ALIFE.TXT

Based on a dream - That looked like it would make a good movie :) 
By Afril

Iilich Androv Navitchka walked across the bridge, but does not see it. God is
cruel. He saved all he could to bring his wife and as yet-unborn son to America
- Only to watch them die soon after taking the oath that made them citizens. He
stumbles, wondering how far the ground is from here and if he were to jump if
it would kill him. "Hey Guy!" He bumps a black man in a heavy coat. "Pardon..
I.. Am occupied in my mind." Thomas Jefferson Johnson looked the man over.
Slavic.. Boat person. He steps by. "I have lost a son." He grips his coat, a
spark of comradeship and shared misery. "So have I.." he mutters and walks down
and across a street, tossing his money on the bar. "Keep it coming until this
is gone." The lawyer was sympethetic but the Judge preferred the Mother have
custody. She was a cheat and a whore, but she had his son.

"This will not solve your problems.. Any more than a tall bridge will solve
mine." The slav had followed, finding a small reason to live. "What the hell do
you know?" Johnson growled. A wan smile as the man swallowed his vodka shot in
a gulp. "A week ago, I was laid off from my job. 4 days ago, Chlorea took my
wife and 4 month old son, but left me untouched. I thought God cruel and
unjust. Until I hear another voice crying in tune with mine. So - Perhaps it is
His will we meet." A booming laugh. "Or maybe the Gods just laugh at us.." A
Asian, skinny to the point of fraility, in a coat 4 sizes too big, takes them
both by the shoulders. "My wife left me, and took my children.. All perished on
the Steppes." Sorrow touches his words. The 3 men sit and commiserate their
losses, shake hands and introduce themselves.. "Call me Andy - All those I
worked with did." Tom nods. "Peter.. My Mongol name is almost unpronouncable in
American." His coat is olive drab, with a huge red star in the front,
overlapping the buttons. Andy sighs, staring at the glass in his hands.

"I spent most of my youth going to college, learning to run a business, so My
father would not have to work so hard. Then my Uncle writes and says 'Come to
America.. So I did. Now - Now I sit." Johnson nods. "I was born here.. made
plans, had dreams of opening up a business.. Then I fell in love. With a wife
who wanted to still be single. Tody was my last hope of getting my Son." Peter
nods to the 2 of them. "So - Andy needs work. Tom needs a business. I need
someplace to put money. What kind of business did you have in mind Tom?" The
black man looks up as if seeing something for the first time. "A messenger
service.. Information is always in demand. And even with all the phones and
letters, people still need to get information from one place to another."

Peter nods. "Andy.. What do you think?" The brown eyes haze as he thinks.. "Yes
-If one knows the ins and outs it could be a profitable business and at the
same time help others." "Done!" Glasses clinked and in a bar in the lower part
of Midtown, was born Hope.

                             * * *

Lady Luck smiled on them and they prospered, going into other ventures, always
careful to set aside something in case the dream shattered and they awake to
reality again. Andy was sitting in a Pawn Shop, taking to a friend when a young
man walks in, looking like he would rather be anyplace else but there. "Good
Morning." He steps to the counter and produces a large pocket watch. "How much
can I get for this?" Iilich holds out his hand. "May I?" The young man nods and
hands it to him. A pocket watch, Polan design. Inside is an commendation, in
Polan, for 30 years of service. "Your Father's.." A nod. "I can only give you
$15 for it Mark.. Watches are not selling well." The young man nods, obivously
desperate. "Mark - How would you like to earn an extra $5 And let others know
about yout Father?" Iilich had been to museums, and seen the lack of cultures.
Mostly Egyptian, and native American.. What of the Immigrants? What of the Old
Country? Their History was just as rich.

