SRθ: Grim Inquiries (2023-2024)

Sit.8: The Line at the Bank

THE FEAR

Everyone is anxious
when told the day won't come
when what they want most badly
will be thrust unto them

but worse yet is a 'maybe'
that hangs upon a string
and makes you feel like snatching it
and makes you frightening

the damage done is not by 'maybe'
but by the one who got it
and soon that 'maybe' turns to 'no'
as reason becomes knotted

So take a moment, take a breath
this time spent will prolong your death
if clear your head can be again
then you'll see this is not the end

if help's needed taking breath,
spend time with one who flirts with death
who laughs at life for all its folly
who shares with others feelings jolly

then let still become the water vexed
let lonely be your soul
let fear and rage abandon you next
and you will become whole.

* * *

The Baker's kindness gave me lodging for the night, and I rested comfortably in spare blankets on her daughter's bed. It felt like it hadn't been used in a while.
When I woke up, she'd already made breakfast, though she was sad to hear my polite refusal of any oats, nor buttered and jammed toast, thinking her talent could win against my allergies. I assured her I'd tried some yesterday, and pointed to a red splotch on my neck, for which she looked upset and apologized. I did, however, eat the fruit on top of the oatmeal, licked the jam from the toast, and enjoyed the tea. She had a mutt that circled the kitchen excitedly, licking up anything that fell. He jumped onto me, and ate the toast from my hand.
The Baker yelled, "OY, DOWN, BOY!"
I pet him as he chomped the bread, but she slapped my hand with a spoon for doing so, as it taught him to keep on. So, I let him down and enjoyed a cup of tea. When I tried to leave, she "suggested" that as thanks, I should wash some dishes. Two hours later, I'd cleaned her whole kitchen from top to bottom while she hummed outside in the bakery stall, prepping for another day. As far as I could tell, she'd been up since before dark raising dough. When I did finally make it out, and apologized profusely for needing to leave instead of working another day, The Baker held me tight in a bear hug and gave my cheek a wet kiss, her lash-less eyes dewing up again already. I felt bad to leave her, but I'd seen with my own eyes she had a whole community to love her, and to love.

