Revelations
by Michael Overa

---The Quiet Man passes through the tobacco shop and out onto the street. He unwraps the cellophane from his pack of cigarettes, opens the box and tears away the foil. Slipping a cigarette into his mouth he searches his pockets for his lighter. An orange flame. He inhales and slips the lighter back into his pocket. Walking up the street he drops the foil and cellophane into an aluminum garbage can. His dark hair slicked down and shining. Slim in his dark suit and long jacket. ---On the corner there is a bus stop, and the Quiet Man stops and waits. There is a woman waiting, and she regards him. She is holding paper shopping bags in either hand, and steps forward to ask the time. The Quiet Man pulls up his left sleeve and checks his watch. It’s still early. The bus won’t arrive for ten minutes or more. The woman thanks him and sits down on a nearby bench. The man smokes, his hands in his pockets. Dropping the cigarette to the pavement he crushes it under his heel. He rattles the change in his pocket. When the bus pulls up to the curb he waits for the woman with paper shopping bags to climb on, then steps up onto the bus behind her. He drops his fare into the change box beside the driver. Sitting behind the driver, the Quiet Man looks out the window. It’s been raining all day and the sun is setting. The late afternoon commute. Cars clogging the roads. People passing along the sidewalks with briefcases, shopping bags, umbrellas. ---At a downtown hotel the man gets off the bus, and walks past the concierge. He waits for the elevator and rides it to the fifth floor. The elevator is small and empty and smells of perfume. The brass buttons light up as the elevator passes each floor. When the doors open again he steps off and looks down the carpeted hallway. He turns in place and looks up the hallway in the opposite direction. He turns again and walks to a door on the left. He knocks and pulls a key from his pocket. He can hear the television playing inside the room. The lock clicks and snaps loud and metallic. ---“Hello,” says the Quiet Man to a woman sitting on the bed. ---“Hello, Dear,” says the woman, adjusting her white bathrobe. ---They kiss briefly and the man takes his keys, cigarettes, lighter, and wallet out of their respective pockets. From his breast pocket he takes out a small rosary and a pocket bible. He lays the bible on the dresser, and coils the rosary on top of it. He hangs his long jacket in the closet, with his suit jacket, and shirt-sleeves. In a white tank top and his suit trousers he stands in the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, middle-aged, gray hair at the temples. Dark brown eyes half-closed in a perpetual squint, as if staring into the sun or darkness. Stranger’s eyes. An honest face without expression. The face of a teacher or the resolve of a mortician, he has the look of a man who understands the implications of death and the limitations of faith. ---Drying his face and hands on a towel, he walks back into the room and sits down on the bed next to his wife. He smooths her hair and kisses her cheek. She can smell his aftershave, and feel the cool of his cheek. In an hour they are asleep, side by side, in the small fifth floor hotel room. *** ---Dead bodies are a strange thing, the Quiet Man thinks. They are cold, lifeless masses of flesh laying on the floor. At first they are very strange, odd things. Things you can’t imagine ever becoming. Then they become second nature, like any other fixture in a room. Like another man’s wallet or watch. ---The Quiet Man walks to the door, and puts one gloved hand on the handle. There is a smell in the air like sandalwood. The dead man’s cologne, maybe. The door opens and closes, and the dead man is alone in the empty room. The Quiet Man locks the door and slips the key through the mail slot. The key bounces on the carpet. Then there is no sound inside the room. A clock on the mantel counting the minutes silently. ---At a nearly empty diner on Fourth and Wall two men sit at the long counter, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. One is thin and quiet. The other, larger, talks to the waitress. The thin one reads the newspaper, folding over the pages slowly and carefully. They order sandwiches and sit in the faint haze of cigarette smoke, with the smell of bacon and burnt toast. The small bell on the door chimes and the Quiet Man walks into the diner. ---“Get you a table, Sweetie?” ---“No.” ---“He’s with us,” says the larger man. ---The Quiet Man walks over to the counter and sits down next to the two men. The thin man folds his paper and sets it on the empty stool beside him. He nods at the Quiet Man and then looks down at his coffee. ---“How’s business, Father?” ---“Fine.” ---“Saving many souls?” ---“Hey,” says the thin man. ---“Sorry, Father,” says