Fate No Friend of Mine

By Stan Witt

Fourteen-year-old Rome Kaiser and his younger brother Arden Lane escape an abusive father and flee to a mountain hiding place above north Tucson in 1924. Author Stan Witt uses humor and satire to present a fantastic world that exposes contradictions of a real world, promising the reader an unpredictable journey. Protagonist Rome struggles to reconcile his personal responsibility with a belief in a predestined fate as he acts out of a self-created “code of honor,” even when it means breaking the law. While serving time in the state reformatory, Rome learns that he has promise as a boxer, and so carries his code of honor into the ring as a professional pugilist. Colorful dialog, entangling romance, and revelation of Rome’s inner world keep us laughing at his folly, suffering his despair, and castigating his judgment as we are captivated by this controversial character.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stan Witt
• Release date: Feb 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9780988705203

Stan Witt

As a former college professor, Stan Witt enjoyed confronting his literature students with philosophical quandaries as they sought to clarify their values. He continues to practice this form of amusement in his fiction writing. He earned his Ph.D in Modern British and American Literature at the University of Arizona and has previously published academic articles, poetry, short stories, and one three-part novel. He lives with his wife Michelle, in Pinetop, Arizona, where they love to watch the squirrels at play among the pine trees.

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Preface

Set in the 1920s and 1930s, FATE No Friend of Mine embodies themes central to the mindset of the age, even though they are infrequently reflected in the fiction of this thought-provoking era. As a matter of fact, terms such as fate, free will, predestination, and personal responsibility have been lightning rods for centuries among secular and religious thinkers. The concepts associated with these terms have been redefined, reinterpreted, challenged, and defended. Until the advent of modern psychology, psychiatry, evolution, and genetics, explanations claiming to be the definitive last word more often than not came from the religious community. Now that modern science is getting into the fray, the arguments have expanded and taken new twists.

The influence on human behavior resulting from studies of man’s heredity and environment have steadily been making their way into venues other than religious and scientific writings. Themes involving DNA and inherited characteristics, free will and fate, and fate and personal responsibility are increasingly appearing in the works of poets, writers of fiction, playwrights, painters, sculptors, environmental artists, and others.

In the fiction of the last century or two, the themes referenced above are perhaps most extensively used in the novels of Emile Zola, considered to be the father of literary Naturalism. While Naturalism as a trend had faded by 1950, its concepts have not. On the contrary, the debate over fate, free choice, and personal responsibility is regularly argued from the pulpit, in college and university courses, and in courts of law. One of the more prominent controversies has to do with man as a creature of unfettered free will versus man as defined by hereditary factors and environmental influences. This novel does not attempt to resolve this or any other controversy. It merely attempts to represent aspects relative to the issues mentioned. Its main purpose, however, is to call attention to the difficulty in compartmentalizing man’s thinking and behavior into paradigmatic grids while ignoring his universal human experience—his sadness over loss, his joy celebrating success, his renewal of hope, his resignation to go to his grave, or his determination to fight on.

PART ONE: Breaking Away

1920 - 1925

Chapter 1

In the summer of 1920, university professor Thomas Jefferson IX takes his nephew Roman Kaiser on one of their frequent camping trips high into the mountains north of Tucson. Uncle Jefferson often mentions that such trips are necessary for him to escape the debilitating heat of the Arizona desert, but his real purpose he keeps to himself. During the day they compete at quick-draw competition, using Uncle Jefferson’s forty-four pistol to see who can come closer to the bull’s eye nailed to a pine tree at a distance of twenty yards. They also hike and do some hunting along the way with his Winchester repeating rifle in hopes of fetching a tasty morsel for dinner. Evenings, with their meal finished, Uncle Jefferson lights his pipe and the two sit round the campfire in the abandoned hideout, long-forgotten by most people, known as Geronimo’s Cave.

It is in this setting that Uncle Jefferson’s secret purpose is accomplished, in that he always steers the conversation. Rome, you will soon be eleven, and although you’ve absorbed much that I’ve taught you about life, honor, history, and philosophy, I feel that I must instruct you about a doctrine that some religions teach. The doctrine is suggested in the old saying, If you dance, then you will pay the Fiddler."

