The Crystal Masque

By Frank Faruolo

THE CRYSTAL MASQUE books, masks and a readers theatre for twenty five chapters. Its masks are prescribed in crystal and framed for familiar or strange faces at a neighborhood optical shop.
While providing his services and even when not, the master directs diverse dialogue involving his or their personal conflicts, complications, catastrophes.
During most of the scenes, the walk-on apprentice, a schoolboy, stays silent but is watchful of what it takes to run a business.
His senior is dependent upon him because of a pending retirement, yet fears to actualize, after having experienced family trials, sports triumphs, patriot plaudits and business booms, busts.
Between its covers and curtains, there projects compassion for all ages, especially after a decision made by the boys master.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 8, 2007
• ISBN: 9781465329431

Book preview

PROLOGUE

After Remo’s father pried him from East Harlem streets and bound him over to an optical shopmaster, the cooped kid found himself in a role with some thirty-odd players costumed with masks of crystal.

Whenever the master shared his gift of gab with cronies and clientele, the amazed apprentice was inspired to cock an eye and cup an ear.

Within a year’s run, the fourteen-year-old learns about his mentor’s high hopes and deep dreads recalling his stunted family tree, his punctured sports praises, alleviated by nobel fraternal degrees and patriot dances at Civil War dad’s Old Soldiers Home.

As a rank reviewer due Remo, may I caution. If you catch yourself reading aloud, a circle may gather to enjoy your role.

•     •     •

NEW YEAR, N.Y.

Chapter 1

Optical storekeeper George H. Merkel O.D. met his match, holiday weekend morning with no appointment having been made. An off-the-street peddler stood blocking the doorway when the apprentice arrived for work, since the master was always open on Saturdays. The tall, slender, four-eyed schoolboy paused to push himself past the silver-haired elder with coat pockets packed with fountain pens.

Straightaway at his office desk, the portly blond-haired elder was caught picking his own suit pockets for loose coins and small bills to stash the cash register with customer change. Peddler and lad looked upon Doc’s opening-the-store routine.

Following an exchange of holiday greetings, Remo was to be entertained by a duet of desk-side cants aired through ‘store-boughten’ teeth countering chants off a sideshow barker’s gums.

Hendlemen! I godd no deeth, but I godda nife pen, here, for dwendy-five fendf. Take one, or a dofen.

I been writing opto-metrical perscriptions wis’ my ol’ pen, a Parker that’s never scratched a word or number for years.

I know all aboud your Parker way back to those ninedeen-o-faw Parker Snakes.

Eight years and all through World ‘Two.

Already subjected to wide omission of the word War, a student often wondered about Doc’s slip of the tongue, whether accidental or just his personal view of things.

Fiddle-dithf! Ain’d I been fervicing and felling penf all my life, through warf and rumorf of warf?

Even with a fist grasping pens, he reached over towards his left lapel and loosened an American flag. Remo slid inside.

Remo?

Yeh, Doc?

We have enough pens, don’t we?

We’re okay.

Deeth penf bead any penf, ballpoind or pen poind.

After refusing to make a purchase, the eye-masking merchant felt obliged to keeping up a friendly conversation, by actually calling the peddler a rich man. He pointed at his wide-opened toothless mouth and gave a big laugh. This did not stop Merkel, after hearing him say something about having no money, but sense. Remo’s master persisted by offering another generous opinion.

Looks like you still have your good health.

I wouldn’t have my health if I had no senfe.

Doc sounded a baritone laugh scattering some change off to the carpet. Remo leaned down to recover whatever as the peddler impulsively stepped forward, only a half step.

Wonderfool personality he has, eh, Remo?

Right, Doc.

No, I haven’d, bud I do ged refulthf.

You’re a gambler?

No, I ain’d.

The proprietor pointed to the cash register for Remo to load, since he thought of embellishing his previous fun query.

A gambler in life?

I’d dayke a fool do gamble and a bigger fool do be lucky. I’m no fool.

