Venus' Playpen

        Pagall -Thursday June 12 1975 

       Pagall leaned back in his beloved, worn brown checked recliner- his dear friend. His right pointer finger caressed the burn holes in the fabric that had been created over the decades from his occasional careless smoking. His left hand held a half-finished Camel and his penetrating blue eyes were fixated on the space just above his head. The large, yellow-brown diaphanous smoke rings, newly created, floated aloft to the nicotine-stained white ceiling and dissolved into nothingness. Pagall swiftly snubbed out the cigarette in his handy crystal ashtray while his body entered into a prolonged coughing spasm that sounded like a death rattle. His daughter Ramona was jolted awake from her vigil. She sprinted across the narrow living room and held a glass of water to his lips. 

         Ramona watched in helplessness and then relief as her father's spell gradually passed and he was able to regain control of his bodily autonomy. She tried to assure herself as well as him and said, “You're going to be okay. Was that a bad one? How about something to eat? You'll feel much better if you try my chicken soup and a little toast. “

         Pagall smiled and looked into his daughter's eyes that were a replica of his own. He lied and said, “ I think I'm feeling a little better. How about you giving me my flask of ginger brandy and turning on the TV ? I think there's back to back episodes of “ All in the Family “ and “The Jeffersons.” 

        Ramona pushed back a wisp of her mousy brown hair and said, “ You shouldn't have anything to drink…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at this shell of a man she remembered from childhood being larger than life- so vibrant and talented. “Okay Dad, sounds like a plan, “ she said as she retrieved the silver container from its hiding place in the kitchen. She handed the fancy engraved flask to him, snapped on the TV, and settled into her deceased mother's matching checked recliner. It was in much better condition than its mate. Her father's chair reminded her of her favorite teddy bear from childhood. It was dirty, torn and faded from being loved too much. The pair sat in their usual companionable silence for the next hour while the dialogue and canned laughter from the TV normalized the situation. 

        Ramona made tea for herself and her father just before the late news came on. The coverage of a plane crash, a murder and a stormy weather prediction for the week ahead cast more gloom on their present circumstances. Ramona snapped off the TV and suggested, “Why don't we get you ready for bed?”

         Pagall shook his head “no “ and said, “ I'm more comfortable in the chair. Besides, the latest painting I've been working on takes up half the bedroom.”

        Ramona said, “ I really wish you'd let me see it. You haven't painted anything in a while. I wish I inherited half your talent. “

        Pagall stared at his daughter, who was almost a stranger. She moved out years ago when she dropped out of Siena College and married Patrick. They settled in Vermont and Ramona was a more frequent visitor home when her mother was alive. Pagall felt Ramona blamed him for Laura's premature death from cancer. He refused to give up the cigs and insisted that he alone would pay the price for the addictive habit. 

       Pagall’s gaze shifted from his daughter to look instead at his sole piece of artwork left in his bare bones apartment. It was, of course, a large study of exuberant sunflowers.Their bright sun-yellow petals contrasted with their chocolate brown center single-eyes and their modest clothing of bright green leaves. Their temporary life source of a clear vase that held silvery water failed to diminish the impact of the flowers. The jet-black background only enhanced the floral beauty. His signature of “PAGALL” in bold red script in the right hand corner was their only competition. 

        Pagall pondered on how he wanted to proceed. Indeed, he avoided this conversation forever until now. He said, “Real artists are honest with their work. They throw their heart, soul and every fiber of their being into the canvas. There are no concerns about being successful or gaining critical acclaim. I, however, am a fraud. “

        Ramona protested, “ Everybody loves and appreciates your art ! “

        Pagall held up his left hand to silence her. He said, “I will not make any excuses for my dishonest and safe work.” He grabbed another cigarette from the pack and lit up before he continued. When he saw that he had Ramona's attention, he started again. 

            “I don't take full responsibility for my pathetic life. My experience followed same path as many other boys. I was passionate about baseball and basketball, riding my bike and trying to charm the girls. Pearl Harbor threw all our lives into a tailspin and I shipped out to the Pacific Theater right out of high school. When I was wounded and came back stateside, I was greatly conflicted. Dying in battle seemed preferable than a lifetime of horrible memories of everything I saw and did. I haven't spoken about it to anyone and even blocked these thoughts from my own brain.”

         He squashed his cigarette to a pulp before he continued. 

          “Your mother took great care of me in the hospital. She was plain, steady and was enthusiastic about my sunflower paintings that I worked on during rehab. Laura wouldn't have been my type pre-war, but I had become risk-averse. As you know, she worked the day shift at the hospital while I began working evenings at the Post Office. We were two ships passing in the night and were fine with our mostly superficial but polite existence.”

        Pagall smiled at Ramona and then took a sip of water before he continued. 

