under the big black sun: a fable
It came about that after apprehension and processing and release by the authorities, Glasseye was saved by the Reverend Sarah.
Kelly began the legwork for a story on the Reverend. Another one. "Are you numbering them? Perhaps some kind of inventive letter/title combination?"—her brother Martin: a typical reaction.
"But this one will emphasize Sarah's work with the black community. It could go right into the Lift your Face & Lift the Race series, plus a tie-in with Lanny's talk show. If he likes it."
"Yeah. And when has he not liked a suggestion of yours."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Me? Nothing."
Kelly delayed a few beats, then picked up again. "Plus, in this case I've got contacts via the Coney Island. Isn't there some veteran guy who went back to Viet Nam and became like a monk or something, who's Glasseye's cousin? And Mac having that knife fight with him, Glasseye I mean? Or maybe it was really the cousin. Did they really hold a sheet between by their teeth?"
"Sister. Who hangs out at that place? and which one of us disinfects the bottom of her shoes every time she's forced to step in there? Are you not aware that I, your humble servant, have gainful employment at a newspaper, and am dependent upon a few live contacts in the community for whatever meager food reaches the fundus of my stomach?"
"Well yeah but. How many people read—"
"DON'T even start on that again." The skin on Martin's neck, getting those blotches.
"You know, I don't think we even need to fight any more. The people who watch our show aren't even the same ones who read your paper anyway. It's not like we have to fight for an audience."
"Oh. Okay. I feel so much better."
"Good. Now, personally, I think if you didn't charge people a quarter to buy it—"
"Aargh. Fifty cents. Four bits."
"Whatever. I've seen free papers in big cities."
"Well. There's a solution."
"Good. Now we don't have this discussion again. So what do you think about —"
"Listen. Just a minute. Have you even stopped to think about how this all looks?"
"This—which this?"
"Being saved, after banging up his grandmother."
"She was the one who sought him out, Martin."
"Yeah, but come on. Who's going to hear that story and not see his great penitence as some kind of cop-out for what he did? Now I admit there's a lot of people watching the evening news who are not exactly critical thinkers, but it kind of has a smell to it."
"Are you saying something about the Reverend Sarah? That's an interesting perspective. Since when have you forgiven anyone for anything? Seems to me I get comments every few months about some stupid record cover of yours that I supposedly set a drink down upon and left a slight ring—"
"It actually tore part of the top layer of paper off, to be precise."
"Martin! That was in high school. I was fourteen years old!"
"That album would have been worth some money now, in pristine condition."
"Glasseye has just as much right as anybody to find salvation. I have a right to tape a story on it. It's been a long time since you were in church."
"Same goes for you."
"But I'm not taking the attitude that it can't be true! And I don't think you can go around saying you already know everything about what happened. You weren't there. There are larger forces than us."
Martin just watched her. This was kind of a step up for her. He couldn't tell whether to be impressed or irritated.
"Okay?" she said.
"Okay," he said. Still, she was wrong.
She especially wanted shots of Glasseye at home with his grandmother, who after personal visitation by Sarah, forgave him for breaking her shoulder.
