There was no greater time to live in Chicago than it was during the greatest industrial revolution the world had ever seen. Even after the Great Fire, the city did not sit and morn its loses. Nay, an even greater industry rose out of the scorched lumber. Now, a decade later, you wouldn't believe such a misfortune ever occurred in this place.
As glorious the opportunities were, for every story of riches and success, there were ten more of great misfortune; for this great city could not extinguish the vices of man, and no man would cut his own fortunes for the better of lesser men. Not in this city.
The hopeless and desperate would meander about through this place. What could they find to replenish the needs of their souls? Would they live off the streets, join in the cries of the unionized workers, or find a saloon to drown their sorrows?
Or perhaps they would seek their luck in a shop known as "Hourglass Antiques".
It was a peculiar store. If one were to go past the largest department stores to the edges of the commercial district, they would find Hourglass Antiques, a two-story building built with the darkest of woods. In fact, no one could understand how it was that antique shop was to be spared from the Great Fire while all the surrounding buildings were burned into nothing.
But the owner of this establishment was probably more peculiar if rumors were to be believed. Sure, he carried some of the most lavish and distinct antiques you could find in Chicago, and was as vigor a business man as his neighbors. That was only one of his services. Displayed in the front window, along with the most wonderful of his goods, in the corner there sat a small sign. It was this sign that made such a strong impression on those who whispered rumors behind closed doors and caused passersby to take a second look. On it was thus declared one could have a palm reading for 25 cents. "Know what lies in your future!" it boldly stated.
The owner of Hourglass Antiques was a fortune teller. Some may scoff at the small sign, but the ones who traded their stories and rumors day to day knew. They knew it was not a gimmick to bring in wallets to his shop. They could not tell you one story of a person whose fortune didn't come true. He was always right. So much so that the most superstitious of people say he may not even be human.
This was the one the hopeless and desperate sought. The fortune teller known as Vice.
I
Evening had come to pass. The only lights were those of the street lamps, though they only lit up to this block. Walk down to the next and there was no light but the scarce few still lit in the small shops.
Inside Hourglass Antiques their lights still burned. It was one of the few businesses that could have the luxury of electric lighting. But even with the lights, the store still held on to its darkness. The walls, floors, and shelves were made of a wood so dark the grains were not visible. But behind the banes of glass on these shelves the beautiful vases, jewelry, and other splendors glowed in the light. The deep colored wood only made them seem that much brighter.
Behind a counter sat a young man stooped over what had once been a music box. It had been taken apart and the various parts strewn about. His eyes focused in concentration on the gears and knobs inside, his bandaged hands moving in awkward caution.
The counter he sat at bended in an "L" and sitting at the curve was a young woman. She swept away the brown stands of hair that fell out of her bun. She too was concentrating on the notebooks and papers lay about her. She continued to write until the young man's exclamation startled her.
"I give up! This blasted thing! How should I know how to fix this?"
The young lady stood and went to where he sat. His green eyes stared hatefully at the music box. She sat next to him, but for a moment did not utter a word. Finally she said, "Take a break then. You can start again tomorrow. We will be closing soon anyhow."
He ruffled his blonde hair, shaking his head, "It won't make a difference. He's doing this to me on purpose. 'Work to pay off your debt.' More like 'Let me torture you until I'm satisfied.'"
"And you let yourself be defeated by him so easily..." she said shrewdly.
He stared at her with a blank face for a moment, but in an instant recovered and poured himself over the music box. "I'll show him..." he whispered to himself as he poked at different parts with a pair of tweezers.
"You really should wait until morning before starting again."
"Ah, shoot..." Julius exclaimed as he dropped the tweezers to the floor.
As he ducked under the table, the young lady sighed and mused, "I wonder what song it will play."
"Taps*."
She glowered at him but just then the bell at the door rang.
"Welcome," her voice chimed but she quickly clipped the end of the word.
A tall rugged man walked into the shop. His drab clothing hung loosely off his frame with various stains and holes in the fabric. He had short black hair that held itself clumped together with grease. The stubble on his chin was long showing he hadn't shaved in quite some time, and the dark circles under his eyes were nearly as dark as his hair.
But the greatest impression came from the smell he brought with him. It was the smell of decay, the likes of which one encounters when passing a dead animal at the side of the road.
In a heavy voice the man said, "I have come to see the fortune teller. He is here, yes?"
"Certainly. If you will wait just a moment," the young woman replied maintaining her professional manner despite the sharpened look her eyes had attained.
"There will be no need, Ms. Evans," a voice said from the staircase. The owner of the voice came walking down from the stairs. His young face contrasted greatly with his gray hair making his age ambiguous to the observer. For how miserable the customer's attire was, the clothing of this man was the complete opposite. His hair, though longer, was pulled back in a neat fashion. He wore a brilliant, silk vest over a collared shirt and straight trousers, the epitome of Victorian dress. His manner was with eloquence as the man approached the customer.
"Welcome to my antique store, my good gentleman! I am Vice, the owner of this establishment. I hear you come for the service of my palm reading, is that right?"
"Ya, if you could," the man replied in his deep accent.
"Certainly! If you would come this way." Vice led him from the entrance. As the man passed the young lady, she cupped her hands over her nose. Julius also found it difficult to hide how the odor affected him.
The two men came to an alcove in the back corner of the store. The atmosphere was different here. The shelves here weren't filled with lavish items but strange knickknacks. Varies metal contraptions with missing parts and gears lay strewn about without much thought to increasing their appeal. In the center was a small round table so low to the ground that instead of chairs were pillows to sit upon. Vice reached for the ceiling and pulled down an electric light fixed to an accordion-like contraption. The light flashed on and added extra illumination in the small space.
"Have you ever had a palm reading, Mr…?"
"Erwin Roth, sir. And no, I have not."
"That is good," Vice said as he sat across from Erwin. "My palm readings aren't of the same kind that is offered by imitators and gypsies. They try to tell you that one line means you'll marry, one says you will live a long life and so forth. But what good are those predictions now? I tell you, I won't scam you like the ones who pretend to find vague meanings. Instead, how I can service you, Mr. Roth, is by giving you a specific insight into your future. I can tell you a single truth from your future that will help you with whatever troubles you now."
"And say you are wrong?"
