Schulte Family History by Peter Schulte Sr.

A Schulte Family History
By Pete Schulte Sr.

Schulte is a common name in Germany. The name is generally associated with a trade or occupation. The original meaning is a " head man" of the village.  This is one who was responsible for collecting dues or taxes and paying them to the lord of the manor. Other translations are tax collector, mayor and magistrate. The Schulte family this blogster is related to originated in the western part of old Germany.  In the latter part of the nineteenth century, Germany wasn't actually a country but an amalgamation of provinces and municipalities most of which were known as Prussia. My great great grandfather was born in the Westphalia province in the town of Eslohe. Because of political unrest and widespread unemployment, many Germans picked up and moved to other countries to find opportunity.  The United States was a popular destination and my great great grandfather, Anton, emigrated to the US and settled in Detroit, Michigan. One of the Schulte family members did extensive geneological research and determined that Anton's trade was owner of a match factory.  Anton was 28 when he arrived in the States and, in short order, found another German immigrant, Theresia Rehnart and married her.  Unfortunately, Theresia was to die of tuberculosis at age 29. They did have one daughter from the marriage, also named Theresia, and she too died of the same disease at the same age of 29. Anton then married another woman with the Schulte name, Christina, and they had nine children but only five of them survived until adulthood. Anton eventually died at 78 of diabetes and Christina lived to be 84. My great grandfather, Joseph, was one of the five surviving children.  He was born in 1864. Joseph held a variety of jobs, one of which was a Detroit city policeman. Joseph married a French woman, Christine Hardoin, who emigrated to the States from the Alsace-Lorranine province of France. They were both in their 20's when they married and they had eleven kids.  One of the eleven was my grandfather, Raymond who was born in 1895. Sadly, Christine died at age 46 of cardiac asthma. Their children all survived to adulthood.  Joseph never remarried and lived to the age of 85 when he died of pneumonia.  We're told he had 53 grandchildren.

Little is known about Raymond's early life.  We think he completed high school and attended a business college in the Detroit area. This was in the early 1900's when very few kids went to college. We have a picture of him in a baseball uniform with a few teammates so we know he liked sports.  At the time, baseball not football was the king of sports. When Raymond was in his late teens, he decided to strike out on his own. It was quite unusual for someone to do this in those days and we heard his father was not pleased with the move. He was the only one of his family to leave the state. He headed out to California and got a job with the Imperial Sugar Company and based in Huntington Beach in Orange County. While in California, he tried the acting profession and joined the Pasadena Playhouse players in Pasadena. Live plays were still the most popular form of entertainment at that time but the film industry was about to make it's debut.  Raymond also served in the U S Army during World War One.

He stayed in California for nearly ten years and then relocated to New York City. He took a job with the Burroughs Corporation as a sales representative. While in New York, he met and fell in love with an Irish girl from Brooklyn by the name of Peg Ryan.   They married (he was 31 and she was 26) and had five kids (one died at five days old) and one of the kids is my father. Raymond had a stroke when he was 54 and died four years later at 58. Peg died a few years later. 

So there's a snapshot of the Schulte family from Anton to Raymond.  This Schulte family was quite prolific in Michigan. It is estimated that there could be as many as 100,000 descendants of Anton in the United States. If there are any other Schultes out there related to Anton, let us hear from you.

Muscular Andy

Throwback Thursday!!! A book review by Miki Atencio

Since everyone seems to be doing TBT facebook posts, I thought it would be fun to do something similar, but with book reviews.  This week, my throwback book is The Thin Man by Dashell Hammett.


About a year ago, my fiance Pete, recommended that we watch The Thin Man on one of our movie nights.  I love vintage anything, so I was game.  The film was so wonderful.  The costumes (especially Nora's) were so elegant, the chemistry is to die for, the comedy is fresh, and the mystery is smart.  I just fell in love with the main characters in the film.

In the time since that first film, we have now watched three of the films in the series.  All have been a delight.  Because I have grown to love these films so much, I couldn't wait another minute to read the book that started them all.  I was well aware that films rarely follow the book, so I was anticipating that the book would have less of the comedic charm than the films have and more of the dark noir feel.  Fortunately for me, my assumptions were very wrong.

