The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Seventy-Seven
Play Me the Blues, Roux
Noodlemantra
returned to Dean’s table, placing the bagged letter inside a
leather carrier, zipping it shut and placing it on the top shelf of
the cart. He was trying to stay composed after the fiasco with Sands
and the BonBon incident.
He did so wish that all the weapons
would just disappear. He didn’t know if he could handle another
heated situation like that. After all, he only made deliveries and
pick ups. It wasn’t in his nature to deal with armed, angry men.
As he was beginning to leave, a snipping sound caught his
attention. He turned to see Edward standing behind him, a brown paper
wrapped box balanced precariously on one set of shear-hands.
“Could
you?” he whispered to ON. “Could you deliver this? I am
finished.”
Noodlemantra took the package. He nodded. “Yes,
yes of course.” he told Edward. It was a rare moment to have Edward
ask a favor. He checked the address.
“I’ll see that she
gets it. I am sure she will be proud of your work.”
Edward
gave a slight smile. He then backed away, shyly, as if he had
intruded on Noodlemantra’s time.
“You might like to know,
Edward,” Noodlemantra brought the timid man’s attention back to
him. “That perhaps sometime next year there might be someone in
your league…I mean someone you can relate to…someone that will
have lead a different kind of life…you know what I mean?”
Edward looked down at the floor, then lifted his eyes up to
ON.
“Will he look like me?” Edward inquired.
ON
shook his head. “No, not quite. I’m sorry Edward. But he will
have lived his life differently. In the Underworld, married to a
corpse bride. His name will be Victor.”
Edward glanced over
at the Cuban lieutenant.
“No, no, Edward, not that Victor.
This will be a different Victor. But to be honest I am not quite sure
if he will be able to manage The Room.” ON let his eyes skim the
Room.
“I really can’t see him making a true arrival.
Except by way of Mort’s computer. That might be a possibility. I
guess we will just have to wait and see.”
“Thank you, Mr.
Noodlemantra.”
“For what, Edward?”
“For taking
the time to help me with the package. For letting me know about
Victor. I don’t have many friends in here you see. Most are
afraid…”
To emphasize Edward snapped the shears.
“Give
it time, Edward,” ON noted, placing a secure hand upon his
shoulder. “Give it time, they’ll warm up to you.”
Edward
spun around, pointing the tip of one of his scissorhands towards the
wall behind his table. On the wall hung a calendar.
“It’s
been fourteen years, Mr. Noodlemantra. How much longer do you think
it will take for them to warm up to me?”
The book deliverer
had no answer for him.
“I’m sorry, Edward, I really must
be going.”
Edward’s face fell. “Very well. Good day, Mr.
Noodlemantra. I shall see you again then?”
“Yes, of
course you will, Edward. Of course you will.”
ON began to
make his way to the exit door when suddenly he remembered another
package. No, the case. He pulled it off the bottom shelf. That was
why he had almost forgotten it. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Roux?
Mister Roux?”
The gypsy stepped forward.
”Do you have
something in need of repair, Mr. Noodlemantra? Let me assure you, if
it is broken, I can fix it.”
“No, no, Mr. Roux. Nothing
needs fixing. But as you know, his memories become strong sometimes
and it brings back things. This has now become part of the Room
again. It has been awhile but I am sure you’ll know what to do with
it.”
He handed Roux a guitar case. Surprised at its
arrival, Roux carefully placed it upon an empty table and unlocked
the latches and lifted the lid.
Inside was a 1956
cream-colored Fender-Telecaster guitar. Primed and ready to play.
Roux ran his fingers over the polished wood of the guitar,
caressed the strings and stroked the neck as if it were a delicate
lady.
“What shall I play first?” Roux asked, mesmerized
by the musical instrument he now held in his hand.
“Sloppy
blues,” Noodlemantra answered.
“Excuse me?” the gypsy
asked, not sure he understood.
“A vote was taken…out
there….” Noodlemantra tossed his head towards the door. “The
major consensus is they want him to play blues. So that means the
first memory song played on the guitar should be the blues. Maybe
something by Blind Willie Johnson.”
Roux nodded and as
Noodlemantra let himself out, he heard the first chord of a very old
blues song.
He knew that Mr. Depp would be pleased.