          “You were the only inconvenience, although a welcome one, in our relationship. The paintings gave me a creative outlet and a chance to earn extra money. The post-war housing market exploded and housewives were decorating like mad. Pagall was much more exotic sounding than Peter and the sunflowers were a safe, non-judgmental choice to hang on their walls. Our generation often strived to put up a good veneer on the surface of everything, but lived lives of quiet desperation underneath. Never did I  stray from the formula and control of painting these odious flowers.”

         Ramona said, “You always told me you never desired to paint anything else. Van Gogh’s sunflowers were your favorite works of art.”

       Pagall beckoned Ramona over and he took her hand with his yellowed fingers. He said with his voice breaking, “I’ve lived a lie since my young adulthood. My wartime experience, marriage, art career-even my fake pseudonym- have been carefully culled to take out all honesty and emotion. I admire the character of Archie Bunker, who is unafraid and undaunted to speak his mind.”

       Ramona said, “ Archie Bunker is a racist and a bigot. True honesty is not always the best policy.”

        Pagall squeezed his daughter's hand and gave it a kiss. He said, “I do love you but we find ourselves ignorant of each other's thoughts. I appreciate you coming this week to take care of me and glad we could have this frank conversation. I feel unburdened. You must get some rest now.”

         Ramona kissed the top of his bald head and said, “ You are much too hard on yourself. I love you, Dad. “ She headed for the bathroom and then wound her way to the spare bedroom. 

                Friday June 13th - Early AM  

      Pagall smoked a cigarette and gazed at his sunflower painting in the dimly-lit room. He smashed his smoke, rose from his chair and propelled himself on shaky legs to the bathroom. He continued his journey to his closed bedroom door. He turned the handle, entered the room and shut the door behind him.

             Friday June 13th 1975-7AM

        The mid-June sunlight streamed through Ramona's window and woke her from disturbing dreams. She had almost forgotten where she was and bolted out of bed to make her way to her father's recliner. It was empty and she became alarmed. “Dad? Dad?”, she cried as she made her way to his bedroom. Ramona rapped on the door loudly before she pushed her way in. The honest primal scream she never uttered before came out now. “AAAAGGGGHHHH ,” she yelled. 

                      Ramona 

        Ramona's first impulse was to run to her father's dead body on the floor. She was able to check his vital signs from her mother's training, but found none. His blue eyes were open and staring and he had an inscrutable smile on his face. She patted his lifeless arm when her attention was drawn to the huge 5’×6’ canvas balanced against the wall.

                 Dionaea Muscipula 

         The masterpiece had a commanding presence that would demand attention in the poorest hovel or a grand palace. The Venus Flytrap  wasn't as tall or grand as the sunflowers, but the viewer's attraction was immediate. The plant was a profusion of grasshopper -green oblong leaves. Each leaf ended in two hinged lobes-not unlike the structure of a clam. The interior color of each “trap” ranged from a brilliant blood-red to the pinkest bubble gum. Each had a row of thin hair-like yellow teeth - just like the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood.” The better to eat you with, my dear. A painted insect army of bees, flies, ants, beetles, and grasshoppers crawled, flew and trudged from all corners of the painting to make their way to the beauty. It was a wondrous thing and Ramona sat enraptured for a full fifteen minutes before she remembered her father. A barely audible rhythmic drumbeat emanated from the painting. The persistent buzzing and humming of  five hundred flies crawling on the window glass interrupted her reverie. She ran screaming from the room. 

                June 25th- Moving Day 

         The two weeks after Pagall’s death flew by like a whirlwind. He had tried not to be a burden by downsizing long ago and prearranged his wake and funeral. Ramona was gratified to see his death was reported in the local papers as well as his obituary. Complete strangers stood in line to pay their respects. It took three days for Ramona to clean out Pagall’s apartment, with assistance from a trash removal company and goodwill. She spent long hours staring at the Venus Flytrap painting and couldn't remember getting the small bite marks on her legs, neck and arms. Nor did she care. The Venus and Sunflower paintings, Pagall’s flask, and some assorted photos were the only things that went to Vermont. 

                June 26-Hanging Day 

       Ramona measured the wall space behind her and Patrick's bed and lightly drew three x's with a pencil. After pounding two nails in the corresponding spots, she missed the third and the hammer came down on her thumb instead. She yelled, “Son of a …..!” Ramona stuck her skinned finger into her mouth like a petulant toddler and decided it wasn't broken. Patrick came running in from the living room. 

           He asked, “Are you okay? After Ramona nodded, Patrick surveyed the room and red hot anger flushed his cheeks. He sputtered, “ We agreed that we weren't going to put this in the house. It's too disturbing and downright ugly. The sunflowers are fine, but this has to go.”

          It was Ramona's turn to be pissed. She growled, “ My father had great talent and you have the nerve to insult his work. You are a boring accountant who never had an original thought in his life.”

         Patrick shot back, “If you hang that up, I'll be sleeping on the couch !”