The Thin Man novel was so much more than I thought it would be.  Those responsible for the film did a darn good job of sticking to the story and making sure that Nick and Nora were portrayed by the best.  The book was equal parts hilarity, wit, and fine-tuned detective work.

The Thin Man is one of those books that just felt timeless.  Although some words showed the era of the novel, the relationship between the characters is so modern.  Nick and Nora are not the cookie cutter couple.  Nora is never in the kitchen (unless she is mixing cocktails) and Nick seems perfectly happy to have an equal along side him.  In both the film and the book, the couple has a very real feel.

The other part of the novel that I just loved was how fun the detective aspect of the book was.  Hammett has a great way of being slightly obvious about giving hints to the guilty party.  When you read a mystery, you tend to be on the lookout for clues.  Hammett really played into the reader in this novel.  He seemed to know the reader's nature, so he used those clues to steer the reader in the wrong direction.  Then, it is in the tiniest, slightest mention that you discover the real missing piece to the puzzle.

If you are looking for a quick, fun read that doesn't involve a woman making poor relationship choices, this would be a great pick.

Book Review

Mad Madame Lalaurie by Victoria Cosner Love and Lorelei Shannon

**currently available from Tattered Cover Book Store or History Press

In the television series 'American Horror Story,' Kathy Bates played a sadistic southern belle named Delphine Lalaurie who took delight in the torture of slaves. What I didn't know then was that this character was based upon an actual person, and certain events in the show mirrored at least the legend of Madame Lalaurie. But who was the real Madame Lalaurie, and could she really have committed such unspeakable acts? These questions and much more are answered perhaps as well as they could be (record keeping wasn't so exact in 1834, and myths and legends tend to alter and obfuscate) in the book Mad Madame Lalaurie by Victoria Cosner Love and Lorelei Shannon.

Delphine Lalaurie no doubt would have been forgotten in time if not for a horrific fire at her New Orleans mansion on April 10th, 1834. Delphine and her family escaped unharmed. But later on, as firefighters searched for survivors, they discovered an attic full of chained slaves badly in need of rescue and medical attention. Madame Lalaurie fled to France, but the questions had already begun. Was she the one who chained her slaves only to abandon them as flames consumed the mansion? Or perhaps it was her husband, a doctor with a shady reputation? And then years went by and stories sprung up on their own. Soon there was talk of sexual mutilation and experimentation, a Devil baby, voodoo, portraits of the Madame falling from walls without provocation, and unnerving moaning and groaning in the hallways. Maybe the mansion really is haunted, and what the heck does the actor Nicolas Cage have to do with any of this? If you're ever down in the French Quarter of New Orleans, stop by and investigate for yourself. But in this case, I believe human beings were much more cruel than any ghost going bump in the night.     

The Beautiful Brooklyn Bridge

                                            Photo by Miki Atencio

A photo I took on a cold day in Brooklyn.  I am learning how to edit and use filters. This one turned out great without much work.

An Old Poem

Postcards from Germany
by Michelle Atencio

Cutting through cities
like a wall of wildfire
all near are burned and scarred.
The poisonous smoke is not clearing.
Red eyes well up
at the sight of fading stars.

Rapidly, the fire spreads
taking generations in its path.
Brick by brick, disaster marches on.
Victims look upon the crimson
crosses, listening to their numbers called.

Expecting relief, surprised screams echo
in steaming showers.
All hope inhales, sorrow
streams down red earth.
Nauseating smells of rot and singe fill
the air like the breath of death.

Thunderous protests began
approaching, extinguishing the flames,
while trails of boot prints
on the muddy earth show remnants
of the fallen reign.

Rising in the west, the lost sun beams.
Again there is a heartbeat, the few remaining
survivors begin to heal.  Scarlet scars grow faint,
souvenirs of their pain.

The Brooklyn Bridge is a beautiful model

Photo by Miki Atencio

Rhymes with Spoon, a new short story.

