Waterfalls of Dust

Peter's hand was through the spokes of his bicycle as he attempted to climb just three more steps to his cousin's apartment. He stumbled again, dropping the baby blue colored Schwyyn. Though Peter didn't slam the bicycle, it did make a considerable crashing sound as it hit the steps. Since it was only four o'clock in the afternoon, he wasn't very concerned about disturbing anyone. However, he noticed that the top apartment door, #9, seemed to be ajar. It almost crept open yet it wasn't very long before Peter saw a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, peer down the steps. The man glared at Peter. His hard, worn look was intimidating. Though Peter wanted to just crawl away in some hole and hide, he nodded. The two had seen one another, passing each other in front of the apartment from time to time. Yet they never spoke. The man was part of a group of Eastern Europeans living in the large, top floor flat. Or so Peter figured that the man lived in the apartment. Peter's hand was still through the spokes and at first he expected some assistance. Yet after another second of the man's glare, he knew that wasn't gonna happen. The door closed as creepily as it had opened. "Fair enough." For the following few minutes, as Peter finally picked up the bike and carried it through his cousin's apartment, he kept tossing anything do with Eastern Europe around in his mind. From "Goodbye Lenin" to borscht, Peter continued to switch the various images, movies, ideas, foods and all other things Slavic within his mind. It took him a full minute before he realized James was speaking to him through the confines of his bedroom. "I'm sorry, James what did you say?" "I said 'Next time your having problems with the bike, just call me OK?' Peter, I want to help you, y'know?" Peter felt that this level of honesty needed to be met face to face and not through walls and doors. He gently knocked on his cousin's door before James ok'd his entering. Spread out on his bed, shirt off and khaki Dickie shorts just above his butt crack, James smiled at his cousin. He took large puffs from a Philly blunt, which stuck out of the side of his mouth. Peter thought of James as a cross between Cheech Marin and Clint Eastwood . Of all the Salvatos, James was the least best looking yet he made up for it with a positive attitude and zest for business. Though only twenty-eight years old, he already owned his own bicycle pedi-cab company with sixteen employees in San Paderno, part of Southern California. For the past few months, James had encouraged Peter to leave home for a little bit and visit him in San Paderno.
"James , you gonna work tonight?" "Yeah, I was thinking about it but we're barely gonna have enough bikes so I'm not sure." "Oh." James watched as his cousin lowered his head in frustrated disappointment. He sat up in bed as he spoke again to Peter. "Hey, I gotta bunch of shit to do in the office, so take my bike." "No, no James, I mean thanks a lot for the offer but I don't wanna take it from you." "Hey, it isn't an offer. You work for me and I need you out riding tonight!" Peter grinned at James and shook his head as he thanked him. "Since you're going to be out, you need to know what bike you got. Because we're on such high demand, I was gonna use Frank…" "Oh, damn , it is gonna be a busy night if you're using… or I'm using Frankenstein!" "Yeah, well I told you about Sergei, so it's no surprise that the Biz is getting busier." "So, the city really went through with it? They actually shut him down?" "Yeah, finally, huh? See, since it took them down in city hall so long to fine and penalize him, he was able to run out almost every pedicab business in San Paderno, beside us and Osterhouse. I mean that's what happens when someone has over a hundred employees and he absolutely floods the market! The damn bastard … " "Come on, calm down, James. Anyways, it looks like he's a goner so he won't be a problem any more." James scratched his naked belly, amusing himself with the idea that his arch-enemy Sergei Ivanovich was no longer operating the largest pedicab business in San Paderno. Sergei had access to both people and industry back in his home country. He was able to offer hope to Eastern European kids hell bent on living in America. Through brief work visas, these youths were to work in San Paderno for three months at a time and always for Sergei Ivanovich. By his first year, Sergei had fifty employees and by his second, one hundred and eighteen. Though he completely drowned the business with his workers, this wouldn't have bothered James so much had his employees been trained properly. Instantly greeted with a cheaply built pedi-cab, that they were to constantly rotate amongst fellow employees, these modern immigrants of the computer age were thrown into the down-town mix and told to charge whatever fee they wanted. With no restrictions or rules to heed, these youths became a black eye upon the pedicab business. Charging exorbitant rates from thirty to fifty dollars for two to three block long rides and known to threaten ignorant and frightened tourists with possible arrest, they usually achieved their goals. The most irritating part for James was that Sergei and his workers didn't have a legal toe to stand upon. Charging ridiculous fees was not legal but it was lucrative. And then again it wasn't really illegal, either. According to James, there was too much "grey area." For purists like James, who loved a quick buck as much as the next man yet not at the sake of a guests' humility or sense of security, they were abhorred at the new image slapped upon their business. With Sergei's elimination, James was hoping to get back to the way things used to be three years past. "Peter, why don't you head back to the warehouse and see if there is a spare bike lying around so you don't have to use Frankenstein. "Sounds good. I'll grab my stuff 'cuz I don't think I'll come back then." Without saying another word, James saluted Peter, sending his cousin off to make a few dollars. After grabbing a flannel from his closet and an extra pair of pants, Peter quickly opened the front door to leave. With his head down and his mind focused on Frankenstein, Peter nearly crashed into the young woman sprinting up the stairs. Spinning quickly around Peter yet stopping in her tracks, the young woman just stared at him. Peter instantly recognized her as one of the young women from apartment #9. At first he had to make a double glance for he had never seen her out in the afternoon but always at night or very early in the morning. She was also dressed in jeans and a blouse, a definite first for she nor any of the other girls wore anything but dresses, skirts and stilettos. Her face was flushed and from the few beads of sweat upon her forehead, just dropping below her jet black hair, Peter could tell she had been running. Her mouth fell agape as if she desperately wanted to say something yet paused for a fearful thought took hold of her wits. Just as James opened his mouth to say hello she spun back around and sprinted up the stairs. Suddenly the woman stopped right before knocking on the door.

