The Owl's Call Read online

minutes later, her face all glittering, had another slice and slipped into her shoes.

  It was time to go. Just a purse and a couple of things…keys! She wasn’t to forget about them.

  -

  And there she was in the mystic fog of Canada’s Jazz clubs.

  Cigar smoke and liquor haze filled the rooms. She breathed in. The band had started to play and the place was packed to the gilts. Maybe people passed by her, she didn’t care for this moment belonged to her. She breathed out.

  There was one seat left at the bar, and it was intended for her. She made her way to it in the clicking rhythm of her heels. Her dress seam swung boisterously as she placed her bottom on the wine red leather and checked that only her legs were showing.

  She ordered a whiskey.

  A guy just a couple of years older than herself, winked at her beauty. He already had emptied several after work beers. She was okay with it, but not interested. The man she awaited was soon to show up.

  She didn’t like the taste of her whiskey. It burned down her throat, alright, but the taste before that had something cheap on it. She ordered pepper mint schnapps.

  And there he was; walked onto stage so securely like only a man of certain stage experience could. He walked in and nearly all eyes were on him.

  This was his working place and he had been working the room for over thirty-five years now; and still he knew how to make an appearance. Nicely dressed in suit and tie, he went along with the band, made visual gags, goofed around and still wouldn’t give up the pleasure of dancing even though time had made him gain some pounds.

  She could see the years drop from him, while he swung over the stage.

  There he was in all his glory, a weird twenty-something with the ability to enchant the whole world with his adorable awkwardness.

  Every now and then cries of joy were released within the audience and some of the upright hands in the front row were shook by him.; this smile had made all the girls and boys love Mister Zedekiah Ackred.

  It was all there and she wanted it to stay.

  She wanted this mind trick to come true. But the picture started to shake. She thought it was something with her head that Young Ackred vanished on the spot. She wanted to get hold of him, but he disappeared before she even had the chance to reach out for him.

  It wasn’t picture which was shaky. Ackred’s smile was still there, alright, but weary and tired. He had to sit down. Someone handed him a glass of water. He thanked the unknown arm and its carrier in the shadows, as polite as he was, even in a situation like this. An announcement was made that Mister Ackred was not going to play the harmonica tonight but that he was going to remain on stage as long as his health made it possible.

  Couldn’t they see that it wasn’t the same man anymore? That life had been sucked out of him right in front of their eyes by some undefined force? That the all the dancing, lively, energetic character had vanished?

  Everything that made him the man he was; gone, within a blink of an eye.

  She jumped from her chair and headed for the stage. She forgot about everything - even the peppermint schnapps on the counter. She also left every precaution there.

  It was difficult getting through the crowd but she was only a few feet away from him, still on the ground, when two men seemly worried, but not as much as her, accompanied Mister Ackred backstage.

  Her chance passed; he had vanished once again.

  She stood in the filled room, utterly alone. Nothing belonged to her. She couldn’t smell, and then she didn’t breathe. All the lights went out for her.

  -

  When she awoke the first thing she noticed was that midnight had passed.

  “’ere deary, drink dis.” She thought that hot coffee with a lot of milk and caramel would never make it to a registered medication but swallowed it anyway.

  “Seems like I’m not the only one with an instable health, eh Doc?” Mister Ackred smiled weakly but heartily at her. A young man chained to the physical body of a fifty-eight-year-old.

  She saw him gesturing in the wildest ways. She saw him skipping through the last century’s television history. She saw him busting monsters. She saw him killing the harmonica.

  Where was her purse? Where were her papers?

  “Doctor Johnson had your things placed on the chair in the corner.” He had seen her look, and now her eyes followed his. She subconsciously reached out for her things. One of Mister Ackred’s former accompanies followed her gesture and handed her jacket and purse. Within that movement her harmonica slipped out of the handbag and landed on the floor. And as it was with any accident, all eyes were set on the result of gravity’s force.

  Mister Ackred reached out for the little shiny object and could get hold of it with two of his fingers. Finally managed to get a grip.

