Ivan the Backward Man

By Larry Porter

Ivan Solansky was born in 2040. The year the story opens is 2005. Ivan is celebrating his thirty-fifth birthday as he moves backward in time. This is the story of a lonely man, a man whose circumstances prevent him from forming any relationships, man or woman, lover or friend.
The story of Ivan is unusual, certainly, but is not much different from that of many of us who find life lonely as we try to cope with bitterness derived from those who would treat their fellow human beings as less than worthy of their affections or concerns. Ivan does have unique advantages because of his situation but one must weigh those against the horribly complicated world he lives in, trying to establish friendships with those he passes through life.
Ivan opens this story observing a murder of a lovely young lady. He is curious enough as to the reason for the murder that he pursues it into his future. He finds the man who committed the murder to be a scofflaw who has grabbed life from many unsuspecting, susceptible victims caught in money woes often of their own making. Ivan works his way through the story pursuing this wretched man, not because he chose to but because life seems to continue to direct him to solve the problem. In the end, Ivan does garner a solution after so many tribulations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Porter
• Release date: Mar 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301337002

Larry Porter

Larry Porter has been writing since 1976, when he had his second project, a children’s play, Treehouse, produced in Atlanta, Ga. He has written fourteen full-length plays. Another, The Gospel According to Jesus, was produced in Asheville, NC. He has written numerous short stories, eight novels including Chance Mountain, Ivan the Backward Man, True Globalization, The Carousel, The Blue Barrel, The Visitor, and After America: Rebuilding. He has a memoir, Self-Storage Business and a collection of short stories titled Heaven? dealing with the afterlife. He has written four screenplays. His latest project is writing history in verse. A compilation of four epic poems titled History in Verse includes The Experiment, a history of the US, The Reconstruction of a Nation, a history of the Civil War, The Quest for the West, a history of the settling of the US west, and The Sixties, a history of the decade of the 1960s in the US. Look for a new series of totalitarians of the twentieth century coning soon. He lives in the North Carolina Mountains where he continues to write.

Book preview

PART 1

CLARISSE

CHAPTER 1

Ivan bounced down Jefferson Street, singing to himself. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Ivan, happy birthday to me. His six foot two frame and long arms, made strong from fifteen years in construction, allowed him to carry his fifty-pound toolbox, filled with power tools and typical carpenter’s tools, such as hammers, a cats paw, square and such, with ease. His singing was interrupted by shouting from across Jefferson Street. Jefferson was a typical oak lined urban street with parking on both sides and a lane each way for cars to travel. He looked across just as he came to a black Volvo parked on his side of the street. There were no cars on the other side of the street so he could clearly see a young woman, dressed in a plum suit, with skirt, not pants, and a white, frilly blouse, being harassed by a man who was dressed in all white with a white fedora. His beard and mustache reminded Ivan of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame, except that he was barely taller than the girl, and fat.

Ivan was uncharacteristically happy up to that point. It was fall and he liked autumn better than the other seasons. Even though it was his thirty-fifth birthday, which just meant another boring year had passed, today he thought he’d treat himself to a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. He didn’t appreciate food enough to spend a ton of money on a meal but once in awhile he enjoyed the atmosphere a high priced place offered. He had a few favorite places that had a nice atmosphere where he could enjoy a decent, reasonably priced meal. He looked closer to forty-five than his true age as his red beard and full head of hair were sprinkled with gray.

When the man across the street started getting physical with the girl, Ivan yelled at him to leave her alone. The man pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and wheeled toward Ivan, firing a shot at him. Luckily for Ivan, the man was a bad shot as the bullet thudded into a tree beside him. He dropped his toolbox and ducked behind the car just as the second bullet shattered the driver’s side and passenger side windows, whizzing over his head, glass falling into his hair. He wondered what the hell he got himself into this time as he shook the glass out. He snuck to the back of the car and peaked over the trunk just as the girl let out a scream while holding her hands over her ears. She started to back away from the fat man. She had a distinct limp. He wheeled around and shot her. The impact knocked her backward for about five feet before her shoe caught in the sidewalk and tripped her. She went straight back and her head hit the pavement hard.