Pay for dancing? the boy asks incredulously. Not me! Mama’s teaching me to dance for free by following the music on our gramophone.

"Well, hear me out if you will. The Fiddler I’m talking about plays a music that people cannot physically hear, yet they must live their lives by it. You see, the Fiddler plays a different tune for everyone, a tune predetermined by a fellow called Fate. Each tune has unpredictable consequences. For some folk, Fate has the Fiddler play sweet melodies, and for others, deceitfully disastrous hymns. Nobody chooses his own music. He may think so, but Fate manipulates the mind of man to do Fate’s bidding in all things. To put it another way, Fate creates your life’s path that you are forced to follow. Most people are ignorant of this fact. They live thinking that they’ve carved out their own path. But even your own uneducated father—remember when he was a Presbyterian minister—even he taught that everyone was fated."

Rome answers, I don’t care what Papa taught ‘cause he’s always been a hypocrite. But F-Fate don’t never fuck with me anyways, Uncle Jefferson. Does he fuck with you?

Uncle Jefferson is taken aback by Rome’s blunt street talk. After a bit he throws his head back and laughs and laughs. Well, Rome, he says, his occasional chuckling interrupting himself, I look at it from scientific principles instead of from religious dogma. I think that we have certain chemicals in our brains and bodies that we inherited from our ancestors. These elements create a network of nerves that, in turn, creates our thoughts, and our thoughts create our actions. So in a sense we are fated by elements in our blood that we have inherited from our ancestors. Some people seem to inherit good blood and some seem to inherit bad, while others seem to have elements that are somewhere in between. I expect that you and I have good blood. But we’re still subject to fate.

Rome thinks for a long time before he says belligerently, Okay then, whether I’m fated in the way Pa preached or fated in the way you say, Uncle Jefferson, then I ain’t never gonna blame myself for nothin’! Ain’t that right?

Good, Rome! You beat me to the point I wanted to make. Here’s how I handle it. Whenever I run into a snag, I just pick and choose whatever I want. If things go bad, I blame Fate; if things go well, then I take the credit. You best do the same. It’s foolish to spend one’s life trying to solve an unsolvable conundrum, Rome. You’ll live a happier life if you do as I do.

I ain’t lookin’ for no happy life, Uncle Jefferson. I-I’m looking for the truth, and I ain’t gonna just sit back and let no Fate push me around neither.

***

Three years later, Rome notices a beautiful blonde young lady sitting next to him at the Rialto Theater, a popular show house in downtown Tucson. The show is a romantic comedy entitled The Love Letter. After glancing at her a few times and visiting with her in the lobby after the show, he learns that she is soon to be sixteen years old and has recently moved from California to Tucson where she lives with an aunt. Sensing a mutual attraction, Rome asks her out. After a couple of dates, he concludes that he has fallen in love and that Missy—his pet name for her—has likewise fallen in love with him.

He likes her best because she accepts his stuttering, which he notices diminishes while in her company. As a matter of fact, after a few weeks, his stuttering while around her vanishes altogether. Beyond that he is captivated by her flapper’s garb (including the cloche, beaded necklaces, and short skirt), by her slim but shapely figure, her blue eyes and bobbed wavy blonde hair, her winning smile, her patience, gentleness, and sweet disposition. He assumes that she is taken by his worldly intellectual knowledge, his gentlemanly qualities towards women, his handsome face, dusky complexion, curly black hair, and his tall muscular physique. He also believes he has convinced her that he is all man, that he has shrewd street sense, advanced knowledge of certain philosophical concepts, great ability to protect himself and his friends from bullies, and a host of other virtues. You didn’t mention anything about arrogance, she teases after he has just finished attesting to his ability to dance, shoot with equal dexterity both a rifle and pistol, size people up quickly, and whip his ornery father.

Their romance intensifies steadily until she is coaxed into surrendering her virginity, and without the least qualm, he abandons his as well. She says to him somewhat surprised, You mean, Rome, that I’m the first one?

You’re the first, baby doll, cross my heart. Then he adds, Yep, this is my first big dance to the music of the Fiddler.

She gives him a puzzled look. Oh? I thought you were a very worldly sort of person.

I am. It’s just that I ain’t never fucked no woman before today.

I prefer to call it making love, she says.

