The Raven, a three-part story
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Bradley awoke from what had seemed a deep sleep. He was scarcely aware of what had brought him out of his slumber. As he lay there, the regular morning sounds: the traffic coming into Boston on the Mass Pike, the clatter of Mrs. Giles, whose kitchen backed up to his bedroom wall and who was busy making breakfast for her husband and two sons, and there was the intermittent rumble of the “T,” as it passed below his window.
The late spring morning was mild and as was his want, he’d left the bedroom window open all night. The sounds of the city didn’t bother him; they made him feel a part of something bigger than himself. Besides, he needed fresh air. Even in winter, he might crack the window slightly and pile on the comforters. He hated stale air. Ever since he’d left the Navy and submarines, he sought open spaces and fresh air. He’d lived almost eight years in an underwater coffin, tightly confined spaces, the smell of men, their breath, their sweat, their farts.
No, it was something out of the ordinary that awakened him that morning. Something different, yet somehow very familiar. Then he heard it again, a rough scraping sound, then silence. What was it and why had a relatively non- remarkable sound brought him to consciousness. Then, it came again. This time he recognized it, the croaking crow. It must have been just outside his bedroom window.
He began to feel anxious and while the morning was cool, perspiration started to form on his forehead. He sat up in bed and glanced over toward the window. A large black crow sat just outside looking in, into his room, into his life. He rushed to the window, slammed it shut and hurriedly closed the curtains. In spite of the growing closeness in his small bedroom, Bradley didn’t want to see that bird again and certainly didn’t want to hear its ghastly cawing; and those piercing black eyes, that seemed to see places in Bradley’s life he had now put behind him and intended to forget.
Like those eight years on submarine duty, that life and the men he shared it with had been left behind, compartmentalized and virtually forgotten. Or had they?
Suddenly, he desperately needed air. This was silly. He slowly went to the window and started to open it, but no. The crow was still there and now appeared larger and menacing. With Bradley’s appearance at the window, the large bird suddenly flung itself at the glass, and then with a shower of black feathers and several long screeching caws, it flew away.
Bradley braced himself on the footboard, took a deep breath and headed into his small kitchen. It wasn’t coffee he wanted right then; it was something stronger. So, reaching under the sink, he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and went and sat at the table, where he poured himself a coffee mug full, drinking it down in a few swigs.
What was happening? What was this so upsetting? Why was that bird at his window this morning and why was this whole thing getting to him in such a visceral way? That’s when he looked up and noticed the wall calendar. Today was June 8. It had been three years since the death of Carl, his former shipmate and lover. Bradley’s sweat became more profuse, along with his tears.
Setting down the now empty mug, we wandered back to his bedroom, uncertain whether to go back to bed or get ready for the day. He wanted to crawl back under the covers, hold his pillow tightly and cry into it. The memories that he thought had been sealed away had returned that morning, and as he sat there in his lonely room, the cawing of that crow returned. But the caws coming from the other side of the window now sounded more like “Carl.”
Part II
It had been a long sea voyage from Iceland to Tunisia. There had been a brief stop in Scotland and Portugal, but these were to take on fuel and supplies; no time for R&R and certainly no time for Brad and Carl to get away and find a discrete hotel for a couple of days to themselves. So, the arrival in Tunis was welcomed by all, and once docking was accomplished, the seamen were granted a seventy-two-hour shore leave. Brad and Carl were about the first to leave the sub, but individually and with the requisite jokes and comments between shipmates about the bars and fleshpots that might be available to young men who’d been pent up in a submarine for nearly a month. Even Muslim ports of call could offer such luxuries.
Once safely away from the submarine base and their shipmates, Brad and Carl rendezvoused and continued on their way together, to a small hotel at the far end of the harbor that a friend had told them about. This was what they’d been waiting for, time for them to be together, to be themselves and express their feelings for each other. The little hotel did not disappoint. It was attractive, clean, discrete and from what they could tell, was run by a transsexual man, who welcomed them warmly.
After a day spent mostly in bed, ridding themselves of all that pent up longing, energy and emotion, they showered and went out for dinner and an evening together. They wore civilian clothes on these occasions. The proprietor had suggested a restaurant and bar further down the road, that sometimes had a mixed crowd but cautioned them to be discrete. After all, while Tunisia might not be Saudi Arabia, it was a Muslim country and conservative elements, as well as the basic thuggish gangs were not uncommon.
They had dinner, cooked on the waterfront and enjoyed the beautiful sunset together. Since the small café discretely sold liquor, they decided to enjoy the evening and have a few drinks. As the evening wore on, it became clear that they may well have been in one of the few gay friendly bars in those parts. Smartly dressed male couples arrived, a couple of transvestites sat at the bar laughing, and everyone except them speaking in Arabic. It seemed safe and the mood was gay, and Brad and Carl talked of their future life together and their hopes and plans, once they were discharged in less than a year.
Time came to leave. They got up and headed for the door, when one of the drag queens, who by now was quite drunk, came over to Carl and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled and before he could turn to follow Brad out, found that the transvestite had placed a black feather boa around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. He said goodnight and quickly dashed out the door.
