Feng Shui 4
A steel-door, triple-lock affair!..
Hello fans of Bill! Let’s get to this ‘going to the closet’ business, huh?!..
The closet was one of the only things in Bill’s life that was clean and orderly.
It was a steel-door, triple-lock affair, that housed some of his most valuable possessions; it was his gun-room.
He keyed the padlock, and then the two deadbolts, and finally stepped on the mostly-hidden activator that was attached to the two-inch steel-rod that kept the door closed, unless you were to tear it off with a bulldozer.
The door opened onto a good-sized hallway full of weaponry.
There was a light machine-oil smell in the cold dry air.
Bill loved going into this room. It was a peaceful moment.
But before he entered, he stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands, and consider his plan...
He’d built up some of his collection on his own, but a great many of these firearms, OK most, and really, the best historic gems had come to him when his Grampa Pearl had died eight-years earlier.
Yeah, most of it was down to Grampa Pearl.
Bill was fourteen before he understood that Pearl’s real name was William as well, but that they called him ‘Pearl’ because that was all he drank- Pearl Beer.
Pearl’d been a successful gunsmith down in Texas, where he’d opened his own place after having come back from Europe with the finish of the big war, in late’45.
Pearl’s had been open for more than sixty-years, and Grampa had collected some beautiful guns over that time.
Bill reflected on his days with Pearl.
For most of his life, the first-four-weeks of Summer vacation would be spent with Pearl and Gramma Carliss.
He remembered the early Texas summer-mornings, and Grampa getting him up and ready to meet the day.
Gramma would usually be at church in the mornings, and so he was in with Grampa those times.
Pearl got him drinking coffee early-on; they’d have a coffee, walk the perimeter of the ranch, and head down to get the shop open by ten.
Bill’s job wasn’t much. He’d sweep-up now and then, put tools away, and keep the workbench clean.
Pearl taught him how to handle, and work with all of the different guns in the shop. Bill was allowed to show the guns to prospective buyers, but Pearl always made the sales.
Often Grampa would buy a load of firearms, and it was Bill’s job to clean them, and decide: Which ones Pearl should look at, which ones should probably go for parts, and which ones should be test-fired, and thus, ready to polish-up, and sell.
This triage system worked well for Pearl, as Bill was seldom off in his assessment.
It was always clear between them that Pearl didn’t want Bill doing the gun business. Pearl would tell him that he expected more from him than selling “wood and steel!” And that he’d only gotten stuck doing it because he needed to make some quick money to marry Carliss. Bill never questioned this reasoning, but the message was clear: No gun business for the grandson.
After work they would take those ‘ready to test-fire,’ and go shooting. They would shoot together until late in the day, and then go home to see Gramma and have dinner.
As he got older Bill would make the trip on his own, and Pearl would pay him to be there. Mostly it was just fun. No serious business.
When Bill was old enough, they began drinking together. They always got on perfectly.
Now, Pearl had quite-a-few other grandchildren, along with some decent-number of nieces and nephews, but one day when Bill was twenty-two, a funny thing happened.
He and Pearl sat at the bar, after a long-day of target, trap, and skeet, while they were drinking their third or fourth cold-one to the sunset, Pearl smiled and leaned in close to Bill, and after some long time where it looked like he wanted to hold-forth on one thing or another, all that came out was: “Billy. You. Are… Me.”
Bill knew exactly what he meant. It was a clean moment.
Bill met his eyes and nodded to confirm this truth for them. Yes he knew it was so.
He was Grampa Pearl. Yes he was; spit, spirit and skin… It was just as plain as a groundhog crossing the lawn. Yes, Bill WAS Pearl. Of course. It all fit, and made some sort of logical sense. Four beers can help fit things together sometimes…
Back in the mirror, Bill was surprised to find that he wasn’t having any second thoughts about his plan. He moved with alacrity back to the closet.
Pearl would understand power and deliberation. No, Pearl WAS power and deliberation…
As he looked about at all of the silent rifles in their respective rows, he thought ‘aesthetically powerful…’ No, that was like a play on words. They were drastic, guns are drastic, and at this moment, at least two of them were necessary.
He pulled out the matching ’49 Winchester Model 70 Super-Grade rifles; one built in .270, and the other in .30-06.