-She doesn't have her keys.

Peter thought about this occurrence, as it struck him as being odd. Just as the observation settled in Peter's mind, the young woman turned back to him. Her face was stern, almost as if she were prepping for a disaster. As she rose her fist to knock, the young woman locked eyes with Peter. It was obvious to him that she was seeking him out but why, was beyond his comprehension. Was it just because they almost knocked into one another or was there something else? The woman's eyes met Peters and then separated as quickly as they had joined. As soon as the door opened, a burst of screams and yells exploded within the apartment. The door instantly slammed close behind her. "What the hell…" Peter mumbled to himself while standing still. He didn't make a move but strained to hear everything waning through the door. Peter was able to hear all that was said yet since he couldn't understand the foreign language, it didn't make too much of a difference. Nevertheless, it would have been impossible not to understand the tone. There were several voices screaming yet only one man's voice and his was just loud, not hysterical. The female voices were screams. James felt his whole body tense as he strained to hear a slap or any kind of violence. Although he didn't really ponder the idea until later in life, Peter wasn't sure what he would have done if he thought someone was being physically hurt. Though neither of the cousins knew the people in #9, James had his suspicions. The women were all pretty, the worst looking one could possibly be called "cute" although "hot" is a much better description.They only came out at night and they weren't dressed to run marathons. The men were tough looking, muscular and always on alert. Also, Peter thought the apartment was only inhabited by women. The men always seemed to be there momentarily. Both sexes exerted dispositions of secrecy and an unwillingness to communicate. Suddenly, Peter noticed the noise had ceased. He walked back into his apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. "James! James!" James didn't answer because he was in his room. Being unaware of this fact, Peter searched for James until he opened his cousin's bedroom door. "James! Did you hear all that racket?" Quietly looking up from his bowl of Top Ramen that he had been nursing for fifteen minutes, James gave his cousin a look of bewilderment. "Man, you missed it! Dude, turn that fucking TV down, you gotta hear this! You know the chicks on the top floor, the Russian…" "The hookers?" "What? Wait, what are you… Whatta you mean…They're hookers?" James watched with concerned shock as Peter seemed crush by the news. Although this was the first time he ever articulated himself about the women in #9, James figured that Peter knew what the women were really doing at night. The longer the two cousins lived together, the more James was realizing how naive and young his cousin was in truth. Peter's head bowed and he still seemed to be wrestling with the idea that the girl on the step was a prostitute. "Wait, James. I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong but do you know for sure whether she is a hooker?" "No, bud, I don't. I could be wrong but ya' gotta kind of use your sense. You aint a dummy, bud, think about it, yeah! I mean they're always dressed skanky, they're all hot, they only work at night, they're Russian and…" "What does being Russian have to do with it? And how do you know they're Russian?" Peter was suddenly feeling relieved. He thought James's comment about the link between the girls and Russian prostitution a sure fire example of how his cousin didn't know anything. He breathed again and laughed. Then James spoke. "Well, bud, there's a large link between organized crime and prostitution. Mafias, whether they be Italian, Korean, Japanese or whatever have a historical and modern connection with prostitution. Especially when it comes to these poorer countries. These girls wanna come to America, to escape their current plights and they just find another one here. Man, didn't you see "Eastern Promises?" Peter stood further confused. James's sudden intellectual answer and education about organized crime surprised him yet it was how direct James was, which was slowly convincing Peter. Though he had only seen the young woman five or six times over the last few months, never talking to one another, Peter was intrigued by her. James thought Peter was experiencing an infatuation for the girl. Nothing serious. In-experienced, ignorant of the opposite sex and eager for a fantasy although he didn't even know it, Peter was perplexed. His head drooped and almost seemed asleep. Peter's eyes hit the floor like lead to a magnet. He rubbed his hair slowly then looked back up to James. A small grin appeared on his face, camouflaging his disappointment. "Well, I guess I'm gonna get back to work." "Back to work? You never went!" Without saying another word, Peter grabbed his backpack and was out the door and down the apartment steps. He refused to look back. Once he was out on the streets of San Paderno, the beginning traces of sunset just beginning to bleed onto the horizon, Peter thought of the young woman again. His thoughts drifted into "what ifs" until the likely possibility that she was a prostitute came into mind. Suddenly shaking his head, Peter had to quickly realign his grip on the bicycle's handlebars. Winter had given way to Spring and what would have been a cutting wind against his cheek last month was now a soft pat upon his skin. As quick as the wind touched upon his face, so did Peter's thoughts drift back to the young woman. Though the possibility of her being a prostitute seemed to make more and more sense, Peter's hopefulness for something to exist between the two of them didn't disappear yet morphed into some type of frantic substitute for innocent love. What he was forming was a mutated fantasy, a man's dream with all the sentimentality of a boy. Finally satisfied with this choice, Peter thought of it no more but focused on arriving at the warehouse unscathed. Pulling up to the warehouse, Peter heard the sound of two mallets rapping off simultaneously as he pulled into the short asphalt laid driveway. After biking just ten feet, he was greeted with the large open warehouse nearly fifty feet in length. Over 3,500 square feet large, the warehouse was a tremendous spot especially for the price. Although none of James's other employes knew the rent, Peter was privy to most of James' financial business dealings. With a charge of only $2,500 a month, James was able to expand his business far easier than most people in their early to mid twenties. The owner of the property had inherited fifteen pieces of property in San Paderno a decade before. He had worked in sheet metal all his life and had a soft spot for anyone trying to rise up and do something big. After the owner met James, he felt the young man fit this description and offered him the rent four times cheaper than what he could have received.
