Human for a Day by Martin Greenberg

Author:Martin Greenberg
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2011-11-02T22:00:00+00:00

BAND OF BRONZE

Jean Rabe

“Thou knotty-pated execrable wretch!”

I watched Bill grab the purse snatcher by the wrist, his iron grip snapping bones and causing the thief to howl in pain and drop his foul-gotten gains.

“Thou warped elf-skinned puttock!” Bill continued, as he twisted the snatcher’s limb backward and—I’m guessing accidentally—cracked the snatcher’s ulna. The thief howled louder and Bill had to shout to be heard above the wail. “Thou churlish fool-born malt-worm ! Thou—”

“Enough with the Elizabethan curses, Bill.” I nudged his foot with mine. “He gets the message. He shouldn’t’ve pinched the dame’s pocketbook. I bet if you break his other arm, he’ll never pinch anything again.” Somewhat to my surprise, Bill did just that, and the snatcher mercifully collapsed into unconsciousness.

The throng that had gathered on this warm summer day—the young lady whose purse had just been rescued, a scattering of tourists snapping pictures, businessmen on their lunch break, a homeless gent stinking to that proverbial high-heaven, and a trio of daycare workers herding a flock of toddlers—broke into applause.

“Let’s get out of here, Bill, before the cops show up.”

He returned the purse with a flourish, bowing and kissing the woman’s hand.

She grinned coyly.

“The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,” he said.

She cocked her head, not understanding.

“Othello,” Bill supplied. “Act I, scene III. The robbed that—”

“C’mon, Bill, we gotta go.”

Bill reluctantly followed me, as did One-from-Seven and an ugly duck. We cut down a bike trail into a more heavily wooded section thick with lofty pin oaks, where everything seemed oddly quiet. I loved this part of the park, not far from Belevedere Castle. I couldn’t smell Manhattan’s pollution here, too far from the cars belching exhaust, but I could detect a trace of manure, a by-product of the popular carriage rides. And when the wind shifted, like it was doing now, there were scents supplied by the hot dog carts and churro vendors, and let’s not forget the hint of burning salt from the pretzel hawkers.

Bill was spouting again. Distracted, I’d missed the first bit. “. . . villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars—”

“What?” I stared up into his unblinking eyes.

“From King Lear,” he said.

“Great. Remind me never to animate you again. Ever.” So maybe this year I didn’t choose wisely. Maybe this year my moniker fit. This year I picked Bill—William Shakespeare. Coaxed him down from his stone pedestal southeast of Sheep’s Meadow. Heard he’d been up there since 1864, and paid for by money raised from a benefit performance of his play Julius Caesar. He’d been sculpted by John Quincy Adams Ward. There were three other pieces by Ward in Central Park. I should’ve picked one of them, but I’d thought Bill was dressed interestingly enough to share my company, though a little out-of-date. Should’ve realized his speech would be out-of-date, too. At least he spoke some form of English.

With us was One-from-Seven. I don’t know what else to call him, as he won’t tell me his name .

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.