swollen that he saw Malvello only in shifts.
Malvello answered, “Your heart bleeds, doesn't it, Daimy?”
“It's starting to,” he said.
“Trouble we don't need, Daimy. Capice?”
Daimy touched the raw bulbs on his face. He lowered his head. “What did you say you#'d give me for my stuff?”
“Well, without prejudice, five grand. Just as before.”
“And what is this box of lighters worth?”
“To be honest: I overestimated. It'll bring me 2K on a good day.”
“I'll swap you. My bag for that box.” Malvello glistened, and said, “Sorry. I like novelties.” Then he counted out 50 $100 bills. “Now our business is complete, eh?” Daimy rolled the bills into his pocket and left.
It was nearing sunrise. Finding Lucia was not difficult. The address was a seamy motel alongside the freight yards. A young woman opened the door a slice. “Lucia?”
“I don't know you,” she said. “Am I supposed to?”
“My name is Damian Hunt. And - if I could talk to you. ... about your sister.” Daimy bowed his head, his voice shaky and low. “My sister! What? I don#'t have any sisters.”
“Lucia Perez?” She nodded yes. “I mean your sister Mariquita.” And he gave her the postcard. “Strange to have my handwriting on a card I never wrote. But - I know no Mariquita. I have no sisters. What's happened to your face?”
“I don't understand,” said Daimy. “Your sister, out with your lighter collection.”
“My lighters? Are you a buyer?” She let him in.
“I tried to get them back. But you must know what's happened to her.” Then Daimy went faint. He took a step and Lucia guided his collapse toward the bed. When he woke his head was propped up. As he lay, helpless and groggy, Lucia spoke calmly from her chair. “I thought you were a thief. You talk in your sleep. People who talk in their sleep never lie. It's a hard story to believe, but that's my signature, and all my lighters are gone.#”
“I don't understand.”
“I have - had - a rare lighter collection. It was under my bed when I went so sleep. It's not there now. It was up for sale.”
“I just don't understand.”
“You believe in the Milagro Beanfield?”
“You mean the movie?” said Daimy. Lucia sat on the bed at his feet and opened a small box. “Some things you can explain. Like these,” and she opened the lid. “Brincadores.”
“Jumping beans,” said Daimy.
“The larva of a tiny moth - that's what's inside. If you warm one in your hand, it will twitch. Jump. Not such magic. My baby, she loves them. One day she will learn better, but not for a long, long time.” Daimy had not even noticed the small child sleeping in the corner. “Tiffany Anunciata,” said Lucia, radiating. “She will sleep like that all day. Never any fuss.”
“She's very pretty.”
“And yet, in my hometown of Comala, I once saw a man leap from the street to the roof of the museum of Alejandro Rangel Hidalgo. A plain man in loafers. No tricks. Just jumped out of pale curiosity and then went to lunch. You cannot explain it. Only say that it is so.”
Daimy took one of the seeds. “I know about these. If you shake the bean and it rattles, it means the larva has died.” Daimy did not shake the bean.
“What's your favorite Christmas movie?”
Daimy hesitated, and said, sheepishly, “The Snowman.”
“The cartoon?!”
Daimy felt his forehead and leaned back.
“You speak pretty well in your sleep. It's not so fair of me. So ...” And while Daimy roused himself, he learned how she'd come to the United States, how she'd just finished her third year of college at Le Moyne. How she lost her husband overseas, and how the government intended to deport her, a cruelty she did not condemn. Learned how she abandoned her apartment to go underground and to save money. How her child desperately needed a scarce, uncommon medicine. How out of despair she accepted a loan from a tiburon, a shark, and how - unable to repay - she feared for her safety. How there were only three Perez's left in the world: her, her child, and her grandmother, Amabelle, who was at that moment on a train north. She told of the fury she still had, because her grandmother had sold everything she owned to come join her, to take care of the baby, to pay her debt. “I don't know how I can face her,” she said. “It's so unresolved. She gave up her whole residencia!” Tiffany Anunciata was now awake, placidly admiring the mufti-colored lights twinkling on the small plastic Christmas tree. “I mean, I love her. And I appreciate this sacrifice. But now she has nothing. Like me - nada, cero. I'm furious.”
“She's your grandmother.”
“Furious not at her. Me.”
“This is probably the worse time for this ... but,” and he unrolled his wad of bills.
“Oh, no ... not ... ” and Lucia waved him off, frowning.
“For your baby. No charity. What did you borrow?”
“Two thousand dollars. He thought I was going to get widow's benefits.”
“What do you owe?”
“Forty-five hundred.”
“Consider it reimbursement for your collection.”
“My baby will have needs for a long while.” Lucia looked very grave. She wrung her hands as if all heartache could be collapsed there, and defeated.
“When is your grandmother arriving?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Christmas Eve.”
“Look, I'll bargain with you,” said Damian. “There is an old woman I'd like you to look in on - just for a day. Stay with her till your grandmother comes. She's shut in and has no one else. I'll go meet your grandmother, and bring her to you.”
“Only on a condition.”
“Name it.”
“All the store's sell them, you know. At the counter.” And she pointed to the jumping beans.
“People buy'm, stare at'm a day, and then - never satisfied - break them open. And the little caterpillars die. ... All they ever want to become are moths. ... I'd like you to buy every single one in the city. You have enough money. And a whole day.”
In the taxi heading for the home of Mabel Hazelton, Lucia said, “You can't miss my grandmother. She speaks English pretty well.” And she whispered into Daimy's ear a description so proprietary that it made him laugh. “She's traveling with a mission worker friend named Patty Siragusa, who's continuing on up to Canada. She's safeguarding her until she pulls in to Syracuse.” Lucia touched Daimy's arm. “Oh, this fell from your pocket,” and she handed him an old lighter, not one of hers. It was the one Mariquita had clutched, engraved with an ancient fish breaching the surface of inscrutable water.
Next Chapter: “Five Times The Speed Of Wind” Go Back up to the Chapter List
There are No comments posted.
Share your thoughts
Login Here
-OR- Register Here