(with apologies to William Faulkner)

It was early January, that time of year when an empty feeling seemed to pervade all of life. The Christmas tree was down and the decorations put away. The furniture was back in its normal place, and all the leftovers from Christmas and New Year’s had been cleaned out of the refrigerator. The shirt given for Christmas was now part of the wardrobe and the gift book was long since finished. Life, things, just seemed empty.

It was a cloudy Saturday morning, with an occasional drizzle. Tom Morelli, master mechanic, sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, reading the sports section of the Daily News, New York’s Hometown Newspaper. The smell of tomatoes filled the room as hid wife, Rose, was starting the sauce for Sunday’s dinner.

“Smellin’ good, Rose,” Tom said.

“Thanks, but I think it needs a little more oregano.”

She poured some into her hand, then sprinkled it into the pot.

“Man, that smell is making me hungry. Any more Ding Dongs?” asked Tom.

“Yeah, there’s a whole package in the pantry.”

Tom went to the pantry, opened it, and took out the box. Returning to the table, he set the box down then very carefully, almost surgically, he opened it. Selecting a Ding Dong, he ran his fingers gently over the wrapper, checking if the outer chocolate layer was cracked. For Tom was very particular about Ding Dongs and would not eat one if the chocolate was cracked. He left those for Rose.

Satisfied that it was a Ding Dong intacta, he carefully opened the wrapper, then slid it onto his hand. As was his custom, he first took a sniff, inhaling the chocolate aroma with his eyes closed so as to have no distractions from the experience. Then opening his eyes, he took a bite deep enough into the Ding Dong to get the outer chocolate layer, some chocolate cake, and some of the cream center in one mouthful. He rolled it around in his mouth, then chewed deliberately and swallowed slowly. He repeated the process until the Ding Dong was consumed, then returned to the paper.

“Hey, Rose, what are you doing tonight?”

“Nicolette and I were thinking of going to bingo at St. Anthony’s, why?”

“Well, I see that the Knicks and the Celtics are at the Garden tonight. I was thinking of seeing if Vinnie wanted to go, you know, maybe cheer him up a bit. He seemed a little down when I talked to him yesterday.”

“Well, OK, but just make sure he doesn’t get wasted. I don’t want your brother hung over again at Sunday dinner.”

“Yeah, that was pretty ugly, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. Better check if there are any tickets.”

Getting up from the table, Tom walked to the den, which was just off the kitchen. At the computer, he quickly got to the Knicks web site. There were plenty of tickets left. Picking up the phone, he pressed #2 on his speed dial. It rang about 15 times before he heard a groggy hello.”

“Hey, Vinnie, sorry to wake you.”

“What?”

“Knicks game tonight. I’ll pick you up at 5:00. Now go back to sleep.”

“OK.”

Tom returned to the computer, bought the tickets, and printed them out. He then went back to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get the answering machine,” said Rose.

“He’s turned it off. Now that the divorce is final, he doesn’t want ‘that bitch and her friggin’ lawyer’ leaving him any more messages.”

“So he answers the phone.”

“Yeah, well, I think he’s a little confused right now.”

It was a good game. The Knicks tied it at the first half buzzer, then went on a 15-2 run midway through the third period to pull away and coasted from there. And Vinnie managed to stay sober, having only two beers and three hot dogs throughout the entire game.

As they left the Turnpike toll booth, the light drizzle became a heavy rain.

“Vinnie, mind if we stop at the Pathmark? I need to get some more Ding Dongs.”

“No problem.”

Tom turned into the parking lot. It was empty except for a sleek sports car parked right in front of the entrance, under a light tower. The car’s wet body seemed to shimmer in the light. Tom directed his truck to a space a few slots away from the sports car.

“Will you look at that?” said Tom.

“What?” asked Vinnie.

“That sports car there. I’ve never seen anything like it. What is it, a Lamborghini?”

“Don’t know. Never seen one neither.”

“Maybe it’s some sort of custom job.”

“Not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

Tom’s truck slowed into its parking place.

“Like to get my hands under that hood,” said Tom.

“You make it sound like a woman. I hope you’re that romantic with Rose.”

“Well, we’re still married.”

“Screw you!”

“Sorry, that was a low blow.”

As Tom turned of the engine, the driver’s side door of the sports car opened. A guy about six feet emerged, wearing a raincoat almost down to his shoes and a watch cap pulled down low. He reached back into the car and pulled a small child out by the harm. The child was wearing a smaller version of the man’s outfit and was yelling something unintelligible over and over again. The man kicked the door shut with his foot and pulled the child towards the automatic doors. The passenger door then opened and another adult figure, smaller than the man but similarly dressed, got out and followed after the other two at a brisk pace.