Doc may have asked enough. He arose, stretched, and sighed.

Now I know. You come up from hard knocks.

Noda me. I laugh ad the world. Who needf deeth do laugh?

Remo, would you please catch the door after this nice, good friendly visitor?

Sure, Doc.

I ged it! I ged it!!

The peddler showed how loud he could laugh with no teeth.

Thanks, anyway! Goodbye, hendlemen!

With the office made secure, Doc poked through his inner suit pocket and clenched his Parker as he recalled.

"Remo, I got some’sing to tell you about that man. That man has been coming around here ever since I opened business. For over forty years I been calling him an old-time peddler, and he always comes here sporting an American flag in his lapel. When I don’t need to buy a pen, I try to look busy like I was, then mixed in wis’ some small talk. Thank Gawd for my store set of teeth, or I’d’ve never made a success in this business.

Wis’ no teeth in his mouth, at all, can anyone make out what he is saying? All I could do was kid him a little. But, Remo? From what you may have been able to hear, do you figure that old-time peddler was trying to kid me?

A prudent prentice suppressed an open answer with a tight smile as he was going through his job trays. His mentor may’ve answered the question for himself by facing right up to one of the store’s fine paneled wall mirrors.

He jammed fingers deep down the shirt collar, breathed one long sigh of relief and adjusted the knot of his tie, as well as the lie of his Masonic tie pin. He patted his widespread vest and suit on the way to the holiday-wreathed door. Lifting the door shade higher Doc surveyed the display windows on each side and felt like he owed a resume of his start in sales to another starter.

I, too, was once a peddler like the one who dropped in. It seems to me he’s been satisfied to stick to the line of pens. I began in the surgical instrument trade, and that’s when friends called me ‘Doc’. Some’sing else I was referred to was that of a ‘missionary’. No, I didn’t hand out Bibles. I just glad-handed doctors and bought ’em a dinner at a fancy place to find out if they needed any’sing special for the salesman who followed after me. That kind of work sort of came natural to me because of my name in sports and club connections.

Doc picked out a pink lense cloth, wiped his specs and reset them to better focus on one side of his storefront displays. He began a simplified explanation of a glass thing.

"I forget what them big scientists call it, Remo, but there is a reason why those black and silver fans in the bulbs on top of each other go twirling ‘round n’ around, even though there is no ’lectric cord stuck to it. It’s been set out to the sidewalk public passing by our frames to wear, ever since I moved here.

"Not getting off my story, I’m coming to the pernt, ’cause I may’s well tell you a li’l secret I been keeping in respects to me, here, being lucky enough to have made many, many sales.

"At one particulah time, I was sitting by the door and I got to watching a man who was looking at all of our display. Like it’s happened many, many times, before, the man was and he was not about to turn away, because some’sing about what he saw held him up close to the window. The man finally had to come in and ask me what it was that was making them twirlers twirl.

Long ago, I decided to never, never try to get into talkin’ like a big perfessah. I said they were just trick twirlers, and that I honestly did not know what the trick was. Like others, before and after him, he wound up leaving a big order.

With that happy ending, Remo watched Doc ease away towards what he’d often heard referred to as the mayor’s chair. It was the office armchair into which a despondent figure fell crying after being defeated in one of the late mayor’s earlier runnings for public office.

Again in position to catch customer approaches to the door, Doc got back to talking about the old peddler’s holiday hustle. It was something to be admired. Wasn’t he doing the same, and wasn’t Remo bound to learn some good things?

Of a sudden, a pedestrian paused just about where the trick twirler glossed ready to hustle in the store’s first New Year’s Holiday customer.

The man then came up to the door and knocked. Remo meant to let him in, but was halted by his learned master of visual arts.

Looks like there’s nuh’sing in this window-watcher. Let me see what he wants.

Good mo’nin! Happy New Year!

Good morning, sir. I am Doctor Merkel, never closed up on Saturdays. Happy New Year.

