Potato Salad and Mixed Drinks by Christopher Ananias

I moved the boiling eggs to the cold burner. Hopefully Edward wasn’t lactose intolerant. I was making my famous potato salad. The newscaster sounded solemn—something about a landslide—Indonesia or somewhere. Then almost musically, “Onto the local murders.”

The sun glinted through the kitchen blinds. Landslides and murders on a sunny day, nothing unusual about that. Then I thought about how scientists discovered water on the sun, now that disturbed me. I checked my watch, and it was almost 7:30.

The new neighbors invited me to a party, so I climbed the hollow staircase of the apartment house. They were much younger, but I struck up a fatherly conversation with them in the communal garden. We got into a discussion about allergies. Apparently Edward was averse to a myriad of conditions. Rachael hovered by his side, and she watched him with big blue eyes, long eyelashes swishing in time with his words, very concerned about her anemic-looking Edward. Then we naturally descended into the subject of alcoholic drinks. I suggested certain non-allergic herbs for making mixed drinks, mostly sticking to simple inoffensive things like sprigs of mint and basil for gin and tonics.

The large yellow Pyrex bowl of potato salad needed to be refrigerated, and I regretted not making it the night before. The mayonnaise could go bad. Kill someone. I covered it with the tight crinkle of aluminum foil. Who likes hot potato salad? I hoped they did. Knock-knock.

I didn’t hear the techno beat, which I loathed, since they moved in, but it was too quiet. I knocked again and waited. Footsteps approached, and the door of Apt. C, slowly creaked open.

Rachael, the young lady who invited me, along with her spouse Edward, acted like she didn’t know what I wanted. She was sloppily dressed in orange sweatpants and a lifeless white T-shirt. Her long chestnut hair wasn’t even brushed sticking up in the back. I expected a little more… It sure didn’t look like a party. Then tears came running down her face. The apartment was devoid of guests, except for a big curly red-haired man sitting on the couch. He didn’t turn to look at me. “Edward has been killed.”

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Rachael.” I almost said, OMG, and I was grateful to have remembered her name. Their last name was a blank. Maybe they said Luchtefeld—lucky something. Then it went out of my head. I didn’t know what to do with the heavy Pyrex bowl. “It’s potato salad.” She reached for it like it was a baby, so I let her take it. 

She wiped her eyes and ushered me into the living room. I smelled something strong like BENGAY. “Here, have a seat. Move over David.” David sat in the middle of the couch, hands on his legs, staring at a blank television.

“He can sit in Edward’s chair.” Apparently this David was quite obstinate.

“David you are an ass, aren’t you?” Rachael said, shrugging her shoulders.

Then he scooted over and patted the couch. “Come on, move your ass.” I sank into the sofa. Like it had no frame inside it and it was red. Red seemed to be the theme. Blood red drapes, red lamps, a red sunset picture like a bloody eye on the wall, black shag carpet. White plaster archways like eyebrows on the black walls. The black candles on the white end tables were an elegant touch.

“I like how you have decorated Rachael, sort of Goth.” She had disappeared.

David’s colossal head turned and settled on me. “Who are you?” Dead eyes looked at me in the unfocused-vulnerable way of the blind. Eyes that no longer held any expression. A pointed nose sniffed me out, a tongue gliding across thick lips tasting the air. It was like being scanned. His flaming curly red hair gave him a sort of youthful appearance. He wore a black suit like an undertaker or something an undertaker would bury you in. His heavy stomach rode over a large waistline and looked well supported on his side of the couch. Not like my sinking side.

“I’m Richard.”

“You got the bad side. It’ll ruin your back.” He turned to the blank TV screen as if he missed something.

“Yeah it’s a little spongy.”

“Shush,” Then I could almost hear his head turning and felt or imagined a whiff of air from the mass of it. “Can I touch your face?” His hands were rising exposing silver cross cuff-links and a gold watch. Manicured fingernails flicking in the air. His hands were small which surprised me. 

“What? Why?” I pulled back toward the nightstand.

“I’m blind, it’s how I can see you. Haven’t you ever watched Helen Keller? You know what, forget it.” Then he was watching the blank TV, which I wanted to turn on, but what I really wanted was a drink of free whiskey. Then we could discuss Edward’s death.

I thought about his weird proposal, not wanting to offend a blind person, and moved with a struggle to pull myself out of the sinking couch.

“Okay. I guess.”

His head turned quickly, staring at me with his dead oblique blue eyes. “So you’ll let another man caress your face?” He smiled. “I thought so…I can hear it in your voice.”