Rhymes with Spoon

By Pete Schulte

　

The small town of Groverdale is known as the ’Poon Capital of the World.’ Here’s how that happened: It was the Elderberry buddies who first noticed a dapper old man peering over a locked fence at the abandoned quarry. The Elderberries called it in to Sheriff Mann, telling him not to be alarmed, telling him that the old man did not appear to be up to any malfeasance. In fact, the old man bore a striking resemblance to Tom Harwood, the eccentric, extremely wealthy businessman from Ravenwood Meadows, the next town over. Could it be that Tom Harwood was scouting new locations for his next business venture? If the quarry were to be reopened, it would be a boon to nearly everyone in Groverdale; it would be a godsend for sure. Any way you slice it, this was big news.

Sheriff Mann raced to the quarry to try to intercept the old man, while at the same time putting a call of his own to the mayor, Beck Strother. Beck quickly summoned his three town council members while waiting for further updates from the sheriff. In due time all were gathered in the mayor’s tiny office. There he held court. “Lady and gentlemen of the council, I am happy to report that a man fitting the description of Tom Harwood has been possibly spotted while scouting the quarry as a location for one of his new enterprises. This could be the opportunity we‘ve been waiting for, our ticket back in. We‘ll be players again. It‘s fantastic news!”

“But did I hear you use the word possibly, Beck?” asked Councilman Doug Harvey. “Could you expound on that?”

“It was the Elderberry buddies who saw him down there,” said the mayor, excitedly. “Now you know they’ve been right about many an issue before.”

“It’s true,” said Councilman Earl Skullwinder. “Those boys were right about the tax lien of 2010.”

“And they were right about correcting the flood plain,” added Councilwoman Nancy Enright.

“But they were wrong about the steeple abutment,” said Doug Harvey.

“Now, council, all of this is neither here nor there,” said Mayor Strother. “If this boy isn’t Tom Harwood we simply send him on his way. We lose nothing. But if it is Tom Harwood, and if Tom Harwood has intentions of reopening our quarry, then we give Tom Harwood whatever he wants. I don’t care if it’s blackberry flapjacks or turnips on toast. Whatever he wants he gets, right?”

“I just don’t want to be bitten on the bottom by this,” said the ever skeptical Doug Harvey.

“But Doug,” said Nancy Enright, “if that quarry reopens we’re golden, we’re all the way back and then some. Let’s just believe that those Elderberry buddies are right about this one. Let‘s say we just believe.”

A call from Sheriff Mann ended their discussion. The mayor said into his phone, “Have you made contact?” He then put the sheriff on speakerphone so that everyone could participate.

“I have made contact,” said Sheriff Mann. “I have him in the back of the car as a matter of fact. He sure is an agreeable little fellow.”

“But is he Harwood?” interjected Doug Harvey. “That’s the key issue here.”

“Not so fast on that one,” said Sheriff Mann. “Our old boy is a little confused, what with all the excitement. But if this man is not Tom Harwood, I would tell you that Tom Harwood has a twin brother. Does anyone know if Tom Harwood has a twin brother?”

“Look, we’ll figure all that out later,” said Mayor Strother. “Just ask him what he wants. We’ll give him whatever he wants and sort out all that other stuff later. I heard over in Full Forks he wanted jelly jam from a rubberneck root and they gave it to him. Six months later there’s a new factory in Full Forks. You see how this works.”

“Well,” said the sheriff, “he has been quite adamant about what he wants. Quite specific actually.”

“Do tell, sheriff,” said the mayor, “do tell. What‘s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

“Is the councilwoman there?” the sheriff questioned.

“Of course,” the mayor replied. “We’re all here.”

“See, I don’t like to speak French in front of the ladies,” Sheriff Mann responded.

“Don’t you worry about her,” said Councilman Earl Skullwinder. “She’s been around the block a time or two.”

“Hey, I’m a divorcee,” protested Councilwoman Nancy Enright. “That doesn’t mean I’ve been around the block.”

“Well, halfway around anyway,” Earl muttered.

“Bite your tongue,” shot back Nancy.