           Ramona threw a pillow and blanket at him, which Patrick deftly caught. He slammed the door shut with a huge bang. Ramona triumphantly finished hanging the painting while making small adjustments. She was oblivious to the greedy sucking noises coming from the Venus as it fed on her damaged thumb.  

      Christmas Card - December 24th

        Dear Patrick, 

    I wish you happiness, love and joy during this magical season. Hopefully, you're finding tranquility in your new surroundings. I'm hopeful we can find our way back to each other and put aside all the cruel and hateful things we said to one another over the past few months. I honestly don't remember putting my hands around your throat and biting your neck. I'm grateful you didn't call the police. I've donated The Venus to the Schenectady Public Library two days ago- perhaps you saw the newspaper article? This is my peace offering. I still love you and hope to hear from you soon. Forever Yours, Ramona 

        Donation Day-December 22nd 

      Ramona was thrilled that the library was so eager to accept Pagall’s masterwork when she offered it to them a month ago. Her father would have liked the idea of it being in a publicly accessible place so rich and poor alike could appreciate its beauty. Somehow, Patrick blamed the painting for their marital woes and this sacrifice would be their only chance at being reunited. 

      The outgoing Library Director, Hugh, was leaving in January and was a huge fan of her father's work. He owned several Pagalls himself and gardening was his passion. His first trip post-retirement was an excursion to the Carolinas, where he could study the Venus Flytrap in its natural habitat. He told Ramona the painting would hang in the grand entryway, where all could see it. 

         The incoming Library Director, Martin, had an extensive childhood education background and said Venus would have pride of place in the children's section. There would be coloring and study units so parents and their kids could learn all about this mysterious and bloodthirsty plant. 

         When Ramona was asked to be a tiebreaker as to where it should hang, she couldn't decide. Both positions had merit and she decided the two should duke it out. On the official donation day of the 22nd, both Hugh and Martin had black eyes and scratched faces when they greeted the public and posed for the cameras. The library staff whispered to Ramona there had been terrible fights back and forth all week and each moved Venus multiple times when the other wasn't looking. The patrons had to tell the Library Directors to quiet down. Martin was younger and stronger and Venus hung in the children's section for the dedication. 

                   Post- Dedication 

       The painting was moved multiple times over the next few days after the ceremony. Hugh threatened Martin that he might pull his retirement papers and stay on. Staff threatened to quit and the public started to avoid the library like the plague. The place started to smell like stinky, rotted flesh. 

                      Christmas Day 

           Martin spent Christmas morning with his wife and young family -caught up in the joyous holiday spirit. As the day wore on and the excitement died down, his thoughts turned to Venus. He made an excuse and rushed off to the library. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the painting hanging over the desk in the children's section. Hugh hadn't moved it. He sat down in the chair and laid his head on the desk. As he drifted off, he dreamed of beating hearts and smacking lips. Mercifully, Venus was quick and snapped his head clean off with her powerful jaws and teeth before he knew what was happening. The only sound in the quiet library was a series of satisfied burps. 

                     Christmas Evening 

      Mary, the library clerk, unlocked the door for the police when Martin's family notified them he was missing. None of the party would ever forget the gruesome sight.

                   December 26th 

         National and international media alike descended on Schenectady when word got out of the horrendous murder that left a body without its head. Rumors and theories flew fast and furious and all the library staff was brought in for interrogation. Hugh was the prime suspect, but he had a rock-solid alibi of spending the day with family in Connecticut. Everyone else interviewed was equally fortunate in having a similar Christmas excuse. The library was shut down for several days while it was combed for evidence. Hugh agreed to stay on for a few more months to guide the library through this difficult period. Ramona hoped they would find the killer. 

                     December 29th 

            Hugh walked through the silent library, headed back to Venus. He had been given the all-clear from the police that business could return to normal. He noticed one thing yesterday while he assisted the police in showing them every nook and cranny. He hadn't dared to mention it to them. One of Venus’ traps seemed especially swollen. He neared the painting with caution, armed with a sharp steak knife in his right hand. Hugh sliced through the closed pod and it let out a horrible scream. It opened long enough for Hugh to see Martin's bright green eyes staring lifelessly at him before the trap snapped shut again. He knew from his botany studies that swallowed objects took days to digest. Hugh made several stabbing motions when more traps lunged for him. He connected and the wailing from Venus was horrendous. Hugh ran to the exit and hurriedly locked the door. 

                     Hugh's Return 

         Hugh returned to the library an hour later. This time, he was dressed in protective overalls and was wearing goggles. He carried a huge pump sprayer loaded with glyphosate, the most potent weed killer of all. Hugh showed no hesitation as Venus cowered in fear. He blasted her full force as she screamed and her leaves withered and fell to the floor. He turned his back on the painting with a smug smile on his face. He did a great deed. 

                        January 1st 

           The buds from Venus jumped and wiggled in the bug-enhanced nutrient rich soil in the dirt basement of the library. Their planting was one of Martin's last acts.1976 was going to be a good year.