Sure like all them kinds of specs out front there, but do you have a case for my own specs, here. Just now lost my case celebratin’ somewhere.

Yes, sir. My man, Remo, and I have ’em for fifty cents, and we also have some for seventy-fi’e cents.

The boy thought something was funny, because one man with a diamond tie pin was talking pennies with another man dressed up with a gold watch and chain.

What’s the difference?

Well, sir, these wis’out our name cost fifty cents. These wis’ our complete name and address all done up in gold are more. Murray, my jobber, charges extra for the extra fancy gold work.

I asked you ’cause I want to be sure there’s no, no monkey business goin’ on. The Woh sure brought a lotta that on. I bet your dark-curly-haired boy wearin’ his own respectable specs has neveh realized that.

Oh, he is too young to worry about those sings. Before the World ‘Two and even far back as World ‘One, I used to get real gen-you-wine leather cases for ten, twelve cents a case. I gave ’em away. Today, Murray sends Mister Ah-Ah-Apple down here wis’ imitation leather delivered direct to us for twenny-fi’e cents. Got to sell ’em or take a loss.

Can’t blame you for wantin’ to stay in business.

Coming from a seat at Doc’s fitting table, the tenor of one wearing a gold metal frame looking for a case encourages another one fitted with gold rimless mountings to sound off showing Remo how to close a sale.

We serve forty-seven thousand patients on file, all in the safe I had to special order.

Looks big as a bank’s.

My man Remo’s just starting wis’ the pr-ahct-acal work I’m giving him, so’s I can turn over the business, after some fifty wonderfool years. Might you like the case wis’ the gold?

Yes, Doctuh. I like the looks of this one. I will take good care to not lose it. He’e’s a dollar. It’s seventy-five cents, right?

Yes, sir, but why don’tcha take it for a quarter?

Uh quartuh?

Listen, Remo. You dassen’t put the sale price in the book, only our cost price. Please get change.

Thank you, gentlemen!

Remo tended to his work at hand lightened by his master’s forecast of a future. He still could listen more as Dr. Merkel replaced the rest of the cases back into the table and relaxed.

If only, if only now we’d all go back to the old days. People seemed to like each other much better.

Good suit o’ clothes, Doctuh, just cost eight, ten dollars.

You got two pair o’ pants wis’ a good vest, too.

Rent was a pleasure to pay. Moved only if we liked to.

Don’t I know it? Sir, today, where’d you find a landlord giving two months free rent on a lease?

Doctuh, I don’t know of one.

Besides, where would he paint your house like in old-times? Where would he redo your whole apartment every year? Oh-oops!

Distracted somehow, all coins in Remo’s hand slipped way out hand, but the man was no means rattled.

That’s all right, I can pick ’em up if they don’t roll all under your big safe. Hah! I caught ’em!

Wish I could swoop down like that. You’re a young man.

Doctuh, what makes you think I’m so young?

You’re quick and ’nother sing, you got no corporation.

Clenching his recovered change the man tipped the brim of his brown felt hat and extended the free hand towards Heaven.

I bet any ’mount-o-money I am older’n you. Tell me your age. I’ll give you all my money, if you’re honest with me.

I’ll be sissy-seven on this coming July seven. Yes.

Doctuh, I’m already sixty-eight!

You older than me?

My first vote went to Teddy Roosevelt!

Really—I made Teddy’s pinchahs for him!

Did you, now?

When I lived up in Boston.

Doctuh, I know Boston well.

Know the Parker House?

Do I know Boston cream pie—?

Parker House rolls. My ‘Bella has me run to the baker’s every single day for that Sweet Rye, also.

I can taste ’em all, now.

If you’re in no hurry, sir, let me ask you some’sing. Do you remember the Colosseum?

Remember?

The Boston Colosseum.

I used to race bicycles, there! That’s how I cut my lip.