The mayor squelched their bickering with an abrupt hand gesture and returned his attention to the sheriff. “Just tell us what he wants, sheriff. I’ll cover Nancy’s ears if the talk gets too blue.”

“All right, Beck, I’ll tell you what he wants exactly as he put it to me. He said, and I quote, ‘Skidilly-didilly-doodilly, and all I want is poon.’ I asked him to please repeat his request and he says to me, ‘Fi-fiddily-fi-o, and all I want is poon.’”

“Poon?” questioned an exasperated Mayor Strother. “Does that mean what I think it means? Poon?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what he wants, Mr. Mayor,” said the sheriff. “I reckon I’ve seen these poon hounds before once or twice. They don’t stop just because they’re in their twilight years. If anything, they charge harder. No time left on the clock and all that.”

The mayor and the sheriff concluded their phone call after the sheriff promised he’d deliver the old man to the mayor’s office in short order. Then the mayor looked upon his council. “Well, there are some things we can do about this.”

“And there are some things we can’t,” cautioned Doug Harvey.

“Now Douglass,” said the mayor, “don’t get all prim and proper on us. Sometimes you’ve got to get dirty before you come clean.”

“But Mr. Mayor?” said Doug Harvey.

“Now all of you,” the mayor continued, “you remember that girl at the county fair, the one who ran the kissing booth? What’s her name, Renee Houndstooth? Why I bet she’d be an eager beaver for such an assignment.”

“But if you recall, Mr. Mayor,” said Nancy Enright, “she only wanted to kiss the girls.”

“Renee Houndstooth? Well I’ll be damned.”

“It’s seems we have a shortage of eligible women in this town,” said Earl Skullwinder. “That’s a shame for all of us.”

“But what about that girl,” exclaimed the mayor, “that one just graduated from high school! What was on that t-shirt she used to wear? No drugs, no thugs, just hugs or something other than that. Well, this won’t be much more than hugging, not with a man so old as Tom Harwood.”

“Beck, please?” said Doug Harvey. “Can’t we just buy him a backscratcher or a cheese plate?”

“Besides,” said Nancy Enright, “her latest t-shirt says something like ’You ain’t getting a thing until I see that ring!’”

“I guess she’s just the marrying type,” said the mayor, sadly. “I guess there are all kinds and types.”

“Well,” said Earl Skullwinder, “I hate to call out the elephant in the room…”

“Earl Skullwinder, I will kill you,” said Nancy.

“Now Nancy,” said Earl, “you’re always going on about how we need to be team players, how we need to sacrifice for the welfare of the team. I believe myself and the other gentlemen in this room would do what needs to be done only we don’t have the requisite parts for the operation. You understand?”

“You want me to be a whore, a quarry whore!”

“Oh Nancy, that’s foul,” said the mayor. “We want no such thing. It’s just that, well, you’re our last hope. So you take him out for drinks, you dance him around the floor, maybe a peck on the cheek. It doesn’t necessarily need to come to its fruition. Maybe he passes out early? You know how these geezers roll.”

Sheriff Mann rolled up and escorted the old man to the mayor’s office. After a brief exchange of pleasantries Mayor Strother said to the old man, “Please tell, sir, are you man called Tom Harwood from Ravenwood Meadows?”

“Ravenwood Meadows you say?” said the old man. “I can tell you I’ve been to and from so many different places.”

“But you’re Tom?” said the mayor.

“Tom,” repeated the old man just above a whisper.

This was good enough for the mayor for he nudged Nancy forward in the face of the old man. She towered over him. “Well Tom, here she is. Do you like her?”

“Oh, very much so,” said the old man. “I like her very much indeed.”

Nancy took the old man by the arm and escorted him out of the office. The others had their own opinions. “Well that cinches it for me,” said Councilman Earl Skullwinder. “That guy looks just like Tom Harwood. It has to be him. He‘s a carbon copy for what I know.”

“I’m not so sure,” replied Councilman Doug Harvey. “He could be anyone, a simple drifter maybe.”

“Well, if a factory drifts on in here I’m all for that,” said the mayor. “For the simple price of poon? Are you kidding me?”