Peter entered the complex where seventeen pedicabs were parked in neat, tidy lines. Though seventeen pedicabs were no small number for a pedicab company, Peter knew that there were another twelve out on the streets at the moment. With nearly thirty pedicabs to his name, all with a unique style to their own, James was establishing himself as the premier pedi-cab owner in San Paderno. "Peter, where' ya go tonight?" Suddenly spinning around, Peter looked about only to see Francesco Scioppero, shaking his legs back and forth. Francesco was a tall, sun-burnt Italian boy from a coastal town in Liguria. "What's going on Frances?" "Getting ready to go out. Phillip has got my bike. I waiting for him to come back but I have to go soon. You ride tonight?" "Yeah. I got Frankenstein tonight." "Really? Hey, you wanna switch? I hava customer I have to pick up in ten minutes. You get Phillip's bike and he should be back soon. I cannot wait."
"Sure." For being in the USA only four years, Francesco spoke English quite well. His accent was apparent, but after dilly-dagging in Oxford, England for two years his English became a hilarious cross between James Bond and Ricky Ricardo. After he briefly pondered Francesco's accent, Peter's mind returned to their deal. Peter didn't have to think too much about the offer. Even though he didn't know when Phillip would return, he wouldn't have to ride Frankenstein and Phillip was riding the Metallica bike which always made good money. Francesco sprinted past Peter in his high Nautica shorts, bright orange tank top and a wide, happy smile on his grill. There was a sixty pound canvas heavy bag hanging up in the rear of the warehouse. As Francesco ran past it, slapping it with all his strength, Peter decided he needed a quick freshening up. Peter slid past some of the guys as they pumped tires, inspected spokes and performed one-overs on their cabs.
Since this was San Paderno, a beautiful quasi-affluent Southern California beach town, people from every walk of life seemed to converge here, including James's employees. When Peter first moved to San Paderno, he was amazed to meet so many people from the East Coast, especially the South. He had always thought that people from the Mid West and East Coast thought of Californians as quirky little weirdoes with obsessions toward the latest crazes. To an extent, Peter agreed with these observations. Californians were all about being "laid back" and "living for the moment" yet they were shackled to their gym memberships, consumed by their Atkins Diets and proselytizing to anyone who would listen about the "realness" of being present. Peter figured at least it provided some comic relief. In regards to the East Coasters and such who moved to the poppy state, maybe these people had been the Californians of their states. By the time Peter threw a few combinations and a low roundhouse, all of these ideas left his mind and were replaced by the empty state of nothingness. Peter had put in two rounds on the heavy bag and one and a half rounds of shadow boxing by the time Phillip arrived. The Metallica bike was neatly parked beside the air pump yet Peter was unable to find Phillip. After, Peter made a brief assessment of the bike and this wasn't a problem since Phillip had left the bike in great condition. Peter unlocked the small box below the seat which opened up to a compartment containing an inner tube, one tire, a blanket, a few CDs, a medium size packet of alcohol swabs & bandaids and three water bottles. After closing the box, Peter took the pedi-cab for a short ride around the block. Feeling satisfied, Peter bid the guys adieu and drove the pedi-cab into the fading light of a San Paderno sunset. Although Metallica's music wasn't popular to all sections of society, like Bruce Springsteen or Led Zeppelin, the bike that James had customized for their music was appreciated by almost everyone that caught a glance. James spent the extra bucks to acquire an oil black paint, which was illegal in the state of California. Nevertheless, this particular paint gave off the best shine and when mixed with navy blues and dark greasy, the pedi-cab looked very appealing. It was the kind of cab you really wanted to get a ride inside. And that was James' intention from the very beginning. For Peter it was simply a great way to make great tips. Anytime a rider gave a customer a ride, the rider was going to earn some money but the nicer the bike, the more likely a better than average tip. Within a few seconds of Peter riding out of the warehouse, he caught sight of the young woman from apartment #9 standing on the edge of the block. He pulled over. She kept her eyes on him, never deviating from his face as Peter rested the pedi-cab right alongside a parked car. "Hey, there! Twice in one day, huh?"
"Yes, it is most unusual." Despite that the girl's answer seemed practical, Peter felt as if she was up to something. Perhaps it wasn't anything malicious, Peter quickly mused, yet he suspected she had some type of ulterior motive. "Would you like a ride?" "Yes. Thank you." "By the way, I'm Peter." "My name is Faina." Unsure of where this was headed but happy to see Faina, Peter helped her onto the platform and then her seat. Peter eased the cab back out onto the bike lane. Every few seconds, he looked back to Faina, to see if she was still there. Faina had been looking out at the streets as Peter kept an easy, moderate pace. Though Faina was constantly driven from one destination to another, all throughout San Paderno, she never had the opportunity to just people watch. Never the opportunity to just sit and watch a storefront and all the busyness which is involved. Faina knew that the importance lay in the freedom to choose what you wanted to do, not in actually people watching itself. It wouldn't matter if she wanted to look at parakeets attempting impersonations of sea captains or even something three times crazier. The beauty lay in the choice.
Faina couldn't help but notice Peter's incessant turning of his head. Just as Peter looked back again, Faina inched closer, her long legs granting her the ability to get close to Peter with one step. Peter's face morphed into embarrassment yet Faina wouldn't have anything of the sort. She reached out and lay her thin, soft fingertips upon his shoulder. Peter's shoulders instantly rose as being touched startled him. Faina kept her hand on his shoulder until she felt his body relax. Faina withdrew her hand from his shoulder. It was a momentary shock for him and her loss of touch, left him feeling frigid again.
Whether it was Faina's withdrawal of her touch, a sudden desire to know everything or that Peter simply felt overwhelmed, he decided he had to speak plainly with her.