He watched the fat man turn and waddle toward a vacant lot lying between two buildings near where he had been. The girl lay on the ground, motionless. He saw the man throw the gun into the weeds as he disappeared. Ivan ran across the street thinking, this was going to be a memorable birthday. A car nearly hit him, blasting its horn as the driver squealed to a stop. Ivan ran around to the driver’s side just as the man rolled down his window and started to give him an earful.

Call the police, Ivan yelled at him, someone’s been shot. And tell them to send an ambulance. The man pulled his car to the side of the street and called on his cell phone.

The girl turned to her side as he approached, trying to get up, reaching toward him. Blood cascaded down the frills on her blouse, quickly turning the edges crimson. The blood sprang from her chest, giving the appearance of a white blouse highlighted in bright red fringe. A red stain was growing quickly at her waist as the blood pooled there. Ivan knelt down. She was still conscious. He didn’t know what to do except try to comfort her. He said the stupid things he’d heard on TV shows. You’ll be all right, Ma’am. I’ll try to get help. An ambulance is on the way. She was a little plump with a very plain face. Her mouse colored hair was well coifed. Ivan guessed her age at mid-twenties. As he spoke, he heard distant sirens, but he knew, with the hole in her front that there was one much bigger in her back where the bullet exited. He knew she’d never make it. Ivan knew something about guns. The man had used a large caliber, a .357 or 44 magnum, from the amount of blood coming from her chest and the sound of the shots.

She tried to talk but her lungs must have been filling with fluid. He understood little of what she was saying. When she talked all that came out was a gurgling sound. As he bent close to her, through her gurgling, he heard Clarisse and what he thought was Sea something. He guessed her name was Clarisse Sea something. It sounded like Seacrest.

Within a very few minutes, three police cars roared in from both directions, sirens wailing. Cops jumped out of the cars and stood behind their opened doors, guns drawn.

Put your hands up, one shouted.

Ivan wasn’t sure what they were talking about or even to whom. He thought they had caught the little fat man. When the cop shouted again, Put your hands up and move away from the girl, he realized they were talking to him.

No, no, officers. I didn’t do this. I’m the one who saw it and had that man call you. He looked out to the street, pointing to where the man was and saw that the man he instructed to call the police was gone. He was in a tan Chevy Impala, he shouted at them.

When the police saw he wasn’t armed, they started slowly moving in toward him. One shouted, Put your hands in the air and move away from the girl.

Ivan finally did as they asked, laying the girl down gently. He saw an ambulance pulling into the mix of police cars and a group of onlookers who were now assembling around the perimeter of the action. He wondered where they all came from. There didn’t seem to be anyone around when the shooting started. One cop ran up with cuffs and grabbed Ivan by his arms, twisting them behind him and cuffing him.

What’s your name? the cop asked.

Ivan Solansky. But officer, you have this wrong, Ivan protested. "I was standing…

How do you spell that, he asked, with pad and pencil out.

S O L A N S K Y. I was standing over there, he nodded with his head to the other side of the street. "In fact the man who shot this poor girl also shot at me. She said Clarisse Sea something but couldn’t talk…

Save it for the detectives, Mister, the cop who cuffed him said, as he led him to a squad car. He never wrote that information down.

You guys can probably find a couple bullets in the tree over there. I was behind that black Volvo. You’ll find my toolbox over beside the car. The windows are shot out of it. The man who shot her ran through that vacant lot. If you send someone to the next street up, you might catch him. He’s a short, fat bastard in a white suit. He has gray-white hair and a beard to match.

Just shut the fuck up, buddy. You’ll have plenty of time to spill that crap to the detectives.

Sarge, a young cop yelled from the vacant lot, I see a gun laying in that lot.

Leave it lay there but watch it until Joey gets here, the Sergeant yelled back. He’ll be a little late.

I guess that means overtime again, huh?

Yeah. What, you don’t like the extra dough?

Naw, it’s okay. I was just hoping to take the wife out to eat. I hope he isn’t too late.

They put Ivan in a squad car and another cop drove him down to the police station before any detectives got to the scene. He took his cuffs off and led him to an interrogation room. The drab green block walls were not the least bit inviting. They gave the room a cold, lonely feeling. Ivan thought they probably did this on purpose to keep the witness on edge during questioning. In the center of the room sat a table and three chairs. The light was dim. He sat for over an hour, thinking, nice birthday present, before anyone came in. Finally, a uniformed cop poked his head in and asked if he could get him something to drink.