He smiled to exhibit a scar and went on to mention headline sports figures of the past also liable to bear scars, like ‘the first colored heavyweight, Peter Jackson.’ Looking right at the coin losing kid, perhaps to ease embarrassment, the good man revealed well he knew Jack Johnson when he used to fight for only eight dollars a fight. Doc proclaimed fact he knew of ‘Gentleman Jim’ and with them were ‘both certainly going back a long ways.’

Yes, Doctuh, people neveh know how ol’ we are, till we start talkin’ about d’ol’tahmahs, includin’ Kilroy, y’know.

I’m curious to know, sir, how long’s it been since you came down from Boston.

I head he’e to Hahlem forty yea’s, ago.

I was born on Fourth Street, they say. When my father lost my mother, he moved us to Dunnigen’s Hill over there on Staten Island. Again, after moving back close by Yawkville, I evenchally left for Boston. I returned to finish up at the New Yawk Opto-Metrical School. I set up business and married about the same time forty-ard years, ago.

They were some days.

Well, sir, I wish I had more time to talk wis’ you about the old days, but my ah-ahp-perntment pad did remind me before your arrival about two late coming patients. Even if it’s a holiday, I do not close Saturdays.

Perfectly all right with me, Doctuh. Got me a new case.

Remo, please catch the door for this fine gentleman.

Thank you, both. I’ll be he’e for anothuh, sometahm.

Drop in anytime and have a prosperous New Year, sir.

Yeh, I’ll be back! I’d like to hea’ from you a few more things about the Gentleman Jim Corbett and Rough Ridin’ Teddy. I know for one thing, Ol’ Teddy liked to box, and anothuh thing, his own eyeglass case did help to protect him from an assassin’s bullet.

I… uh, yes sir, I remember.

Staging his exit, the celebrator raised his case high and sang out heartsick.

I also know something, else. Ol’ Teddy was diff’rent from this othe’ Roosevelt! This othe’ Roosevelt change’ the tahms too much!

After Remo closed the door, Doc rose from the mayor’s chair and posed before a mirror in a custom tailored suit priced far over ‘eight, ten dollars’.

Remo, I’ll never get to Heaven. Forgive me for havin’ t’say we were ’specting to keep special ah-ahp-perntments. I’ll tell you in a minute, why.

The reflective old-time sportsman found it hard to smile as he poked down into a jowl jammed shirt collar.

"Coming in, Monday, don’t let me forget to call up Murray n’ order a dozen more cases wis’ the gold. When Mister Ah-Ah-Apple delivers them, I’ll take a good look at all his gold teeth.

"Did you happen to see the amount of gold work that Boston wheelman had done to him, when he showed the scar over his lip? No wonder he’s always smiling.

Here I am looking at my own store-boughten teeth, thanks to the knuckle sandwiches I had to eat, when I was just a kid tryin’ to injure the sport of boxing and maybe make a livin’ out of it.

The master took a deep breath, corrected the cravat and set the jeweled stickpin which marked his fraternal memberships, although exhausted as were his sports.

"Sissy-eight was all he said about his age. Nuh’sing about the time to be retiring, or his having to keep working. Was he now retired for real? I gave him every bit of chance to give some news about it.

Remo, did you notice how I could tell he was an ath-ah-leet? I’ll show you how by the way he stooped low n’ smooth n’ scooped up all the loose change.

Dr. Merkel choregraphed in his professional outfit a low sway above the polished office floor and spring-toed upwards, poised with dukes, on the ready to take Remo on.

"From what he was saying about all those big, big fight names, there was some’sing else I could’ve told him like when I, myself, developed into a boxing instructor.

Jim Corbett—no, pardon me, not Corbett. Jim Kennedy, the Hawverd Coach—he had me instructin’ his boys a Corbett Style, fancy footwork, feints and all. Gawd willin’ and wis’ your Pop’s permission, slow days after school, we’ll go back of the shop, n’ I’ll show you. I promise I won’t harm the leg you broke there in the streets your father wanted to take you off of by bringin’ you here to me.