"Faina, why are you here? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you stopped by yet what's going on?"
Faina looked away yet turned back to Peter resolutely. With rapid fire like speed, Fiana explained to Peter her present plight and how it came to originate. Promised a work visa, a job and a safe place to live, Faina was fed a lie that would come to be the first of many for her life in America. Quickly after arriving in the United States, her real profession was explained to her along with her choices if she disobeyed. She made it quite clear to Peter that not only her life was threatened but also her family back home, specifically her two little sisters. Fearful, naive and believing the men's lie that it wouldn't be "too bad", Faina agreed to sell herself. Now, three months later, she found herself just wanting to go back home no matter the consequences. Had it been three months ago, Faina thought she never would have risked her life as well as that of her families but she could take no more. Peter listened in attentive silence. Once Faina began to speak, he pulled the pedi-cab into the parking lot of a small park. She wasn't quite sure why but she felt much better as she spoke under the swaying palm frowns and birch trees. After rushing out her story in a type of frenzied urgency, Faina was thankful for Peter's changing of the subject.
"It's gonna be cold tonight. There's no cloud cover."

Peter pointed to the black sky. Faina looked up as they both momentarily stared at the same stars.

"What do you mean no cloud cover? What does this mean?"
"It's just a term for explaining when the sky is blanketed by clouds. You know, covered!"

Faina laughed as Peter raised his voice. She turned away from the streets and knelt close to him, her knees on the platform in front of her and her hands upon the rail to steady herself.

"When you say "blanketed", it is like God places a blankets or sheets over the heavens?"
"Uh, well yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it. It's funny, on a clear night like this you can see practically everything."
"I like it when is moon full!"

Faina's voice rose as she dreamt of the full moons back in her hometown. On summer nights when the moon was largest, the kids would dance outdoors. From midnight to sun up. She longed for the pulsating beat from the German techno music. While she thought of the past, Faina lowered her head and shuddered with a sense of regret. She couldn't help but recall her innocent, naive hopes when she was still in Russia. All the teenagers knew of New York and Los Angeles. They were enticed by the stories of raging parties attended by famous people and a constant throng of fun times. She knew she would have to work in the United States. Faina wanted to work, go to school and perfect her English. All of these were seen as an easy life compared to some of her options back at home. Yet she never imagined that the horror stories she had heard uttered by others, supposedly mere rumors, would one day be her own. Faina kept her head lowered and bit her lip, ashamed that she had once thought that life could be so wonderful.

"A full moon. Yeah, those are very pretty. I like new moons the most, though. The new moon is the opposite of the full moon, right? Unlike the full moon which is large and seems to cover up the sky, a new moon is so much different. On a new moon, you can see all the stars. Everywhere you look are stars, splattered across the sky. You can form the constellations now too."
"Yes, my favorite is Orion. But even though the other moon is full of stars, don't you think the full moon is beautiful? It is so bright and has so much light!"
"Yeah, you're right. You're definitely right. The full moon is pretty but because it's so bright, it blocks out all the stars, comets, meteors. Anything that God wants us to see is blocked out by the full moon's massive glow. It's the new moon that allows the heavens to be seen."

As Peter spoke of heaven, his thoughts froze. He rarely ever spoke of religious matters now and he remembered that he hadn't spoken the name of God in years. He wasn't sure if it was because Faina had just said it moments before, since it would be fresh in his mind. He felt like he was opening. Then again, Peter wasn't sure what he felt. While glancing back at Faina, he wondered how much of it he could blame on her and how much of it could he deny as his responsibility. Faina had turned back to the streets, yet she thought of what Peter said. She quickly glanced at his hands. They were tightly clamped around the handlebars.
"Peter, does it not hurt your hands to hold like that?" "Yeah, a little. But it's worth it."
"What is worth it? To ride the bike for money?" "Yeah, that too. If I couldn't ride, I wouldn't be out here with you right now. So yeah, it's definitely worth it." Faina didn't turn to Peter, continuing to keep her attention on the cars, bikes and people whirling around. Peter stole another glance at Faina. A small, happy smile was perched upon her lips making Peter feel stronger in that moment than he could remember since his adolescence. Peter's mind flashed back to a wellness teacher his parents had encouraged him to visit a few years back. He had been having asthma attacks and his parents thought his problem could be addressed by a holistic approach. Throughout most of the talk, Peter day-dreamed, constantly checking his watch to see how much longer he would have to remain. A few minutes prior to the end of the speech, the teacher spoke of the importance of happiness and joy. She spoke of its healing power and the energy it gave people. Now, pedaling for Faina, Peter recognized that joy. It had been years since he had felt so invigorated and he wondered why it had been so long since he had this experience. "Peter, may we drive by the beach?" Faina's soft voice, filled with gaiety and delight, drew Peter forth and answered his question. -It's because of her! Not even when I was younger did I feel this good! Peter's mind swarmed with fascinating thoughts as he careened off the streets and neared a bike path. Once he was close to the beach, he slowed the bike down until he reached a mounting hill. Just a few hundred feet from the ocean, the resting area was situated on a grassy knoll that overlooked all of the Pacific and San Paderno. Stepping off the bike, Peter walked toward Faina. He smiled to her as he reached across from her and unlocked a small handle that swiftly came crashing down on the platform in front of the bench Faina sat. Peter reached within the compartment and retrieved a large yellow blanket. Faina watched him with interest, amazed at how gentle and kind he was toward her. At the same time , though she refused to show it, she was scared and upset. Not only was she fearful for what could happen to both her and Peter when she returned but Faina couldn't help but feel Peter as foolish. -How can he do this without thinking what will happen? Does he even care what this night will do to me? He can't really care about me if he is willing to do this! Finally, Faina's fears and thoughts ruined her countenance. She bit her lip again, thankful that it was so dark that Peter couldn't see the tears slip down her face. Hide it though she tried, Faina's voice gave way to irritation as Peter asked her if she wanted something to drink. "Are you ok? Faina, you alright?" "Don't you see what will happen? You need to take me back now!" Peter was momentarily shocked. So focused on his own happiness, Peter couldn't understand what Faina meant. He saw her smile and he heard her laugh. How was this not enough? "I don't understand. I thought you were having fun? Are you talking about the men …?" "It is bigger than that! Bigger than you, me and many more!" "Faina, listen to me, please. I can talk to them. Maybe I could buy your time or… or something, right?" "Peter, you can buy nothing. I am theirs and theirs alone. And… and there is much more that you do not know." "Well, then tell me! What don't I know? Are they hurting you? What? What is it? Are they threatening you?" Having enough of the conversation, Faina leaned in toward Peter. He was frustrated and upset yet it would be a cold day in hell when he would refuse her advances.

