“Salvator” , Brian Hwang ‘22 and Ryan Tiedemann ‘22

an excerpt from Salvator

at evening, Sigmund, still groggy from his drink earlier, entered the bar and was immediately surprised by the rowdy atmosphere. Drunks, businessmen, and couples sat merrily upon old wooden stools. A group of boisterous men played Poker, slamming their large palms down with each call, the burdened table beneath them groaning with each hit. e sharp cracks of billiard balls colliding against each other combined with the disorderly cheers that ensued assaulted Sigmund’s unaccustomed ears. Making his way around the dimly lit bar, Sigmund took a seat between a bearded, elderly man far past the safe blood alcohol level for a man of his age–or any age, for that matter–and a woman, unremarkable save her periodic outbursts of violent weeping. After ordering his beverage, a petite, charming yellow-orange cocktail with a thin slice of pineapple oating in the middle, Sigmund glanced at his two seatmates, struggling to decide which person would be more likely to listen to his troubles. Before Sigmund could reach a conclusion, the old man took what must have been his 10th shot of vodka with a Before Sigmund could reach a conclusion, the old man took what must have been his 10th shot of vodka with a large gulp. His head slumped onto the table and he began breathing softly–perhaps too softly. Concerned for his seatmate’s health, Sigmund shook the man. And when this failed, he raised his arm, ready to wake the unconscious gure up with a forceful slap. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, honey.” e meekly spoken words belonged to Sigmund’s other companion. Fresh tears mixed with black mascara slid down her face as she spoke. “It’s not often we get the opportunity to escape this cruel world. It’s not right to rob him of that peace.” “It’s not often we get the opportunity to escape this cruel world. It’s not right to rob him of that peace.” Taken aback, Sigmund could not nd the right words to respond. But he didn’t need to. e woman, after wiping off her tears with the sleeve of her gown, continued. “You look like a mighty smart fella. You gotta understand that this world ain’t never gonna treat everyone right. em real successful men up there don’t give a single damn ‘bout justice, ‘bout what gonna happen to you and me. ey just use us up till we got nothin’ left to give, then they leave, climbin’ over our wretched bodies, climbin’ up and up over more and more of us. ” Sigmund began to respond. “I understand, I really do, but this man, h-he’s breathing too shallowly, his pulse feels weak–“ e woman raised her ngers to the stuttering man’s lips. “Shh. Shh. He don’t wanna wake up. Now be a dear and give him your jacket.” Sigmund obliged, laying his suit jacket on the slumped gure. He opened his mouth to ask the woman’s name, but she quickly cut him off again. “You got ve dollars to spare? I have two ravenous children at home and three too many mouths to feed.” Again, Sigmund obeyed the woman, shing out ve one-dollar bills from his pocket. As the woman scooped the bills from his hand, Sigmund felt the quick brush of her rough calluses across his ngers. en, the woman turned and exited the bar, leaving the herpetologist sitting alone with his orange cocktail and the slumbering old man.