Free Reunion by Hugh Fox Page B

reaching behind the chair and getting his beige human-fleshy-looking leg, sitting back down and sticking the leg up his pants leg, unzipping his fly, opening his belt, strapping the thing back on to a support-belt around his waist, rezipping, re-belting-up, sitting back with a mixed scowl/look of amusement scrolled across his face, “And now, folks, for the next feat of the evening, I will send my eyeball into your midst so that it can peer into your problems, and then The Great Frederick will reveal all,” reaching up, pretending he was pulling out his eyeball, keeping his eye closed as he threw an imaginary eyeball Malinche’s way, her ducking, not quite sure what was going on, Fred just a little too much for her.
    Ellen went over and picked up the teapot, cup and saucer, sugar bowl.
    â€œJesus, Fred, you broke off one of he handles of the sugar bowl.”
    â€œThat’s been broken for years, darling,” he answered, opening both eyes, returning to his version of ‘normal.’ “I’ll glue it all back together tomorrow … after our long lost friends are gone,” then suddenly coming down, down, down inside, repentant and depressed and very, very sunken-eyed, dejected, old, “sorry I’m such a fuckup, you guys. I really had planned it all to be so well-tuned, a veritable Viennese musical clock …” Ellen with a vacuum cleaner out of the front closet, portable, no plugging-in needed. A sudden high-pitched whirr, a quick, deep series of serious passes, and that was finished, then two towels out of the kitchen, one to blot up, the other to wash, blot, wash, blot, wash.
    â€œJesus!” said Fred, watching her, “you’re so efficient, you oughta run for the presidency … ”
    â€œThat ought to be inserted into Apocalypse,” she smiled, ‘“and when a woman or a black or a Catholic shall become president of these United States, then you shall know that the final days are at hand …”’
    â€œNicely spoken!” Freddy smiled, applauding a soft little patty-cake applause, “I couldn’t have done it better myself,” up again, and then a sudden deflation, like waves, Up and Down, Up and Down, “maybe I’ll stay home tonight. I don’t really feel up to it. And besides, they’re not my classmates … ”
    â€œBut!” shouted Ellen from the kitchen, “you are the soul of curiosity. You’re dying to see the whole living museum … ”
    â€œTrue enough!” he admitted, reached over and pulled back the curtains and drapes, looked outside, “it’s really a winter wonderland isn’t it? I wonder if anyone will get through … ”
    â€œThey’ve got the snowplows out, it’s a piece of cake,” said Ellen, one last dry towel in her hand, one last final blotting, then a quick once-over with a hair-dryer and the mess was vanquished.
    â€œSo, my little friend,” said Fred, suddenly turning to Malinche, “what do you miss most of your native Pakistan, exiled here in these frozen wastelands … ?”
    â€œMiss?” Malinche sitting down on one of the giant, plush sofas.
    â€œFamily, curry, the call of the muezzin … ?”
    Malinche looking inside, a thorough examination of consciousness, the answer coming from her inner depths.
    â€œI miss the goats!”
    Fred laughing.
    â€œThe goats?!?” calling in to Ellen, “Did you hear that, Ellen, Ellen … the goats!,” then somewhat catching himself, moving from mocker to sympathizer, “that’s so cute.”
    Malinche laughing at herself.
    â€œThat’s one of the first things I thought when I came here, ‘How can a big country like this be so successful without goats?’” laughing one of her high-pitched little cockatoo laughs, Fred looking at her hungrily, the black boots and legs and black suede coat, such a delicious jumble of inviting