"Let's just stay here a little while longer."

Peter thought for a second before he spoke. He suspected that if he asked her to run with him, she would say no. Yet, he wondered what he would do if she said yes. Would he actually go through with the whole ordeal? Would she be worth a life of running or at least the few years of hiding which would be necessary to say the least? And what about James, would he be affected by any of this? Probably. In some shape or another, they would get to him. One aspect of Peter's personality was that he was wet behind the ears like many men in their late teen and early twenties yet he wasn't so naive about the world that he was dangerous to himself or others. He knew about man's nature and the lengths some men would go to maintain what they possessed. And he knew how others intentions could spark the anger in the ruthless. "Faina, why don't we get out of here? Like, right now. We could…" Faina sat in the back of the pedicab, very relaxed and with a tiny smile on her face. She continued to listen to Peter speak, allowing him to feel as if he was trying to be brave and defensive for her. Faina believed that if Peter really wanted to take her away he would have already started to do so or he would have spoken to her differently. If Peter was hellbent on getting her out of the business, his demeanor would have displayed more demand and less democracy, Faina thought. Maybe it was that Peter didn't even know he was unconvincing. Faina mused over these thoughts as she pondered that perhaps Peter imagined he was very deliberate and honest, with no tinge of uncertainty. In the end, for Faina, it didn't really matter. She cared for him no mater whether he was fully conscious or not. "Peter. Please, stop. I know you want best for me but I cannot go anywhere. There are many reasons why. What we do, though, is enjoy tonight." It was simple, direct and so beyond Peter that he almost missed her point. Yet, whether it be fate, divine connection or simply the synapses were finally firing in the proper places for Peter, he understood Faina. It was difficult for him, for in a way he wondered whether she really wanted to get away or simply mouthed the words. But in the end Peter understood. No matter what the reason behind it, Faina would remain with him tonight and then.. "… we can go wherever you want or .." "Why don't we just stay here?" Faina lifted her chin, suggesting that they simply remain on the knoll. Peter smiled and held Faina's hand as she stepped off the pedi-cab platform. He tossed the blanket, its edges reaching out and grasping for blades of grass. It was way past sunset, being that there were no traces of the sun at all. Peter looked at the stars, thousands of speckling lights against space's canvas of black tar. Both Faina and Peter crashed onto the blanket. For Peter it had been a long time since he had kissed a woman, let alone touch one. With Faina stretched out against his own outstretched body, Peter ran his fingers along her torso and listened to her breathe. While they sat there, Peter still tried to fathom a way in which they could be together. Everything Peter came up with was useless. The reality of the situation was enough to make Peter feel defeated. Faina felt his touch lighten and even under the dark sky she sensed his eyes avert her own. Knowing that there was nothing she could say to alleviate the problem, Faina brought Peter closer to her own body. In the quiet that ensued, two breaths reared violently against the backdrop of what was fate. When nothing could be done but advance toward and eventually through the unfortunate truth of certainty, Faina led Peter into a paradise of intimacy. Subsiding under the night's umbrella, Faina turned into Peter. She supposed that no-one would come looking for them until daybreak yet she wanted to return. Every moment she lay with Peter was simply delaying the terrible reality of her situation; a return to being owned. She eagerly convinced Peter to take her back to apartment #9 though he seemed confused by her demand. Nevertheless, Peter relented, pulling her along the streets of San Paderno. They rode silently through the streets. Faina was like before, catching sight of everything and everyone. Being that it was four o'clock in the morning, most people were asleep yet here and there was a drunk couple wandering the streets or a homeless person wading through a trash can. The air seemed to grow a bit warmer. Faina let the crisp air brush against her shoulders as Peter zigged zagged through the cities streets. Though Peter had one of the best nights of his life, he couldn't help but feel the melancholy pull of sadness upon his heart. Though he and Faina seemed doomed from the start, Peter had hoped for a miracle or a sudden lapse in life's script for continual disappointment. Faina, however, knew this feeling and as she watched it reside upon Peter's face she felt a sudden charge of courage. When it came to herself, she had believed that the fates were written. Yet as she watched Peter's strong body seemingly crumble under the yoke of dismal grief, she suddenly felt indignant. More so, she felt invigorated in a strange, angry way. As they neared their apartment, the blue paint shining under the night stars, Faina placed her hand upon Peter's shoulder. He suddenly stopped the bike, sensing that Faina wanted to talk to him face to face. He had parked the bike under a yellow streetlight, the artificial beams bouncing off her pretty face. As Peter looked into her shining green eyes, her resistance to what was, felt overwhelmingly contagious. Faina stepped toward Peter, cusping his face into her hands. What had once seemed like a full moon, absent of nothing but a seemingly jarring glow, was starting to reveal a whole universe full of new cosmic possibilities.