the larger man. ---The Quiet Man reaches into his pocket pulls out a cigarette. ---“Didn’t never make sense to me that you smoke. Ain’t that a sin?” ---“Technically,” says the Quiet Man, “Self-indulgence.” ---“And?” ---“Perhaps I like to be aware of my weakness.” ---The thin man slides an envelope to the larger man, who slides the envelope to the Father. *** ---The Quiet Man drives his wife home to a small white house in the suburbs. The drive takes them down tree lined avenues. Sitting with her hands folded in her lap his wife sighs and smiles. She thanks him. Says something about the glory of God. He parks their dark red Towncar in the driveway, and takes their luggage from the trunk. He can hear his wife in the bedroom, unpacking. He looks out the window at the street. Watches the sun play off of the evergreens across the street. The shine off of the black metal mailbox at the end of the drive. Letting the curtain fall over the window he picks up his suitcase and carries it into the bedroom. His wife is fussing in the room. Putting clothes away. Laundry. Talking about dinner. The Quiet Man smiles, kisses her on the cheek. Picks up the phone and dials a number. ---After his wife is in bed, he slips into the bathroom, opens the envelope. ---Money. A decent sum, in cash. A letter. A key. -----There’ll be a phone call, and he’ll drive to an address. Do his job. Go home. *** ---The window has been left open, and the room is cold. Rain drops are collecting on the windowsill, fat clear drops on the white wood. The curtain blows backwards into the room, and then stretches tight over the opening. Music plays in the background, soft classical music, and the lighting is low. It’s two in the morning. The Quiet Man checks his watch and looks at the two glasses sitting on the bureau. In one, the ice nearly melted, the Scotch thinned in the glass. In the second glass, only melted ice. A bottle between the glasses. He sits on the bed and looks at the two men, still sitting in their chairs. A cigarette has burned down in the ashtray, leaving only a long tail of ash from the filter to the bottom of the ashtray. ---The Quiet Man smooths down his hair and gets up from the bed. ---He walks to the first man, blond haired, blue eyed. Eyes still open. Mouth open. The Quiet Man makes the sign of the cross, mutters under his breath. He moves to the second man, dark skinned, almost falling out of his chair, head leaning forward. He makes the sign of the cross over the dark skinned man. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spirtus Sancti. Amen. Walks to the window, looks out at the orange glow of the street lamps. The smell of winter rain. Watered down Scotch. Aftershave. ---It’s December 21st. In four days it’ll be Christmas. ---He drops the key on the table and leaves, leaving the door open. He can hear people talking down the hall. The elevator rings and opens. A man in a suit nods to the Quiet Man, and the Quiet Man nods back. ---“Long night?” ---“Yes,” says the Quiet Man. ---“We appreciate what you do.” ---Nothing. ---“We want you to know that. The money, it’s a formality.” ---“Money is nice.” ---“It may not seem right, but what you’re doing is right.” ---Nothing. ---The elevator stops at the lobby and the man in the suit gets off of the elevator, crosses to the restaurant and disappears into the crowded bar. The Quiet Man steps off of the elevator and follows the man into the bar. He finds the man sitting at the bar with a young woman in a blue dress. The man in the suit looks up and excuses himself. ---“What can I do for you, Father?” ---“I’m not sure.” ---The man orders two Manhattens. The Quiet Man checks his watch and lights a cigarette. They sit in silence. Drink. Smoke. The police arrive, then an ambulance. People ask questions, talk in hushed voices. Bodies are taken out in plastic bags. The two men sit at the bar, saying nothing. The woman in the blue dress is sitting at a table with several other men, on the other side of the restaurant. ---“Their families will take care of all of this. You must know that. This business. Performing this, this ceremony for those already dead.” ---“Of course,” says the man in the suit, “we prefer to do it ourselves. As soon as we can. A show of respect. No. More than respect. Business is business, Father. But this, this is something which is not business, which is important to us. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” ---“Harboring fugitives. Preventing justice.” ---“Justice has already been done. You’re just, well, providing a service which we feel is, well, the least we could do, having done what we’ve done. Having to do what we do. Father, you’ll excuse me now.” ---And the man gets up. He nods to the bartender. ---“Whatever else he wants this evening, on my tab.”

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