  “Is this yours?”

  “Yeah…” Her mouth felt dry from this first word she directed to her idol.

  Memories passed his face before he looked up from the instrument and to her again. “Do you want me to play it?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” What else was she to say?

  To her surprise his lips formed the same tunes as hers only a couple of hours earlier. She couldn’t believe it. She also couldn’t believe what happened then, a curl slit down on his forehead and time went backwards; she time traveled, in the only way it was possible. She now existed before her birth, at the studio where so many unique characters had been born, watching Mister Ackred in the moment, which had made her pick up the harmonica in the first place.

  This time she had to act. She grabbed into the pocket inside her jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He brought the instrument to its maximum volume and slowly let it drop to the final keys. The same expression as at the beginning of his play passed his face and both had to face the twenty-first century again.

  He handed her property back to her and she was going to exchange it for the paper, but the door burst open before she could.

  “My, my, Zeddy. What did you do?”

  “The same thing as you, Lee; I’ve been working.”

  “Seems like we’re both not the youngest anymore.” Sandman laughed heartily and pushed himself between Ackred and her.

  She let go. What right did she have to direct the word to him anyway? And finally Doctor Johnson built a double blockade by facing her and standing back on back with Lee Sandman.

  “Now, now. You seem to be alright again. I think I can let you go now.” The other former accompany took care of her. “And you might take my medical advice as a doctor and drink a little less.” She wondered how much money there was in accompanying.

  She was out the door, and then she was out of the club. It was cold again and she had done nothing but made a fool out of herself. She sighed; she would never make more but a fool out of herself.

  She put her blazer on and strolled home.

  -

  She got out of her shoes and dress; vanished into the bathroom and hit the hot shower. She even forgot to lock the hotel room in her hurry.

  The hot water ran down her body and she only wanted everything to go away with it, especially the shame.

  What was she thinking? That she’d just show up and the Zedekiah Ackred would direct every bit of his attention to her? No, she wasn’t even thinking that back in her teenage bedroom. She had nothing extraordinary on her, she knew that, but she had expected him to know. She had expected him to notice how the meeting with him would change her life. She had forgotten that he was only human and such a gut feeling only existed on screen. She felt so stupid and turned her head to the ceiling to let the water wash her tears off.

  She hid her head under the blanket and still felt ashamed and stupid, when she was already in bed. She didn’t want to think, she wanted to sleep and forget but her head wouldn’t let her. Over and over again it repeated the same scenes to show her how horribly gruesomely she had destroyed Ackred’s privacy.

  Tears came back again.

  -

  Somehow
she must have managed to fall asleep because she awoke the next day, technically the same day, during the early afternoon, looking in a green and a blue eye.

  “Why r u still sleepin’? My mommie sais to stand ub before ids lunch.”

  And then the little boy ran out of her room again; left the door open.

  It was shortly after three o’clock and she hoped the little boy was the only one who tried the door in the last twelve hours, and since the room looked untouched and even her clothes still lay on the floor as she had dropped them the night before, she assumed he was. She sighed of relief.

  It was freezing cold when she tried to put a foot on the floor, so she pulled it right back and wrapped herself in the fuzzy blanket to at least warm the rest of her body when she walked over to the door to finally lock it, before she changed her clothes.

  Okay, what was she to do now? She looked around the room. Then in search for an answer she staggered into the bathroom to brush her teeth. After three minutes of dental care and recollecting wits, she realized what an unbelievable headache she had and decided to get a cup of coffee.

  -

  She had to figure out how to make the heating work if the next days were going to be as cold as the last and today. Luckily the sun burned into her back and neutralized the cold coming from the gray pavement concrete.

  She walked some while, inhaled the fresh air, gazed at the green pine trees until her eyes got once again caught by the mystic charisma of the long-eared owl. Of course it was only the abstract version as a shop symbol but it still had enough magic to be attracting.

  And luck seemed to shine on her too – they sold coffee. Seduced by the smell she walked in.