Yeah, a Coke would be nice. Thanks.

Be right back.

Ivan had his head resting in his hands when he saw a pair of brown scuffed, unpolished shoes with little walking left in them, amble through the door. His eyes moved north to a pair of crumpled pants going under a matching coat. Under the coat was a semi-white shirt with the day’s lunch and probably some eggs from breakfast, still resting where they had fallen off the man’s fork onto his ample stomach. Good afternoon. You’re Ivan Solansky? He was looking at a paper he pulled from a manila folder.

That’s right. Am I under arrest?

No, not at all. He pulled a chair out and sat across from Ivan. "We found your toolbox where you told us it was. It was evident you had been shot at, just as you told Officer Silva. Please forgive him. He’s a little rough around the edges.

A little?

Well, maybe a lot. But he’s a good cop. Mr. Solansky, we need you to look at some pictures to see if you recognize the shooter.

Be glad to, Officer…

Detective Joey Adams. He laid three books of criminals’ pictures he’d carried in on the table. I’ll be back a little later. I’ve got some other leads on this guy. We’re also tracking the guy who made the 911 call. He may know something. Did you know him?

No. He probably doesn’t know anything. He just about ran over me when I started across the street to attend to Clarisse.

You knew her?

No. Didn’t Officer Silva tell you what I told him?

No. He was pretty wrapped up in the gun and some other things. I guess he forgot. So what did you tell him? Adams moved his chair away from the table to get closer to Ivan. It made a screeching sound on the concrete floor that run a chill up Ivan’s back.

When I got to the girl, she was bleeding pretty badly. Evidently her lungs were filling up. But she did say Clarisse. I guessed that was her name. She also said Sea something. I guess that might have been her last name. I don’t know.

Or, the detective said, it might be the shooter’s name. Anyway, take a look through those books and see if you recognize anybody."

Sure, Detective. I want you to catch this bastard? Clarisse seemed like a decent person. See, I never thought about the names being connected to the shooter. I guess that’s why you’re the detective, huh? He laughed.

Joey didn’t find it amusing. He shook his head and moved on. Is there anything else you can tell us about the shooting Mr. Solansky? He moved the chair back under the table, making that sound again. Ivan didn’t know whether to ask him if he’d lift the chair up when he moved it. He decided to just put up with the grating. It seemed like the detective was leaving anyway.

Ivan proceeded to lay out the entire thing again, since he hadn’t told anyone anything since his brief conversation with the cop who cuffed him.

So why were you walking down Jefferson? You know someone there?

No. I was going to look at the Hancock Building. I’m hoping to work on it for awhile.

But that buildings almost finished, Adams said, looking quizzically at Ivan. Where were you coming from?

I just finished work on the Mervyn Apartments, over on...

Yeah, I know where they’re going up, Adams interrupted. "They just broke ground on them last week. Are you a concrete man?

No, I’m a carpenter.

Working on forms, then, huh?

Ivan decided not to push it. Yeah, that’s right.

"Where do you live, Mr. Solansky?

I stay at the Y on Sandusky.

How long have you been there?

Ever since I started working on the Mervyn building. About eight months now, I guess.

Okay, Mr. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here. That building wasn’t even started eight months ago. And now you’re telling me you build concrete forms and you’re going to start work on a building that’s in its finishing stage?

I could try to explain, but I doubt you’d understand, officer.

I’ve got some work to do. You look over those pictures and I’ll be back in a little while. I’d like to borrow your license and Social to copy. Someone will bring them back.

Ivan got them out of his wallet and handed them to Adams. He looked at them.

Where’d you get these? It says here that this license was issued two years from now, 2012. How’s that possible?

I know. Everybody always gets a kick out of that. The DMV made a mistake, but no one caught it until I was gone. Then, when I went back, you know how those girls at the DMV are. No one ever makes a mistake down there. They wouldn’t even look at it. They told me that was preposterous; impossible for that to happen.

You sit tight. I’ll be back with these and I’d like you to tell me more about you. He held up the cards.

