Ernest Hart

by Bill Bowler

Part 1
Part 2
appear
in this issue.

conclusion

The loud blast of an automobile horn derailed my thoughts. I had reached the corner and stepped off the curb and some guy sped by and brushed me back and missed me by an inch.

I’ve got to start paying more attention. What was I thinking about? Oh yes, Uncle. I suppose he’s really not such a bad guy. I should give him a chance. He’ll probably start to like me once he meets me. I don’t blame him for his possessiveness. It’s natural, perfectly understandable. I can easily put myself in his shoes.

It was already getting dark by the time I reached home. Venus was shining brightly in the Western sky. It was consoling, somehow. I looked at the glowing orb for a few minutes and wondered if Stella had happened to notice it and started to feel really emotional, and walked upstairs into my apartment to get ready for our date.

With a feeling of trepidation, I rang her doorbell. The front of the house was dark and shades were drawn. I walked around to the side and a soft light shone from a second story window. I went back to the front door and stood for some time trying to decide whether to ring the bell again.

There was dead silence inside, but I began to feel as if someone were watching me through the peephole. Then I heard the bolt being drawn, the door opened partially, and Uncle stood there in a smoking jacket and ascot, with a large cigar clenched between his teeth. He looked me up and down for a moment.

“Ah, yes, Mr...”

“Hart.”

“Of course, Mr. Hart. Won’t you come in?”

I stepped in and followed him through a paneled hallway with some kind of gargoyles carved along the edge, down a short marble staircase, into the living room.

“Would you be so kind as to excuse me for a moment? Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He left the room and I sat down on the couch, waiting to see what would develop. It was like sitting inside a wrapped gift. The room was square and the lower two thirds of the walls were done in some kind of sequined purple. Then there was a horizontal silver stripe, and the top third was dark green. One of the walls and part of the ceiling over it were glass, exposing the swimming pool in the back yard and half the sky.

The wall opposite the couch had a giant TV screen and a stereo component system. I was in a slightly agitated condition because of my first date with Stella and, left alone in a strange house, my imagination began to act up. I thought I heard voices from somewhere in the house, then someone shouting and a slap or something, then silence, then footsteps, and Uncle was back in the room holding a crystal decanter and two glasses.

“Stella was mildly indisposed earlier this afternoon and we feared she would be unable to keep her engagement with you this evening, but she’s a strong willed young woman, Mr. Hart, to which I attribute her foolhardy insistence on going out tonight. She should be down in a few moments. Do you care for a drink while we wait?

I said yes, and he poured two glasses, sat opposite me, and asked where I was taking Stella.

“We’re going downtown to the Cave Inn. A band called the Buzzbombs is playing tonight. I brought a CD of theirs along with me in case you’re curious to hear what they sound like.”

Uncle was listening with a pained expression. “You may put it on, if you like.”

I cued the “Shoot First” cut from their “World War III” album. Uncle’s face was getting red.

“I just don’t understand, Mr. Hart. What part of your experience has brought you to this? I don’t know what’s gotten into you kids, and you’re not kids any more. You think noise is music. Your heads are empty. All is forgotten in the mindless pursuit of immediate gratification. Freud is right. Educability ends with the full onslaught of the sexual urges...”

I was listening to the music. There’s a drum intro that establishes the beat, then guitars and,

Don’t turn your back,
Don’t turn your back,
Shoot first
’Cause it’s a sneak attack

“...Mr. Hart, you think I don’t, but I understand the folly of youth. I know you are unable to heed my words, but I will speak nonetheless. Come to your senses! Life is not a dance in the street. I’m afraid you may be in for a rude awakening. Serious issues demand our attention. There is important work to be done. I advise you not to frolic your life away, dreaming and wondering...”

“That’s very interesting,” I said.

“And as for tonight’s activities, I don’t care to go into it further, but I question your judgment...”

He leaned towards me, the veins on his neck were bulging, “...I know you will take care of my little girl, Mr. Hart. I don’t want her out all hours of the night. I don’t want you two getting into any mischief or nonsense. She’s just a child...”