THE END

Passing Overhead

Brian sat down and opened his lunchbox.

“Nectarine. Turkey sandwich. Mars bar.”

He adjusted his bottom upon the wall, trying not to let the rough stone jag his rear end.

“Turkey sandawitch agene, Brian?”

Brian looked up to see Gustavo towering above him just before he sat down. In the bright sunshine Brian could only make out parts of Gustavo’s face; the thick five o’clock shadow tucked around the broad, black mustache, long black hair and the searching eyes. With a low grumble he gracefully collapsed next to Brian. The laborer opened up his brown bag and displayed two cold fish tacos, an apple, some carrots and a sugar cookie. As Gustavo’s brothers, Gilberto and Gabriele, showed up, the workers began to trade with each other until Brian had one fish taco, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the sugar cookie. He felt it not to be a bad deal. Brian used the Mars bar as the heaviest bargaining chip because he really wanted the fish taco. Gustavo’s wife, Maribel, made the best tacos. Even when cold. Brian melodically rocked back and forth as he slowly devoured the treat, sucking up bits of halibut from the paper napkin.

“Gustavo, this is soooooo good, bro! Really man, I’ll pay your wife to make me some tacos! These are so damn good!”

All of the Hernandez brothers nodded in solemn approval, not surprised in hearing praise for Maribel’s food. Brian didn’t know that all of the Hernandez wives could cook like Maribel yet she was the only one in the United States. So unless he traveled south of the border this would be all he would know.

“Shit, I hope I can find a wife that can cook like this.”
“When you gonna get a mujer, Brian?”
“You got one in mind for me?”

The brother’s laughed but all agreed that they could easily find him a wife if he wanted one. Brian knew that they were joking but he also knew they were serious. Plenty of women from Mexico would love to be able to live in the United States. Brian listened as the Hernandez brothers continued to ramble on about things that he could barely understand even after three years of high school Spanish. He sat back against the sandstone wall that he and the brothers had laid just a week before.
For three weeks they had been working on the Henderson estate, laying a variety of stone and brick. Brian had been working for Johnson Stone Company for only five months and the Hernandez brothers invited him into their work force as if he were one of them. Although they all treated him well it was Gustavo who paid more attention to the young man, trying to assist him as best he could.

“When are you going to marry, Brian?”
“Not sure, man. I gotta find someone who’s worth it.”

Gustavo started to laugh as he shook his head.

“Dere are plenty of good women out dere. You know dat!”
“You think so? I don’t know about that one?’
A slight tone of anger and resentment slipped through his speech, though he tried to keep it under wrap. Gustavo raised an eye brow at Brian’s response. Then he smirked.

“Que paso, Brian? A girl do you bad?”

Brian’s face grew slightly white. He had finished his lunch and now turned away to lightly pound a piece of sand stone onto the patio.

“Brian, I tell you something. Pinocha! Pinocha iz life.”

With his back still turned to his friend, Brian began to laugh. Gustavo smiled. But he wasn’t joking.

“Listen to me; It’s life. You get strength from a woman. How many girls you been with?”

Brian was on his knees, facing Gustavo. He shed a childish and nervous smile. The mallet shifted in his hand as he looked toward a row of red roses in a distant garden.

“Uh… I’ve slept with two girls… but you know I’ve done other stuff with a lot more.”

Gustavo grinned and nodded his head. Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo was just putting him on. He wanted the older man to believe him but most of all he wanted his trust.

“I’m being honest by the way. Altogether, two girls.”
“You feel pretty good afterwards, huh?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“No, I don’t mean when you cum, I mean you feel stronger because she iz witch you. Her body, sua alma, it gives strength, no?”

Brian stopped thinking for a second. When Gustavo said “because she is with you” images of Katherine appeared. It had been nearly two years since he had seen her but her memory still came back to him at random moments. With the noise of Gilberto’s skill saw sounding off and the smell of stone dust and heat, Brian was able to remember her asking him to stay on their last night together. He did feel strong.

-Why?

He never had given it much thought until now. She had gone off to college after that and they didn’t keep in contact. Since Katherine, Brian hadn’t been too active with women. He always figured that there were plenty of other men to fill his place.

“See, Brian. It’s the same for her too. She needs your strength, tambien. Don’t forget dat! Dere is a… come se llama… dere is an ex-change. Ex-change, no? She needs you like you need her.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Half the time I hear you guys bitching about your women! Now you speak of them as if they are your great equals!”

Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo would understand “great equals” but he used it anyways. He liked the sound. Gustavo had since picked up a piece of flag stone and set it down. Silence took over. Brian suddenly worried that he had upset the older man. Just as he thought to check and see if Gustavo was mad, the seasoned mason began to speak, keeping Brian from having to say a word.

“You’re right Brian. Ha, ha, ha! We say things about our women but I love my wife. She gives me three children and she keeps me warm.”
“She keeps you warm?”

Returning to his work the older man pounded the stone into place and then looked up. He was grinning again.
“Did your woman keep you warm, Brian?’

Feeling frustrated and at the same time humored by Gustavo, Brian threw his hands into the air.

“I don’t know what the hell that means, Gustavo! Keep me warm!?! Did I get stronger!?! I’m so damn confused; I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Are you talking about pinocha again?”

Gustavo laughed aloud. Gilberto had since quit using the skill saw and looked over to his brother. The Hernandez’s exchanged words until all three were laughing. Brian watched them and then dismissed them with his hand.

“Mierda. Todos estan pien di mierda!”