Ain’t that the same thing as fuckin’?

She explains the difference.

Well, how was I ‘spected to know that? I am mad in love with you, baby doll! You can bet your last clam on that! In fact his love for her is such a wonderment that it inspires him to present her with an elegant gift on Christmas Eve—an engagement ring with a large oval setting that holds a dozen sparkling diamonds, while the gold band displays six miniature half-moon pearls.

Shortly thereafter the Tucson Morning Tribune reports a notorious theft of a diamond and pearl ring estimated to be worth more than seventeen hundred dollars. Rome’s sweetheart says, Oh, honey, what a magnificent engagement ring! Abruptly Missy stops marveling to ask, But Rome, my love, how in the world did you ever pay for it?

Listen, baby doll, all you got to do is wait a year before wearin’ this here thing and forget about how I come by it. Just don’t never forget that they ain’t no other female ever put it on even once. As for my payin’ for it, my honor code gives me permission to take from Jews because they overcharge folks all the time, parroting a prejudice of his father’s. So don’t ask me no more.

She makes a feeble attempt to give the ring back, but he won’t have any of it. It is with seeming reluctance that she ends up thanking him again with an avalanche of hugs and kisses and more dancing to the Fiddler’s music, his reference to their love-making.

Before their love can progress further, a fateful event intervenes. She is summoned to California to attend her mother’s funeral and to care for her critically injured father. Both parents were traveling in a small truck when it was crushed by an enormous falling tree. Her father, having suffered a crushed spine, is paralyzed from his waist down and requires Missy’s immediate return home to care for him.

Rome, darling, I don’t know when, or even if, I can ever return. Maybe you can come to California.

Um, dunno, he says with hurt feelings. You won’t have no time to spend with me anyways. Maybe I’ll just move back to Texarkana, where I was born.

After her departure Rome is heartbroken and grieves his loss for many months. He angrily holds Fate responsible for causing this tragic outcome. Still Rome refuses to give up hope that one day she will return. For a year or more, in order to remain faithful to his sweetheart, Rome attempts to eschew good-looking girls that seem to be available for friendship. He also forgoes dancing, his favorite pastime. He vows to stay loyal to Missy for the rest of his life, whether or not they ever see one another again.

Chapter 2

With a waning desert sun sliding toward the western mountain range, Rome and his father arrive at Ramsey’s Trailer Court after work on Christmas Eve of 1924. The two are both out of sorts; Rome, because he is remembering that a year ago today he presented Missy with the engagement ring and she promptly left for California; his father, because things didn’t go well on the job, for which he blames Rome. They park their rattle trap of a truck near the front door of the Kaiser clapboard shanty that sits surrounded by a battalion of shabby trailer houses.

As the two emerge from the cab, Mr. Kaiser rummages around in the cluttered bed of his truck where his landscaping tools are scattered about. Rome, what in Sam Hill did you do with that gunny sack of Christmas presents and that box of groceries?

Rome, who has just opened the rickety door to enter the family shack, returns irritably to the truck and peers over the sideboards. I-I put them back here, just like you t-told me.

Don’t tell me no fish story, you lyin’ bastard son of who knows!

W-whoa, P-Papa! Stop right th-there! Don’t call me that damned name no more. I’m sick and tired of it. If I ain’t your kid, then tell me straight out, and let me know who my real father is. But if you c-call me a bastard one more time, I-I’ll mash your fuckin’ face in.

You didn’t put one of them things in this here truck. I bet you got to jawin’ with that fella in the mercantile or you was tryin’ to get some wench out back to show you what’s behind her underwear. When I called you and said, ‘Let’s get a-movin’, you got in the truck a-thinkin’ about what’s under that underwear and you clean forgot about that stuff I paid for. What’s worse, that box of groceries has got my hooch in it. That’s my medicine for my rheumatism, you stupid bastard.

"P-P-Papa, don’t you dare call me that name again, or you’ll get some of my medicine. I’m just a-itchin’ to knock out that other f-front tooth of yours!" Scared and intimidated, Rome nevertheless makes a move as if to punch his father in the mouth, but instead reaches into the truck bed and slams first a shovel and then a rake about the truck bed as a pretense of searching for the goods.