  The window front let the room ask for minimal artificial light and the other three walls were made from brick stones. So she was surprised to find the inside paneled with dark wood just like the counter and the furniture. She thought of Europe and a word came to her mind, kaffeehaus. Not that she could place it anywhere in her vocabulary, but she was sure it was somehow related with the warm aura of a steaming cup of coffee.

  She headed for the counter, but the man behind it showed her turn around right away and search for a place to sit down. She assumed he was the owner for there was no one else around but an old lady reading the news paper.

  She decided to sit close to the door with the window front in her back, not a clever choice in seating, but warming. She sat down and he gave her a raised eyebrow. As a master in silent requests she was a little irritated by his rudeness. He could have asked her more decently. Someone should mention that the girl is very easily irritated by strangers. Nah, it’ll stay unsaid.

  “Erm, do you have moccachino?”

  Now he gave her two raised eyebrows and a bored look. She felt awkward for a moment. He cleared his throat, let her dangle a little longer then headed for the kitchen after a casually smiled, “Sure.”

  She was able to see the lady smile teethfully behind her papers. It was infectious. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. Lou’s from the North. He means nothing by it.” The girl continued smiling in the woman’s direction and found a cup of steaming coffee with cream on top in a big cup under her nose when she returned her look to her table. There was a glass of water by side. When she looked up again she saw Lou cleaning the counter, with his eternal personal facial expression. He moved within seconds.

  “Hey Lou, why dontchu get the jukebox running?”

  She smiled into her moccachino. She enjoyed the improvised performance she was given and the whole scenario had swallowed her up. Once again she felt like on a different continent. So taken away she nearly missed the new customer, but Lou’s look gave her a hint.

  She nearly choked from her first sip of coffee when the man walked past by her.

  “Ack my mac. How you’re doing?”

  All the boys and girls love Mister Ackred.

  “I’m doing good. Just wanted to stop by. How you’re doing?”

  “Business’ slow as usual. Isn’t it Lou?” The woman answered quicker and let Mr. Ackred turn around. “Don’t mind her.”, Lou said.

  She felt like walking into the wrong studio, still unnoticed by anyone but herself. She wanted to walk out but that would have drawn more attention to her than simply continue sipping on her coffee.

  She waited for the scene to pass, the characters to leave the stage. But she got involved, dragged into the spot light.

  “Say…” Ackred frowned. “Don’t I know you?”

  Her head shook all by itself.

  “Yeah, you’re the girl who shared the medic room with me.”

  She wanted him to go away; not to come closer.

  “You’re feeling better now?” He sat down, facing her.

  She gave in, cracked a smile for him. He replied with an intact one, then fumbled in his coat pocket to reveal a bleached white piece of paper.

  “I found these yesterday, or better today. They belong to you, don’t they?”

  She couldn’t face him anymore. Not that he said anything out of the usual, he was really friendly but she felt ashamed and stupid for what she had done. She wanted a hot shower right now.

  “I’m sorry…”, she muttered into the depths of her steaming dark coffee.

  “What for?”

  Surprise let her face him again. “Haven’t you read it?”

  “I have.”

  “So?”

  He gave her a long frown before he spoke again. “Kid, who set that up?”

  She felt a shadow sliding over her back like a cloud crossing the sun. It shining on her back and the coffee itself had warmed her up but suddenly she felt like sitting in snow for hours. She tried to hide a shiver and turned around to see where the sun went.

  Nothing, except for the feeling of not just being fixed by three, but four pair of eyes.

  “I better go.” She dropped some change on the table and fled onto the street. Under panic her nerves had given in, outside on the street, breathing in cold air and warm sun, she felt better.

  She had left him sitting there, alone and confused. This time Lou took all the time one needs to walk to front next to Ackred.

  “Weird kid…” Ackred seemed to agree. “Have you ever seen one of those Pans without headphones?”

  They exchanged looks. Lou received a slightly helpless one, Ackred the usual.

  “What did she want?”

  “An autograph…” Ackred stared outside and wondered if she had returned to Neverland.