They had been used by someone who owned and loved them. The wear indicated that this was so; patina, not scratches.
At that, the .270 was nearly-mint, still had the hang-tag and ratty-old box that it had come in, the .30 he set into an old leather-case. He then put them outside, and re-locked the door.
After being sure that all was secure, he took the rifles to his car wrapped in a blanket, so as not to draw attention to them.
He drove directly to Sam’s, and waited in the parking lot for Carl.
Carl was Bill’s old friend, and had always told Bill that he would be there any time Bill got down to doing it.
As Bill thought about it, Carl was perfect for this. Carl had gotten his earful of Pearl out of Bill, and truly-appreciated who Pearl had been in Bill’s life.
Carl pulled up and hopped out of his car.
Bill tried to keep the slow, noble-essence of the moment in mind.
This was, after all, the new day!
He got out slow and waved to Carl.
“Hey man!”
Carl waved back “Hey Bill!”
They shook hands and Bill went to get the rifles out.
Carl got effusive “Bill! Dude! You can’t know what this means bro.”
Bill looked at him with a smile. “Carl. I DO know what it means. And that I know that it means that much to you, makes it all worth it. Come on, let’s get these inside.”
They went in. Sam wasn’t there, it was Gary, which was fine. Gary was as good as Sam.
As the rifles were uncased, and set on the counter, Gary’s eyes went wide, and he whistled.
“Holy Crow! I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such like those! Oh my!”
He was nearly drooling over them.
Bill spoke up “Well Gary my man, we need to transfer ownership of them to Carl this morning. ”
Gary took a minute, but then sort of joked “OK, but Bill, why not sell them to me? I’m good to go!”
Bill smiled. “Cause you’d sell them for ten grand, and I’d never hear about ‘em again!”
They all chuckled a bit as the transaction went down. A few customers had gathered to look. There was no denying that they were pretty guns.
Bill told one guy about Grampa Pearl, and then explained that Carl was his long-time friend, and that he had decided to sell them to him because he knew that Carl would always care for these rifles in a responsible, if not regal manner.
Moreover, and perhaps most importantly, he would always know that they were safe and loved… as well as where they were…
Carl had brought the five-thousand dollars in cash, and handed it over with deepest respect, thanks, and appreciation.
Bill threw his arm over Carls shoulder, and tapped him on the chest by way of a thanks from his end… Here, in his hands, was the beginning of the gambit into his future.
Power and deliberation had been served.
He had not ever wanted to sell Pearl’s guns, but here, on the precipice of his new life, he knew that it had been drastic but necessary.
Besides, a truth that no one else knew: there were many many finer rifles than those in the closet.
Most important of all; Bill knew that Pearl would not have had it any other way, because Pearl was Bill. He could live with that. It was gonna to be OK.
And now it was time to get to work.
Though it was, admittedly, a strange-feeling to face-down the plan, knowing that just a week before he would have suffered the unspeakable to avoid having to get rid of any of his collection.
In fact his dream was to have a rifle-room with all of the guns on display in that office on Waxon Street…
As he reflected now, these things were NOT Pearl. He knew it. Maybe he’d always known that that was so.
Sure, it was Psychology 101; Stuff isn’t people. But these guns had been there at an important time, part of a memory, a sweet memory… Blah, blah, blah…
He was never going to be in a damn office!
Most importantly, he knew from what Pearl had said in the dream, and it had been clear, that the necessity was maybe less drastic than Bill had imagined… It was life going by, and having a closet full of “wood and steel,” that would surely outlive him, seemed wasteful; there would be no wind, nor water expressed in any of it.
As he got into the car he said aloud: “Bill to Pearl! All’s well!” He smiled then.
He hit the road from Sam’s gun shop with the five-grand in his back pocket.
His first stop was to their landlord’s where Bill handed over three-thousand of it for the next two-months rent.
It felt drastic in any case, but hell, it always did!..
That would keep Betty on the juggle, along with buying him some working-time. But having Betty ‘on the juggle’ seemed horrible. He needed to get some wind and water onto that as soon as he possibly could.
The next stop was for a quick coffee, and to check his progress against his plan.
OK, so far so good. He had a big apple for lunch.