Mark stammored.. "You go home and write everything you can think of about your
family, and bring it to this address. I think it is time America saw some of
It's other heritages." He smiles at the pawnbroker. "Tovaram, I want to see
your best items - Anything with a History." His brown eyes shine as he thinks
of a small place that has been for sale for some time. "The Old Country Museum
- What do you think?" The old man behind the counter laughed. "Iilich - You are
crazy enough to make it work.." But he smiles and thinks of his Mother's
dancing dress - And he still remembers some of the old tales his grandmother
taught him. Living History..

                             * * *

A young lady folds pieces of her life in cotton cloth. She has heard of a place
that buys such goods, and she is in need of money. The red-cross badge, the
double heart that a student had made from flannel so her plain dress would have
a little color, a framed picture of three soldiers. At 28, her life was coming
to a close. She had been to the socials, chatted with the men, but none sparked
her interest. None could help her re-build her life. Her Father, Brother, and
Sweetheart - All killed in a war that no one said they wanted. Her mouth tasted
of ashes as she finished, hoping these few things would fetch enough to keep
living a little while longer. Maybe she would find work again. Maybe a
husband.. She shakes her head, blaak hair falling like a dark waterfall past
her shoulders. "If.." She stands and takes the bundles to her Uncle's car.

As he drives, she recalls her life - teaching was a way of life to her. Both
parents were teachers, and she wanted no other profession. A 17 her Mother
passed away. A year later she was alone in the house, both her father and
brother serving in the military. Then her Sweetheart who wanted to marry as
Soon as he got out of the service found a land-mine instead. They buried what
was left and sent her a medal. 2 more letters arrived, bearing the same grim
news - First her older Brother, who was always too reckless. Then her Father,
trying to rescue someone. Even through her pain she was Proud of them. So she
went to work for the Red Cross - Mostly helping as she could, but it was enough
to keep her mind busy with other's suffering, and shared pain is lessened pain.
Then the war ended.. And she came here. To live and seek her fortunes in
America. What little money she did have dwindled as she couldn't seem to settle
into anything. And now...

The car stopped, jolting her out of her revere. 'The Museum of The Old
Country.' The banner read, with a map of the countries in different colors -
Somehow bound together with a single red border outlining the area. A man, with
just a bit of gray at the temples and in his hair greeted them. His brown eyes
were warm and friendly, and for the first time in months, she thought of
herself as not Anna Marktorva, but as a Woman. Introductions led to a tour.
Which led to hands being held.. And a dinner date - Chaperoned of course. Then
a movie and she spent more time, helping arrange the articles and typing the
histories and stories. And one spring day, not quite 6 months later - A
proposal. She was overwhelmed, but accepted. The ring was neither new nor large
of stone, but it was His Mother's.. And she would wear it as of it were the
Jeweled Crown of Ramar.

An orthodox wedding brought out All the relatives one usually only sees at the
Festival Of Winter, or Christmas as they called it here. Many heads were shaken
as Anna could trace her bloodlines to royality, but That was many ages ago, and
here money was more important.. Besides - He had the Museum. For that alone
they could forgive a multitude of sins. A wealthy widower, still in the prime
of his life - What a Catch! And every Aunt took it upon herself to remind the
bride of this fact every chance that came along. Anna only smiled and nodded,
watching her husband talk to his partner in business. A dark man - 'Black is a
color, not a skin tone.' Her mother would say, having had her share of bigotry
over her Moorish complexion - whose wife was one of the health-concious,
ribbing him about all the ethnic foods loaded with calories and fat. "So I die
happy." he would reply then beam at his new wife, who would smile back.

Then Death walked in. She had seen it so many times she could pick it out even
in a such a crouded room as this. But this was Selfish Death - Only for
himself. Anger and dispair he wore like an old pair of shoes.. Ah! Her husband
saw the man too. See how he greets the man, plies him with drink, A few
words.. Then the man leaves, even more angry if that is possable. She wishes
she could break away and watch this poor man, to whom life is a tragic play -
To be played out to the bitter end.

