The Flame
By Duncan L. Dieterly
The sharp toe of a shiny black shoe sliced into the snoring man’s neck.“You scumbag bastard!” a voice from on high vomited venomously.Startled from his stupor, the man uncoiled from his comfortable fetalposition, rolling away from the stabbing pain. He tried to get up butblundered into the hovering arms of the rosebush under which he had fallenasleep. In its embrace, pins of pain shot through his hand, neck, and cheek.He shrieked, “Oh oh shit! God damn it!” He rapidly rolled back again. Tryingto get away from the pain, he lurched backward to rip free from its thornyembrace. The relentless shiny black shoe toe caught him in the lower backand then the side. The furious, flailing man was wildly kicking out at him withhis foot and raging obscenities at him.“You fucking son of a bitch!” The victim managed to stagger to his feet. Chunks of his coat were rippedaway by the roses’ clutching thorns. He slipped on the freshly sprinkler-dampened-and-drenched grass, falling painfully to one knee. He scrambledaway from the incessant pendulum leg whose foot kept hammering andstriking, swinging and striking at him.Cold water smacked him hard in the side of his unshaven face. It knifedinto his eye. He cried out in pain.“Christ – what the hell!” Grabbing his face, he crawled and hopped awayfrom the stream of icy water. It hit him in the ass and poured down his backand legs. He stumbled away from the flood of angry water, words, and wavesof fear. Half falling, rolling, and staggering down the sloping green hill, helanded on his butt in the wide clean gutter.Lurching to his feet, he ran. He ran away from the fading wave of verbalvindictiveness. He rounded a hedge and grabbed at it for support, clutching
Dieterly/August 20091
The Flame
and wrenching handfuls of green leaves. He fell to both his knees, gaspingfor breath.“
UH
– Uh oh –
OHH
!” His hands let the leaves fall to the ground. He didn’thave the energy to run anymore. He was gulping loudly for air desperatelyattempting to regain his breath.Sitting upright, his hands surveyed and rubbed his aching eye. It wasthrobbing. He straightened the many layers of filthy clothing, picked off thebroken clinging rosebush branches, and tried to lick the blood off his hands.He wiped his neck and chin with the end of one of his many shirts. Pale redbloodstains emerged among the other rich stains of life to mix and blend. Helooked down at his lucky red alligator shoes. They were both still tied firmlywith greasy tan twine. He proudly shined them by rubbing them against hispants leg, first his right foot, then his left. Satisfied with himself, he smiled.He knew that the shoes, which he found last week, would bring him luck. He just knew it!Shading his eyes with both hands, he looked at the rising sun. Guessing itmust be about seven thirty in the morning, he shakily stood. He attempted tosmooth his multilayered clothes, repeatedly patting the torn spots as flat aspossible and thinking;
I
really
didn’t
remember
leaving
a
wake-up
call
. Hissense of humor was awakened and he smiled to himself. He limped merrilyon his way, heading for the “church.” With a little luck, he could get there intime to help serve. His effort would earn extra pancakes for his breakfast. The angry man watched the staggering scraggly rag pile escape aroundthe bush. His wrath was becoming cold and cruel.
That
bum
was
in
my
yard!
That
bum
running
down
my
street
, he thought.He returned to his house wall and turned off the hose. He dropped the hoseon the ground, without even thinking about which one of his employeeswould pick it up for him, and wind it neatly onto its heavy metal holder. Hestomped toward his three-car garage, flicking the automatic door opener hehad taken from his pocket. He walked briskly into the opening cavern. Onceinside, he removed his jacket and hung it in the backseat of his car.
Dieterly/August 2009
2
The Flame
Slamming the heavy door shut, he noticed water drops on his freshlypolished Italian loafers. He rubbed each shoe behind the calf of his leg tobring back the warm deep shine, first his right foot, then his left foot. Settlinghimself in his groove in the luxurious large Mercedes-Benz, he started thecar. Tramping on the gas pedal, he sped backward out of the garage.Hooking to his left, he half turned the car. Shifting into drive, he accelerateddown the long driveway and hung a wheel squealing left. The silver carstreaked on its way.“Call the mayor!” he bellowed. The automatic car cell phone dialed themayor’s office. He picked up the receiver and was holding it to his ear as heturned onto the freeway entrance ramp.By the time he hit the first traffic jam, a voice stated, “His Honor themayor’s office. How may I help you?”“I want Cleveland,
NOW
!
”“Of COURSE, Mr. Franklin, I will tell His Honor you are calling.” Her syrupyvoice was designed to soothe like a cheap cough medicine. There was a brief pause and a very warm voice said, “Hi, Martin! What areyou doing up so early?”“Can the PR crap. Do you know what was on my lawn this morning?”“Nooo, I’m sorry, I don’t. Your paper?” A weak thrust of humor.“A goddamn vagrant! In the middle of my prized roses! I thought you hadagreed to do something. Take care of the homeless riffraff that have invadedour distinguished town!”“Well, yes, but these things take time,” the mayor mildly parried.“Time? Hell, let’s kick ass. Is there a council meeting today?”“Yes, but we aren’t scheduled to get into the homeless issue.”“Issue? Hell, I want an ordinance. And I want it now! I will have Clark of my law department deliver the necessary papers to you at lunch. You take itfrom there.”“We should go slowly on this issue. There are many people whosympathize with the plight of the homeless.”
Dieterly/August 2009
3
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