“Foreigners,” said Vinnie, “foreigners with lots of money. Probably Arabs.”

Tom and Vinnie got out of the truck. Tom walked over to take a closer look at the sports car.

“Come on,” Vinnie yelled. “It’s raining, and it ain’t polite to stare, mom said.”

“OK,” said Tom, following him towards the doors. “Just wanted to check it out.”

“You can do it online. Isn’t that what you got the new computer for?”

They entered the Pathmark and headed directly for the bakery aisle. The child’s yelling could be heard all over the empty store. He seemed to be in the aisle to their left. As Tom and Vinnie turned into their aisle, the trio from the sports car entered the aisle from the other end. They were walking at a good pace, scanning the shelves quickly. The Ding Dongs were in the middle of the aisle, on Tom’s right. Trying to block out the kid’s yelling, he walked briskly up to the Dong Dongs section and laid his hand on the last box. As he pulled it out, he felt a hand on his arm. And at that instant he heard what the child was yelling over and over again.

“Borka duk Ding Dong! Borka duk Ding Dong.”

Tom looked at the hand on his arm; a chill ran through him. There were eight fingers, with two opposable thumbs.

“Excuse me, guv’nor,” said the stranger in a Cockney accent.

Tom looked up and into a face the color of which he had never seen. It looked like the skin of a child of a mixed race couple who worked in a chemical factory mixing blue, green, and red dyes all day.

“Problem here?” asked Vinnie, stepping closer.

“No problem,” said the stranger, “my child just requires the Ding Dongs.”

“Borka duk Ding Dong! Borka duk Ding Dong!”

The stranger turned to the child and barked, “Ga dorma.”

The child was suddenly silent and slinked over to its mother.

“Well,” said Vinnie, who had not noticed the stranger’s hand, “this is America, pal. And we were here first. Let’s go, Tom.”

The stranger put his other hand on Vinnie’s left arm. Then he noticed the hand.

“Er, you’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, love, we’re not. And I require the Ding Dongs.”

“But first come, first served,” said Vinnie. “Even where you come from, wherever that is, you must understand that?”

“I understand that. But I want you to understand that all my bloody nerves are shot. This kid has been yelling for the bloody Ding Dongs since we passed the moon. If I don’t get them and shut the blighter up, I’m afraid I’m going to do something desperate.”

“Yeah? Like what?” asked Vinnie.

The stranger released his hands from Vinne and Tom and opened his coat.

“Hey, we don’t want no trouble,” said Tom.

The stranger reached inside and took out what looked like a typical cell phone, only slightly larger. He pointed it at an empty shopping cart about twenty feet away and pressed a red button. There was a quick pulse of light like a flash bulb going off, and the shopping cart was reduced to a small pile of ashes.

“That’s what will be left of Elizabeth, New Jersey, and maybe you’re bloody Newark Airport while I’m at it. It mucks up my instruments every time I pass by. So what’s it going to be, love?”

“I think I’ll go with the Twinkies tonight,” said Tom.

“Good choice,” said Vinnie.

Tom handed over the box to the stranger, who gave it to his wife. She then led the child towards the checkout counters. As they moved away, the child was skipping and singing, “Gooba lok Ding Dong! Gooba lok Ding Dong.”

The stranger turned towards Tom and the gadget was pointing right at him. Tom and Vinnie screamed and dove onto the floor.

“Sorry, he said, putting it away inside his coat. “I just wanted to ask how the Knicks did tonight.”

“What?” said Tom. “How’d you know we went to the game. You guys got some kind of mind reading?”

“You’ve got the ticket stub sticking out of your pocket.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Tom, “Won two in a row,”

“About time,” said the stranger. “Sorry, I’m Mazulan Do Korbat. Call me Mike.”

He extended his right hand to Tom.

“Tom Morelli, and this is my brother, Vinnie.”

Tom held out his right hand, expecting the usual handshkae, but Mike skid the heel of his hand onto Tom’s, then wrapped his two opposable thumbs around Tom’s wrist. Since Tom had only one thumb, he thought it best to just grasp Mike’s wrist. Mike rotated his hand left then right three times, the released Tom’s hand. Taking Vinnie’s, the process was repeated. Tom reached out and took a box of Twinkies from the shelf, then the three of then turned and headed for the front to the store.

“Can I ask you something?” said Vinnie.

“Sure, love, what is it?”

“Where did you learn your English?”

“The East Enders, great show.”

“Yeah, I agree, but you might want to watch Masterpiece Theatre too, more posh accent. You’ll go further speaking the Queen’s English.”

“Thanks,” said Mike, “I’ll check it out.”

Copyright © 2008 Kevin Brady