A Follow-Up Interview, by M. Price

 

           It's getting late in the year for outdoor interviews. It looks like this is going to be a cold and snowy winter. My interviewee can handle weather, but I am only human, and coats and boots only go so far.                               Therefore, dear readers, I preceded this assignment by searching for a cozy venue, where nobody knows your name, and they don’t give a hoot what you look like. This took some footwork. Some people won’t admit a thing in a phone call, or by email. They just dummy up!

             I checked out Darrington and Arlington and Marysville, but I was greeted by disbelief and a certain amount of xenophobia in those outskirts. Rustic bars abounded, but not broad minds.

             My interviewee mentioned that he knew a guy, Maurice, who used to howl with a band, Maurice and the Rippers, who were the house band at a dank little joint on the waterfront in Milltown itself.

            I finally found it. If you didn’t know it was there, you probably wouldn’t see it. On the door was a small wooden sign. Painted white and lettered in black, it said, “Mort’s.”  I believe that was meant as a very dry joke, indeed. There were two factory type windows in the front, way up high. Patrons couldn't see out and passersby couldn't see in. Ideal for my purposes.

            Igor Petrovski, the whole staff at Mort’s, didn’t care who came in there, as long as they had money. I checked to make sure that the tables and chairs were separated, no booth was going to work for this job!
            I told Mr. Petrovski that we would be there the following day. He said, “I can dig it, lady. Whatevs.”
            I drove out to that wide spot on Highway 20, where I usually meet Ralph. I parked and waited. I kept the heater going. It’s cold in December up there!
            Soon, Ralph sort of materialized on the passenger’s side, with that big Raven on his shoulder. Apparently, she was coming along. I could see things skewing a little out of control, but to get my story, I’d go with it.
            “Evermore!” said Maeve, as they climbed into the Escalade. It was a tight fit, as you know. Ralph just grinned and winked. Maybe he was going to let her do the talking!
            In an hour, we were parked behind Mort’s. It was getting dark already. A good thing, too!
            I knocked on the kitchen door, Igor opened it. His eyes bugged a little, but true to his word he didn’t object. We trooped in through the little kitchen into the main room, where Maurice and the Rippers, without Maurice, were setting up for the nightly howl.
            There were five tables, with a lot of mismatched heavy wooden chairs. I thought briefly of bar fights. On each table, was a small jam jar with a candle flickering in it. I chose the table furthest from the Rippers and we sat. Ralph, with Maeve, in the deepest corner of the room, and me facing them.
            “What a dump!” said Maeve. She couldn’t  have seen the movie, could she? See what I mean about out of control?
            “Maeve, darling, it had to be a dump, or they wouldn’t let us in!” I whispered.
            “Shhhhh, birdy,” said Ralph in a voice so low, it was almost inaudible.
            Igor drifted over, and I ordered the local draft, and some fried mozzarella sticks. I was hoping that Maeve would be mostly occupied by eating sticky cheese. I’m not completely green!

            While we waited for the cheese, Ralph said, “so, what’s on your mind Milly?”
            Before I could speak, the Rippers started playing. They are very loud. Nothing we said was going to be overheard!
            Maeve left us. She flew over to the vocalist, yelling “evermore!” at the top of her voice. She perched on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind.  I think he was liking it.
            So, I told Ralph, “a question has come up, and I thought it best to check with you, as you are the only, Forest Man I know, besides your family.
            “The thing is, many media outlets are publishing really awful illustrations of beings such as yourself. Some are just stupid looking. Some look like gorillas. Most of them look mean and dangerous.
            “What I wondered, Ralph, is how do you feel about all this illustrating? I know you don’t allow electronic recording. Is a drawing a different thing, if it’s not a drawing of a specific one, like a portrait?”
            He wasn’t grinning now. “In a way, Milly, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen those things on my phone. Thanks, by the way, for paying for the hook up. Sometimes I watch those Squatch shows. Jeez. Even the best of them get it all haywire. The artwork is so bad that it’s like a distraction from the real me. Maybe in a way, it protects us by misleading the 'researchers' and the curious public.”
            “If an artist, a real one, showed up in your clearing, and wanted to portray you, what would you say?” I asked.
            He giggled and said, “I would just vanish! Vote with my feet, so to speak.”
            The fried cheese arrived. Maeve came back to our table check it out. Ravens like fried cheese!
            “They want to hire me!” crowed Maeve! She marched up and down the table, importantly.
            Ralph rolled  his eyes.
            While Maeve was busy eating cheese sticks, I asked Ralph, “do you feel like something would be taken from you if your portrait was painted, or you were photographed?”
            “Well,” said Ralph, “I don’t think it would steal my soul. I’m not sure anyone thinks that exactly anyhow. That has to be a translation problem. I think it has to do with that modern worry, 'uncanny valley.' It’s just creepy to us. Like, look, there is a tiny me!
            “So, like I said, the bad art is a kind of distraction from the real me! But, that’s true of any portrait isn’t it? I mean, it’s just a clue to a moment in a person’s life, but it can’t encapsulate who and what they are.”
            “Thanks Ralph,” I said. “So, we’ll just kind of let it be?”    
            “Yeah. I think so. No biggie. But, our obscurity is part of our definition. Just the way it’s got to be,” he said.
            The tables started to fill up. The Rippers started to rip through their best numbers. People were noticing Ralph and Maeve.
            “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ll drive you up the highway.”
            “Come on, old girl,” Ralph said to Maeve. She flew to his shoulder and we wandered out through the back past Igor, who was frying something.
            “Thanks, Igor,” I said. “I’ll put in a good word for you in the paper!”
            “Good deal!” said Igor. He threw us a happy thumbs up and went back to frying something.
            Ralph and I chatted about family and stuff on the drive back up into the mountains. Maeve went to sleep on his shoulder.
            “Say, I heard you and Colin made it legal!” said Ralph.
            “Yeah,” I said, “at home I’m Millicent Kelly. Give my love to Ramona, Twigg, Cherry, and the cats!" I said, when I dropped him off at the wide spot on the highway.  

            He vanished in the crazy way he does, I turned the Escalade around and drove on down into town.