He stopped. Stella had walked in and the room seemed to brighten, as if a cloud had passed from in front of the sun. Uncle stood up, walked over to her and embraced her for several moments, running his hand through her long blond hair. She stood in his embrace with her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed, and a strange smile on her lips.

He finally spoke, “Well, well, children, do enjoy yourselves this evening. And Stella, dearest, do remember you must be back by eleven to administer my medicine.”

She nodded in agreement.

I was beginning to feel apprehensive about Uncle’s behavior. He seemed to have an overly physical attraction for his niece. I wouldn’t put anything past him. He doesn’t seem that balanced, although he is apparently functioning quite successfully in society. More successfully than me, in fact. And to some extent, I’m reproaching him for feeling what I feel for Stella. But he’s her uncle. What about social taboos?

As we walked into the Cave Inn, I glanced at Stella and wondered what lay in store for us. She was looking down as if in thought. I waved to Lenore at the bar, who smiled back conspiratorially.

We sat way in the back away from the amps to be able to talk after the band starts, ordered drinks, and I asked, “Stella, is your uncle from another country or something? I think he has a slight accent.”

“Ernest, I’m afraid you have gotten a bad impression of him. I don’t think you understand him very well. I don’t understand him myself, and we are very close. He’s a wonderful, generous man, although he has a short fuse and a violent temper. But he’s under a lot of pressure. His work is difficult, even dangerous. It takes him to primitive, backward countries where his safety is not assured. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem that important, except that it showed the extent to which Stella had fallen under her uncle’s influence. I felt, as part of my desire for her, the desire to bring her rather under my influence. But what was she saying about him? A lot of what I think about him is just based on suspicions.

“Is he your real uncle, Stella?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, a friend of the family?”

Stella wasn’t really listening. She seemed preoccupied, and her expression seemed worried.

“Stella, you know, I have to say I don’t think he treats you very well.”

“What do you know?! Why do you always want to talk about him? It’s true, Ernest, I feel very affectionate towards him, but can’t you see...?” She broke off.

I felt terrible. Here I was, upsetting Stella as effectively as if on purpose. “Forget it, Stella. It’s none of my business. Do you feel like dancing?”

She said yes, but I’m not sure she meant it. The band was good, in any case. Steady beat, not too fast, sort of rock-moderato, with two and three part vocal harmonies. Stella was a great dancer. Watching her hips put me in a trance. My grandmother wasn’t allowed to dance like that. Gyrations were forbidden.

When I walked Stella home, I felt an increasing sense of apprehension. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was afraid things might not work out between us. The future was beginning to seem uncertain. But my momentary alarm passed. Love will prevail. The strength of my feelings almost insures a happy outcome to the drama. We had reached the door. She seemed troubled. When I tried to kiss her goodnight, she turned from me.

“Stella, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Ernest. I had a wonderful time. I want you to like me and I want to be your friend, but I’m afraid you may have the wrong idea about us.”

I was speechless. What do I do? What’s my best move?

“I’d like to see you again. Can I call you?”

“I’m not even sure that’s a good idea, but all right.” And she gave me her number. As I turned to go, the door was opened for her from the inside and a long shadow fell on the walk.

I had a strange dream that night. I can’t remember all the details. I was at work at The Oasis and I realized I was naked but no one else seemed to have noticed yet. Then I noticed that one of the dining room walls was missing, and the room opened into a forest.

I was uncomfortable and wondering where my clothes were, but was also curious about the forest, which I entered. I came to a brook and began to follow it upstream, and arrived at a lake in the middle of the forest. Suddenly, Abraham Lincoln stepped from the bushes onto the path, barring my way to the lake. His face was distorted with rage. He was holding a carving knife...

I was determined to call Stella the next evening and was mildly anxious throughout the day while only semi-conscious of the fact of my resolution. My anxiety was mixed with anticipation. I calculated that seven would be a good time to call. Still early. They would be just finished with dinner, and even if Stella was going out somewhere, she would probably still be home. I might have preferred to call around ten, but I didn’t want to give Uncle any pretext, however slight, for thinking I was impolite by calling too late.

