The Miracle Man

                                                The Miracle Man
                                              J.  Arthur Goodwin

                                    Preface: The Essence of a Miracle

    What is a miracle? Once I saw two Indians whispering to each other in front of a campfire and I thought, “This could be a miracle.” But then on the train ride back to Santa Fe I knew in my heart that it was not. I was sad, so to cheer myself up I ate salted peanuts and made small talk with the woman sitting next to me. She let me use some of her hand lotion and for a split second I thought that I might be a homosexual.


                                                The Miracle Man

    Hannah Colarusso was in the middle of taking a bath when the telephone rang. It sounded like a legendary dragon climbing on the rocks. Hannah rose from the tub and stood there, silent and strong, like a black man’s clenched fist at a freedom rally. Hannah did not want to answer the phone. She wouldn’t answer the phone. Scholars would later argue that she couldn’t answer the phone. Little did Hannah know that it was her husband calling for her. He wanted to tell her that he had to stay late at the office and that he would not be able to attend the gala. The gala, which was being held at the old armory downtown, was being thrown to celebrate a blind man who inexplicably regained his vision. They called him the Miracle Man.


    Hannah was playing a game of chance by not answering that phone and she knew it. She eased back into the tub, feeling the water rush over her body like brutal, cocaine lava. The phone rang again, this time with a stupid kind of urgency. The phone went on and on, like fireworks at a county fair, and Hannah did her best to ignore it. This time it was not her husband. It was a terrorist; the brother of a man Hannah had killed in a gunfight at a nuclear power plant three years ago (It should be noted that Hannah was a cop and a damn fine one at that). The terrorist was calling from a payphone and wearing XRAY glasses. He left this cryptic message: “Hannah, my name is Jeff. I am a Russian terrorist and I’m so pissed off. You killed my brother in a nuclear power plant three years ago. I heard you’re going to that gala tonight. I will be there and I am bringing a bomb and I’m going to kill you. Goodbye.”

    Hannah never heard the message. Her life was about to change forever.

                                                        ****

    Later that night, the armory buzzed with trendy party goers eager to celebrate the living, breathing phenomenon that was the Miracle Man. Young ladies walked up and down the marble stair cases holding glasses of sparkling yaterra in one hand while shooing away butterflies with the other. The men stood in clusters, leaning on golden railings, smoking cigars and exhaling towards the flags which hung from the rafters. There was a band playing; the Carl Johngrow band.

    The Miracle Man was sitting at the end of a very long table eating grapes. He was enjoying the soft, easy jazz that the Carl Johngrow band played with such panache and flare. Yet, despite his overall enjoyment of the group, he was made wary by the suspicious saxophone player who sported XRAY glasses. It was the terrorist! This is where things get interesting.

    The Carl Johngrow band was a last minute addition. The original band, The Boom Blue Knights, died in a mysterious plane crash the week before the gala was to be held. Their plane was found in the Himalayas but their bodies were never recovered.

    Hannah arrived at the gala at approximately 9 o’clock. She spotted the Clark County Police Chief (her boss) standing by the steel statue of Colonel Babcock. The chief’s bushy eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth curled into a frown. He had a fear festering inside of his soul that he couldn’t place. Perhaps it was the fear that grips all men - the fear of being chained to a wall in a wine cellar by a man who carries a grudge against you that is never explained. This begrudged madman then proceeds to seal you off by constructing a brick wall. Now within this fear you’ll temporarily find relief in the notion that you’ll befriend a talking rat that will bring you little bits of cheese, but then you’ll realize that probably won’t happen.

    Hannah plucked a tall, thin glass of sparkling yaterra off of a waiter’s tray and made her way over to the chief. The chief met eyes with her and put down the pussycat he was holding. They exchanged hellos and the chief lit up a clove cigarette. The chief wanted to tell Hannah that she looked beautiful but never got the fuckin’ chance. For just as he was about to open his mouth a solitary gunshot rang out. It would later be called, “The shot nobody cared about.” Everyone hit the floor. Some hid under tables, others had escaped through the back. During the commotion Hannah had tripped on a banana peel and bumped her head. When she came to her senses she scanned the room for the shooter. But before she could locate the shooter she saw something that made her sick to her stomach. It scared her more than any Freddy Kreuger movie ever had. The chief was lying on his back, holding his side which was oozing blood. He had been shot! Hannah rushed to the chief’s side and gave him a good shake. It was such a good shake. But it was no use. The chief was dead meat. He could hear sweet Hannah’s voice calling out to him but he couldn’t see her. He was… he was BLIND. Like the Miracle Man had been. Isn’t that weird how now the chief is blind and the miracle man USED to be blind. Do you think it means anything? Well, it doesn’t mean anything. Like, nothing at all.

    Then a shadowy figure emerged from the smoke. It was the terrorist. He laughed while loosening his silver tie. This was it. The culmination. The pool of ink was becoming a sentence and that sentence was becoming a death note. The terrorist was about to deliver his masterpiece. He spoke. “You killed my brother, Hannah Colarusso! You killed him in that nuclear power plant all those years ago. I vowed that I would avenge him and now, finally, my moment has come. It’s a real shame about your police chief there. To be completely honest I was totally aiming for you. I guess I shouldn’t have smoked that huge blunt earlier. My aim is a little off. But I think I’ll do fine at close range. Kiss your ass goodbye!” The terrorist drew his pistol and aimed it at Hannah’s mildly attractive face. Her life flashed before her eyes. She thought back to many things. Among them was the red telephone in her father’s work shop.

    To make matters worse, for some weird reason the chief’s eyeballs had popped out of his head and his nose had fallen off. It was really gross and stupid. It should also be mentioned that the Miracle Man was really pissed off about all of this. His whole life he had been blind and then, inexplicably, he had regained his vision. This gala was to be a celebration of his miracle but some shady terrorist had ruined it.

    “Hey terrorist!” the Miracle Man shouted from the other end of the armory. “Do me a favor and tell your brother that I said he’s a faggot and that nobody cares about his real corny death.” The Miracle Man whipped a gun out from underneath his sport coat and shot at a kerosene tank that the terrorist was standing next to and it blew up, killing the terrorist. His body exploded and blood and guts got all over the curtains and the ice sculpture. This was one hell of a night. A newspaper boy was there and got the whole story on video tape. He was young and aspired to work for the Baltimore Gazette. This would be his big story. His big break. His good time. He was the dude-meister, The Good Sinner.

    Hannah sat on the floor holding the chief’s limp, grotesque head in her arms. “The chief is gone…” she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek. She felt like a nurse who had just lost her favorite doctor. “But…you saved my life The Miracle Man and I can never repay you. I am forever in your debt…”

    The Miracle Man smiled and then replied. “You know what the most amazing part about all this is, my dear? I never regained my vision. I’m still blind.”

                                                    THE END.
                                                  Goodwin ‘08