  “Why didn’t you give her one and be done with it?”

  “Wouldn’t have been such a good idea…” Lou wondered about Ackred behaving out of character.

  -

  Mr. Ackred must have liked her since he imitated her behavior and went outside on the street. She had got him curious. He had to stop her from using fairy dust and leaving him here without answers. He was to disguise as a Lost Boy.

  “Kid!”

  She had sought refuge on a park bench. Wrapped into her jacket, she stared at the playground in front of her. Nervously her fingers played with the harmonica. He sat down next to her, sighed to gain his breath again, the storming off had taken it away. She finally started playing the harmonica. Something he found familiar but couldn’t put his finger upon. He didn’t mind their pending conversation’s delay; he needed the time to recollect.

  A child’s laughter interrupted her play. She let the harmonica sink into her lap again and took a long look at the swings, where the laughter had its origin.

  “You made me start playing, you know? I just never had your talent.”

  “What’s your name?” She ignored his question. She was all down Childhood Lane.

  “You were a freaking maniac when I first saw you as a kid. I’ve watched your old stuff; that kinda explained. But still, this seriousness about your characters and how you never left them when in a scene. Not even when someone else in it had a crack up.

  I could never do this. I don’t have the discipline to do it. One of the many re
asons why I never started a professional acting career.

  For me it’d always been a privilege if someone was allowed to be an actor, they had to be unbelievable talented otherwise they would just be kicked out of the profession by society. But it seems like those rules don’t apply anymore ever since the nineties; it’s a shame.”

  “Why are you willing to donate your lifetime to me?”

  “Donate. That’s a nice way of putting it. I just- Every morning I begin, I feel like putting the hours I was given to waste. You’re more likely to make something out of them. I mean you already put about four decades to some good use. Just imagine what you could do with a couple more.”

  She caught his sad look. “Is it because of your wife? I know you’d probably out live her.”

  “No-I mean- I simply can’t do this in general.”

  Her eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what was bugging him.

  “You have to understand. You expect me to believe a story like we just crossed over into the Twilight Zone although it’s more realistic that you suffer from delusions and rather see a doctor.”

  She sighed with a smile.

  “Listen, I don’t really care if you believe me or not. It doesn’t really matter, what matters is that you fill your name in, I mean I could also do it, but I want you to be able to decide.”

  “Still you’re very eager to convince me to set my name on that piece of paper.”

  “Of course, otherwise I’d have sold my soul for nothing.” Her look was honest and she smiled his eyes met hers.

  Just in that moment they heard it again. An owl’s scream; coming from somewhere from the trees to their left. The bird went up into the air and flew across their field of vision, which caused both of them to follow it with their looks.

  She took it as a sign to leave.

  “So have you made your decision yet? I only have a couple of hours left until the appointment and I would rather spend my time on enjoying life as much as possible instead of wasting it on waiting.”

  “How would you do that?”

  “Listen to some bands, mostly records. Finishing my Chandler. And definitely having my last cone of ice cream.”

  He sighed. “Okay, I’m going to sign – tonight.”

  “At Glatt’s Place? I always wanted to go there.”

  His sad look was gone for a second, since she had infected him with her enthusiasm.

  “So long my friend. It has been nice.”

  She put her hand forth to say good bye; surprised he took it.

  “Say, you know that your days are limited and you choose Ottawa as the last place on earth you want to stay?”

  “If Flint, Michigan was more of an exciting place to die in, I would probably have sent a letter.” She couldn’t oppress a smile.

  Already risen and her back turned on him, she stopped all of a sudden. “Why do you want to wait until tonight?”

  “I want to see for myself.”

  She still fixated him. “You’re worried about me, too.”

  “Someone got to be.”

  “Thanks. For everything.” She finally left, put her red wool gloves on as she walked away. Her hands still felt like freezing.

  -

  She had her first smoke in her room. She was clever enough not to inhale, coughed anyway. She had lent a phonograph turntable from the record store and had purchased some