"I am never wrong," Vice replied with a sly smile, "but if that were the case you can come back to have your quarter refunded. You do have a quarter for the reading, don't you?" Erwin reached into the front pocket of his worn pants and pulled out a quarter. Vice took the money from him with no hesitancy toward the touch of his rough hands, his own hands protected in white gloves. "Splendid! I will need your right palm, if you will."
Erwin offered his right hand. With deft hands, Vice removed his gloves and took the man's hand in both of his. Erwin shivered slightly from the touch but said nothing. As Vice traced the lines in his hand, he asked, "Tell me about yourself. Give me something to look for."
So he began telling the fortune teller about his life. He was born in Germany and had lived there until he was eleven. That's when the revolution began, and his family barely had the money to survive. They managed to sail to America where they settled in New Jersey. However, three years later his father died of cholera. His mother tried to work for them both, and he did his best to find work where he could. It wasn't enough and he lost his mother two years later. With no parents and education, Erwin lived on the streets looking for work. There was none to be had for him.
It was when he heard of a friend of his working in Chicago that he sailed across the great lakes in desperate hope for a job. Using connections with his friend, he obtained a job at Armour & Company, where he has been working for the past nine years.
"So you're in the meat packing industry? And how has working there been?" Vice asked.
"In the beginning, I was just glad to have the money to eat and live in my own home. Then the work become – it haunts me." "Oh?" Vice uttered with a tilt of his head.
Erwin ran the fingers of his left hand through his matted hair. His eyes were unfocused with a look of panic in them. "I can't leave that place even when I'm off working hours. That smell…, the smell of the blood is always in my nose. I hear pigs squealing all through the night. I can't make it stop."
"Then perhaps you should find another place to work."
Erwin violently slammed the table. He rose from where he sat wrenching his hand away from the fortune teller. His eyes glared down at Vice. "I cannot leave my job. It is keeping me alive. I only live because they give me a job. There is no other work for a German. No doors are open for me. I cannot sacrifice everything my family have done for me!"
"It was only a benign suggestion. If you could forgive me for my rudeness, please sit down. I still haven't given you your fortune."
Erwin reluctantly sat back down and gave his palm back to the fortune teller. Vice went back to tracing the lines in his palm while asking, "Would you like to know anything related to your work, then?"
"I want to know when I be gone from there."
"Hmm? Just a second ago you were angry about my suggesting you find work somewhere else? Why the change of heart?"
Erwin shook his head. "I cannot leave myself. I don't have the courage to believe I can find another job again. But I don't want to live with the constant squealing in my head anymore. I want another way out. Could there be one?"
Vice never left his eyes from the man's palm, but from Erwin's words he scowled. There was a long silence while Vice concentrated on the creases in the cracked aged hand.
Vice's focus was interrupted by the loud thumping on the other side of the shelf followed by the sight of two ornamental balls rolling across the floor. Julius Young and May Evans were both sitting to the back of the shelf where Vice was performing his fortune telling. It was a ritual for the two to silently eavesdrop on the occurrences behind the back shelf. Vice allowed it. The rumors the shop ladies would pry from Julius as he made his deliveries served to bring in more business. But this time Julius' foot slipped and knocked a bowl over causing the antique metal spheres to roll across the ground.
A sudden smile spread on Vice's face. He exclaimed to Erwin, "Have you met my staff, Mr. Roth? I believe that was just Julius there. He can be clumsy at times."
"No, I have n–"
"No? Well that won't do. Julius?" Vice called.
Julius stiffened at the call, embarrassed to have to reveal himself from behind the shelf. He resigned himself to his fate and stood up. As he did, May grabbed at his shirt. Julius turned to her. She had a conflicting expression, but she quickly sighed and let go. Julius paused looking puzzled, but May only narrowed her eyes and mouthed 'Go'.
Julius stepped out from behind the shelf and Vice greeted him enthusiastically. "There you are. Mr. Roth, this is Julius Young. He recently started here helping me with my deliveries and other errands." The two passed greetings to one another, the both of them acting timid under the unusual circumstances. Vice seemed oblivious to this, and continued in the same fervor. "Julius only recently started working for me, so I'm sure he can relate with how hard finding work can be. Julius, did you ever look for a job in the stockyards?"
"…No, they wouldn't hire me."
"Ah, that's right," Vice sorrowfully but not really sounding very sorrowful at all.
"Why not?" Erwin asked him.
"Well–"
"Poor Julius is crippled, you see," Vice interrupted. "Why don't you show him your hands, Mr. Young."
Julius was reluctant. The anticipation that Vice voiced had him on edge. But he saw he had little choice. He began to unravel the bandage covering his left arm. As he unspun the cloth from the elbow down, the skin underneath revealed itself bit by bit. The skin was a web of white and deep red scars. Heavy burns covered his entire hand and the skin reflected the light in an unnatural way. Julius moved his arm awkwardly, his finger showing how stiff they were even without the bandages covering them.
"It's hideous, isn't it?" Vice chimed. "His other arm is just as bad."
"How you get those scars?" Erwin asked.
"Hot oil…" Julius looked away, wrapping his arm again in a speed only much practice could achieve.
"Thank you, Julius. You can return to your music box. We should wrap up before closing hours."
"If you'll excuse me," Julius dismissed himself, not looking at Vice as he left.
"There's not much factory work for someone who isn't good with their hands. You could say he was bound to find his way into my shop. Now, back to what we were doing. You say you want to know when you will be finished working at Armour & Company, am I right?" "Yes, sir."
"Let me just look…" Vice once again observed the creases in Erwin's palm, but this time not much time elapsed before Vice pulled his eyes away. "I see. You're last day will be in precisely ten days."
"T-ten days? Are you certain?"
"I am certain."
"You are not lying to me, are you?"
"It's the absolute truth."
"Ten… ten days…" Erwin Roth stared at Vice in stunned disbelief. He sat gathering himself. A grin began to spread across his face and he silently contemplated the fortune teller's words. He felt a giddy excitement bubble up in him. Maybe he could have bared the job for a year or maybe two. But ten days… it was more than he had ever hoped.
"This is… This is great! I can't… thank you! Thank you so much, sir."
"It was truly my pleasure," Vice replied, standing and replacing his gloves back onto his hands. "Is there any other service I can provide you with, Mr. Roth?"
"No, no. This… this is more than enough."