Like he’d heard a bell ending the round, the ex-boxer turned to sit back down.

"My own father took me to Turn Hall in Yawkville, where Pop was one of the aweganizers. The old gentleman started me tumbling and working the trapeze, right after my mother died, very young. Some’sing else, to make a long story short, is that I had an older brother who’d gone through the same training. He became a very good boxer and later when he jerned the Secret Service, Leonard was sent chasing all-round the Philippine Ahr-chi-pel-ago.

"We never saw Leonard again, so I took the ring he left into my own life sinking to help ease our father’s n’ my brother’s loss. I was only making for more sadness. He was a Civil War Veteran and he never approved of my fighting. That’s when he started handing me writings about Freemasonry to take my mind off the fight game. Some day, I’ll ’splain why I had to keep up with Masonry so as to take my mind off from my business and domestic troubles.

"I continued getting in the prize ring for the sport of it, till some sorehead wanted to punch me for real. He goes and he sticks a thumb in this eye and almost poked it out. Caring for it is what got me into eye work. Notice how it makes me look, when I take off my glasses?

After I studied, went into business and became married, I went into weight. I couldn’t fall back into boxing, so I kept hold of that old ring corner stool by our telephone. It makes me anxious to start sparring, again.

The former Kid Dutchie entertained Remo with a laugh and a boast about the bench being ready to be set in a ring corner, for the next coming main event. He encored with a joking laugh.

"Like I was saying, I went n’ jerned other kinds of sports, racing and fraternal clubs. Wis’ my father, we held lots of fun benefit dances for them n’ for the old soldiers’ home, which he was in charge of and where he made special shoes for cripples. It’s all how I met Isabella, who was one of our Ward Leader’s sis daughters.

"Remo, can you imagine what would’ve happened had I gone n’ told all of it to that Boston wheelman? You figure we’d ever’ve gotten tired talking about biking and boxing, ‘specially about Ol’ Teddy’s boxing? That’s why I had to make believe a couple of patients were coming in.

"I may never get to Heaven, but I honestly believe we’ve a lucky day to start the New Year wis’, ’cause our first customer happened to be a real Boston wheelman, right here in Harlem.

Say! An idea’s just come to me. It would’ve saved a lot of talk, if I’d’ve had him read a Harlem paper arl-icle on all the sings I’d done. It’s been kept in the locked strongbox in the big safe wis’ my other Knight Templar’s stuff.

His eyeservant is asked to reach for the key kept in the cash register, while he goes to pull out the strongbox, himself. The key, Remo reports, is nowhere to be seen.

"Not in there? Where’d I put it and why’ve I left the lock latch hangin’ loose? Good sing it’s had a tight lid. Please, give me a hand. Used to have strong wiry fingers, then I got these flat slippery fingertips from all the hard lense grinding we did by hand before good mechanical grinders, for which I did not claim credit inventing but could’ve.

"Thanks, Remo, thanks, and there’s the key, right inside, all the while. Put it back, right now, in the cash register.

I’d like to take this section of the paper to be framed at the hardware and be hung up in this office wis’ a few other bits out of this strongbox. Go ’head, look at Who’s Who In Harlem, while I spread out and choose from these papers what patients might be in-tah-rested to finding out about my early days. Had the Boston wheelman ever seen? June ten, nineteen twenny-fi’e.

After its heading, here’s how the column looked to Remo and was to be hung on the office wall.

One of Harlem’s successful businessmen is Mr. George H. Merkel of 175 E. 116th Street.

Many of you local residents will remember him as being one of Harlem’s citizens who co-operated with the government in the second draft call when he converted his place of business into a local draft board.

There seems to be an inherent vein of obligation to country running in the Merkel family. His father was a Civil War Veteran and an organizer of the New York Turn Hall.

Mr. Merkel, himself, is a member of the Sons of Veterans Lincoln Camp No. 7 and is a New Yorker through and through. He was educated in the public and high schools of this city,