What was next? Oh, OK the barber. This was an important one.
He tried to visualize what would suit him best, in the sense of giving him the most authority.
Like how cool could he go before it looked like high school?
And he didn’t want the flat-top Spiderman’s-boss look; too aggressive.
His hair was pretty thick. Maybe like an ivy-league but a little longer? Or maybe slicked back?
He got to Lou’s by 1:30.
Lou was one of those older guys who had been recommended years back, and did a good job.
One thing Bill always liked about Lou was that he could cut yer hair in five minutes if he wanted; he didn’t spend time pretending he needed to screw around with it in order to make you think it was worth more because it took longer.
No, it was five or ten minutes and bang- “Twenny-five bucks Bill. Down to you.”
Bill appreciated the hustle.
But Bill hadn’t seen Lou for a good couple-years at least.
“Mister Bill! I’ll be with you in a bit.”
Lou finished up with his client and ushered Bill into the chair.
“Whatcha thinkin’?”
Bill told him what he was thinking, but also that he wasn’t sure.
“No problem! I’ll make ya look like a movie-stah!”
Bill figured that could work. A movie star. Yeah. OK.
It was quick, and turned out fine. He hadn’t seen himself look like that for eight years.
He could see the beginnings of the double-chin…
OK. No big deal. He’d take care of that too… Let it ride.
He dropped Lou a twenty-dollar tip, and headed out.
He made a deal with himself, it would be a little drastic AND necessary.
He figured that the one-thousand, nine-hundred and fifty-five dollars that he had left would buy him two months toward building-up the Phoenix.
He thought about how that sounded- Building the Phoenix. Yeah, that sounded good, like a band or something. Investing into his way forward!
But anyway, his plan was to join a gym, go to the gym for an-hour-and-a-half each day, and then to spend four hours at the library working on his project.
An hour to amend the plan, and build better practices, and then three focused-hours to learn to don-the-cape of Phone Sway.
And then an hour to be home to cook, keep his mouth shut, and see to making Betty’s life nice.
That felt like a plan. Enough to begin.
He headed back downtown to find the guy he’d seen at the bank-door, or whoever was working there now, and get a line on the Phone-Sway cat.
He felt the heat and excitement, when suddenly it hit him, and he said out loud: “No, slow down. Take your time on this.”
Well, hang-on… This set him at a sort of cross-purpose: On the one hand he needed to get ahold of this guy, or reach him somehow, and get his name right, but then he thought about having that two months to work… Carefully and deliberately. Powerfully.
Yeah, Powerfully.
In the end he decided that he needed some information first, and figured that he’d be able to see his way well-enough to reconcile that requirement with his desire to hustle; it would be the wiser thing. Right.
OK, hit the library and amend the plan first; it washed as the wiser-decision.
OK. Library it would be. But was that the “go for it” choice?..
Was there a rule for which of the two elements were superposed? Wind or water? Hmm…
It was getting-on three o’clock as he got down there and into the parking lot.
OK… OK what?
He could feel that he was getting a little tense.
He was feeling this decision to “slow down” as some sort of fail, or chip in his plan.
He had never been one to meditate, but he could sense that he needed to at-least stop and take a minute in the car to get his head right.
He parked in the lot, bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Man, he was tense. ‘Go over the good stuff,’ he thought.
He took a deep breath and began the litany of good things that he’d done…
He’d gotten the rent handled, got himself on the road to getting cleaned-up and back onto a healthy track, was promulgating a plan for the future, and…
Suddenly he felt his chest get tight as he thought of Betty.
‘I might be saving my marriage.’
He tried to brush it aside, it was too cornball; but there it was; something there.
It scared him a little; life was pretty stark without beer.
But then he bristled as he thought of all the time he had wasted on being a beer-man. Jesus. He was suddenly glad he’d cut the drink.
He grabbed his notebook, then remembering, set it down, and picked it up slowly with more deliberation, as he started to plan the rest of the day…
OK. I’m going to spend one hour in the library, begin my plan for tomorrow, and find one thing on Phone Sway. That will be a good day.
Then home to make dinner for Betty…
Suddenly it occurred to him; had she been getting a little bigger lately? Had he been missing her communication to lighten-up on the cooking? Hmm.
