Dr. Midnight and the Golden Rectangle (Short Story)

“Explain it to me,” Fiona said, with her hands on her hips, so terrifying and so sexy Lucas could not believe it. “You bought me my cereal. Thank you. I appreciate that. But you didn’t bother to buy me any milk? What did you think I was going to do with Rice Krispies? Make a sandwich?” 

“You’re right, I messed up, I’m sorry.” He said it so reflexively, it seemed he was watching himself saying it, instead of actually selecting and vocalizing the words on his own.   

“Don’t say I’m right! Just try to listen, to think, to bring some milk to go along with the cereal…”,. Lucas put on his boots and went out the door, careful not to let it slam. 

The night was cool and fresh. He’d always loved the way the air feels just before Halloween. The moon hung low, blazing. Its beauty shook him, cleared his head.  

In high school he was quite the astronomy buff. Even then, he never got  tired of looking up. Lucas liked the idea that whatever the shaved apes were fighting about down here on the ground, the stars looked the same: they kept on shining with the same intensity regardless of who won the election, or whose mother was felled by pericarditis and an unsanitary waiting room. The warning flares the stars sent to the dinosaurs went ignored by the cubicle workers staring into their screens. That night he found the resoluteness of their billion-year-old bonfires inspirational, like a captain going down with his ship, or Gary Cooper in High Noon,  pressing on even after finding out all his friends weren’t his friends at all. 

He took a shortcut through the park at Victoria and King William. The rusty swing set creaked arthritically in the breeze. Years ago he’d slept under the monkey bars, just after getting kicked out of his parents’ house. Time flies. 

 At the north end of the park, the light was red. He waited, and could almost see the 7-11. The light turned green and something funny happened. Lucas didn’t move. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want milk, didn’t want to go home. The light turned red, then green. When it turned red again he turned back toward the park. When he reached what looked like dead center, he lay down on his back, and flapped his arms and legs like a kid making a snow angel. ButLucas wasn’t a kid and there wasn’t any snow.  He got up, brushed himself off, and sat down on a bench.  

It was dark. A stranger in all black approached. Lucas didn’t notice him until he  coughed and started to speak.  

“Spare change?”

“No. Sorry,” Lucas said, and waited for him to leave. But the stranger  didn’t leave. He stood there, staring. 

The man was old, with a crooked nose. It looked like his life had been a rough one.

“Sorry…”      “Five bucks?” “Give me five bucks.” 

“Don’t have it,”“How about you give me five bucks?” 

“That’s right you don’t have five bucks. You have ten. In your jacket. Left pocket.” The old guy wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look particularly hostile, either. 

Lucas shrugged. “You think so?” 

“I know so. Let me see it. I promise you won’t be sorry.” 

Lucas thought about the ten bucks, the milk it was supposed to buy, and Fiona’s Rice Krispies.Lucas gave him the money.

“Okay! Here we go!” The old playfully raised his voice. “You see this? Ordinary ten dollar bill, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Ordinary ten dollar bill.”  

The stranger rolled it up tight, smoothed it out, rolled it up the other way. Then he started ripping it up into tiny pieces. 

“Hey man!” Lucas shouted “What’s your problem?” 

The stranger took a step back, laughing. “Ever hearabout the snake that eats its own tail?” He rubbed his hands together. “Ready?” 

Lucas was confused.“Ready…?” “Ready for what? Yeah, I’m ready…” 

“Hold out your hands.” 

Lucas held out his hands. The stranger opened his. Four intact five dollar bills fell onto Lucas’ palms.  

“Hey,” Lucas said. “That’s pretty good.” 

The man said nothing. His face was blank.  

“How did you do that?”  

Silently, he pulled up his sleeves, showing  his bare arms. 

Lucas inspected the four fives. They looked real enough. “One hundred percent return on my investment. Not bad.”  

“There’s more where that came from,” the old man whispered. 

“No kidding…” 

He said his stage name had been Dr. Midnight. He’d learned magic from a band of monk assassins who lived in a cave in Tibet. After that, he’d traveled the world, thrilling millions. He’d sold escape plans with the Great Houdini himself. He’d spent an afternoon teaching some tricks to fat Elvis; the sequins in his jumpsuit were so dazzling he almost got thrown off his game. He’d played to packed houses on six continents. He’d traded magic tricks with Merlin, with Rasputin. He’d seen the UFO inside Area 51’s Hangar 18.

