On Return to Highway 61

 On Return to Highway 61

Oh, God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"

Abe said, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"

God said, "No" Abe say, "What?"

God say, "You can do what you want, Abe, but

The next time you see me comin', you better run"

Well, Abe said, "Where d'you want this killin' done?"

God said, "Out on Highway 61”

         -Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited

It is never truly quiet. There is always sound coming from something, whether it be an air conditioner, clock, crickets, or cars passing outside. Noise is inescapable. However true silence is not impossible. For example, most recently silence existed in an office just outside Chicago. It was an office that was last decorated in the 1950s. In it there was a large desk, which almost filled the room, and a faded leather chair. On the desk there was an inkwell, black quill, telephone, name plate, lamp, and papers scattered about. On the chair sat a man who according to the name plate was named Jonathan Alighieri.

Jon Alighieri was a peculiar man. He thought himself to be a thanatologist while everyone else called him a funeral director. He came from a long line of undertakers or, depending on your view, the cleanup crew for the mob. Jon was a thin man with jet black hair and a suit to match it. His brother had just died.

The silence was broken when Jon began to write with the confidence of someone who has done this a million times but with the unease of someone who never got this close. “My brother,” he started, “was nobody’s hero. He was a first class grifter, con, and thief.” Jon paused. With a groan he balled up the paper and threw it away.

Starting again he wrote, “Whenever I think of Frank I think of a story he once told me. He was doing a con that he had ran a thousand times with his partner Charlie. In the con Frank went to a real swanky restaurant and posed as a violinist. After his meal he would act like he had forgotten his wallet and needed to go get cash. As collateral he would leave the owner of the restaurant his violin, saying that it was in his family for generations. After he left, Charlie would ‘happen’ to see the violin and ask for a closer look, explaining that he is a rare instrument dealer. On closer inspection Charlie would become extremely excited, saying that it was an original Stradivarius and worth a mortgage. Saying that he had to leave and catch a train Charlie would leave the man his card asking for it to be given to its owner. Once Frank came back with money the owner already has it decided that he is going to make an offer, trying to buy the violin for five or six hundred dollars. Unwillingly frank would always accept. After splitting the money with Charlie, they drove away with a trunk full of fifty dollar violins. He and Charlie ran that con until last October when Frank’s trunk was empty and they took their separate ways.

It was fall so Frank decided to head south for the winter. Specifically, he decided to go down to New Orleans. Frank had a talent for driving very long stretches without needing sleep, as it was often an occupational hazard for him to stay in one place for any stretch of time. On his Southward drive he found himself stopping at a diner on Route 61.

The place was taken right out of a country song from the sixties, a slice of Americana. Frank sat at the counter between a thick bearded fat man who wore a flannel shirt and a man that had more than a passing resemblance to Clint Eastwood, duster and all. Frank ordered black coffee and pancakes. The man in the duster introduced himself with a southern drawl as Nick.

As both were natural conversationalists, they started up a conversation, naturally. After a while Nick asked Frank what he desired. Being who he was, Frank answered as you might expect. In response, Nick promised all of those animalistic delights and more. In return all he needed was Frank’s soul. Now, Frank had stopped going to church as soon as he left home as a teenager and never believed in any of it, anyhow, so laughing he shook Nick’s hand. Frank told me that story about a month ago and that was the last time I saw him. I keep thinking back to this because it sums up Frank’s personality so well. He was flawed but we loved him. But I also can’t help wondering who Frank sold his soul to, and what they intended to do with it.”

Jon put down his quill and softly said “that will do.”  

Years after the funeral, when grass grew over his brother’s grave Jon went down to New Orleans to receive the body of an old women’s son who died of alcohol poisoning. Unlike his brother, Jon drove slow, stopping often to sleep on long journeys such as this. Along his way he pulled off for dinner at a diner that was open 24 hours. Jon decided to sit at the counter and next to him sat a man that looked like how you would imagine an old west gunslinger. They got into an awkward conversation.

Near the end of Jon’s meal the man asked, “What do you desire?”