Mr. Kaiser takes a step back from the truck bed and pulls both suspender straps away from his chest with his thumbs and lets them snap back. Rome, he bellows in a rising fit of anger, you’re a-lyin’ sommabitch. You didn’t put no gunny sack or no box of groceries in this truck. So just scuttle your ass back to that store and carry everything home here on foot.

A chill runs down both of Rome’s arms. Oh no you don’t, o-o-old man. I ain’t buyin’ your butt-full of lies no more! He sneers, parting his lips in such a way that his front teeth can be seen clamped together. Now that I think on it, I just figured out what become of your hooch and Christmas presents. They got stole when the truck run out of gasoline after we left Randle’s Mercantile. Remember? I took the gasoline can and run all the way back. Mr. Randle filled the can up and made me sign a charge ticket. He said that he seen me put everything in the back of the truck, so that means them groceries and presents got stole out of the truck. When I got back to the truck with that can of gasoline, you was p-passed out inside the cab, drunk like always. You was a-snorin’ so loud that a stick of dynamite wouldn’t have woke you. That’s when your do-do got stole. Rome starts laughing. The past few months you been a drunkard more than you been a man, and you been a liar and a jackass as much as you been a drunkard, and if you weren’t my pa, I’d whip your ass right here and now for callin’ me that dirty name and for not confessin’ up to the way you let them groceries and Christmas presents get away.

The dispute quickly turns into a shouting frenzy. Trailer court residents stick their heads out of windows while others step outside to see what’s afoot. Pa Kaiser bellows, Look how you treat me, you disrespectful bum—and after all I done for you!

Rome laughs again. Ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-hee! You can dish it out, but you c-c-can’t take it, can you? Let me tell you somethin’. I done worked my buhdoughies off for the last seven and a half years for you, while you stood round swillin’ and a-leanin’ on your shovel and callin’ me that dirty name and others like ‘jailbait’ and ‘no son of mine.’ But you is the only bastard in our family that I know of and the only jailbird. Say, how many times you been in the hoosegow anyways? You don’t got to say nothin’ ‘cause I already know the answer: plenty! After a brief pause, Rome continues. So all this while I been a slave for you, you ain’t done dog shit for me, whatever you think!

As the residents of the trailer court gather en masse, Rome says, You asked for it, Pa.

Some fellow scowls at Mr. Kaiser, How come you never pay the boy?

Mr. Kaiser yells back, I pay him twice what he was ever worth. I give him that motorcycle he’s got chained to my old Model T in back of the house. He needs a good beatin’ instead of any more pay.

Rome assumes the stance of a pugilist. C’mon, let’s see you give me that good beatin’, he shouts, baring his clamped teeth. It’s time to put up your dukes. If you don’t put up them dukes, I’m a-gonna g-get my f-forty-four pistol and blast a hole in your gas tank and set your damn truck afire.

Yeah, Rome, do it! someone yells.

Mr. Kaiser, thinner and shorter than his tall, muscular son, turns pale and trembles slightly, backing toward the house.

Rome lets his arms drop to his side. Well P-Papa, he says, I reckon I’ll be packed and on my motorcycle before long. You done throwed away your right to be called my pa. I’m leavin’ for good.

Do as you will, Rome! the father mutters. I’ll not try to stop you, though I know you’ll be a beggar all your life. Go on, get on out of here, you worthless bastard!

Rome flies at his father like a wildcat leaping on a rabbit. He lets his right fist fly, knocking out his father’s one remaining upper front tooth. The old man squeals and howls as Rome rubs the reddened middle knuckle on his right clenched fist. With blood dripping from his mouth, Mr. Kaiser reaches for the ground and retrieves his tooth, which appears to have broken off just below the roots. The dogs bark, the women shriek, and Mr. Kaiser moans and walks toward the shanty. Rome yells, Sorry Pa, but your days of eatin’ corn on the cob is done with. And let’s get somethin’ else straight. You never give me no goddam motorcycle. J-Boy’s mine. Mr. Korngold give me that Harley Davidson for rearrangin’ the shelves in his store last year.