It came to him that he was trying to feed her rich things so that she would love him more. Stop that… But he’d promised her Mexican.
He continued: Make good chicken-Caesar for Betty… add avocado and salsa. Easy bread. Get ready for a BIG day-two tomorrow. Easy coffee in the morning. Continue the day-plan, then hit the gym! Wow, the gym!
He got himself together and went into the library… It was beautiful.
He hadn’t been to this library in over twenty years; they had certainly turned it into a lovely space.
There were very few people about.
He found a chair at a table in the corner, and sat.
He looked around. It felt good. He felt like a king.
He set the notebook in front of himself. He could get it done from here. Sure.
So, first, the first task- Begin. Find one thing on Phone Sway. He felt the pull to get started on the planning, but the novelty of finding the one-bit of Phone Sway was the big prize for the day. He was curious as hell about it, and now he’d get some answer.
He hit up the librarian; it said “Suzy” on her name-tag.
“Can I help you?” She asked.
He started to feel the clowning come up: He was just about to start up with: “Hey hey SuuuuZy-Q!… I love…” But caught it early, and said respectfully: “Good afternoon Suzy! Do you know where I might find information on the subject of Phone Sway?
She seemed as unruffled as if he’d asked her for an apple-pie recipe; “Of course!” She knew just what he wanted.
She had him follow to the section of the library that had to do with houses, homes and architecture.
She pulled him a couple books; that was the first time he’d seen the spelling “Feng Shui.” OH! So that was it. He confirmed with her that this was indeed the spelling, and that it was properly pronounced “phone sway.”
“Yep!” She said, but when she said it there was a slick-slidy sound that made it sound sharper; like her tongue never left the roof of her mouth between the words. More like fueong-shway. He noted the difference, and ran it through his mind a time or two.
He felt good. That was a win.
She then led him over toward the philosophy section and pulled a book on Taoism, and then one on Zen, as she offered him the observation that in part, the overall perspective of Feng Shui was mechanical/functional as well as spiritual, hinging on the metaphysical. He thanked her heartily. She invited him to ask her for any assistance at all.
He thought to ask her to renew his library card so that he might read on the road.
“Of course.” She got all of that together and had a temporary card for him quickly.
He checked the books she’d recommended, thanked her again, and took those books back to the seat.
He felt the excitement as the pages crackled at the flip of the cover.
He loved the way all of that Zen-stuff sounded; almost hokey, except he was being told of it by the intelligent librarian.
It was like opening a door to some new-world, and all he had to do was to begin!
He began to skim through the pages.
Yep, there it was, telling him that the space your body inhabits is a mirror to the soul and reflects a communing with the cosmos.
Wow, wasn’t that exactly the crazy-stuff he was looking for?
But then he reflected; No, oddly, it felt exactly like what he’d imagined it might be. Like it was dovetailing with his imagination here on the first blush, or as if he’d known of it at some point before, but there had never been anything like that that he could remember… Huh, kinda weird, and perfectly fantastic.
He took a couple notes.
Prompted by the note he’d made to himself that morning, he also thought to find out exactly what Feng Shui meant.
He got into a book on Chinese. It was hardly any help. He had no idea what a Feng or Shui character looked like.
He tried another of the books- There it was! It meant “the way of wind and water.”
It had roots in the Tao, and the yin and yang.
There was a picture of the yin and yang. He’d seen those before, but didn’t know what they were.
Wasn’t that zen?
His little notebook to himself also said: Satchiko, and diet and exercise. He felt a little tension, but also a little excitement. All in good time. He’d be getting on that soon.
His plan was going well, he…
Whoops! He had gone ten minutes into the next hour!
He huppled his things together, grabbed those books, said good night to Suzy, and hustled out of the library.
It occurred to him that he was going to have dinner with his wife in the new day!
Gratitude showed up then, even before the deliberate and the power did.
Nonetheless, it was only a bit later that he realized the haste of the ‘grab’ within the ‘hustle’ of his departure… ‘Slow it down Bill..!’ He thought, ‘Slooow it down, amigo!!’
OK, we’ll leave Bill here, ready to go home, and wrestle with his own foibles and proclivities, even as he deals with the realities of modern-life at home! Good luck Bill!..
Have a wonderful week!