Vice escorted the man to the door of the shop and waved him off. "I wish you the best of luck in your future." Vice stood at the door until the figure was swallowed by the darkness, and went back inside.
"There is no way you can know exactly how many days until he’s out of a job," Julius scorned Vice. He sat in front of the scattered pieces of the music box, but he hadn't touched them. His eyes remained narrowed at Vice.
Vice smirked. "Be careful, Julius. You're ignorance is showing." Vice picked up a small gear off the table, examined it and placed it back down. "Don't take too long fixing this. I have a customer I want this shown to the next time you deliver to her."
"Then don't make me do it! I'm not a watchmaker!"
"Really, Julius, that is exactly why you're doing it. Do you know how expensive it is to hire a watchmaker for a repair? I wouldn't make a profit at all." Vice turned his back to him. As he ascended the stairs he called out, "But if you can't fix it, I'll have to add it to your debt. Good night."
As soon as Julius heard the door to Vice's room close upstairs, he let out a loud groan and buried his head in his hands. May stood over him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. "There is no point dwelling on it now. We should close the store."
"Yeah…" Julius muffled voice said. He reluctantly stood to help May set up the shop for the next day. As he fumbled for the key to lock the front door he muttered to himself, "If only Vice could tell me I only have ten days left here."
II
Chop, Chop
The sound pervaded the line of workers chopping away at the pig carcasses in a repetitious fashion. They swung their knives thoughtlessly between each piece of flesh that carried itself to their hands. They moved in mechanical precision as endless amounts of pigs were removed of their skins, organs, and cut into segments.
Chop, Chop
But the endless swinging of the knives could not muffle the loud squeals of the pigs at the beginning of the line. Their cries before being slit at the throat reminded the laborers that the meat they mercilessly hacked away at had been living only moments ago. It was what made Armour & Company so successful. They sold the meat fresh in great quantities.
Chop, Chop
On the line joined with the others in their cold butchering was Erwin Roth, cutting away the pig's hooves and sliding them down a shoot. No part of the pig was wasted. The hooves would be used for some other product made by the company. Erwin didn't know what they made with them. He didn't ask. He only chopped them away and let the carcass continue down the line.
Chop, Chop
But Erwin's mind wasn't with his work, though he never thought at all while working if he could help it. He was waiting for something to happen. He didn't know what it would be. All he knew was that it had been ten days since he had seen the fortune teller. This would be his last day at Armour & Company. It had to be.
Chop, Chop
It was nearing the end of his shift. There was no clock that told him this. He could feel it in the familiar ache that shot up from his wrist to his shoulder. His white coat was sticking uncomfortably to him from the sweat he had worked up. His heart was pounding. The unknown event that would send him from the company doors was unhinging his thoughts.
Whooooooooooooooo!
The whistle blew signaling the end of the twelve hour shift. It did not mean they could leave, rather that the replacements for their positions could come in. There was to be no break in the disassembly line. No worker could leave until their replacement arrived.
Chop, Chop
Erwin's mind was in a panic. The end of the shift had come, but nothing had happened that meant his termination. Was it something that would occur as he was leaving, or after he left the factory? But he couldn't stand it. He wanted to leave out the doors of the factory knowing he would never come back. His life was pervaded by uncertainty. He thought the fortune teller would free him of that.
Chop, Chop
Soon he would be relieved of his position in the line to go home. His heart hammered and his head spun in a desperate attempt to make sense of his disappointment. A silent horror settled from doubt over the fortune teller's prophetic words.
Chop, Chop
What will he do if tomorrow comes and he must come back to the fruitless work immersed in the sound of the squealing pigs?
Chop, Chop
Will they haunt his dreams yet again tonight?
Chop, Chop
What hope does he have if the one thing he believed in was the lies of a con artist?
Chop, Chop
If only he could escape some other way.
Chop, Chop
If only he could leave without any choice to save him from any regret over failing; to be forced from this place with no other chances of entering again.
Chop, Chop
And then a young man's face looked at him in his mind's eye. The image brought him peace, although he did not understand why. The blank expression he wore during his labor broke, and a serene smile replaced it. He didn't turn away from his work when his replacement tapped him on the shoulder.
Chop
III
It was close to evening at Hourglass Antiques. The shadows seen from the store's windows were growing longer as the sun began its descent to the horizon. The last customer from their earlier rush had just left, the bell of the door jingling as she let the door swing closed behind her. Her purchases had already been taken to the back room to be delivered to her home the next morning.
The two only occupants of the antique shop, May Evans and Vice, were standing around the front desk. Perched on it was a beautiful, wooden music box, with the metal disk and spindles viewable behind a pane of glass. Vice was tracing a gloved finger on the side of the box, his eyes glazed as he thought. May stood quietly across from him, her demeanor impassive.
Finally, Vice gave an exasperated sigh. "I still don't believe he tried everything possible to fix this."
"I watched him clean and oil every gear. Unless he put it back together wrong, I think this is beyond our control."
"No, he wouldn't put it back together wrong. With that kid's memory, it would be difficult to make him forget how it looked before."
"What will you do?" May inquired.
"What else can I do? I know a jeweler who is good with these sorts of things. But he's pricey. I don't know if it will be worth it when I can't sell it for a profit." Vice fell silent. He continued to silently contemplate his options, and May waited not offering any of her opinions on the matter. "No, I'll do it anyway. It would be worth it in the end to bring this thing back to life."
"And because you know it will return to you again eventually." May softly added.
Vice smirked at May. "Ms. Evans, you are truly a dangerous woman with that wit of yours."
Just then, the bell rang as Julius came through the front door. "Welcome back," Vice greeted him, but received no reply. Julius' eyes were trained to the floor, his expression sullen as he slowly walked to the counter. With a clatter of change, he placed an envelope of money on the counter, his eyes not meeting the two. Vice quickly snatched the envelope shifting through its contents showing no concern for the state of his employee. It was May who asked, "Julius, what's wrong?"
Julius turned his head away and mumbled, "I'm sick of this…"
"What are you sick of?" May asked, but Julius wouldn't reply.
"Come now, Julius," Vice said. "You would think someone killed your puppy with the way you're behaving."
It was sudden. The move caught Vice off guard. The money he had been counting fell to the floor as he was shoved by Julius into the opposite counter. The sound of his back slamming into the counter was nearly lost behind the hysterical laughter that escaped from Vice when he realized what was happening. Julius held the collar of his shirt in his hands. His fists didn't quite close completely, but the force he exerted with his arm held Vice in place. But Vice continued to laugh even while being held in Julius' vice-like grip.