No one ever showed up again, not even the guy who promised him the Coke. Ivan sat in the interrogation room the rest of the afternoon and night. He’d finished looking through the books in about two hours then went back through all of them again, just to make sure he didn’t miss something. As he sat in the straight-back silver chair, the worn green seat padding would leave marks on his butt where holes took the place of previous foam. He’d throw his right leg out, then his left. He rested his head on one elbow until it fell asleep then switched to the other as he slowly turned each page. He didn’t see the man who did the shooting in any of the pictures. Finally he got up and walked around the drab table, stretching his legs to get circulation back in them. He was getting awfully dry so he thought he’d go ask if he could get that Coke. He tried the door. It was locked.

He sat back down with a plop. He forgot the padding was missing and a pain shot up his back where steel met hipbone. The loneliness was permeating him again. He’d just seen a young girl get shot. He’d never seen anyone die before and he especially never held anyone as they did. Depression started settling in. The happiness he’d been experiencing through the day because it was his birthday was quickly disappearing.

Ivan started counting the blocks on one wall to calculate how many made up this room. My God, why won’t somebody come check on him? He laid his head down into his crossed arms and fell into a fitful sleep about eleven o’clock. He drifted in and out through the night, waking up when his arms started tingling from loss of blood, shaking them back to life and doing it all over again. He would lay there thinking about the girl, laying, gurgling words through blood as life slipped away, then finally drift off only to awake for another round of the same.

The next morning, a sergeant he hadn’t seen before came in.

Who brought you in here? We don’t have any reports on anyone being brought in for questioning.

They brought me in last night. It was about a girl being killed on Jefferson Street yesterday.

There was no killing on Jefferson yesterday, the sergeant replied.

I know. I tried to tell them that, Ivan said, trying to get out of this mess.

Well, we talked about you for awhile and no one could find any paper work on you so you’re free to go. Leave your name and address with the front desk clerk, though, just in case something comes up.

Yes sir. And with that, Ivan was gone.

He left without getting his cards back. He couldn’t. He’d try to replace the license later but knew he’d never bother to get another Social Security card. As he walked away, he decided he had to find out who this girl was and why she was shot. She was way too young to die, and especially like this, so violently. She was a little on the heavy side, but she dressed well, showing she had class. Also, if she lived in the apartment behind where she was shot, she lived fairly well. That place wasn’t cheap. If she took a bus to work, it was too late to catch her now. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.

It isn’t about finding out why she got shot, you fool, he thought. You think you might have a chance with her. What a damned idiot.Will you never get it? There is nothing for you.

CHAPTER 2

Welcome to Castle Downs, sir. The uniformed man took the ticket Ivan had just bought at the window outside the track.

Thank you, Ivan replied, as he took the torn ticket the man handed him back and proceeded through the turnstile.

And good luck, he heard over his shoulder as he continued into the track arena. Hope you win today.

Oh, I think I will, today, he yelled back to the congenial ticket taker. Then he laughed.

Since Ivan couldn’t follow Clarisse, he decided to go to the track. He stopped off at the Y to pay the rent and to make sure his things were okay. He went to town and wasted the day, waiting for the track to open that night. That’s how he made his money. He worked in construction just to be around people and to keep busy. He never saw a pay check since they never had a record of his work. But construction work, unlike most other occupations, allowed one to come to a sight and get on with a little bullshit. It also gave him the only family he had. The guys wouldn’t know him each day he appeared for work, but he knew them and could easily join in on conversations. He had to be careful, though, not to provide too much information about any of them. They were always suspicious of a stranger who knew so much about them.

He had yesterday’s paper in hand with all the winners marked for each race. He didn’t get the thrill the other people got from the track. They were gamblers. They didn’t know who would win. This was just a job for him. He read their tomorrow’s paper, so it was a simple matter of putting the money down on each winner and collecting his winnings. And it didn’t matter that he won every race. The track authorities could never catch up to him since he would be in their yesterday if they finally decided to check him out. Just to make certain there wasn’t any suspicion cast on him though, he went to different windows to buy tickets and to cash them. That way, no one agent ever knew that he won every race. Besides, he never bet really big money, just enough to meet his expenses.

He bet fifty dollars on 2-1 horses. If the odds got interesting, say 5 or 6 to 1, he’d bet five hundred dollars. He never took more than a couple thousand a day. He had nowhere to keep money since he couldn’t open a bank account. He had no ID except the ID cards the cop took. And they would never work with a bank. Bankers would spot that they were unusual immediately and, considering them as the fakes they were, would refuse to honor them.