It was three hours later and Nancy Enright staggered back into the office, her cheeks reddened and her breathing heavy. All were gathered and cocktails shared among them. They rose from their seats immediately. “Nancy, are you all right?” inquired Mayor Strother. “Did he hurt you?”

“Oh no,” said Nancy, “not hurt at all but certainly winded and worn out. One of you better pour me a drink real fast.”

“Tell us, Nancy,” said Doug Harvey. “Tell us what he wants, or if he’s gotten all he wanted and we can now have ours.”

“Well,” said Nancy, “I gave him all I could and the minutes turned into hours. That little tumbleweed has no off button from all I could tell. When he finally did come up for air, do you know what he had the nerve to say to me?”

“Do tell, Nancy,” said Earl Skullwinder. “Please.”

“He said, ‘Ti-tick-tickory, and all I want is poon.’”

“More poon?” exclaimed the mayor. “Why that man is insatiable.”

“I’m sorry you did all that for nothing,” said Doug Harvey.

“Nothing?” said Nancy. “Are you kidding me? If that was nothing then I’ll have a helping of nothing every day. That old rascal still has some pepper in his pot.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get him more poon then,” said Mayor Strother.

“Funny, but I don’t think it’s that,” said Nancy. “I mean, he’s saying one thing but perhaps thinking another.”

“Whatever do you mean, Nancy?” asked Doug Harvey.

“I mean perhaps it’s some sort of riddle,” Nancy continued. “It could be that we’re to solve the riddle and then get the factory we so desire.”

“I have no time for riddles,” said councilman Earl Skullwinder. “I say we put him in a cell with Crazy Pete. If anyone can get it out of him, it’s Crazy Pete.”

“No,” said Nancy, “I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Crazy Pete may be crazy,” said the mayor, “but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He rents a cell in the jail because he doesn’t want to go home to his wife. Have you met his wife? He was known as Turkey Leg Pete before she got hold of him.”

“I remember old Turkey Leg,” one of them chimed in.

They soon came to the conclusion that having the old man share a cell with Crazy Pete wasn’t such a bad idea. Mayor Strother had Sheriff Mann brief Crazy Pete on the situation, and after long escorted the old man to the prison cell. They told the old man they were holding him for some sort of trespassing violation. He didn’t seem to mind be detained. In fact, he seemed quite pleased, him being an agreeable sort of fellow.

The sheriff made a brief introduction, “Crazy Pete, old man. Old man, Crazy Pete,” before slamming the cell door. Then they were alone. Crazy Pete spoke first. “So I hear you’re a poon man.”

“Yes, I quite like it,” said the old man.

“Blondes, brunettes, redheads?”

“Yes.”

“Look,” said Crazy Pete, “I want to know what you want with these nice people, but I don’t want to hear any of this fiddly-faddily-foodily stuff that I hear you been dishing out. Now you tell me what it is you want, and I’ll decide whether or not to bash your head in.”

“I want poon!”

“You’ve had your poon, old man. Now I’m getting my hammer. Maybe you’ll speak with more clarity after I lump you one.”

“You see, they taste so good,” said the old man.


“The women?”

“Yes, the women,” the old man continued, “but also the nuts.”

“Nuts? What nuts?” questioned Crazy Pete.

“Poon nuts of course. They drop from the leaves of the Finicula tree this time of year.”

“Finicula tree? Why you daffy old man!”

“Yes,” continued the old man. “Poon nuts. For I have searched so long, so far, over hill and dale for just one Finicula tree. And here I find it just beyond the fence in your quarry. So close and yet so far I’m afraid.”

“So all you want is some nuts?”

“Not some,” said the old man. “I want many, perhaps a whole bag. I’ll gladly pay my share and even then some. They‘re quite tasty, and also good for one’s digestion.”

“Good grief,” said Crazy Pete. “Nuts.”

Later on, they gave the old man his one bag of poon nuts because that’s all he would accept. After that he went on his way, skipping free and merry down the twisted, wooded trail. They never did find out if he was really the rich Tom Harwood of Ravenwood Meadows, but it really didn’t matter. For the quarry was no longer a quarry or a potential factory of any kind. It was now a tree farm, a Finicula tree farm that would drop a plethora of poon nuts each season and make the small town of Groverdale the ‘Poon Capital of the World.’ That’s how that happened.