"I'm sick of your games!" Julius shouted in his face.
"You have quite the temper Julius," Vice chuckled. "I can't imagine what I did to make you so angry."
"The German," Julius growled. "The German that worked in the stockyards. Do you remember what you told him?"
"Oh, so it's about him. Then I believe you must have found out the fortune I told him came true."
"He cut off his own hand!"
Silence settled in the shop. May, who had hurried around the counter to the two men, froze in her tracks. She looked stunned at the two. Vice, however, was not deterred by Julius' proclamation, but instead kept his contorted smile.
"And how is that my fault?"
"It's because you keep messing with people's lives. He believed your stupid fortune. And when it didn't come true, he cut his own hand to make it come true. It's because you keep giving people self-fulfilling prophecies these people's lives are being ruined. I've had enough of your games!"
Vice leered at him. "Ah, but Julius, it's because of you that his prophecy came true, not me."
"Excuse me?" Julius sputtered.
"There was nothing I could tell Mr. Roth to lead him off the future path he was already on. I could see as much in his hand. He was so afraid of failing in life by his own hand that he would not take action himself. And every possible path I saw for him would keep him in that factory until he killed himself or ended up driven insane by the pigs."
Vice pushed against the force Julius exerted against him, closing the gap between them. "And then you had to knock down that bowl, giving me a reason to introduce you to him." Vice spread his arms wide open as he proclaimed. "Think of how envious he must have been to see a young man who could never ruin his own life in the stockyards. It was never an option for you, after all. You became his role model; an ideal to achieve. That was all I needed to give him what he wanted."
Julius let go of him, taking a small step back. "You could never–"
"I could never know that?" Vice mocked. "You keep thinking that only because you refuse to see the truth that is standing right in front of you. Maybe I am a liar, but you met Mr. Roth again today, did you not? Can you tell me with no doubt at all that you had no influence over the choice he made?"
And Julius couldn't. From the chance encounter he had with Erwin Roth while making his runs, he felt the revere, the admiration, the envy Erwin expressed to him. And as Julius came to this realization, his world began to shift. The room seemed to click into place, as though his mind were seeing in the room what he couldn't see before. Perhaps whatever missing gear or screw that kept the music box from playing had found its way into Julius' mind, fixing his crooked perception.
As Julius stood speechless, Vice approached him. Crouching by his ear, he whispered with a smile, "It's about time you start believing, Mr. Young."
Vice walked away, leaving Julius frozen where he stood. May was standing behind him. She raised her hand a moment thinking to comfort him, but pulled away. She only stared at his stiff back as she heard Vice's feet ascend the stairs. There was a pause in the steps, and Vice called down, "Oh, and Julius?" They both turned at his call. "If you ever go to the butcher’s in the next few weeks, could you please not buy any canned or ground meat?"
"Why?" Julius asked.
"Well, you never did find out what happened to Mr. Roth's hand, now did you? Best to be safe." Vice continued up the stairs and out of sight.
"Actually, Julius, don't bother going to the butcher’s for a while," May said.
"Yeah…" Julius staggered around the counter and sunk into a stool. He rested his head in his arms, blocking himself from everything around him.
May knew better than to try and console him, knowing he would only push her away. She didn't know he was ashamed to show how weak he was around her. To her it was just how he was. So she sat in the stool in front of the music box.
It was fruitless; they were both aware of this. Despite this, May opened the back of the music box and poked around at the parts inside, all just to give her something to do. To her surprise, she noticed something that looked odd. When she looked closely, she saw there was a miniscule pebble stuck in one of the gears. It was strange. As soon as she saw it she was reminded of Vice complaining about the horse and bogeys that would kick up the dirt and rock into the front door. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She pushed it away, and picked up the tweezers to remove the pebble.
She replaced the backing. Turning it around, she opened the top. She had opened this box to only have silence many times before. But this time the music played.
Julius stirred and lifted his head. He listened for a moment, and then muttered softly, "…Carmen**."
"Sounds nothing like Taps," she remarked. They listened together, watching the metal disk slowly rotate; a miracle they had been hoping to see for weeks. May stood and gestured to Julius with a smile. "Will you have this dance with me?"
"Dance?" Julius stuttered. "N-no… I don't think I know how."
"We'll take it slow." May took his hand and pulled him from his seat. She led him to the center of the room. Julius stood stiffly in a silent panic. But May took his bandaged hands and placed one on her waist and the other in her hand. His fingers didn't quite close around hers, but she seemed to not notice this.
They stood for a moment before Julius admitted, "I don't know how to start."
"I'll lead then," May replied.
Julius looked away from her face, but his eyes eventually fell to his feet as she guided him in circles around the shop. He tried not to step on her feet, acutely aware of how much his heart was pounding and his shoulders trembled. Julius moved clumsily with May, the only word spoken being the occasional directions of where to move his feet.
Eventually, they found a steady rhythm, and Julius wasn't tripping over his own feet as much as before. He took his eyes off his feet and stole a glance at May. He caught her eye and he quickly turned his head away. She smiled to herself and laid her head on his shoulder. He hunched his shoulders, feeling the heat rise to his face. He was so happy and yet completely terrified at the same time. He dared himself to lean his head against hers, settling comfortably close to her. They waltzed in circles like only stopping to wind up the music box.
It should have been the happiest moment of Julius' life, for he never imagined he would get to be so close with the girl he had fallen in love with. But the gears in his head turned his thoughts back to Vice's words and their horrible implication. And there in his memories was Erwin Roth, sitting at a curve in soiled clothing. He could remember him noticing him, the grin that stretched across his face at seeing him. He lifted his stump of an arm over his head, and exclaimed the words that rang louder than the chimes of Carmen.
"Look, Julius Young! Now I'm just like you!" _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Author's Notes:
* 'Taps' is an American funerary music usually played at military funerals.
** ‘Carmen’ is a french opera. Some of the first Swiss music boxes played the song 'Bizet' from Carmen.
This short story is an experiment. I'm trying to get a feel for how I like writing about the characters, setting, plot, ect. I really did enjoy writing this, but I will have to do some more research if I'm going to expand this to a long prose work.