Ivan took care of business as soon as he arrived. He went to a ticket window, bought the winner for the first race, then waited around for the race to finish so he could collect his winnings. He didn’t even bother to watch the races. Horses didn’t do anything for him and the races weren’t the least bit exciting if one knew the winners. He did this for the next five races, putting his winnings in two different pockets after each race. He went into the men’s room and went into a stall where he tucked a hundred dollars into a compartment in his belt, just for safety. He didn’t want to lose his seed money. It was a pain to get more. Then he headed for the exit gate with two races left. He’d gotten enough money.

He was half way to the revolving gate when he heard, Just keep walking toward the exit, It was a deep, gruff voice behind him. Then he felt the sharp point of a gun barrel in his back.

He turned around and stared into the face of a twenty something, tall, dirty man who hadn’t shaved in four days. He had a companion, a shorter, rounder man with a bandana on his head. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt, exposing tattoos up and down each arm. Neither man smelled too good.

I said keep moving toward the exit, turkey, unless you want to die right here. He kept his hand in his pocket, never exposing the gun.

What? You’ll shoot me right here, in front of God and all these people? Actually there weren’t too many people leaving since there were still two races left.

You’re godamned right I’ll shoot you right here, and never give it a second thought.

Ivan started to believe him. What he didn’t want to happen was that they get him alone somewhere, and then kill him. Look, fellows, I’ll give you my money right here. No hard feelings, huh?

Don’t do it, Ralphie, the short guy said. We need to get him away from here. Ivan started to pull the money from his hip pocket.

Why do we need to do that, asshole? All we want is that money he won. Yeah, Mister, hand it over.

Ivan handed them the money from his hip pocket. The short one grabbed it. Okay, the rest of it.

Sorry, partner, that’s all I have.

We saw you stuff winnings in two other pockets. Now hand it over, Ralphie said, as he poked him hard with his gun.

Okay, fellas, you got me. Here ya go. He gave them all the money he had. Just trying to save a little for a meal or two, ya know? They grabbed the money and made a quick exit. Ivan could just go back and make more on the last two races using the money he kept hidden in his belt. But this was too rich. He knew he had to come back tomorrow and watch these guys at work. Clarisse would have to wait.

CHAPTER 3

Welcome to Castle Downs and good luck, sir.

Thank you, Ivan replied to the same man he had seen the night before, I’ll need it today.

He proceeded to the arena, looking for the goons who robbed him yesterday. Meanwhile, he was thinking he only came back today to avoid Clarisse. He had spent the whole day going over how he would approach her, if he found out where she lived. He could have gone to that apartment to see if she came out in the morning, but he didn’t. He hated that thought and changed the subject in his mind. He was here to find the perpetrators. He spotted them checking out a couple different people. As he watched, each man followed what appeared to be rich bettors. He followed Ralphie as he stood back and watched a man place a bet, then go down to the track to watch the race. When he showed disappointment that his horse didn’t win, Ralphie left him and headed back to the betting windows. There he watched for people to turn in tickets. When he saw a particularly big wager being paid off, he followed that bettor.

Meanwhile, his partner was following a man who apparently won a big race, too. Ivan latched onto him and watched as Shorty stuck close to the bettor. After that race, the bettor headed back to the window and collected another big pot. Shorty ran off to find Ralphie. Ivan stayed close to the bettor. He knew they’d be back. Sure enough, here came Ralphie, followed by his partner in crime.

Which one? Ralphie asked.

There he is, the one with the yellow sweater and black pants.

Oh, yeah. He looks like money, he smells like money. Ralphie got a big grin full of really bad teeth. Let’s see if he wins another race or two before we take him.

But what if he bets it all and loses? his buddy asked.

Ralphie hit him in the head. I’ve told you a thousand times, stupid. That’s the chance we take if we want to score big. If he loses it all, we’ll just have to look for someone who hit big in the last race. Now keep a close eye on him. I’m going to keep looking around.

Okay, Ralphie. He was rubbing his sore noggin.

