Ten days.., it’s been ten days and counting since I’ve slept. Ten days that seem like an eternity. An eternity filled with unreal wisps of disjointed memories and thoughts. I can’t keep them straight, I’m beginning to lose blocks of time. I’m in one place then without warning or remembering how I get there, I’m someplace else.
“Morning Arthur. Arthur.., Arthur, is everything alright?”
I looked up to see Marcel’s long lean silhouette outlined by the morning sunlight behind him. A golden star seemed to accentuate the top left corner of his head where the sun shone brightest as it’s rays outstretched beneath the burgundy awning. I could see the oak trees that lined the center of St. Charles Ave along the streetcar line.
“Yes sir Marcel.”
“You sure? You seem a little off today.”
“I just haven’t been able to sleep lately that’s all.”
“I had a feeling it was something like dat. You usually greet people with that big ole smile of yours.”
“Yes sir, I do like to smile at folks.” Just saying that made a grin come across my face.
“There it is! Yes sir, dat smile brighten up a gloomy day, I guarantee.”
Marcel has a way of just making folks feel good, no matter what. I guess that’s why he’s the manager here at the Pontchartrain. He and his family have been here since it opened. It wouldn’t be the Pontchartrain without a Trudeaux. Some say he’s the great grandson of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of New Orleans herself. But if you ask him he just smiles, his pencil mustache outlining his lip, ‘Don’t ya’ll believe everything ya’ll hear now’ his creole accent drawing out every word. ‘It be a great big world out there, with a lot more interesting stories than ole Marcel Trudeaux’.
Marcel looked at me and cocked his head slightly to one side, “You been the doorman here for what, ten years now?”
“Almost twelve.”
“My how the time does fly ‘round here.”
Marcel walked to the door and turned before entering. “I don’t sleep too good sometimes myself. Everything be alright Arthur, it’s just that natural progression of things, you’ll see.”
His words seemed hollow. Like someone talking in a dream. I don’t understand. What did he mean? Even simple conversations are getting twisted, unintelligible. This can’t go on much longer, please tell me it can’t go on much longer!
He walked through the door, “We take care of our own here at the Pontchartrain”.
The damp street glistens in the street lights as the cars pass disrupting the reflection of the surrounding buildings. The sound of tires moving along a wet street seems almost hypnotic. It sounds like water crashing on a shore, it’s comforting. Maybe if I listen to it long enough it’ll lull me to sleep.., wait, how did I get here. It’s dark, where did the day go?
The sound of the car horn jolted me back to the present. I had wandered out into the street. In front of me a dog was barking, I guess warning me what I’d done.
“Thanks boy!”
I reached down to pet him but he darted off looking back briefly before running up the street. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Don’t trust a stranger, especially one that walks out in traffic.”
The night was still tonight. Even my footsteps seemed light as I walked. Time to get something to eat. Paulie owned the little restaurant a couple blocks away. It didn’t really have a name and for years everyone in the neighborhood asked him when he was going to name it.
He just said, “When I come up with a name that I like, I’ll name it. It doesn’t stop me from having the best gumbo in the Garden District.”
Paulie was right about that. Everyone ate there when he made his Sunday gumbo. I opened the door and went inside.
“Where am I?” This isn’t Paulie’s. I turned to the door that I just walked through. I must have walked into the wrong building somehow.
“Hello Arthur.”
I looked over my shoulder to see an older man in a white lab coat. His bushy eyebrows protruded over the top of his wire rimmed glasses. “Dr. Jowell?”
“Have a seat on the table. Now let’s take a look at you.”
Dr. Jowell was my doctor when I was a kid. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. How did I get in his office? It’s exactly as I remember it. The painting of the clown holding a balloon, the jar of soft peppermints, even the glass door drug cabinet in the corner.
“You’re concerned because you haven’t been sleeping.”
“Yes, how did. How did you know?” He looked at me with that subtle smirk that seemed to say you just told me, or I’m a doctor I know these things.
“Have you been losing time? Not able to remember how you got someplace, even here perhaps?”
“Yes, I thought I was walking into Paulie’s!”
“Do you remember what you did today?”
“No, I can only remember parts of today. Like earlier today, I was at the hotel, it was mid morning and I was talking to Marcel, then the next thing I remember it was night and I was walking down the street to get something to eat, and now I’m here.”
“That’s natural. Losing time, not being able to remember a portion of your day, you’re one place then suddenly someplace else and you don’t know how you got there.”
“It’s natural?”
“Yes.” He stopped writing in the chart and put it on the counter by the peppermints. “By the way how is Marcel these days?”
“What?” The question caught me off guard. How did he know Marcel? “He’s uh, he’s good, same ole Marcel.”
He picked up the jar of peppermints, took off the lid, and held the jar for me to take one.
“You’re going to start seeing things that may seem unbelievable, but don’t worry. My guess this will only last maybe one more day.”
I reached for the jar to get a peppermint. “Wait a minute, how is this possible? How am I talking to you?”
“You’ve gone longer than most”, He said with a faint laugh.
“No, no, no no no. You died when I was a kid, I remember going to your funeral. The entire Garden District went to your funeral. You committed…” The words stuck in my throat like there was a fist holding them back.
“Suicide Arthur, that’s the word you’re stumbling over.” He crossed his hands in front of himself waiting for me to say something.