I returned to the bank, but couldn't take a step inside – there was a lineup of people so long it went out the door, and around the corner. My head was numbed by the sheer frustration, and it fought my good mood tooth and nail – the annoyance won. Maybe it was the itch on my neck, and the sickness in my stomach. 'Why the hell am I always so sick?' I asked myself. I felt a blocking of my memories, and it was like my brain was swollen or something. I probably shouldn't have had that bread. I took my place in line behind a tall man, and my dizziness made me unable to stand straight, forcing me to lean on the wall next to us. I put my mask down, and closed my eyes, and my chin fell to my chest. When I felt a tug on my shirt, I opened my eyes again. The line had moved, and I was at the very back of it, a small distance away. I walked forward, and bumped into someone.
"Hey!" they yelped.
In front of me, just under my sight-line through the mask, was a man a good foot and a half shorter than I. He was older, and much stockier. He appeared very fat and hard-muscled, blond curls playing in all directions from his head but combed back for style. More blond curls sprouted from his hands and feet, both of which were uncovered by his leather coat and plaid pants, which dressed over a white button-neck with a red ascot tied loosely under his collar. I flipped my mask back up.
"I know the line is slow, but don't take it out on me," he said gently.
"Thanks, and sorry," I replied, and walked to rejoin the line-up.
He held out his hand. "Call me The Frogman."
I shook it. "I'm The Grim Reaper."
"Are you now?" he chuckled low, pretending to be shook. "Well, you ARE an interesting character. I suppose that makes you responsible for the plague, huh?"
"Sort of," I shrugged. "I'm trying to find a way to end it."
He shook his head. "Tch, aahhh. There's always a plague, you'll never stop them all. Things like that just make people stronger."
"The ones who live," I added.
"Exactly! And what worries should I have if I'm dead?"
"I suppose none."
He leaned against the wall with his hairy hand, and crossed one leg over the other. "So wher're you from?"
I thought back, having trouble recalling. Some fever. "Uh... a lot of places. Ireland, Egypt, India... Siam?"
He gave me a tucked-in point. "Mutt!"
I shook my head. "Mule."
He squinted, and tilted his head with a wry little grin on one side. Then he laughed. "Never heard that one before."
I laughed back. "What about you?"
"Uhh... Scottish. Norse. Tibetan, possibly."
I raised an eyebrow. "Possibly?"
He waved his hand. "One of my parents was either a monk, or a whore. Not sure which. But then again, who isn't a little of both?"
I scrunched my eyes closed and tried not to laugh. "Ahh, you can't say that!"
He chuckled. "I can get away with it. Nobody wants to pick on the little guy."
I threw my head back a bit with a sigh. "That has NOT been my experience."
The Frogman put his fist on his hip. "What makes you think YOU'RE the 'little guy'?"
I grimaced, "Oh, I just... I dunno, man. I always feel small. Everything's bigger than me."
We walked around the corner to the building's front, along with the queue.
He hovered his hand flat above his head, delicate with his curls. "And yet, here I stand, smaller – and I bet older, too."
"I guess."
"You guess!" he raised. "You have any idea what it's like for me as a dwarf? I was kidnapped from my home and sold into entertainment, to dance and sing for an African warlord!"
"Not a king, then?" I asked.
Just then, an unattended chicken walked by us, rocking its head with a cluck for each swing.
He narrowed his eyes. "No, not so lucky. The point is, I've had a hard life because of my size. People expect me to please them, and even though I like doing it, it's not at all fun when it's demanded of you. And not all dwarves have a sense of humor."
I nodded, brow lowered. "How'd you escape?"
He looked both ways, and whispered with a hand to keep sound from escaping, "I killed him. Took a dagger to his heart while he slept. That's what he gets for branding my ass-cheek and making me wear... the suit."
I raised my eyebrow again. "The suit?"
"Dreadful thing," he frowned, as he leaned back from me. "Green silk tights, dumb hat, pointy toes – bells all over. I looked like a frog, and I sounded like a bag of coins."
I laughed. "You still look like a frog."
Silence.
Then, I broke out laughing again, red in the face.
His face was red, too. "Fuck you, man. To hell with you." He was grinning, but he really didn't want to. Then he finally joined me in laughing. He wiped a tear from his eye, and said, "I'll have to get you back for that some day. Swear to God."
We followed the line, as people walked behind us. We were finally at the doors. A man was trying to sell us donuts, and The Frogman paid for one which he stuffed down his throat in three seconds flat. Hardly seemed worth the money to me, even if they did look good. He tried to offer me one in gesture, but I shook my head. A few minutes passed.
I was afraid of how he might feel for what I had to say next, but I tried anyway. I leaned my head, "If you want revenge, you only have today. I'm leaving for Portugal."
The Frogman looked disappointed. "Really? So soon? But you just got here," he said sarcastically.
"And I'm already an estranged father. But now I have to go home. Do you wanna come with me?"
"A father, huh? And so young..." He looked into the distance. "No, I'll just get sold again. At least HERE, I can fit in with the other weirdoes." He looked at the guys in front of us, one Nubian in red and one Muslim in beige. "Like those freaks," he jeered.
I cringed. "Are you trying to start a fight?"
They were perturbed, and glared at us.
The Nubian guy berated him, "Whadjoo say, stumpy? You wanna go outside?"
The Frogman looked up at the door frame, directly over his head. "I'm already halfway there!"
He was grinning, but the other guys weren't.
The Muslim guy held his Nubian friend back from walloping a midget. "It's not worth it, he's just a small-fry," he said.
I tried to ease the tension. "He's just joking around, he doesn't mean it. He thought it would get a laugh."
The Nubian guy sneered, "Yeah, well, he's not funny.
They both turned back around, talking about us in pissed-off whispers.
The Frogman shook his head. "I could have taken them. I'm at crotch-punching elevation, I have the low ground."
"Right," I said, "and you're not just upset that I'm leaving after we just made friends, and picking fights to keep your thoughts busy."
He was offended. "I just MET you, you lark! Don't hold yourself in such high regard."
I grinned. "You are as clear as glass, my friend. Anyway, my mom once told me fast acquaintances happen in repeating lives. I think we've been friends before, and we'll be friends again."
He looked hurt. "Oh, you think that, huh? Or does everyone usually fall for your poetic nonsense?"
We stepped into the bank, where kids were throwing lesser coin at each other. The floor-boards creaked as we finally met them for the morning. A bit odd for a North African building to have a wooden first floor, I'd learned, but I understood when I heard the mice playing under our feet, little shadows between thin gaps. A man held the shoulders of his younger wife as she signed a parchment with inked feather, which I supposed was a marriage contract of some kind. My heart sank a bit to see someone sign themselves away, but it was none of my business. Wasn't it usually the father who did that for her? Unless... oh, gross. I frowned. The Frogman barely seemed to notice, busy counting the people who were shorter and those who were taller than him.
I replied after some time. "I'm sorry if-"
He interrupted me, "No, I'm sorry. I was being short."
He smirked, and I chuckled quietly. After a few minutes, we finally reached the counter. I let The Frogman go first. He had a contract to sign for a deed to some acres of land a few days away. He was planning to build a palace there, he told me, but he could settle for a nice stone house. He had a lot of gold for someone who looked unemployed, jingling in his pockets – I wondered if it reminded him of his old bells. He set a few coins on the counter to pay a fee of some kind with taxes.
When it was my turn, The Frogman stayed at my side, indicating perhaps that he'd like to drink before I left. That made me smile. But when I saw The Banker, my smile withered. They were a strange-looking, chubby elder of grey hair, tied back tighter than a pygmy doll, stretching their forehead. Their face was like a wrinkly lump of clay, with no discernible shape except that every part was intact – indescribably normal, yet impossible to determine their sex, or intentions. Cold, beady grey eyes from behind thick glasses leered at me, and I thought at once of the bear whose cave I'd once wandered into, before The Knight pulled me back. That bear chased us for a whole day, through forest and rocky creeks. Even when we scrambled up a tall tree, it spent all night sniffing the ground, clawing the trunk of it... it was hungry, and miserable with us for not leaping into its razored maw like so many salmon before. Back in reality, I was also acutely aware that this person had done me no harm of any kind, but somehow even my demon was a coward in their presence – like a student waiting for their knuckles to be rapped.
The Banker perceived my discomfort, glared through tight eyes, and sneered with hairy lip and chin. In a Russian woman's voice, they asked, "What do you want?"
I stammered, "I, uh... I um..."
They snapped, "WHAT? DO? YOU? WANT?"
Everyone turned to look, and I was hellishly embarrassed. "I need to, um... I have African money, and I need, uh... Spanish money.
The Banker bellowed, "OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SPEAK UP, YOU INBRED WASTREL!! WE DOOON'T HAAAVE AAAALL DAAAY!!" She clapped on each extended word, to belittle me as small as she could.
The Frogman's eyes sparked. He cut in, and leaned on the counter. "The Baker, over in the other neighborhood... is she your sister?"
As if her voice had never risen, she changed moods in a slippery instant, and I was still unsure she wasn't privately raging inside when her cheeks flushed and she put her hands to them. "Oh, you!" she melted, and fluttered her short-lashed eyes. "That's my daughter, you scoundrel. How'd you know?"
He casually replied, "Your beauty and hers are two of a kind." He winked. "How would you like a son-in-law?"