I scooted back toward the lamp. Like he was a fire. I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to know what happened to Edward. Edward was friendly in the communal garden. He really listened to my suggestions about making cucumber mint margaritas. I used to be a pretty good bartender, before I got my useless degree in library sciences. Probably why they invited me, so I could wow them with my drinks. I even studied up a little in my old bartender’s book.

“David, don’t bother our guest. What did you say your name was?” Rachael looked grief stricken so ashy, almost as pale as Edward.

“Richard. We met in the communal garden. Hey if this is a bad time…”

“Do ya, think?” said David. “Do you not know about what’s proper? Inviting yourself in here, like some kind of vulture.”

“Well, yes, it’s obviously a bad time.” I said, getting angry. I should have more respect. He was a blind, unfortunate soul. The poor lady’s husband had been killed. She asked me to sit, so I did, from sheer politeness, but the blind homophobe was getting to me.

“We canceled the party, but I forgot after going to the morgue to identify Edward to let everyone know.” She let out a sigh and looked like she might cry. I thought about the landslide and local murders on the News. Was Edward murdered?

 The big man blurted out. “I’m David. I am a minister. That’s why I dress like this. I rushed over here to give consul and spiritual guidance. My sister neglected to introduce us. Sorry about the vulture crack.” He held out his right hand that ended in wrist cankles. I reached out to shake, and he moved. Like someone pulled the chair out from under me. “Let me feel your face.” His pink lips turned up, two evil Y’s formed in his otherwise smooth shapeless jowls.

“David, please,” said Rachael. “I’m sorry Robert or I mean Richard. David was fired from his position and lost his congregation when he went blind, and he is not very nice.”

“Yeah, I’m not very nice, Richard. I got fired and I don’t believe in God anymore. Can I have some potato salad?”

It was a lot to process. “Yes, of course.” I got up. Rachael started moving toward the small kitchen. “No-no. Please, I’ll dish us up some.”

“OK, whatever. Plates are in the cabinet above the sink.”

I made three saucer plates of potato salad. I used Miracle Whip to give it a sweeter flavor. That’s the secret. It’s really a side dish to be eaten with a slab of ham and baked beans. It was kind of an odd choice to bring to the party. I suppose it would be excellent for a wake.

“David,” I held the plate for him.

“I’m blind, stupid, touch my hand with the plate.”

I did, and he jerked it out of my hand. I frowned looking at him. Gauging how hard I could hit him. Then I felt a wave of chagrin.

Rachael sank into the couch by David. “I’m not really hungry.”

“More for us,” said David. “I thought potato salad was supposed to be cold. Hope I don’t get sick.” His fork had eyes of its own and he ate ferociously, smacking his mouth. “If skinny’s not going to eat hers, Richard. Sit it down on the couch, I’ll eat it.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Just sit it down. I’ve had better. The church ladies make it really good.” I did as I was told. He seemed to be the commanding type. I sat in a lonely chair by the black wall, that must have been Edwards. It smelled slightly medicinal like he secreted medicine in his sweat. All kinds of allergy medications and vitamins were on a tall round table. That looked out-of-place like they got it at a yard sale. I said a brief prayer. Would they ever tell me what happened to Edward?

“Would you like a nightcap before you leave, Richard.” said Rachael.

“Bye-bye,” said David.

I was learning to ignore David. Maybe being blind made him say disagreeable things so he could feel alive. Feel seen. “Sure.” I didn’t know I was leaving.

“You know David never used to be this way.” She got up and left me with him.

I didn’t know how to respond, openly watching her, without caring about the blind David. A line from a Phil Collins song came to me. Something about “A body under that shirt.” Except I thought She’s got an ass under those sweats. She disappeared down the hall, going to the bathroom I guessed. Scrumptious stuff.

David startled me and said, “I used to be a great guy, Richard. People loved me at my church.” His face changed, and the bitterness drifted away and I could see him standing before the cross.

“How can they take away your congregation?”

“There was a problem with a baptism.” His face darkened. “Hurry up with those drinks, God dammit!” he yelled toward the kitchen.

“I think she’s in the bathroom.”

“She’s always in there.”

I scanned my thoughts and this sounded familiar. Wasn’t there something a few years ago on MSN in the crime blotter? A tragic baptism in Minnesota? I couldn’t recall it—too many horrors to keep track. 

“The sons of bitches sued the church.”

“What happened?” I shelved Edward’s death like how I moved the eggs to the cold burner.