By the eighth race, the bettor decided he was done for the day and started toward the gate. Ralphie and his partner had been sticking close to him for the last couple races, so they followed him. When he got to a deserted area shortly before the exit gate, they moved in. Ivan stood a hundred feet back, behind a post, as Ralphie put the gun into the man’s back. He knew what they were saying to the man. Ivan moved quickly and put what they would think was a gun into the short one’s back. It was really a Sharpie he picked up at a drug store on the way to the track.

Now why don’t you tell Ralphie there, to put his gun away and allow this gentleman to continue on with his winnings?

The partner spun around to look at him. Who the fuck are you?

I’m the man who’s going to put a great big hole in your fat belly if Ralphie doesn’t take his piece out of that man’s back.

With that, the man being held up turned. He smiled with relief. It’s only a Sharpie, fella, see! Ralphie almost screamed as he removed the object from his coat pocket. Ivan burst out laughing. He realized he never had seen the actual gun the day before.

What do you want to do with these birds? he asked the poor fellow. I can call the cops right now.

The man was pretty big, not as tall as Ralphie, but he looked pretty fit. He had black hair, an olive complexion and a large nose. Let’s take them outside somewhere and beat the shit out of them. What do you say?

That sounds like a plan to me, Ivan offered. He was fit and ready for a good fight.

Shorty nearly jumped out of his skin. Ivan still had his Sharpie in the guy’s gut. We didn’t mean any harm, Mister, Honest.

Yeah, right, you bastards, the victim said. Name’s Connie, Constance Vitorio. He spread the name out slowly so there was no mistake he was Italian. I want to thank you for the rescue. Your name?

Ivan, Connie. It was my pleasure. Do you really want to take them out back?

Naw. I have some friends who know where to find them. I’ll send them over. He laughed hard.

Sounds good to me. With that, Ivan eased up on the Sharpie. Beat it, bums. They both took off for the exit gate, sure Connie came from Sicily or wherever Mafioso came from. He showed Connie the Sharpie. They both burst out laughing.

You really gonna send your friends after them? he asked.

Naw, I don’t have those kind of friends. I’m a financial advisor. But as soon as people hear my name, they assume I do. This’ll be more fun than getting involved with the police. We’d get stuck for hours testifying and helping them with questioning. Now those bums’ll be looking over their shoulder for months. They both laughed.

Can I buy you a drink, Ivan?

Sure, Connie, I’d like that.

They went out the gate and across the street to the Finish Line Bar and Grill. There were several TVs turned on hanging strategically around the barroom with no sound. Each had a sports event happening. One had the races live from across the street. Ivan pointed to a booth and they both headed for it and sat down.

A hippy waitress carrying quite a few years and too much makeup, came up. What’ll it be, boys? she asked.

Ivan? This one’s on me, remember.

Okay. Give me a Bud Lite, he said.

I’ll have a Coors regular. With that, the waitress sashayed away, hoping to get lucky with a couple good looking, young guys. So, Ivan, do you come to the track often?

Only when I need money, Ivan said, matter-of-factly, with no humor intended.

Connie laughed. Yeah, me too. Seriously, I’ve never seen you here, but then, I only come about once a month.

Connie, you seem like a decent enough guy. I’m going to tell you something you’re not going to believe.

Shoot.

I’m going backward in time.

Huh? I don’t follow you.

Yesterday was my birthday. I was 35 years old.

Happy birthday, pal. He stood up and grabbed Ivan’s hand to shake. But I’m sorry, buddy, you do look like you might be 35. Maybe a few years older even, but...

No, that’s not what I’m talking about, Connie. You see, I was born in 2040.

Yeah, right. And here in 2005, I guess that would make you 35. Connie laughed loudly.

I told you it’d be hard to swallow. Let me show you something. He pulled yesterday’s paper out with the race results. He pointed to the date. It was tomorrow’s for Connie, yesterday’s for Ivan.

Okay, Connie said, when were these races run?

That’s the thing, see. They were run tonight.

So you say. Let me see that. He grabbed the paper. By God, this is the results from tonight. I won big on In A Hurry.

Of course you did. Look here. He still had the paper from the night before. I won every race I bet on yesterday. Hang onto that and come back to the track tomorrow. You’ll see every race as it’s listed there. He pointed to the paper he laid on the table. Bet big on any one of those races and you’ll win. Promise.

Look, Mister, I don’t know what your game is, but I appreciate your getting me out of that fix tonight, I really do. See you around, huh?