Dancing to Carmen
a story about Vice
Preface
There was no greater time to live in Chicago than it was during the greatest industrial revolution the world had ever seen. Even after the Great Fire, the city did not sit and morn its loses. Nay, an even greater industry rose out of the scorched lumber. Now, a decade later, you wouldn't believe such a misfortune ever occurred in this place.
As glorious the opportunities were, for every story of riches and success, there were ten more of great misfortune; for this great city could not extinguish the vices of man, and no man would cut his own fortunes for the better of lesser men. Not in this city.
The hopeless and desperate would meander about through this place. What could they find to replenish the needs of their souls? Would they live off the streets, join in the cries of the unionized workers, or find a saloon to drown their sorrows?
Or perhaps they would seek their luck in a shop known as "Hourglass Antiques".
It was a peculiar store. If one were to go past the largest department stores to the edges of the commercial district, they would find Hourglass Antiques, a two-story building built with the darkest of woods. In fact, no one could understand how it was that antique shop was to be spared from the Great Fire while all the surrounding buildings were burned into nothing.
But the owner of this establishment was probably more peculiar if rumors were to be believed. Sure, he carried some of the most lavish and distinct antiques you could find in Chicago, and was as vigor a business man as his neighbors. That was only one of his services. Displayed in the front window, along with the most wonderful of his goods, in the corner there sat a small sign. It was this sign that made such a strong impression on those who whispered rumors behind closed doors and caused passersby to take a second look. On it was thus declared one could have a palm reading for 25 cents. "Know what lies in your future!" it boldly stated.
The owner of Hourglass Antiques was a fortune teller. Some may scoff at the small sign, but the ones who traded their stories and rumors day to day knew. They knew it was not a gimmick to bring in wallets to his shop. They could not tell you one story of a person whose fortune didn't come true. He was always right. So much so that the most superstitious of people say he may not even be human.
This was the one the hopeless and desperate sought. The fortune teller known as Vice.
I
Evening had come to pass. The only lights were those of the street lamps, though they only lit up to this block. Walk down to the next and there was no light but the scarce few still lit in the small shops.
Inside Hourglass Antiques their lights still burned. It was one of the few businesses that could have the luxury of electric lighting. But even with the lights, the store still held on to its darkness. The walls, floors, and shelves were made of a wood so dark the grains were not visible. But behind the banes of glass on these shelves the beautiful vases, jewelry, and other splendors glowed in the light. The deep colored wood only made them seem that much brighter.
Behind a counter sat a young man stooped over what had once been a music box. It had been taken apart and the various parts strewn about. His eyes focused in concentration on the gears and knobs inside, his bandaged hands moving in awkward caution.
The counter he sat at bended in an "L" and sitting at the curve was a young woman. She swept away the brown stands of hair that fell out of her bun. She too was concentrating on the notebooks and papers lay about her. She continued to write until the young man's exclamation startled her.
"I give up! This blasted thing! How should I know how to fix this?"
The young lady stood and went to where he sat. His green eyes stared hatefully at the music box. She sat next to him, but for a moment did not utter a word. Finally she said, "Take a break then. You can start again tomorrow. We will be closing soon anyhow."
He ruffled his blonde hair, shaking his head, "It won't make a difference. He's doing this to me on purpose. 'Work to pay off your debt.' More like 'Let me torture you until I'm satisfied.'"
"And you let yourself be defeated by him so easily..." she said shrewdly.
He stared at her with a blank face for a moment, but in an instant recovered and poured himself over the music box. "I'll show him..." he whispered to himself as he poked at different parts with a pair of tweezers.
"You really should wait until morning before starting again."
"Ah, shoot..." Julius exclaimed as he dropped the tweezers to the floor.
As he ducked under the table, the young lady sighed and mused, "I wonder what song it will play."
"Taps*."
She glowered at him but just then the bell at the door rang.
"Welcome," her voice chimed but she quickly clipped the end of the word.
A tall rugged man walked into the shop. His drab clothing hung loosely off his frame with various stains and holes in the fabric. He had short black hair that held itself clumped together with grease. The stubble on his chin was long showing he hadn't shaved in quite some time, and the dark circles under his eyes were nearly as dark as his hair.
But the greatest impression came from the smell he brought with him. It was the smell of decay, the likes of which one encounters when passing a dead animal at the side of the road.
In a heavy voice the man said, "I have come to see the fortune teller. He is here, yes?"
"Certainly. If you will wait just a moment," the young woman replied maintaining her professional manner despite the sharpened look her eyes had attained.
"There will be no need, Ms. Evans," a voice said from the staircase. The owner of the voice came walking down from the stairs. His young face contrasted greatly with his gray hair making his age ambiguous to the observer. For how miserable the customer's attire was, the clothing of this man was the complete opposite. His hair, though longer, was pulled back in a neat fashion. He wore a brilliant, silk vest over a collared shirt and straight trousers, the epitome of Victorian dress. His manner was with eloquence as the man approached the customer.
"Welcome to my antique store, my good gentleman! I am Vice, the owner of this establishment. I hear you come for the service of my palm reading, is that right?"
"Ya, if you could," the man replied in his deep accent.
"Certainly! If you would come this way." Vice led him from the entrance. As the man passed the young lady, she cupped her hands over her nose. Julius also found it difficult to hide how the odor affected him.
The two men came to an alcove in the back corner of the store. The atmosphere was different here. The shelves here weren't filled with lavish items but strange knickknacks. Varies metal contraptions with missing parts and gears lay strewn about without much thought to increasing their appeal. In the center was a small round table so low to the ground that instead of chairs were pillows to sit upon. Vice reached for the ceiling and pulled down an electric light fixed to an accordion-like contraption. The light flashed on and added extra illumination in the small space.
"Have you ever had a palm reading, Mr…?"
"Erwin Roth, sir. And no, I have not."
"That is good," Vice said as he sat across from Erwin. "My palm readings aren't of the same kind that is offered by imitators and gypsies. They try to tell you that one line means you'll marry, one says you will live a long life and so forth. But what good are those predictions now? I tell you, I won't scam you like the ones who pretend to find vague meanings. Instead, how I can service you, Mr. Roth, is by giving you a specific insight into your future. I can tell you a single truth from your future that will help you with whatever troubles you now."
"And say you are wrong?"