The end.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　







　

　

Zeus

Zeus. Fast asleep at the Wildlife Sanctuary in Keenesburg, Colorado.

And now, another edition of Andy the Petulant Squirrel

A New Short Story

The Crisis

                 By Pete Schulte

Kendall thought she recognized the man who came into the bar, but that was happening a lot lately now that the crisis was over and people were returning to the city. She made a beeline for the man before he could even belly up to the bar. “Where do I know you from?” Kendall asked him. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere?”

“I have no idea,” the man replied, startled, “but you look familiar to me as well.”

“I used to dance on stage,” said Kendall. “Maybe that’s where you’ve seen me? Often people have seen me dance on stage. It’s what I used to do. I danced.”

“Yes, of course, you were with the Poo-poo-pee-doo Review!”

“Oh, no,” said Kendall. “That’s not it at all. Those girls were our rivals. I was with the Dancing Donnas. Do you remember the Dancing Donnas? We were the ones. We stood out.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember the Donnas. It was my mistake.”

“What about you?” Kendall asked. “What did you do before…”

“I was a writer,” he said, proudly. “Maybe you…”

“Yes, for the Tribune! They had your picture…”

“No,” he corrected her, “not the Tribune. I was with the Times. Did you ever read the Times?”

“No, I didn’t read that one,” Kendall admitted. “I was a Trib girl through and through. Gosh, are we not a pair of scatterbrains?”

He laughed at her remark and then offered to buy her a drink, which Kendall readily accepted. They each grabbed a stool and hoisted themselves up against the bar. He told her his name was Jack, and that he was with the second wave returned to the city. Kendall searched her memory for anyone named Jack who used to be a writer but kept coming up empty. Still, she thought him awfully handsome and he seemed kind enough. She told him she was drinking vodka; he was a gin man. The bartender caught his eye and came over. Jack placed their order.

The bartender, here she comes. She was an Asian girl, probably late twenties. Jack noticed her sleeves rolled all the way down to her hands and the shirt buttoned up as high as it could go. He thought she was covering scars or burn marks or perhaps a mixture of the two; they all seemed to be covering something up these days.

“Do you like her?” Kendall asked him.

“What?”

“I mean, do you think she’s pretty, the bartender?”

“Why yes,” Jack replied, “she’s very pretty, though I didn’t mean to take notice. I was rude to you.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” Kendall assured him. “Listen, I may be presumptuous here, but if we party later, away from here, I could get her to come along. I know who she is a little; she’s great fun. I believe her name is Kimi. I know she’d be up for it, for whatever.”

“Whew, that’s a fine thought,” said Jack, a nervous laugh escaping. “But you see I haven’t been out in quite some time. I really think I ought to take it slow.”

“Yes, take it slow,” Kendall replied, “but not too slow. Life is short you know.”

Kimi returned with their drinks. She and Kendall made small talk while Jack relished his gin. He was happy now, this moment, and it had been so long since he’d felt anything close to that particular emotion. He could feel himself smiling and it felt so strange. It was as if the muscles in his face had nearly lost the ability to do that anymore and now this -- a smile, albeit of sad kind of smile as if he were a clown. Maybe he was a clown, he thought, as he twirled his gin around, sitting there like a fool with two hotties at the bar. But aside from the girls, the threesome possibility even, it was something else. He felt good just being out in public again, relaxing while savoring a drink, listening to the music. Music again, sweet music…Wow, what a concept? It was good enough for him; it was so damn good, really.

Kendall then asked Jack if he was married. “Sort of,” he said, sheepishly.

“Uh-oh, I know what that means.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jack said to her. “Terry never came back to the city, with me, with the second wave. She joined up with the missionaries instead. She said she just couldn’t come back and start over.”

“The missionaries,” said Kendall, aghast, “that can be dangerous work.”

“I know. I haven’t heard from her in some time, and I can’t even get a message through. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know anything. I was just tired of sitting at home night after night staring at the walls.”