The brothers continued to laugh at Brian’s retort until Gustavo spoke.

“No, here, Brian. Place da stone up a little. It’s too low on dat angle. Push dis way.”

The two men worked side by side for a few moments until Gustavo patted Brian on the shoulder.

“Your woman keeps you warm and you keep your woman warm with more than touching. I don’t know what to say than that.”

Time delay was something unique to Gustavo. Brian was trying to gather his friend’s words while adjusting some of the sandstone. After Gustavo and his conversation, Brian was unable to get Katherine out of his mind. He had always been impressed with Katherine’s wearing of a silk nightgown with fancy frills. Brian didn’t imagine that most eighteen year old girls wore things of that quality. She seemed very grown up standing in front of him with her jet black hair draped over the purple silk. As Brian slowly reached out to bring Katherine toward him, he humored himself.

-This is something out of the “Red Shoe Diaries”.

As the recollection worked its way through Brian's mind, he sat upon the sandstone. The slicing sound of Gilberto’s skill saw brought Brian out of his memory and back to the Henderson estate. He looked around for a while at the long expanses of grass and listened to the crickets that chirped strongly in ceaseless anthem.

“Hey, where are you Brian?”

The young man looked over to Gabriele who was playfully motioning him to get back to work. Brian rose and went over to where the sandstone lay. With his hammer and chisels he began to break and form the slabs according to the layout that was in front of him. But he still didn’t release Katherine from his mind. He couldn't release Katherine from his mind. Even the rough edges of the sandstone felt softer against his palms as the stone took on her ghost. But in reality they were nothing but pale images of bygone years; a lost memory that came back to haunt.

The End

Against A Wall

Summer 2009

Against A Wall


In the threaded mist of the estates miniature forest, Piero Brexiano continued to rid weeds from the base of giant palm trees. He had begun work at seven that morning. It was now close to eleven AM yet he still felt strong and fresh. He didn’t need a big breakfast, he told himself. Coffee and a slice of bread were fine. Looking at his fingers, with moist dirt under his nails and digits, Piero smiled. For five years he had been away from Italy and although he missed his homeland and his father, he didn’t think he had the right to be too melancholy. Six months back his wife and three children finally arrived in San Lorenzo, California. He no longer needed to send money back to the Veneto, back to the farm, back to the family.
Mr. Fredericks, the estate’s owner, allowed the Brexianos to live on the grounds while Piero worked as groundskeeper and his wife, Floria, provided household services. Their two younger children, Chiara and Dante, went to school but their oldest at sixteen, Penna, helped Floria in whatever way she could.
Piero tossed the green weeds into the cement pasted wheelbarrow as he rose to fetch lunch. It had been over a week since he had spoken to Fredericks about the food rationing. Believing that the Brexiano’s were eating too much, Fredericks was cutting back their weekly amount. This became a sore spot between Floria and Fredericks, with Piero trying to see both sides of the situation. As the head of his family, Piero realized how comfortable they had it on the estate. His family was allowed to live in the cottage and three of them worked on the property. Besides being paid they were also provided with food. Piero didn’t want to lose the job over one argument.
But despite Piero’s hope that matters would settle down, by the next week Floria came home with less food than the previous. Without saying anything to her husband she laid the evening dinner on the table in front of her family. Piero stared at the food; an eighth of a loaf of bread, one bowl of pasta and another bowl of salad. In silence Floria served her children first while Piero watched them eagerly slurp up their meals. By the time she got to Piero he held back her hand after she served him two scoops. With a look of inquisitiveness Floria studied her husband’s face in the dim light of the sparse and tiny kitchen. His eyes were focused on his children as he asked about their day. Following suit with her husband, Floria gave herself two scoops. As his wife chewed the pasta, Piero looked away unable to watch her because he was aware. He knew that she was right. There wasn’t enough food. Piero also couldn’t watch Floria because he knew she was hungry. He didn’t ask her to take two scoops but she would always do just the same as Piero. Not because she felt like everything had to be evenly dispersed between the two. It was because she believed that everything between her and her husband was even. They were two in one. Piero let his children finish the rest of the food that night but admitted to himself that something would have to be done.

Last night’s meal was on Piero’s mind as he made his way up to the estate’s patio. Ahead of him, lying on the lawn, were Floria and Penna waiting for Piero to join them for lunch. As Piero sat down to eat he could see that bread was missing from the meal. Unraveling a white piece of cloth, Floria spread a few cold cuts and breadsticks out on a tablecloth beside some grapes.

“No pan?”
“No. Lu ga dito che questo xe pan.”

Floria grabbed a few breadsticks indicating that they were to be their new bread. Piero stared at his wife. Suddenly he began to laugh. She just looked at Piero and shook her head. Then she laughed. Penna’s green eyes shone and she was grateful to see her parents giggling. Although Piero kept chuckling, within he felt backed up against a wall; a wall that was fixed with tiny sharp notes constantly reminding him of his responsibility. He didn’t have too many options but he was aware that his family couldn’t live in the same fashion. Piero watched his daughter and wife talk as he thought about his plans.
In the afternoon Piero was planting a fresh tree on a sparse area of vegetation. Mr. Fredericks came from behind a corner of the house and watched Piero as he packed dirt around the tree. Piero caught Fredericks watching him out of the corner of his eye. Getting up from the ground and wiping the dirt from his khaki pants, Piero turned to Fredericks.

“Wadda you think, Mr. Ferderick?”

The older man didn’t respond at first but walked about the tree, scrutinizing it closely.

“It looks very nice Pietro. I think this is a good spot because it will get plenty of sun.”

While Piero listened he couldn’t help but think about his family’s need for food. When Mr. Fredericks halted in his speech Piero spoke.