I ended up waiting another week to leave – I had to work the bakery while my boss prepared for her wedding. Then, I needed to attend my new friend's wedding with my now-former boss. I was the Best Man, though technically not a man. The Nubian guy from the bank turned out to be our local pastor, and he was now officiating the union. The Banker cried in the church pews as a friend of The Baker's brought the ring. The Frogman smiled warmly as he slipped the ring on The Baker's finger, and she cried too, over blushing cheeks as he kissed her. Then, he turned around to give me a side-hug, and a laugh.
We partied in the yard, and enjoyed The Baker's confections, which she let nobody else make for her. The Nubian guy's Muslim best friend handled catering. I asked him about The Chief, and whether he was a hero or a disgrace to his beliefs – the caterer told me that drinking was deeply 'haram' (forbidden) for a reason, and that The Chief had abandoned his beliefs even more-so when he deliberately harmed refugees.
"This," he told me, "is not our way. I'd hardly call him a Chief... he should be named The Betrayor."
I spent much of the event helping him carry food, and was told by The Baker it'd be my job to wash the dishes later. I shook my head with a shrug, because it was no less than what I'd expected to hear in the first place. The entire neighborhood was in attendance, all of them as thick as blood with The Baker, and happy to see her find someone that made her feel loved.
Later, a few of us went into town again. I abstained from drink, content to watch The Frogman do drunken impressions from a bar table.

The next day, I left them to their honeymoon.