13,867. AS A MATTER OF FACT

AS A MATTER OF FACT

Having raised the subject in an

oblique way, I was duty-bound 

to listen. The old guy was bent,

three crooked fingers around some

sort of bottle. His wife's name had

been Matilda. She was killed in a

fire that took down their house :

North Jersey somewhere, Closter

or Demarest. An old stone job, 

from near 1867.When roads were

true roads, and wagons still ran.

-

The place burned, and they'd

dragged her out in a sack; already

dead. He recognized what he saw.

but they wouldn't take his word:

'Were you at home at the time

of the fire? Was your wife acting

in any way strange?' I piped up

and uttered 'Dumb-ass questions,

if you ask me.' He sputtered, and

said, 'Well, who did?' So I shut

down quickly.

-

The barmaid said her name was

Penelope, but I hardly believed

her  -  a lot of times they just 

make up names, so as to remain 

anonymous. Like a gravestone

that reads: 'Who lies here, no 

one knows. Where he is, you

too soon goes.' Not that I've ever

seen that, but it was fun.

-

I asked if he missed her; he said,

'Yeah, with a gun.' We both ordered 

another, and just sort of sat there

and straddled two seats at the bar.

Silence ensued, talk only going

so far...

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