At least take that with you. He pushed the paper at Connie and tried to shove it into Connie’s hand.

No thanks, pal. Here’s a twenty. Buy yourself another one on me, huh.

With that he headed out the door.

Just as he hit the door, the waitress came back with the beer. Your friend’s leaving already?

Yeah, he had to be somewhere, Ivan lied.

Why did he do that? Every time he befriended someone, he screwed it up. What difference did it make anyway. They wouldn’t know him the next day. But Connie did seem like a nice guy. Maybe he’d try to catch up to him again the next time he came to the track. Or maybe not. Would he ever make a true friend, he wondered?

Ivan’s taste for beer went out the door with Connie. He left the twenty lay where Connie had thrown it and headed for the door himself.

Hey Mister, the waitress shouted after him, "you left your money.

Keep the change, sweety, he shouted back and went out the door.

He caught a bus and headed back to his room. On the way back he thought, he would see Clarisse, sweet, lovely, young Clarisse, tomorrow. At least he hoped he would if she did live in that apartment complex. What was it about that creature that got into him like this? It was like an electric shock jolting him back when he tried to get her out of his mind.

CHAPTER 4

Ivan dressed in his brown gabardine suit, the only suit he owned, with white shirt and red tie. He polished his wingtips. He had to look like a businessman, heading to an important interview downtown.

He left his room at the YMCA by five AM the next morning, early enough to be outside the apartment building where he thought Clarisse might live. He only lived eight blocks from the apartment so he walked. He had no idea what time Clarisse went to work, or even if she lived there. If she did, he didn’t want to miss her. Was he just curious about who she was and why she was shot or was he hoping for more? Why was he so reluctant to meet up with her? For the past two days, since he watched her get shot, he couldn’t dismiss her from his mind. Who in the hell do I think I’m kidding, he thought. I only slept with one woman other than whores in all my 35 years. Why would this be any different?

He had met a girl in a coffee shop one morning, shared a conversation, hit it off and had lunch with her. She wasn’t especially pretty, slim with long, blond hair, but with a very plain face. And she wore little makeup. No matter, he enjoyed her company. He invited her to dinner. At dinner she explained that she had just come out of a long relationship. She was thirty years old, ten years Ivan’s senior. She didn’t explain vulnerability and Ivan didn’t know about it. They went for a walk along the beach and ended up at her apartment. After a couple drinks, they slipped into bed. Ivan figured there might be trouble the next morning but hoped if she read his tattoo it might just alleviate the problem. The tattoo was put on his little back when he was a baby. Also papers that explained his situation always accompanied him. The tattoo was becoming distorted from him growing much bigger, but it was still readable. It read:

P L E ASE N OTE

T H IS PE R S ON WAS TH E R ESU L T O F A C LO N IN G

E XP ERI M E NT. TH I S H UM AN BE IN G I S G OI NG B AC KW AR D INTIM E AS H E G R O W S O L D. Y O U W I L L N OT K NO W H I M ON H IS NE X T D A Y, AS I T W IL L B E YO U R YE ST ER D AY. HE WA S N O T IN Y O U R YE S TE R DAY.

W A L T ER S P E CT OR

CL YD E M O S S

A S OF O C T OB ER 4, 2 0 40, H E I S 0N E MONTH OL D. W E H AVE N OANSWERS.

Ivan kept the papers explaining his situation in a locker at the bus station. They were so worn, they could hardly be read anymore. So Ivan quit carrying them long ago, since it did no good to tell people about himself. He tried to explain this to the girl he had in bed. She accepted the explanation, though she looked strangely at him.

You’re not some kind of weirdo sex pervert, are you? she asked with a straight face, as they lay together, naked, in bed.

No, he assured her. He loved her naked body, perfect in his mind, as he massaged it with his hands. I’m normal in every way except for the fact I’m growing old in the opposite direction the rest of the world is.

Oh. Okay. Let’s do it then. He didn’t expect it to be quite that easy. Actually, he didn’t know what to expect. With that, they went at it, and at it, and at it. That was the first time Ivan really had sexual intercourse. You’re a virgin, aren’t you, she asked after the first, clumsy time.

No, he lied. He had diddled girls in puberty. But at that age, it’s usually just experimental. There’s no