Once outside, the two laughed and Carl wrapped the boa around his neck and did a Gloria Swanson, “I’m ready, Mr. DeMille” number. They laughed and tried to orient themselves to their hotel which was about a kilometer back toward the city. The evening was peaceful, and the crescent moon hung low in the west. They walked and from out of nowhere a group of young came toward them, yelling in Arabic. Brad and Carl were slightly drunk but still had their wits and strength. The young thugs had sticks and knives. The two sailors had only their fists and their legs. So, they decided to make a run for the hotel, but were no match for the young Arab men, one of whom swung his long stick and hit Carl from behind. He staggered and fell, and the rest caught up to him and attacked with sticks and knives.
Brad realized what happened and started to turn back, but when he saw the frenzied anger of the young men and how they turned their gazed briefly away from Carl and to Brad standing alone in the road, he panicked and ran as fast as he could, hoping a car would pass or that the young thugs would simply rob Carl and leave him alone.
When he reached the hotel, the office was closed, but a light shone from the adjoining apartment. He banged on the window, screaming for help. The proprietor, wearing a dish dash and carrying a stick came out to see what was going on. Brad, now weeping, told him what happened. The man went back inside, quickly threw off the dish dash, pulled on some pants grabbed his car keys and told Brad to get in an old Peugeot parked along side the hotel, and they headed down the road and out of town.
When they arrived, there was no sign of the young attackers, just Carl’s now lifeless body lying by the side of the lonely road, a pool of blood around him. Illumined now in the car’s headlights, his face was smashed in, and his body mutilated, with the feather boa still around his neck. Brad, fell to his knees and wept, overwhelmed by the sight and the loss. The proprietor, after making a call to the police from his cellphone, lifted his hands in prayer to Allah. A few black feathers that had been pulled off the boa during the attack were carried off and up by the evening wind.
Part III
It was almost noon when Bradley awoke for the second time that morning. After the emotional pain of earlier events, not to mention the mug of whiskey, he’d gone back to bed and fell into a deep sleep. He arose and went into the bathroom to shave, shower and dress for work. His afternoon shift as IT manager at a Metro West computer services company started at 2:00 p.m. He wasn’t hungry, in fact, he felt slightly nauseas and dizzy, and it was still June 8th.
He'd sort of forgotten about the big black bird that had been the source of much of his early morning anguish, when, as he was getting into his car, a raven swooped overhead and called out. He quickly slipped into the car and slammed the door. Sitting there, the feelings of this morning came back, the memories of that day three years prior came back, the memories of a man whom he’d love and been loved by came back. Sitting there, in that hot car, he began to cry again. This time he sobbed, he screamed and wailed and pounded on the steering wheel. He shouted every obscenity he knew at the men who had taken Carl’s life. He purged himself of the ice dams, the walls he’d built to make it through these past three years.
He started the car, turned on the air conditioning, but continued to sit for a while, keeping his mind empty. It was as though something was falling into place; a puzzle was being completed, and the last piece was added. We felt renewed; he felt!
The drive his office seemed easier, the world brighter and he was aware for the first time of the shapes of the trees and the variety and color of the flowers as he passed. He saw people, each unique and beautiful in their own way. He felt a sense of peace and closure, but also the chance for a new beginning. Yes, Carl was gone, killed by senseless evil, but his life continues, and he has choices and opportunities.
Upon arrival at work, he was told that an outside company would be working to install new fiber optic cables throughout the offices, and that he’d need to be ready to answer questions and give access to various sections during his shift that afternoon and evening. He went to his office and logged in to his computer and started his work.
A few hours went by when there was a knock on his door and a young man, a couple of years younger than Bradley stuck his head in to ask about access to a meeting room they needed to measure for the cable installation. As Bradley grabbed his pass card and directed the man down the hall, he had a sense of déjà vu, like he’d been there before, on a submarine, showing a new petty officer from Damariscotta, Maine to his quarters.
Upon reaching the meeting room door and opening it for the technician, their eyes met and something told Bradley that this wasn’t happening, that the guy was there to install fiber optic cable and he was only showing him around. Bradley stood there, watching the younger man as he measured the room. When he was done, he returned to the door where Bradley waited, their eyes met again, but this time, they held each other in their gaze for a bit longer. Bradley asked if he needed anything else and the young man said with a smile, “not right now.” Bradly returned to his office and to his reports.
By now, most of the staff had left and a small evening crew remained. The cable guy remained too, and at about six o’clock, another knock came at Bradley’s door. It was the cable guy. He asked Bradley if he had plans for dinner during his break; there was a good sushi restaurant a couple of blocks away. Bradley found himself saying “yes.”
Bradley and Hunter, the “cable guy,” walked out of the building making small talk. Over dinner, they shared something of their stories and it became clear that Hunter was on “the same team” as Bradley. As he watched Hunter talk about his work and his life, he felt sadness that it wasn’t Carl there with him, but Carl would always be with him to some degree, but maybe there was potential here for a new beginning. He’d take it slowly.
They returned to the office, where Hunter, who had finished for the day said goodbye to Bradley, but asked him if he’d like to go out Saturday evening, and Bradley found himself quickly saying “yes.” They exchanged phone numbers and shook hands but held for a few seconds longer than normal, as they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Hunter walked to his van and Bradley returned to his office to finish his shift. As the glass door on the office building closed, a raven passed high overhead, croaking and chortling as it flew away into the sunset.
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