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Issue #91

Spring 2025

Directions to the Opera House, Everyone's A Scientist, and Look Here

by Salvatore Difalco

Directions to the Opera House

His head turned so slowly the movement was almost imperceptible. Had I not been watching his left ear closely, I would not have noticed. But I stared and stared at his left ear until my eyes started watering, and then I realized it was moving slowly, slowly toward me. That meant the rest of his face was coming directly into view. I wasn't going to repeat the request for directions to the opera house. The guy had on a black turtleneck which should have put me on guard from the outset. Who wears black turtlenecks? My friend Paula and I were lost and running late. After what felt like a minute, the man faced me and began to part his lips. That also took an agonizingly long time. When he finally managed to speak—in a dry, flaky voice—he said, "I do not know." Either he was new to the city or just a jerk, but I had no reason to continue the conversation. Precious minutes had been squandered. Paula looked at me beseechingly. The singer scheduled to perform at the opera house was one of her favourites. As we walked away, I heard, "Don't go. Please don't go."

***

Everyone's A Scientist

"One way to deal with nightmares is to seize control of them." My friend Peter P was giving me some advice after hearing about my difficulties sleeping at night on account of these nightmares I was having, nightmares I couldn't remember. All I know is that they scared the shit out of me. "Look," he said, with his usual intensity, "when you're in the dream or nightmare or whatever, try to look at your hands." Hm, I thought. I hardly had strong visuals operating in my nightmare. It was a dark and blurry world. "You mean, like this," I said, holding my hands before me and glaring at them. "Okay," he said, "you want my advice or not? Well, quit fucking around, man. If you look at your hands in a dream you can gain control of it and pretty much steer it wherever you want." Peter P had started wearing these German eyeglasses that I found quite aggressive. "Do you think you look good, Peter?" I asked. "What?" he said, lifting his black brows and punctuating the stylish menace. "Take it easy," I said. "I didn't mean anything. They're just different, those glasses." I quickly looked at my hands.

***

Look Here

She threatened to snatch my soul if I did not comply. But perhaps I'd missed something earlier in our interaction and didn't grasp what she meant by complying. And this soul-snatching business, what? That statement took many things for granted. "How do you plan to snatch my soul?" I asked. She had a slight strabismus which caused me to alternate from the straight eye to the wandering one, not really certain which prevailed. "I have my ways," she said. "Okay, let's assume that what you're saying is true," I said, "that you have your ways. How am I to comply with you or with your plan, or what am I complying for? The word loses valence when stretched like that." She smiled. She reminded me of someone from my remote past. "Did you ever live in Hamilton?" I asked. "I'm from Transylvania," she intoned, except her wandering eye was looking at something over my shoulder. When I reflexively turned to see what it was, I saw a dark, plasmic presence there that quickly lifted. "What the fuck was that?' I asked, startled. My tormentor said nothing. She keyed in a number on her cell and waited for a response.

Author Bio

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Salvatore Difalco's work has appeared in print and online. He is the author of five books, including Minotaur and Other Stories (Truth Serum Press). His story "Hip Hip Hooray" appeared in Issue 65 of The Cafe Irreal; "Four Stories" appeared in Issue 68; "The Little Dollhouse Company" and "Gitane" appeared in Issue 70; "Three Stories" in Issue 78; "New Adam" and "King of the Crows" in Issue 85; and "Three Storiesa" in Issue 89.