It didn’t make sense, but Lucas didn’t care. He’d always loved collecting stories from the crazy people who haunted downtown. He just wished he’d brought a pen and a notebook so he could write it all down. “I had a running engagement at The Sands on the Vegas Strip. Got a note one night, from Howard Hughes, saying he loved the act. Never saw him, though. Found this gal for the saw-her-in-half bit, an Ethiopian princess. A contortionist. Could tie herself up like a pretzel, a true marvel. I could say something right now, but I’m a gentleman. Happiest weeks of my life. It was true love, I’m sure of it. Her husband didn’t approve. Tightrope walker, knife thrower, no sense of humor. He drove a hard bargain. I’ll lose a thumb or a pinkie for true love, but you gotta draw the line somewhere. He tried to feed me to the lions, which seemed a bit excessive. Child’s play to say the magic word and make them fall asleep, but I took the hint. Later on, I heard she’d engineered her own sort of quickie divorce from the brute: shot him out of a cannon, loosened to bolts on the safety net. Kaboom, splat. But by then I’d left the business, all the magic had already tiptoed out the back door…”  

Dr. Midnight invited Lucas back to his place. The distance back home suddenly seemed very far away, the details of Fiona’s face grew protean and vague. “Lead on, Dr. Midnight. Show me the hidden knowledge”

After a short walk, Dr. Midnight put a key in a door between a Western Union and a laundromat and ascended the narrow staircase. Lucas said, “I always forget, people live up above all these stores…” 

At the top of the narrow stairs was a narrow hallway. The doors were open, and Lucas couldn’t help peeking in the rooms. In the first room was a shirtless guy sitting in the lotus position, watching Wheel of Fortune. In the next room a skeletal figure was cooking something with a lighter.

“Dude, you live in a shooting gallery? Aren’t you worried about someone taking your stuff?” 

Dr. Midnight shrugged expansively, said, “What is stuff?” and giggled uncontrollably.         

“Yeah, yeah. That’s hilarious. Good one. Anyway, what do I care, plenty of idiots live in mansions…” 

His room was devoid of almost anything in the way of stuff. An antique skin mag, a Hostess fruit pie, a chair, a bed. Whatever artifacts marked out the mystery of Dr. Midnight’s life, they were all in his head, or the occult gestures of his hands.  

Lucas flopped down on the bed. “Ok, Doc. Impress me.” 

What’s it worth to you?” 

“Nothing is what I have, so that’s about what it’s worth to me. I’m just killing time here.” 

Midnight smiled. “I appreciate your honesty. Good enough. What, I wonder, would impress you? Your aura is hard to read. Your inner conflict is shielding your thoughts from me.  Where should I begin?” 

Lucas shook his head. “Nah, forget it. . I’m not your straight man. You’re the expert, you don’t need my help. Just surprise me.” 

“Ok, let’s get started, and see where we’re led.” 

“Fine by me.” 

Dr. Fate got comfortable in his chair, squinted at me. “Ouroboros?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“The snake that eats its own tail. That’s what I thought of when I saw you. It might prove helpful. A way in.” 

“Whatever. You’re the doctor, Dr. Midnight.” 

“I think we need a change in perspective.” The old man did something with his hands and gently, slowly, floated up off his chair, a foot, then three feet, until his head was just a bit below the ceiling. “Bird’s eye view,” he said. “Not just for the birds.” 

Lucas stared. No one likes a cynic, but it was hard not to wonder—if he could do that, why couldn’t he use his magic for something more practical? Shoes without holes, some soap, some dental hygiene…he tried to shut those thoughts out,  and thought of all those Charlie Chaplin movies where the cleverest guy in town is the homeless guy and the bankers and gentry are all idiots; clearly it’s a weird world.  

