The Rattler

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people. Each time it was different. But the story didn’t matter so much to me. All I really cared about was the ending. And the ending was the same every time. My sister was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

The first time I saw The Rattler, I didn’t think much of him. We had just walked into the Spinning Wheel and I was taking off my coat. Ellen was commenting on how lively the place was and I was looking around and I saw him there. He was sitting by the bar, leaning low on his elbow. Looking back over his shoulder at the band. He had on an old fashioned, light grey suit, like the kind you’d see in photos from the 30’s, or the 40’s. He looked out of place, but like he’d been there for a while.

Ellen went to the bar and got us a couple of drinks. I wasn’t supposed to be drinking, on account of my age, so I sat quiet in the corner. Ellen stepped and arced through the crowd unaware of the effect she had on the room. Heads turned. Eyes lit up. Salutes. Her name rising up over the noise of the music and the talking. In her stride, she responded. A nod, a grimace, a laugh, a brief pause for a few words of conspiracy. Then she was sitting beside me issuing instructions and chastising me about my boots.

“Those boots are useless for dancing.”

“I’m not in the mood for dancing.”

“You’re never in the mood for dancing.”

“Well, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You should dance more.”

Peggy came in then and joined us. She was around the same age as Ellen. About 19, or 20. I sat there and listened to them talk about girl stuff for a while. Then Ellen downed the end of her drink and stood dramatically.

“It is time,” she said.

Peggy nodded, took a quick drink and pushed back her chair. Ellen held out her hand to me and looked me in the eye, entreating me. I smiled a thin smile and shook my head. She made a sad face, then turned to the dance floor with Peggy.

I sat there on my own for a while, sipping my drink and watching people. After maybe three, or four songs, I got up and moved closer to the dancers, so I could better hear the music and see what was happening. There was a crowd there. I spotted Ellen and Peggy near the stage. Peggy was going like a dynamo. All twirls and swings, but measured, balanced. From time to time, she touched another dancer. With the palm of her hand. A quick firm pressure. Then away again in a whirl. Ellen was a small brown sun, her easy movement warming the space around her. Brushing hips and shoulders. Melting past clusters of muscle and sweat.

Then that woman with the lopsided hat, I think she was one of the Reilly’s. She slipped and fell and then he was there beside me. I felt his breath in my ear and I smelt him.

“She’ll have a nasty cut,” he said.

I’ll never forget that smell. A clot of leaves in a stagnant pool. Faintly soured milk. The sweet trace of fresh urine. Whiskey on his breath.

The way some told it, he came out of the ground. Spat out by the earth itself. Too unwholesome for it to contain. Others said he was an angel. That he had come to take Ellen back to heaven. Well, I’m no student of the divine, but I don’t think angels smell like that. Then there were those that had it he was a friend of Ellen’s from college. That there had been some beef over a girlfriend of hers. Peggy said that was all rubbish, that she’d talked to Ellen’s college friends and they’d never heard of him. Later on, I heard that he was nobility. A prince. That he had charmed Ellen and offered her a life of ease and luxury. Those people just plain didn’t know Ellen.

But, like I said. No matter what way, the end is the same.

He took a short fit of coughing as they helped the lady who had fallen back onto her feet. A dry coughing, like someone was rattling dice, down in his lungs.

“So which one is your sister,” he smiled at me. I didn’t really want to talk to him. Even at the time, there was something about him I didn’t like. But it would have been rude to say nothing. I smiled a weak smile.

“That’s her in the…”

“No,” he interrupted, “Let me guess.” He raised his head some as he surveyed the dance floor. “Her,” he said, throwing a hand towards Peggy. He raised an eyebrow and looked at me.

“No,” I said.

“Ah, the other one then,” he smiled.

I winced a bit. Confused. How did he know I was here with my sister? He must have seen us come in. I turned back to look at the table where we had been sitting. When I turned around again, he was moving through the crowd, onto the floor, holding out his hand to Ellen. She took his hand confidently, levelling her gaze at him, assessing him. He smiled at her and leaned forward, whispered something to her. Then he stood back again at arms length, regarding her. Satisfied. Ellen looked down, away, to the side. Her eyes flitting around. A frown crossed her face. She looked unsure of herself. She looked back to the Rattler. Uncertain. He smiled and nodded. He leaned in and whispered to her again. This time, she nodded too. And then they danced.

I gotta tell you, the Rattler, he could move. He slid and shuffled and shifted. He and Ellen, hand in hand, drawing her close, then pushing her away. He led and Ellen tried keep up. And then they were in front of the stage, coiling and uncoiling from each other. Ellen looked weary. I’d never seen her look like that before. Compelled. Restricted. The Rattler smiled and moved. Always ahead of where he might comfortably be. The music grew in volume and tempo and people stood out of their way. People were stopping to watch them dance.

The Rattler smiled and danced. Ellen worked.

I heard glass break and a roar. Behind me a table was upturned and Lou Collins, a red, broad-faced man in an immaculate white shirt, was launching himself at Lar Fahey. Lar was still in a seated position and stayed that way and barely saw it coming. Lou landed in a couple of fast neat punches before he was pulled away. He remained furious, kicking the seat and screaming to be released. A pair of bouncers came and grappled him to the ground. Lar, bloody and dazed, was helped to the bathroom. Lou’s girlfriend Joanne tore her nails across of one bouncer’s foreheads and both she and Lou, were dragged outside. I glanced back to see what Ellen was making of all the commotion.

But she wasn’t there.

That was four years ago.

My folks took it pretty hard. Like people say, it’s the not knowing. We hear bits and pieces every so now and then, but nothing you could really count on. One of the ladies who works in the hospital with my mother thinks she saw Ellen in Venice last Autumn. Selling tickets for the gondolas. We put the word about, but a few people we know have been and gone from Venice since and no one’s seen Ellen there.

Me. It’s The Rattler I’m looking to find. He’s out there somewhere. I reckon he must be good and used to covering his tracks. Smooth operator like him.

But sooner, or later, everyone makes mistakes.

 

 

The Rattler © 2017 Fergus Deffely