"I am never wrong," Vice replied with a sly smile, "but if that were the case you can come back to have your quarter refunded. You do have a quarter for the reading, don't you?" Erwin reached into the front pocket of his worn pants and pulled out a quarter. Vice took the money from him with no hesitancy toward the touch of his rough hands, his own hands protected in white gloves. "Splendid! I will need your right palm, if you will."
Erwin offered his right hand. With deft hands, Vice removed his gloves and took the man's hand in both of his. Erwin shivered slightly from the touch but said nothing. As Vice traced the lines in his hand, he asked, "Tell me about yourself. Give me something to look for."
So he began telling the fortune teller about his life. He was born in Germany and had lived there until he was eleven. That's when the revolution began, and his family barely had the money to survive. They managed to sail to America where they settled in New Jersey. However, three years later his father died of cholera. His mother tried to work for them both, and he did his best to find work where he could. It wasn't enough and he lost his mother two years later. With no parents and education, Erwin lived on the streets looking for work. There was none to be had for him.
It was when he heard of a friend of his working in Chicago that he sailed across the great lakes in desperate hope for a job. Using connections with his friend, he obtained a job at Armour & Company, where he has been working for the past nine years.
"So you're in the meat packing industry? And how has working there been?" Vice asked.
"In the beginning, I was just glad to have the money to eat and live in my own home. Then the work become – it haunts me."
"Oh?" Vice uttered with a tilt of his head.
Erwin ran the fingers of his left hand through his matted hair. His eyes were unfocused with a look of panic in them. "I can't leave that place even when I'm off working hours. That smell…, the smell of the blood is always in my nose. I hear pigs squealing all through the night. I can't make it stop."
"Then perhaps you should find another place to work."
Erwin violently slammed the table. He rose from where he sat wrenching his hand away from the fortune teller. His eyes glared down at Vice. "I cannot leave my job. It is keeping me alive. I only live because they give me a job. There is no other work for a German. No doors are open for me. I cannot sacrifice everything my family have done for me!"
"It was only a benign suggestion. If you could forgive me for my rudeness, please sit down. I still haven't given you your fortune."
Erwin reluctantly sat back down and gave his palm back to the fortune teller. Vice went back to tracing the lines in his palm while asking, "Would you like to know anything related to your work, then?"
"I want to know when I be gone from there."
"Hmm? Just a second ago you were angry about my suggesting you find work somewhere else? Why the change of heart?"
Erwin shook his head. "I cannot leave myself. I don't have the courage to believe I can find another job again. But I don't want to live with the constant squealing in my head anymore. I want another way out. Could there be one?"
Vice never left his eyes from the man's palm, but from Erwin's words he scowled. There was a long silence while Vice concentrated on the creases in the cracked aged hand.
Vice's focus was interrupted by the loud thumping on the other side of the shelf followed by the sight of two ornamental balls rolling across the floor. Julius Young and May Evans were both sitting to the back of the shelf where Vice was performing his fortune telling. It was a ritual for the two to silently eavesdrop on the occurrences behind the back shelf. Vice allowed it. The rumors the shop ladies would pry from Julius as he made his deliveries served to bring in more business. But this time Julius' foot slipped and knocked a bowl over causing the antique metal spheres to roll across the ground.
A sudden smile spread on Vice's face. He exclaimed to Erwin, "Have you met my staff, Mr. Roth? I believe that was just Julius there. He can be clumsy at times."
"No, I have n–"
"No? Well that won't do. Julius?" Vice called.
Julius stiffened at the call, embarrassed to have to reveal himself from behind the shelf. He resigned himself to his fate and stood up. As he did, May grabbed at his shirt. Julius turned to her. She had a conflicting expression, but she quickly sighed and let go. Julius paused looking puzzled, but May only narrowed her eyes and mouthed 'Go'.
Julius stepped out from behind the shelf and Vice greeted him enthusiastically. "There you are. Mr. Roth, this is Julius Young. He recently started here helping me with my deliveries and other errands." The two passed greetings to one another, the both of them acting timid under the unusual circumstances. Vice seemed oblivious to this, and continued in the same fervor. "Julius only recently started working for me, so I'm sure he can relate with how hard finding work can be. Julius, did you ever look for a job in the stockyards?"
"…No, they wouldn't hire me."
"Ah, that's right," Vice sorrowfully but not really sounding very sorrowful at all.
"Why not?" Erwin asked him.
"Well–"
"Poor Julius is crippled, you see," Vice interrupted. "Why don't you show him your hands, Mr. Young."
Julius was reluctant. The anticipation that Vice voiced had him on edge. But he saw he had little choice. He began to unravel the bandage covering his left arm. As he unspun the cloth from the elbow down, the skin underneath revealed itself bit by bit. The skin was a web of white and deep red scars. Heavy burns covered his entire hand and the skin reflected the light in an unnatural way. Julius moved his arm awkwardly, his finger showing how stiff they were even without the bandages covering them.
"It's hideous, isn't it?" Vice chimed. "His other arm is just as bad."
"How you get those scars?" Erwin asked.
"Hot oil…" Julius looked away, wrapping his arm again in a speed only much practice could achieve.
"Thank you, Julius. You can return to your music box. We should wrap up before closing hours."
"If you'll excuse me," Julius dismissed himself, not looking at Vice as he left.
"There's not much factory work for someone who isn't good with their hands. You could say he was bound to find his way into my shop. Now, back to what we were doing. You say you want to know when you will be finished working at Armour & Company, am I right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let me just look…" Vice once again observed the creases in Erwin's palm, but this time not much time elapsed before Vice pulled his eyes away. "I see. You're last day will be in precisely ten days."
"T-ten days? Are you certain?"
"I am certain."
"You are not lying to me, are you?"
"It's the absolute truth."
"Ten… ten days…" Erwin Roth stared at Vice in stunned disbelief. He sat gathering himself. A grin began to spread across his face and he silently contemplated the fortune teller's words. He felt a giddy excitement bubble up in him. Maybe he could have bared the job for a year or maybe two. But ten days… it was more than he had ever hoped.
"This is… This is great! I can't… thank you! Thank you so much, sir."
"It was truly my pleasure," Vice replied, standing and replacing his gloves back onto his hands. "Is there any other service I can provide you with, Mr. Roth?"
"No, no. This… this is more than enough."