“Doc I didn’t mean to” I stammered.
“I know you didn’t Arthur.”
“My Daddy would’ve beat me if I told him I’d stole the drugs from your cabinet when you left the room.”
“So you told him I gave them to you?”
“I thought that it would be alright. You give drugs to everyone.”
“Only to make people better. Those drugs were different, those drugs hurt people when you gave them out.”
“I didn’t know everyone would turn on you like that. I didn’t know they would arrest you.”
“What did you think they’d do Arthur? Did you think they’d just forget about the three kids that died? They were people’s children Arthur.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t think anyone would get hurt.”
He stood there looking at me. It felt like he was looking through me, looking for answers I didn’t have. “How could you, you were only a kid. A scared kid that had gotten into a lie too deep and didn’t know how to get out.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want anyone to die! I didn’t want you to die!”
I stumbled through the door and down the hall. I’ve got to get out of here, this isn’t happening. I burst through the office door onto the street.
“That’s ok Arthur, I forgive you.”
Outside the sun was shining through the trees creating shadows that danced on the pavement. It’s morning. Day eleven, how did the night pass so quickly? Where am I?
The gathering crowd murmured their speculation on what was happening. I was hearing someone say it was a murder, a home invasion that went wrong. Others were saying it was a drug overdose. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my downstairs neighbor. He was telling a small group of people that he knew the guy. Before I could go over to ask him what was going on I heard a voice behind me.
“Morning Arthur.”
I turned to see who called out. “Marcel, what are you doing here?” He walked up beside me. He was carrying something wrapped in brown paper. A flat square package was tucked underneath his arm.
“I came to see you”, he said. His face had a warm look to it, I can’t really explain it, it almost glowed.
“Me? Why? Why am I here?”
“That’s your apartment building” pointing to the tan three story building that seemed to be the interest of everyone on the street.
“Yeah, it is.” There was a coroner’s van and police car in front of the building. Strange that I hadn’t noticed them until now. At the bottom of the stairs I saw Remy. Remy Dupree was a detective here in the Garden District. He and Marcel grew up here and had known each other since they were boys. Remy saw Marcel and waved him over.
“What you doin out here Marcel?”
“I came to see a friend.”
“A friend? Arthur LaPierre?”
“Uh huh.”
“Dats what I’m afraid of.”
What do you mean that’s what you’re afraid of? “Marcel, what’s he talking about?” Marcel just looked at me and smiled softly.
“We done figured he been dead about ten or eleven day now, ”Remy said while writing in his notepad.
What! What does he mean dead? Who’s dead! Marcel, who’s he talking about Marcel!
The sound of a squeaky wheel proceeded the gurney through the front door of the building. The covered form tied by straps across the legs and chest gave me an uneasy feeling. It looked too familiar. As the attendants rolled it to the van they stopped in front of Remy and Marcel. Remy pulled the cover back. I didn’t want to look.
“Dis him?”
“Yes sir Remy. Dats Arthur LaPierre. You know he was the doorman at the Pontchartrain for twelve years”
No, no, I’m Arthur. I’m Arthur LaPierre!
Marcel looked at me out of the corner of his eye and placed his hand on my wrist.
I’m not dead Marcel I can feel you touching me Marcel! Marcel I can feel you touching me! Me, Arthur! I’m right here.
Remy looked to the attendants, “What ya’ll think the cause of death be?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like an accidental drug overdose. He was in his bed, looks like he died in his sleep.”, said the attendant at the front of the gurney. “The landlord found him when he got complaints about the smell and called it in.”
“Alright, take him on off.”
Remy turned to Marcel, “I’m curious old friend, why didn’t you think to come by earlier? Check up on your doorman, I mean it’s been what, eleven days?”
“Remy, you of all people know I can’t interfere in the natural progression of things.”
“Yep, I surely do, I surely do.” Remy turned and walked to his car.
“Besides, the Pontchartrain.,”
“Takes care of its own, right? I know Marcel, I know.” Remy waved getting into his car.
As Marcel headed down the street I caught up. “Marcel? What’s going on Marcel?”
“Like I said Arthur. It’s the natural progression of things. From beginning to end it’s a circle. And your circle is complete.” He took the package out from under his arm.
“What you got there Marcel?”
“It’s you Arthur.” He began to unwrap the package. Tearing the brown paper revealing a painting of me holding the door open with a smile on my face. “You always had that big smile Arthur.” He turned and held the painting up. In an instant we were in the hotel standing in front of the wall of souls. The wall of souls is a shrine of sorts, it’s covered with paintings of previous honored guests and members of the hotel that have passed on. There was a single empty spot in the middle of the wall. “You get the center of the wall Arthur, where everybody can see that smile.” He gently hung the painting in that spot. “Your eleven days are up Arthur.”
“Eleven days, I don’t understand.”
“Everyone gets eleven days to reconcile with life. Right any wrongs or fulfill anything left unfulfilled in this life. You’ve reconciled what you needed to in this life Arthur, righted your wrong. Now, it’s time for you to find out what lies beyond for you. Time for you to start a new circle.”
I don’t know what I expected. The sky to open up with a heavenly chorus of angels singing or something. But there was nothing like that. Just a calm, an overwhelming calm that let me know that everything was as it should be. I was about to start over, with what I didn’t know. But that’s the natural progression of things.