The Violet Crow (37 page)

Authors: Michael Sheldon

They were both laughing uncontrollably by the time Bruno finished the recitation. “I never realized, Jews and Quakers â¦ are exactly the same. Chief, why'd you do this to me? I can't control myself. I think I'm gonna
plotz
.”

But the Chief showed no mercy. “I'm catchin' on to this Jewish
shtick
,” he announced with considerable pride. “I made something up especially for you.”

Bruno sensed that this was an important moment. “Let's hear it, Buddy. Show me what you got.”

Chief Black warmed to the task. “I think you'll like it because it's about Peaches â¦”

â“Skip the prologue. If you got something to say, say it.”

“Right,” said the Chief. He was a little bit nervous. “There's a lot of women you could say â¦” and he put on a voice that was a pretty good imitation of Bruno's, “âwith a
tuchus
like that, who needs brains?'” He paused for effect. “But Peaches is different. With her it's: âWith a brain like that, who needs a
tuchus
?'”

Bruno looked at him in astonishment. “Chief, that's incredible.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, I love it. There's just one problem.”

“Uh-oh. What's that?”

“Generally, people don't makes up new jokes. They either buy them, or steal them from somebody else.”

“But â¦ I sort of stole this. You see â¦”

â“Chief! I'm sorry. It's a rule â¦ carved in stone.”

“But where do new jokes come from, then?”

“Chief, really. A man your age ought to know â¦” Bruno stood up and assumed a theatrical pose. “This mystery was only revealed one day
when I was at the seashore
,” he quoted. “That's from the Zohar and, as you can see, we
are
down the shore.”

“Yes, we are.”

Bruno continued his exegesis. “Elijah came and asked me, âRabbi, do you know the meaning of
Who created these
'?”

“Who created these?” The Chief repeated, somewhat perplexed.

“By that, Elijah clearly means, âWho created these
jokes
?'” Bruno opined. “Don't you agree?”

“Makes sense.”

“I answered”âand don't forget, I'm speaking as the Rabbi hereâ“I answered, âThere are the heavens and their array, the work of the blessed Holy One. Human beings should contemplate them and bless Him.'”

“So you're saying jokes come from God?”

“Yup. The funny ones, anyway.”

The Chief thought it over. “Let's try something different,” he suggested, standing and beckoning for Bruno to follow. “There's an area where they still have âvintage' slots, actual one-armed bandits where real money comes out if you win.”

“Sounds good to me. I don't get these computer games anyway â¦”

They fought the crowds milling about between the gaming tables and the machines, the televisions, bars and restaurants, the boutiques, and all the other distractions. Eventually, the Chief stopped in front of a slot machine decorated with a trio of Egyptian sphinxes. “Think this is a winner?” he asked.

“Sure. Why don't you play it?”

The Chief put the coin in the slot and pulled the handle. Wheels spun, flashing brightly colored fruits, brass bells, and black bars. Then a red light on top of the machine began throbbing. Mechanical bells rang and sirens sounded wildly. Finally, a cascade of dollar coins spewed out. The silver flowed and flowed, dazzling and brilliant, overflowing his lap and spilling onto the floor.

He and Bruno fell onto their knees and scooped up coins by the handful; they stuffed them into their pockets and tossed them into the air, laughing and carrying on like children.

Afterword

First, I want to acknowledge some deliberate geographical distortions and anachronisms in
The Violet Crow
that could upset a few people who are familiar with South Jerseyâbut won't matter much to anyone else. There is a town called Haddonfield and it is remarkably similar to Gardenfield. It has a school like the one I've called Gardenfield Friends with a meeting house in easy walking distance. I attended that school from kindergarten through sixth grade, including Meeting for Worship every Wednesday morning from third grade on.

“Why didn't you just call it Haddonfield?” my friend Jim Lyons once asked.

The answer is that I needed to take some liberties to make my story work. The tunnel and the biotech complex are a couple of examples. Also, there are some features of the region that don't exist anymore, but I couldn't let go of them: the racetrack and Tano's Deli come to mind. So I called the town Gardenfieldâjust to remind hometown readers that I am taking license to alter reality throughout
The Violet Crow
.

I haven't lived in South Jersey in decades, but the region's unique character shaped my outlook and I still follow the sports teams and the local news, albeit at a distance. I regret some of my antics as a teenager, so I tried to portray the Gardenfield police as positively as possibleâa belated “sorry about that” and “thank you.”

While I'm apologizing, I might as well get this off my chestâRhonda's South Jersey accent. Elmore Leonard's seventh rule of writing is to use regional dialect sparingly. I probably should have followed his advice. However, I broke all his other commandments, so it seemed a shame to leave out number seven. I love hearing all of the regional accents of the U.S. and trying to identify where the speakers come from. I get especially excited when I hear the distinctive, clipped “o” sound from the mid-Atlantic states. Here on the West Coast, when I tell people where I grew up, they often reply, “Oh, you're from Joisey.” And I say, “No, that's a Brooklyn accent; in South Jersey we say “aw,” not “oi.”
Mea culpa
.

Attending Haddonfield Friends had a lasting impact on meâand also on many of my classmates. We still meet for occasional reunions of our sixth-grade class, lo, these many years later. The ritual of silent worship strikes a deep, resonant chord.

We also had the example of headmaster Reed Landis. As I began thinking about
The Violet Crow
, I recalled an incident in fourth or fifth grade when one of our teachers told us that Master Reed was out sick for a while due to a recurrence of malaria, which he'd contracted as a conscientious objector during World War II. None of my classmates remembered that but, thanks to Reed's cousin, Sarah Johnson, I was able to locate him in Arizona and speak with him on the phone. He talked freely about his experiences as a CO, which, in the book, I assigned to Master Quentin and described as accurately as possibleâwith the exception of placing those events in the Vietnam War era rather than during World War II.

Unfortunately, Master Reed passed away a few years after I spoke with him. I'm honored to be able to tell his story in
The Violet Crow
. At a time when what he experienced would be widely viewed as torture, it's remarkable how
conscientious
Reed Landis and his fellow Quaker COs were in their approach to non-violent protest.

You would probably not be reading
The Violet Crow
without the vision and intelligence of Adam Bellow and David Bernstein, who founded Liberty Island and rescued my work from oblivion. When they posed the old question from
A Tale of Two Cities
, “I hope you care to be recalled to life,” I said, “What! Are you kidding me?” They've earned my eternal gratitude.

Friends and advisers who also helped by reading, commenting, and improving the story include Hallie Gay Walden-Bagley, Charlie Barnett, Gary Carr, Don Chew, Dan Grossman, Ian Lamberton, Don Lippincott, Pat McCarthy, Don McQuinn, Jay Merwin, Manette Moses, Jan Murphy, Francoise Perriot, Thomas Perry, Giuliana Sheldon, Elena Vega and Janice Willett.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1409-0

Liberty Island Media Group

New York, NY

www.LibertyIslandMag.com