“Mr. Ferderick I’d lika talka to you when I’m done wurkin today about da food.”

Frederick’s countenance quickly changed from an even look of study to a deep frown.

“Pietro, as I told you last week, your family is eating too much food. The amount I have been giving you is adequate for a family of your size.”

Pietro didn’t know what “adequate” meant but he had a pretty good idea. He looked at Frederick’s with concern, asking the rich man with his eyes if he really needed the food as much as his family. It wasn’t Piero’s style to say more than was necessary.

“Okay. We’ra gonna have to leave den, Mr. Federicks.”
“Excuse me. You cannot leave. You are under a contract.”

Piero briefly stared at the older man and then walked away. Feeling slighted, Fredericks took more offense to Piero’s silence than his asking for food. Yet the rich man said nothing as he watched the immigrant place the shovel back inside the tool shed. Fredericks thought Piero was making empty threats. He believed that the Brexiano’s had nowhere to go and to an extent he was right; Piero had no work lined up yet they did have some family they could live with momentarily.
While making his usual evening walk around the garden that dusk, Mr. Fredericks saw Floria placing a suitcase into her husbands beat up old Chevrolet. Fredericks hid behind a giant limestone fountain while he spied on the family. It didn’t take long for Fredericks to realize that the Brexiano’s were leaving. Rage and feelings of betrayal swelled within him as he thought about the family’s departure.

“He signed a contract, dammit! These Wops can’t just do whatever they want!”

Coming out from his hiding place Frederick’s approached Floria as she was putting some cooking pans in the back of the truck.

“Put those down! Those are not yours! What do you people think you’re doing?”

Dante watched as Fredericks approached his mother in a threatening manner, making long strides and shaking his arms. Feeling scared the little boy ran back inside the small cottage towards his father who already heard Fredericks. Moving past his children, who watched their father as a farmer watches a rainstorm pound a drought ridden land, Piero stepped outside the cottage and walked towards Fredericks.

“Iz dere a problem Mr. Ferdericks?”
“Yes, there most certainly is a problem, Pietro. First off you’re wife is stealing my cooking property. And why are you putting suitcases…”
“Dose pans are ourz Mr. Ferdericks. We broughta dem with us. We lefta youra dings inside da house.”

Piero had hoped to have everything packed and ready to go before confronting Fredericks with the house key. He nervously adjusted the fedora on top of his head while he watched Fredericks walk towards the truck. Fredericks saw that the pans were not his own, causing him further frustration. He turned back towards Piero.

“Pietro, you signed a contract stating that your family would work here for at least one year. You have only fulfilled six months of the contract.”
“Yeah, dis iz true ma you don’ta give us enough food. Dat was also in da contrac, dat we wuld be fed. Mya familee iz ungry. I tolda you ma you said we had enough…”
“Exactly. You’re family just eats too much. You have two small children and you feed them as if they are adults. It is ridiculous. The contract stated three children and two adults, not five adults.”

Fredericks was speaking so fast and irritably that it was difficult for Pietro to understand everything he was saying. But through Fredericks’ facial expressions and tone of voice as well as Piero’s limited but decent command of English, the immigrant was able to understand the core of the rich man’s argument. When it came to the contract, Fredericks had said Penna, at sixteen years old, would be fed as an adult. This was another one of his adjustments. Floria hustled her children back inside the cottage as all three huddled together around the door frame watching their father.

“Pietro you have to stay another six months! After that you can leave if you want although you’re not going to find anyone who will treat you better! This I can guarantee!”

Piero felt ashamed. He saw himself as the head of the family and although Frederick’s choice to withhold food from the Brexianos was the older mans, Piero was the one who made the initial decision to trust Fredericks. Piero’s chest was getting warm and Fredericks’ quick and hustling usage of English was confusing him. As the rich man yelled again that the Brexianos had to stay, Piero went back inside to grab more items. Floria glanced at her husband with a worried look. Although the Brexiano’s were legal immigrants, Floria was intimidated by any type of confrontation when it came to Americans. Fear of the police coming and taking her children entered her thoughts.

“Piero, maybe we should stay! He can call the police! Then we could really be in trouble!”
“Too late now, Floria. He is not keeping his side of the deal. We are leaving.”

Floria thought about Piero’s words in silence, realizing that he was right. Fredericks came to the doorway and listened attentively as Floria spoke to her husband in their dialect. Piero’s calm manner alerted Fredericks to the idea that the immigrant was beginning to handle his emotions. As the family came walking past Fredericks, with more of their personal possessions, the older man blocked their way with his body.

“Pietro, you are not listening! You cannot leave!”

With this Piero slipped past his wife and put a suitcase down beside Fredericks. Piero shot his arm out and grabbed Fredericks by the neck, pinning him against the opened front door.

“No food, Mr. Fredericks! We go!”

The two men stared into each other’s eyes. Fredericks struggled to maintain eye contact with Piero but he glanced down after a few seconds. Piero was trembling with anger. His arm kept twitching until he suddenly let Fredericks go and grabbed the suitcase. He looked to his family who huddled around Floria.

“Andiamo adesso!”

Fredericks slunk to the ground. He clutched his neck as small little choking sounds erupted from his throat. Dante stared at the man as he walked by, holding Chiara’s hand. The old man glanced at the boy in humiliation. Not possessing much, the Brexiano’s were all packed and ready to go in less than five minutes. Piero pulled out of the driveway, staring back at Frederick’s who was still kneeling on the ground disillusioned and mortified. As Piero drove out of the affluent area of San Lorenzo he stole a glimpse over at Floria. She watched Piero with a grin on her face. Piero slid his hand over to his wife’s, meeting Floria’s directly in the middle of the front seat.
The End