After the crowd disperses and his father has disappeared into the shanty, Rome starts packing his things. Deep down inside, Rome’s heart is broken. He starts to choke up and wants to cry. Getting hold of himself, he goes inside and says to his father sitting in his easy chair, You know, Pa, for years I tried to love you; I tried and I tried, but you always kept a-callin’ me that vile name and kept a-treatin’ me like I weren’t no human being, and yet it was just the other day that you got drunk and fell off a roof. I just happened to be standin’ on the ground watchin’ you and a-tellin’ you to be careful, but you weren’t careful and fell, and I caught you with my own hands. It damn near broke my back, but I felt good inside, ‘cause I knowed that I probably s-s-saved your life and that you’d realize what I’d done for you. I was dumb enough to think that you wouldn’t call me a b-b-bastard no more. But it weren’t twenty minutes till you opened your mouth and said it again. I told myself that I should’ve never caught you but should of let you fall to the ground and roll into that open cesspool we was a-gettin’ ready to pump out. By lettin’ you drown in that there soup of shit that-a-way, me and the rest of the family’d be rid of you for good, but I was too dumb. I ain’t gonna be dumb like that no more ‘cause the last flicker of my love f-f-for you has just died inside me, and there ain’t no more left.

As he continues gathering his things together, Rome pops something that looks like a small rounded chunk of licorice into his mouth. Known to him as Devil’s Toenail, he chews on it a moment before swallowing it. He slowly becomes emotionally numb, as if a protective invisible sheath has wrapped itself around his entire person and warded off the pain of feeling. He is grateful to Uncle Jefferson for showing him how to concoct this elixir, an ancient Comanche mixture of mescal, jojoba beans, and other exotic desert herbs and fruits consumed by Comanche warriors prior to undertaking a raid. But as Uncle Jefferson warns, Rome, you must use Devil’s Toenail only when it is necessary to defend yourself by use of violence. If you use it too often, take too much of it at any given time, or rely on it too long, Devil’s Toenail will become ineffective. The first sign of the permanent diminution of the effects of this drug is a noticeable weakening of the sheath effect.

Rome carries a bundle of his personal belongings through the living room and out the rear door to J-Boy, his motorcycle. He passes his father who is holding a nearly empty fruit jar of moonshine in his hand. Yep, Rome, he says, I ‘spect that if you ever come round here again, I’ll have to kill you with my scattergun and send you to hell, which is where you’re destined to go anyways. Too bad, Fate just give you a big dose of bad blood, and that means you ain’t never gonna be no good. Ain’t no way to get rid of bad blood, except to kill him that’s got it."

I m-m-might have to kill you first, old man.

Chapter 3

Rome drops a pile of belongings next to J-Boy that is now parked behind the wrecked Model T. Presently he sees his favorite brother Arden Lane meandering along the dusty path leading to the Kaiser shack.

Over here, Ard-L, Rome hollers, waving to his brother in the darkening dusk. Two years older than Arden Lane, Rome is delighted that his younger brother openly adores him and admires what he perceives to be Rome’s rugged disposition, his unwavering self-confidence, his fearless no-nonsense attitude, his tough talk, and his exceptional street savvy. Most important to Rome is Arden Lane’s unconditional loyalty.

Rome has long shared with Arden Lane an intention to run away from home, and Arden Lane has consistently expressed his desire to accompany him. If you ever leave, then Pa’ll make me quit school like he done you and force me to work in your place. I hate workin’ for him. Pa’s done me a lot of dirt too, Rome. I ain’t gonna be his slave. Just tell me when we’re gonna cut out and I’ll be ready.

Tonight—as soon as we can get packed. Since we’re gonna be livin’ inside a mountain cave, a purty nice one by the way, we want to take beddin’, soap, eatin’ utensils, guns, food, matches, Pa’s cigarettes and hooch for me, and his chocolate for you. We’ll wait till Pa’s in bed asleep, then we’ll load J-Boy up and shag out of here.

Arden Lane drags a hank of blond hair from his right eye. Livin’ in a cave’d be heaven when I think how we been livin’ in this garbage-packed shit hole where everyone except Ma and Pa has got to sleep like hobos.

You don’t got to tell me how we live, Rome sighs. You know, I got half a notion to go in and beat the shit out of him just before we leave.

Naw, Rome, don’t say that.

Rome glares momentarily at Arden Lane for daring to rebuke him. "Pa told me today, Ard-L, that