Vice escorted the man to the door of the shop and waved him off. "I wish you the best of luck in your future." Vice stood at the door until the figure was swallowed by the darkness, and went back inside.
"There is no way you can know exactly how many days until he’s out of a job," Julius scorned Vice. He sat in front of the scattered pieces of the music box, but he hadn't touched them. His eyes remained narrowed at Vice.
Vice smirked. "Be careful, Julius. You're ignorance is showing." Vice picked up a small gear off the table, examined it and placed it back down. "Don't take too long fixing this. I have a customer I want this shown to the next time you deliver to her."
"Then don't make me do it! I'm not a watchmaker!"
"Really, Julius, that is exactly why you're doing it. Do you know how expensive it is to hire a watchmaker for a repair? I wouldn't make a profit at all." Vice turned his back to him. As he ascended the stairs he called out, "But if you can't fix it, I'll have to add it to your debt. Good night."
As soon as Julius heard the door to Vice's room close upstairs, he let out a loud groan and buried his head in his hands. May stood over him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. "There is no point dwelling on it now. We should close the store."
"Yeah…" Julius muffled voice said. He reluctantly stood to help May set up the shop for the next day. As he fumbled for the key to lock the front door he muttered to himself, "If only Vice could tell me I only have ten days left here."
II
Chop, Chop
The sound pervaded the line of workers chopping away at the pig carcasses in a repetitious fashion. They swung their knives thoughtlessly between each piece of flesh that carried itself to their hands. They moved in mechanical precision as endless amounts of pigs were removed of their skins, organs, and cut into segments.
Chop, Chop
But the endless swinging of the knives could not muffle the loud squeals of the pigs at the beginning of the line. Their cries before being slit at the throat reminded the laborers that the meat they mercilessly hacked away at had been living only moments ago. It was what made Armour & Company so successful. They sold the meat fresh in great quantities.
Chop, Chop
On the line joined with the others in their cold butchering was Erwin Roth, cutting away the pig's hooves and sliding them down a shoot. No part of the pig was wasted. The hooves would be used for some other product made by the company. Erwin didn't know what they made with them. He didn't ask. He only chopped them away and let the carcass continue down the line.
Chop, Chop
But Erwin's mind wasn't with his work, though he never thought at all while working if he could help it. He was waiting for something to happen. He didn't know what it would be. All he knew was that it had been ten days since he had seen the fortune teller. This would be his last day at Armour & Company. It had to be.
Chop, Chop
It was nearing the end of his shift. There was no clock that told him this. He could feel it in the familiar ache that shot up from his wrist to his shoulder. His white coat was sticking uncomfortably to him from the sweat he had worked up. His heart was pounding. The unknown event that would send him from the company doors was unhinging his thoughts.
Whooooooooooooooo!
The whistle blew signaling the end of the twelve hour shift. It did not mean they could leave, rather that the replacements for their positions could come in. There was to be no break in the disassembly line. No worker could leave until their replacement arrived.
Chop, Chop
Erwin's mind was in a panic. The end of the shift had come, but nothing had happened that meant his termination. Was it something that would occur as he was leaving, or after he left the factory? But he couldn't stand it. He wanted to leave out the doors of the factory knowing he would never come back. His life was pervaded by uncertainty. He thought the fortune teller would free him of that.
Chop, Chop
Soon he would be relieved of his position in the line to go home. His heart hammered and his head spun in a desperate attempt to make sense of his disappointment. A silent horror settled from doubt over the fortune teller's prophetic words.
Chop, Chop
What will he do if tomorrow comes and he must come back to the fruitless work immersed in the sound of the squealing pigs?
Chop, Chop
Will they haunt his dreams yet again tonight?
Chop, Chop
What hope does he have if the one thing he believed in was the lies of a con artist?
Chop, Chop
If only he could escape some other way.
Chop, Chop
If only he could leave without any choice to save him from any regret over failing; to be forced from this place with no other chances of entering again.
Chop, Chop
And then a young man's face looked at him in his mind's eye. The image brought him peace, although he did not understand why. The blank expression he wore during his labor broke, and a serene smile replaced it. He didn't turn away from his work when his replacement tapped him on the shoulder.
Chop
III
It was close to evening at Hourglass Antiques. The shadows seen from the store's windows were growing longer as the sun began its descent to the horizon. The last customer from their earlier rush had just left, the bell of the door jingling as she let the door swing closed behind her. Her purchases had already been taken to the back room to be delivered to her home the next morning.
The two only occupants of the antique shop, May Evans and Vice, were standing around the front desk. Perched on it was a beautiful, wooden music box, with the metal disk and spindles viewable behind a pane of glass. Vice was tracing a gloved finger on the side of the box, his eyes glazed as he thought. May stood quietly across from him, her demeanor impassive.
Finally, Vice gave an exasperated sigh. "I still don't believe he tried everything possible to fix this."
"I watched him clean and oil every gear. Unless he put it back together wrong, I think this is beyond our control."
"No, he wouldn't put it back together wrong. With that kid's memory, it would be difficult to make him forget how it looked before."
"What will you do?" May inquired.
"What else can I do? I know a jeweler who is good with these sorts of things. But he's pricey. I don't know if it will be worth it when I can't sell it for a profit." Vice fell silent. He continued to silently contemplate his options, and May waited not offering any of her opinions on the matter. "No, I'll do it anyway. It would be worth it in the end to bring this thing back to life."
"And because you know it will return to you again eventually." May softly added.
Vice smirked at May. "Ms. Evans, you are truly a dangerous woman with that wit of yours."
Just then, the bell rang as Julius came through the front door. "Welcome back," Vice greeted him, but received no reply. Julius' eyes were trained to the floor, his expression sullen as he slowly walked to the counter. With a clatter of change, he placed an envelope of money on the counter, his eyes not meeting the two. Vice quickly snatched the envelope shifting through its contents showing no concern for the state of his employee. It was May who asked, "Julius, what's wrong?"
Julius turned his head away and mumbled, "I'm sick of this…"
"What are you sick of?" May asked, but Julius wouldn't reply.
"Come now, Julius," Vice said. "You would think someone killed your puppy with the way you're behaving."
It was sudden. The move caught Vice off guard. The money he had been counting fell to the floor as he was shoved by Julius into the opposite counter. The sound of his back slamming into the counter was nearly lost behind the hysterical laughter that escaped from Vice when he realized what was happening. Julius held the collar of his shirt in his hands. His fists didn't quite close completely, but the force he exerted with his arm held Vice in place. But Vice continued to laugh even while being held in Julius' vice-like grip.