                             * * *

Illich was taking thirds on Rosta when he saw an old friend.. A mushroom addict
who eeked out a living on a large villa, painting abstracts that some called
art, and others called much worse. It doesn't take much to find the problem. "I
came to your wedding to say Goodbye. I have had it with this Life.." Iilich
listens to the tirade, then scoffs. "A bullet.. Is that all that awaits you?
Will you spoil that beautiful landscape with your ugly body? What kind of
artist are you?" The man gets up, and Yells, "I'll show you!" and leaves the
party. "What did you say to him?" Tom comes over, puzzled, as he watches the
man storm off. "I think I have turned his soul to hatred, from immortality.
Perhaps it will be enough.."

The man drives his station wagon in a frenzy to his house.. He looks at his
home - and across the field that borders the forest. Then trudges up and goes
inside, thinking of the long staircase that runs up the 3 stories to the Loft,
where an easel and his latest 'masterpiece' await him. He holds a gun, tucked
in his pocket, slowly walking his Last Mile. Time passes and the clouds paint
shadows acros the drifts, making 'waves' of them. The wind shifts and the dry
snow moves, a restless ocean of white. The silence is shattered by a single
gunshot, then all is still again.

A few months later Iilich reads about the latest 'Find' in the art world - a
genius who is on tour, showing off his portraits of 'Oceanic-style Snow-covered
Landscapes.' A picture shows him waving a hand across canvases covered with
panaramic views of hills and valleys, indeed looking like an sea of white. He
holds a piece of gnarled driftwood in the other hand leaning on it a little.
'An artist to the end.' he thinks, folding it to the business section, glancing
up at a painting with a bullet hole in the middle of it, and signed 'Suicide of
a mushroom addict.' that hung over one wall.

                             * * *

Johnson and Illich are very happy, both having wonderful wives, and a few kids
to boast about to each other. A wall shelf holds photos - Playful hugs, group
picnics, Illich having a Mauser pointed at him by his wife, at a theme park.
Winters with horses and kids. A rich life, and a happy one. But people age,
wrinkles set in faces, hair turns color and sometimes leaves altogether. Still,
he would not trade one moment of it, as he tells Tawn, his partner's wife on an
outing. "You really shouldn't be eating that.." "But it's Fish, and
Corn-on-the-cob. What could be healthier?" Riessa - On holidays and special
occasions his Mother would search the market for Hours to find the Right fish
to be baked with ears of corn, and dark rye bread. "Besides - It's
traditional." She laughs and knows she can't argue with that, instead going to
sit with her husband and hugging him. Illich had been drinking even before the
picnic and while not sloppy drunk was inebreated enough to make his wife grab
his arm as he sat. "Are you alright Love?" He rarely got drunk at home, and
Never in public. "I am sorry my Dearest.. I sometimes miss The Old Country."
She hugs him as he eats and drinks his wine. "Sometimes I do too." She
whispers, kissing his ear. He blushes, and returns it. When they were dating a
stolen kiss on one's earlobe was the height of passion. Now they did it for
love.

"The wine makes me sleepy. Hold my hand as I drift off, Please Anna." She does
so, looking at him. "I know Tawn means well, but it is of no matter. I will die
soon." She gasps as he squeezes her hand, letting her absorb the shock, seeing
little steaks of white in her dark hair, too proud to have it dyed. "The
doctors have known for a few days.. But I am not worried." He smiles and drinks
a little more Pareesi. "I have decided to leave you all my holding and 15% of
the company. The other 15% is to be divided as follows - 5% to be returned to
Our homeland, to help life there. 5% to the red-cross, in your name. And the
last 5% to go to a fund to help those who come to America to have a better
life, but have no money. So no one else must lose their Son, their Wife.." A
tear runs down his cheek as she squeezes his hand. "It shall be so, My
Husband." A mirroring tear running down her own. He drifts off, thinking of his
life and how it almost ended on a bridge. 'She is still beautiful. Should have
no problem finding another husband.' He kisses his wife's cheek, then lays his
head on the table, and sleeps.

The End