“You have kids?” she asked.

“We did.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Kendall.

“It’s okay. There are so many of us in the same situation, some way worse off.”

“But it doesn’t make it hurt any less,” she offered. “I’m glad you’re out tonight. It’s too painful to hide yourself away, to stare at the walls as you’ve said.”

Jack took a big swallow of his gin. ”What about you, Kendall? Are you married as well?”

“Put me down as ‘sort of’ as well,” she said with a laugh. “Hank and I have an understanding.”

“And just what is that understanding?” he asked her.

“That I go out from time to time when I need to.”

“What about Hank? What does he do?”

“Hank doesn’t go out.”

“Is he okay?”

“No, he’s not,” Kendall admitted. “But it’s not so much a physical thing for him, it’s mental. Hank can’t go out. He does other things.”

Kendall and Jack stopped speaking but smiled at each other, sadly, before returning to their drinks. This happened a lot. One person’s pain smashes into the pain of another and both come crashing down. This is what they were trying to avoid. “Another drink, Jack!” said Kendall, breaking the silence. “Fuck it, I’m buying.” 

They drank enough to get tipsy, forgot about asking for Kimi, and then Jack took her back to his place. It was no great shakes his apartment, but it was ten stories up so you could really see the city. He let Kendall take in the view of the night. “Wow, look at all those lights, Jack! People are really coming back to the city. They’re really coming back.”

Jack agreed. “It seems there are more and more lights every night. Soon it will all be normal again, or whatever counts as normal these days.” He took Kendall by the hand and led her to his bedroom. She went right to the window and peered out at the lights again, her eyes ablaze, as if seeing stars for the first time. Jack sat on the bed still holding her hand, afraid to let go, afraid she would leave him alone; he couldn’t take another night alone. “I want you, Kendall,” he said to her. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“You sure the wife won’t come back?”

“I don’t even think she knows where I live.”

“There’s another thing, Jack. You have to know that I’m damaged goods.”

“What? You’re beautiful.”

Kendall’s eyes went dull. She lost her smile. “Do you know that I was bought and sold two times over? I was another’s legal possession as an adult. Can you even believe that?”

“I believe it because I know the stories are true. I just can’t fathom it because it didn’t happen to me.”

“There’s a chip inside my head to this day. I asked the doctor to take it out but he says he can’t because it might kill me. I told him to go ahead with that but he didn’t think that was so funny. So I have this chip inside my brain. Who knows what it’ll do to me? Who knows what it’s already done?”

“We don’t have to do this, Kendall…if it’s too painful…if you’re not ready.”

“Yes, we do. We do have to do this. I need to do this. Please Jack, I have to feel something besides pain. Hell, I’ll even take the pain. I have to feel something. I just have to. Please, anything. Please.”

He kissed her hand. “Okay.”

Kendall started unbuttoning her blouse. “Could you dim the lights, Jack?”

“I’ll turn them off.”

“I used to love undressing for Hank. He loved it, too. That much I could tell. Now it’s different because I have scars and cuts and other things. I’m a little disfigured you could say. Well, maybe a lot disfigured.”

“It’s all right, Kendall. It’s fine with me. I haven‘t seen a woman in some time.”

“In the dark it’s all right, Jack. In the light I’m Frankenstein. That’s the way it is now. That’s the way it will always be.” Her blouse and bra were gone and then her pants and underwear came down as well. “There, I’m naked,” she said, covering herself the best she could, “and I’m really trying to hold it together here. I’m really trying.”

“Come here.”

“This would be way easier if I didn’t like you, Jack.”

“This won’t be easy for either of us, Kendall. I don’t think it ever will be again. But why don’t we just kiss and this is where we’ll start. We’ll start over again right now.”

Kendal leaned over and they kissed deeply, hungrily, and he felt her scar tissue along her flank. He couldn’t help but feeling scars; they were everywhere. What he could see in the dim light haunted him. On her buttocks was some sort of numerical branding along with deep redness and what looked like serrated whip marks. One of her breasts was seemingly deflated and the nipple was missing as well, the breast covered with stretched and discolored tissue. Her back and legs had similar wounds. Damaged goods? He was shocked that she was alive at all.