"I'm sick of your games!" Julius shouted in his face.
"You have quite the temper Julius," Vice chuckled. "I can't imagine what I did to make you so angry."
"The German," Julius growled. "The German that worked in the stockyards. Do you remember what you told him?"
"Oh, so it's about him. Then I believe you must have found out the fortune I told him came true."
"He cut off his own hand!"
Silence settled in the shop. May, who had hurried around the counter to the two men, froze in her tracks. She looked stunned at the two. Vice, however, was not deterred by Julius' proclamation, but instead kept his contorted smile.
"And how is that my fault?"
"It's because you keep messing with people's lives. He believed your stupid fortune. And when it didn't come true, he cut his own hand to make it come true. It's because you keep giving people self-fulfilling prophecies these people's lives are being ruined. I've had enough of your games!"
Vice leered at him. "Ah, but Julius, it's because of you that his prophecy came true, not me."
"Excuse me?" Julius sputtered.
"There was nothing I could tell Mr. Roth to lead him off the future path he was already on. I could see as much in his hand. He was so afraid of failing in life by his own hand that he would not take action himself. And every possible path I saw for him would keep him in that factory until he killed himself or ended up driven insane by the pigs."
Vice pushed against the force Julius exerted against him, closing the gap between them. "And then you had to knock down that bowl, giving me a reason to introduce you to him." Vice spread his arms wide open as he proclaimed. "Think of how envious he must have been to see a young man who could never ruin his own life in the stockyards. It was never an option for you, after all. You became his role model; an ideal to achieve. That was all I needed to give him what he wanted."
Julius let go of him, taking a small step back. "You could never–"
"I could never know that?" Vice mocked. "You keep thinking that only because you refuse to see the truth that is standing right in front of you. Maybe I am a liar, but you met Mr. Roth again today, did you not? Can you tell me with no doubt at all that you had no influence over the choice he made?"
And Julius couldn't. From the chance encounter he had with Erwin Roth while making his runs, he felt the revere, the admiration, the envy Erwin expressed to him. And as Julius came to this realization, his world began to shift. The room seemed to click into place, as though his mind were seeing in the room what he couldn't see before. Perhaps whatever missing gear or screw that kept the music box from playing had found its way into Julius' mind, fixing his crooked perception.
As Julius stood speechless, Vice approached him. Crouching by his ear, he whispered with a smile, "It's about time you start believing, Mr. Young."
Vice walked away, leaving Julius frozen where he stood. May was standing behind him. She raised her hand a moment thinking to comfort him, but pulled away. She only stared at his stiff back as she heard Vice's feet ascend the stairs. There was a pause in the steps, and Vice called down, "Oh, and Julius?" They both turned at his call. "If you ever go to the butcher’s in the next few weeks, could you please not buy any canned or ground meat?"
"Why?" Julius asked.
"Well, you never did find out what happened to Mr. Roth's hand, now did you? Best to be safe." Vice continued up the stairs and out of sight.
"Actually, Julius, don't bother going to the butcher’s for a while," May said.
"Yeah…" Julius staggered around the counter and sunk into a stool. He rested his head in his arms, blocking himself from everything around him.
May knew better than to try and console him, knowing he would only push her away. She didn't know he was ashamed to show how weak he was around her. To her it was just how he was. So she sat in the stool in front of the music box.
It was fruitless; they were both aware of this. Despite this, May opened the back of the music box and poked around at the parts inside, all just to give her something to do. To her surprise, she noticed something that looked odd. When she looked closely, she saw there was a miniscule pebble stuck in one of the gears. It was strange. As soon as she saw it she was reminded of Vice complaining about the horse and bogeys that would kick up the dirt and rock into the front door. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She pushed it away, and picked up the tweezers to remove the pebble.
She replaced the backing. Turning it around, she opened the top. She had opened this box to only have silence many times before. But this time the music played.
Julius stirred and lifted his head. He listened for a moment, and then muttered softly, "…Carmen**."
"Sounds nothing like Taps," she remarked. They listened together, watching the metal disk slowly rotate; a miracle they had been hoping to see for weeks. May stood and gestured to Julius with a smile. "Will you have this dance with me?"
"Dance?" Julius stuttered. "N-no… I don't think I know how."
"We'll take it slow." May took his hand and pulled him from his seat. She led him to the center of the room. Julius stood stiffly in a silent panic. But May took his bandaged hands and placed one on her waist and the other in her hand. His fingers didn't quite close around hers, but she seemed to not notice this.
They stood for a moment before Julius admitted, "I don't know how to start."
"I'll lead then," May replied.
Julius looked away from her face, but his eyes eventually fell to his feet as she guided him in circles around the shop. He tried not to step on her feet, acutely aware of how much his heart was pounding and his shoulders trembled. Julius moved clumsily with May, the only word spoken being the occasional directions of where to move his feet.
Eventually, they found a steady rhythm, and Julius wasn't tripping over his own feet as much as before. He took his eyes off his feet and stole a glance at May. He caught her eye and he quickly turned his head away. She smiled to herself and laid her head on his shoulder.
He hunched his shoulders, feeling the heat rise to his face. He was so happy and yet completely terrified at the same time. He dared himself to lean his head against hers, settling comfortably close to her. They waltzed in circles like only stopping to wind up the music box.
It should have been the happiest moment of Julius' life, for he never imagined he would get to be so close with the girl he had fallen in love with. But the gears in his head turned his thoughts back to Vice's words and their horrible implication. And there in his memories was Erwin Roth, sitting at a curve in soiled clothing. He could remember him noticing him, the grin that stretched across his face at seeing him. He lifted his stump of an arm over his head, and exclaimed the words that rang louder than the chimes of Carmen.
"Look, Julius Young! Now I'm just like you!"
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Author's Notes:
* 'Taps' is an American funerary music usually played at military funerals.
** ‘Carmen’ is a french opera. Some of the first Swiss music boxes played the song 'Bizet' from Carmen.
This short story is an experiment. I'm trying to get a feel for how I like writing about the characters, setting, plot, ect. I really did enjoy writing this, but I will have to do some more research if I'm going to expand this to a long prose work.
Critiques are encouraged!