Bananas

Woody’s eyes were only half open. He was debating closing them and trying to sleep for a few minutes on the bus as it was slowly zipping along – that’s how he explained it to Louie, his drinking buddy: “In rush hour traffic, the bus can’t do better than zipping slowly. But it’s cheaper than driving and paying for parking. And I can get another fifteen minutes sleep. Got a great internal alarm clock. Diiing -ding -ding.” And he’d always make sure to ding a couple of times before slamming his hand down on the table or the bar where they were drinking.

And since the bus was zipping along he saw the white cake box on the curb for less than a second before it disappeared, “erased in the bus wash” was how he put it that very night in Jerry’s Jug.

“I almost got off. You don’t see white cake boxes like that in the Midwest and this one’s there, you know, right after the bus turns west onto Wisconsin Avenue, across from the Tinkertoy.” Woody closed his eyes, ecstatic with childhood memories of Sunday cakes and cookies.

“White cake boxes, it’s a New York thing, white cake boxes double-tied with white string! Some bakeries had the string spindle on the counter, string going up through an eye in the ceiling. It was a white cone of string so it could peel off easily. As a kid, I’d watch the counter guy take the box, pull the string down and around, spinning the box in one hand. Then a flick of the wrist, taking the string through a blade back of the counter, then zip-zip, a bow and double knot. Zip-zip – the boxed tied and ready to go.

“Hey, Louie, think of it. Maybe seeing the cake box brought back all that stuff about zipping and, well, the bus going along.”

Louie frowned and rubbed his midnight whiskers with the back of his hand. Leaning forward he rubbed his dark stubble a couple of more times. “Yeh. Could be. But what about this sound? Some sports car taking off on a gravel drive after a robbery or even murder, huh?”

Woody looked puzzled so he rubbed his whiskers again and added, “Brrm, brrm.”

“Don’t know. We can do another beer, right?”

Woody caught the bartender’s attention and pointed to their empty glasses. “But the point I started to make was about the white cake box. It’s like the one in Bananas, Allen’s flick about the dictator in some South American country. Gee, what year was it…I think early 70s. Funniest bit in the film was when Mellish, played by Allen, goes to visit the dictator and brings along a white box full of cookies or something. You know, I saw Bananas here in the Midwest and I was the only one to laugh. It’s a New York thing – you don’t go to visit anyone without bringing something to eat. Always cake or fancy cookies in that white box. Sort of an in-joke. So there you have it. Fifty years later, a cake box in Milwaukee. Damned if that wasn’t a wake-up call. It got me thinking.”

Louie started to push back from the counter, when Woody said he also got to thinking it was best to have a sixpack on hand. But the bartender had just brought two new beers and a sleeve of salted nuts. “Caught that third finger signal. Going to be a long night, Woody?”

“Yeh, white cake box night, Ted. One for the talks.”

Ted rolled his eyes and groaned appropriately. “Right then. Enjoy.” He beat a hasty retreat, pointing to a couple at the other end of the bar.

Louie snuggled back against the counter and ripped open the package of nuts, pushing most of them in front of his friend. “OK, what were you thinking?”

“More like worrying. You know what with ICE going gangbusters, rendering all those people down to El Salvadore, even some the courts say were illegal and no one stopping the President. Well maybe Trump’s going to do some disappearing shit, you know, dropping people in the ocean or Lake Michigan. So this could be a practice run. And some Mendes-Bendes is dumped in Lake Michigan only he’s got this box of cookies from home he was hoping was his “Get out of Jail Free” card. And when the ICErs find it on the floor of the helicopter they go for a bull’s eye – Mark di Suvero’s 40 foot orange I-beam Tinkertoy at the east end of Wisconsin Avenue. Mark called it The Calling, yeh, and the ICErs said it was calling for Mendes-Bendes.”

Louie chugged half the glass, wiping his lips and then his stubble with the back of his hand again. “Yeh, Woody. Could be. How many Mendes-Bendes do you know, I mean personally?”

“That’s the point. You know, about history. That pastor the Nazis rendered. Guy wrote about coming for the Jews and Gypsies and keeping shtum. And no one said anything. So when they came for him, it was too late.”

“Yeh, but the USA ain’t Germany.”

“Yeh yourself, Lou. Listen up. I get to do a lot of thinking while that bus is zipping its way downtown. Like how the price of everything is going up. Look at eggs if you can even find ‘em. Prices are going to go sky high once them tariffs hit. You’ll need a wheelbarrow to cart in all the bills you’ll need for a night of drinking here at Jerry’s.”

“Ain’t gonna to happen.”

“You think?”

“Yup. Drink up. I’m need my beauty rest – and fuck what I once said about it’s OK to talk about religion, women, and politics if you’re drunk. Maybe the first two, but no politics. Those days are gone forever.”

“OK, Louie. You win, no more politics. I’ll close out the tab. Thanks for listening but…”

“No buts, Woody, no cake boxes – white or any other color, and no more rendering,  though I don’t think that’s the right word. And anyhow, we can’t do diddly-squat about what’s going down.”

Louie tried to leave on an upbeat note. “And what do you think about the Brewers this year? Going to make it to the playoffs?”

“Too early to tell. Be nice though. Be better if they brought back the Fourth of July fireworks downtown.”

Woody held up his hand, turning down his fingers as he counted through the night’s beers. He plunked – something you can still do in the Midwest – some bills down on the counter and covered a corner of the stack with his glass. He nodded to himself and pushed back, motioning for Louie to go ahead of him. When they got to the door, Louie stepped back to let Woody go first. As he passed, Louie conceded, “Be nice to have some popcorn with those fireworks as long as this clown show in DC  keeps running.”

– Kenneth Kapp

Author’s Note: This story was written in response to the “Orders” of the current administration. I was especially upset when information about Jackie Robinson was removed from the Army Website. I met Mr. Robinson when I was a little kid. He bent over to shake my hand — as an equal! I still upset when I think of the lack of respect shown to our “minorities!”