At seven, I sat down by the phone and began to consider my options. Maybe I was right about calling her later? She may already have gone out by now or maybe she wasn’t home yet? Maybe they ate dinner early tonight or they always do, although they could eat later. I would much prefer that Stella answer the phone. I don’t feel like talking to Uncle. But what am I nervous about, anyway? This is no big deal? What do I have to feel guilty about? Uncle doesn’t know what’s going on. Maybe I should call her tomorrow?

I picked up the receiver and glanced at the clock. Seven twenty. I started to dial, but when I reached the fourth digit, I suddenly felt I had dialed the wrong number. I hated to think I would put myself through all this and be obviously nervous on the phone only to find out I was talking to a wrong number and have a complete stranger know what I was going through and probably laugh.

I tried to dial her number three or four times, but each time became convinced I had misdialed and hung up. My mouth was parched. I cleared my throat and tried to swallow and practiced saying hello a couple of times but my voice sounded raspy. I got a glass of water from the kitchen but choked on it when I tried to drink. Jesus! I looked at the clock again. Seven forty. Why is this taking so long?

With a sense of fatalism, I picked up the receiver and forced myself to dial her number. As it began to ring at the other end, I panicked.

“Hello?”

Bad news! Uncle.

“Um, hello. Yes, this is Ernest Hart. Is Stella there?”

“No. She left just a moment ago.”

I wanted to know where she had gone. I could go there and find her.

“Well, um, would you please tell her I called and that I’ll call back?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you very much.”

I tried again later that night, only to get Uncle again and he said she’d already gone to bed. I tried again the next day in the afternoon but nobody was home, and again that night, and Uncle said he’d have her call me. My back was to the wall. I can’t keep calling forever. It’s no accident that I can’t reach her.

I waited a day, staying home a lot, to see if she’d call me and of course she didn’t. Things were going from bad to worse. I had no choice. I had to see her no matter what the consequences. There was no past, no future, only the immediate overwhelming need to see her at once at any cost. She won’t leave me stranded if I can only get through to her and talk to her. She understands me. Her uncle could be holding her there against her will. He has some weird psychological control over her. I brooded the entire walk to her house. Who is this guy, anyway? Who does he think he is? I’ve got my rights, too!

When I arrived at Stella’s, the front of the house was dark. I walked around to the side and looked up at Stella’s window. The light was on. I found some pebbles in the shrubbery and tossed a couple at her window to try to get her attention.

“Really, Mr. Hart, I didn’t expect this sort of behavior from you.”

I jumped. Where’d he come from? Uncle was standing behind me and, in the shadows, he seemed to be sneering. He was holding a fireplace poker.

“I could easily have mistaken you for a prowler. There could have been some unfortunate accident. I don’t know what to think.”

“Where’s Stella?” I demanded.

“Let’s get to the point, Mr. Hart. There seems to be some needless confusion here. I do understand your attraction for her. I appreciate your position. You remind me of myself as a young man. Unfortunately, in this case, you cannot attain what you desire. You are too late. Forget her. She and I are bound to each other in ways you might find difficult to comprehend...”

His expression was devilish, but his manner was passionate, and his features darkly handsome in this, the moment of my complete defeat, the moment of the rout of my fantasies.

“But where is she? Where?!”

“I have sent her to Greece for a brief vacation. I intend to join her on Mykonos at the end of the week. This is goodbye, Mr. Hart.”

And with those words, he shook my hand in farewell. My own hand entirely disappeared in his enormous, hairy, stone cold grasp, in his vise-like grip. I felt a sudden unnerving sensation, a sudden, almost deathly chill, a sense of my complete powerlessness in the face of events. I was suddenly struck by the full significance of what was happening. I felt as if I was sinking into the ground and wanted to cry out loud in pain.

He turned from me, walked slowly around the corner of the house, and I heard the front door open and then close.