Midnight moved his hands again and Lucas began to rise up to meet him. There were no feelings of pressure at certain places, like being pulled up by wires. It just felt like floating in heavy water. It felt nice. Then a golden parallelogram appeared in the air between them. Lucas couldn’t look away. On its surface he saw Planet Earth but the focus zoomed until he was sucked inside the floating object, staring down at the town from just below the cloud canopy. Lucas spread his arms, glided down, barely avoiding getting tangled up in the telephone poles and landed, finally, on the roof of his childhood home. In the living room, he found himself, ten years old, sitting next to his dad, staring at the pro wrestling on the TV. The Ultimate Warrior was threatening Hulk Hogan; Hogan was threatening him right back. Lucas settled right in, the couch’s gravity was irresistible. What if this was reality, and the world outside was illusion? Would he be allowed to stay here forever? 

Time passed; it must have. He felt himself becoming rooted to the couch, rooted like a thousand year old redwood. He knew he had to make a decision before it was made for him. 

“Ok, Dr. Midnight! Thanks for the memories, but take me home.”  

He waited but nothing happened. “Midnight! You there?!” He started flapping his arms, hoping he could fly out the way he had flown in, but his limbs were leaden. Panic set it. It took a few minutes to regain control. Then Lucas said, “Please?” When that didn’t work, he picked up the beer bottle on the coffee table and threw it at the TV. It made quite the mess. His father turned and roared, “What did you do?” as his jaw unhinged itself, stretched into a cavernous void. Lucas grabbed the bowl of chips, threw the chips at him, then threw the bowl at the wall. The wall rippled like water. He got up, walked toward the door, passed through some sort of membrane and back into Dr. Midnight’s room in the shooting gallery. Smells of mildew and bleach wafted up from the laundromat. His shirt was soaked with sweat;his eyes were flooded with tears.   

“Dude! What was that about? You call that a magic trick, man? What’s your problem?!” 

Dr. Midnight seemed baffled. “But… it was what you wanted!” 

“No it wasn’t! I never said that!” 

“You don’t get it; it was what you wanted. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have happened. It couldn’t have. The Golden Rectangle is never wrong!” 

Lucas’ throat was painfully dry. He couldn’t stop coughing. Dr. Midnight leaned forward and said, “Here, this cigarette.”

Lucas swatted it away. “Don’t smoke,” he gasped. 

“Doesn’t matter. Just take it. Just touch it, hold it.” 

Midnight wrapped Lucas’ fingers around the cigarette. As they watched,  it grew into a pink rose. The rose split into two roses. The roses kept on multiplying. His arms couldn’t contain them. Lucas wondered if the whole room could contain them. They lost sight of each other, their vision obscured by the riot of blooms.

Lucas brushed the roses out of his way and found himself in a vast rose garden. The sky was so clear, as if it had never been touched by a micron of pollution. Far away in the bottom of a valley there was an impossibly blue lake. A hippo stuck her snout just up above the water line, inhaled noisily.

He had a good idea of where he was but Lucas didn’t even dare to think of the word ‘Eden’ because he didn’t want it all to pop like a soap bubble. The joy pressed so hard on his chest that he started dancing. Eventually he fell asleep on top of the roses, smiling, dreamless.

When he awoke, his head hurt. Dr. Midnight was snoring. His hand was clutching a Heineken. His other hand was in his pants. No sign of the magic show remained except for a stack of dead desiccated flowers. Lucas checked his pockets and found they were empty. He thought about frisking Midnight but decided not to bother. If the old wizard wants ten bucks for a night’s entertainment, it’s still cheaper than a movie. Just forget it.  

Lucas staggered out into the street, baffled, then alarmed. How much time had gone by? Was that really the sun coming up? And still no milk for the Rice Krispies! He started to run, tried to think up a story for Fiona, came up empty. Nothing to do but beg for mercy.  

The front door was locked. Not good. He went around the back, peeled back the screen over the kitchen sink, slid in as stealthily as possible, took his boots off, and walked on the tips of his toes. All the lights were off. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust, his breathing a moment to quiet down.   

The bedroom door was open. Fiona was lying on her side, facing the far wall. Lucas whispered her name but she didn’t move. She was wearing the mammoth cardigan he’d bought her for their first Christmas together. He remembered the first movie they’d ever watched together, and the last one. He wondered what magic word Dr. Midnight would say in this situation. He pricked up his ears, listened to her breathing, and watched the tiny rise and fall of her rib cage. He couldn’t tell if she was really sleeping or just pretending.