Jack pulled Kendall onto the bed then stood up to undress as well. When he was naked she looked up at him, astonished. “What?” he said.

“Please turn around.”

He did as she said. “What?” he repeated.

“My God, you’re like a baby.”

“Hey, that’s not nice. I’m a grown man.”

“No,” Kendall laughed. “It’s just that there’s not a scratch on you. You’re perfect, pristine. How’d you manage that? It‘s like I‘ve won the lottery here.”

“Oh, jeez,” said Jack, joining Kendall down in the bed and nuzzling into her body. “We made it to the underground when all this happened. We made it -- eventually. It was awful, really, but it’s true that I didn’t get a scratch. So many times I considered shooting myself in the foot, the leg, anywhere. But I hear if you get caught as a fake it could go really bad for you. So I’m stuck. I’m just a baby to all of you.”

“Don’t complain and count your blessings.”

“I know, I can’t complain. See, I’m stuck with this pristine baby body.”

“I’ll keep you,” she said to Jack. “You’ll be like a prized butterfly.”

“This isn’t helping me, Kendall.”

“We tried to make it to the underground, Hank and I, but we just came up short, ran out of time. And then, well, it was all over. Eventually Hank couldn’t stand the pain of it all, the ugliness, and retreated into his head. I envied him for this. I wanted to retreat myself but I couldn’t do it. So I heard the screams, watched the disgust, felt the pain, the unbearable pain. Why couldn’t I detach? I wanted to so badly.”

“I think it’s because you’re strong, Kendall. You must be so strong-willed.”

“No, I don’t consider it strength at all. I commanded my body to die when all this happened but it wouldn’t. It’s cowardly. I was afraid to die, completely afraid.”

“There’s no cowardice in wanting to live. You love life, Kendall. You have more to give in this life. That’s what I believe.”

“Okay, stop making me feel better. It’s unnatural. Can we start having sex now?”

“Where do I even start,” said Jack. “It’s been so long and I’m feeling like a teenager again.”

“Listen,” she replied, “I’ve still got a few places that aren’t mangled, that are still in working order. Why don’t you feel around down there and I’ll let you know if you’ve found them.”

Jack did as Kendall instructed and soon stopped being nervous, stopped feeling awkward, and found a rhythm with her movement and her moaning. It felt so good to him, this perfect night with this damaged person. He momentarily forgot about his own damage, his inner damage, his great loss. Oh God, his wife was somewhere out there and his children were never coming back. They’re dead. They’re dead. All he had now was Kendall, this girl he’d just met, this girl he was now fucking. He had to keep her too even if it meant sharing. Jack came inside her because who gives a shit anymore? He said after he withdrew, “What about your children, Kendall? Did you have any children? Do you miss them?”

“No. No children. It was the one thing they couldn’t take away from us. I’m so sorry, Jack. I can see that you’re really hurting.”

“I’m just so damn sad, and I’m happy too. I’m sad about so many things but happy you’re here with me, Kendall. I really am, I‘m thankful to you.”

“I want you to talk to Hank. You’ll come over to our place and talk to Hank. He’s worse off than I am but he’s good to talk to, Jack, and that’s what you need. You’ll like Hank. He’s a good man. Bad things happened to him but he’s a good man. You’ll be fast friends and we’ll build something. Who knows what, but we’ll build something and be people again. I know it. Look at all the lights out there and tell me I‘m wrong.”

“Gosh, I guess we never did figure out if we knew each other before this thing happened,” said Jack to Kendall.

“No,” she replied. “What we are is a new beginning…and I like that.”

The end.

Meet Andy!

And now introducing, Andy the Petulant Squirrel...

Welcome to our new blog!

The Schulte Sector is a new blog that takes a lighthearted look at arts and culture. We will post short stories, comics, literary, movie, and television reviews. We will post pictures of paintings, pictures of squirrels, pictures of turtles, and perhaps a recipe or two. We will have guest posts as well. Please check in to The Schulte Sector from time to time. We hope to see you here!