“They said I was unsafe to practice my religion.”

“Whoa, that sounds unconstitutional.” Now I felt like defending David. I had a cause.

Rachel came back, and she had some green hairy looking drinks on a plastic tray with roosters on it. “I tried a few of your suggestions Richard, about the mixed drinks. Sorry we’re out of cucumbers.”

I almost laughed, but took my concoction of herbs in a bourbon glass. I carefully sipped around the greenery, about like trying to drink a plant.

David took his drink, and the herbs went into his nose. “What the hell is this?” He grabbed the mess of mint sprigs, basal, and maybe rosemary like pulling weeds and sopped them onto the end table.

“Edward had everything laid out for mixed drinks, so I tried to be creative, David.”

“That’s okay, Rachael.” I said, glancing down her oversized T-shirt. There was a nice perky set under it, “So David…” Wanting to get back on why David lost his church.

David scoffed and drank his whiskey. Then turned on me. “My sister knows it’s okay, Richard.” We sat in a stifled silence sipping our whiskey.

“So David… What happened with your church?”

Rachael covered her mouth, and she looked like she was going to burst into hysterics. She was rather good looking.

“Are you laughing, Rachael?”

Rachael got up and ran out of the room down through the arched hallway. I heard a door slam and muffled giggling and maybe crying.

“I don’t see the joke in such a tragedy. I guess some people are sick!” he yelled toward the hallway. “You bitch!”

I wanted to shake him. I thought, tell me what happened, damn you.

“Babies are slick after you baptize them.” he said in a sort of mystical tone.

Suddenly it came back. I saw him on the news feed. He looked like an absolute monster in his mug shot. “So you dropped the baby.”

“Yes, at that point I couldn’t see very well, everyone looked like shadows. I refused to tell anyone for fear of losing my position.” He scoffed at that. “I saw two arms like they were in dark water coming toward me. I handed the baby to the mother, but they said she was about three feet away. I thought she was next to me. I smiled, feeling good about the baptism, and I dropped the baby on the hardwood floor and I heard the most sickening crack and split her skull. I couldn’t see that either. The father tackled me and he was even bigger than I am. We were wrestling around like a couple of water buffaloes and ended up over by the stained glass windows. Where we crashed into a sacrament’s table. By this time he was beating me near to death and I heard screaming and literally saw stars exploding inside my head. I was coughing, something broken—my right cheek and nose, drowning in my own blood. I grabbed something heavy on the floor. I thought it was a broken table leg. I hit him and felt a sort of sucking thump… Everything stopped and he rolled off of me. I have no idea how a 22 ounce carpenter’s hammer ended up in the cathedral. I buried the claw somewhere above his left ear. I passed out and then my new life began after they fixed my face.”

“So you hurt him pretty bad, then?” Now, I felt like the vulture spreading his wings swooping in on a juicy miserable situation. I was glad I came and hoped for another drink.

“Well, yeah… They both died.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly. I’m still awaiting trial, but it was self defense.”

“What about the baby?”

“My lawyer is claiming diminished capacity. The DA wants to burn my ass on her too, her name was Wendy, and he won’t budge off of negligent homicide. Even though it was a terrible accident… I’m blind for God’s sake.” Then he smiled, and I thought he made eye contact. Blind—I wondered… Let me touch your face.

Rachael came back in and freshened our drinks. I thought she would rush me off, but we drank more, several more. David sat there silent in his own thoughts. We drank for a long time. Things developed and I would remember drunken flashes. David had the bowl of potato salad on his lap eating it with a large wooden spoon. I remembered that… Rachel finally told me about what happened to Edward, and it wasn’t much.

We sat in the kitchen smoking. She said, “Edward had been another victim of random gun violence. A robbery at the bus stop, according to the policewoman on the phone. She sent me to the morgue to identify Edward. The cop sounded like there wasn’t much to be done.” It reminded me of the landslide in Indonesia or wherever it was. Just some event that happened and there would be another one tomorrow.

Rachael started crying again, and I hugged her and pretty soon we were kissing. In the bedroom with the lamp’s bright light shining on us. I looked down watching myself deliciously sliding in and out of her on their waterbed. The bed sloshing forward and back. The sickly Edward smiled in a picture on the stand. I felt like I murdered him myself. 

Then an enormous shadow fell on the doorway. David was looking at us—looking hard—taking in every naked inch of us, and he winked.

Christopher Ananias

Image: A close up of potatoes in a salad with herbs and mayonaise from Pixabay.com