Jon Van Horn was born on the ledge of one of New York City's innumerable concrete canyons and, seeing that he had feathers, naturally assumed he could fly. Leaping off resulted not so much in a graceful arc of glory through the clouds and reaching for the sun, as a steep plummeting toward the unforgiving asphalt below. Having just enough time to think, "feathers are fine, but wings would have been helpful", he was snatched scant inches from oblivion and thrown like a dog's chew toy through the far reaches of agitated quiescence to land with a quiet thump in North Carolina. Tufted-eared cat curling languidly about her legs, an emerald-eyed woman emerged from a small yellow house murmuring slyly in a French accent, "It's about time". 

Rudy’s Corner: Darkness Approaches (December 20, 2009. Issue 12.)

As the sun fell exhausted below the high-rise horizon, the sweltering summer day melted into a sticky, sultry August night. The machine gun patter of rush hour footsteps exhaled into the easy trot of worker drones intent on blowing off steam at the nearest bar. This was Friday night.

From his streetcorner on 6th and Waverly, Rudy embraced it all: The free jazz of honking horns, screeching tires, and blaring boomboxes riffing against the discordant chorus of street vendors, panhandlers, and honey-voiced hookers. The sweet smells of sweat, booze, and sex mingling with the delicious aroma of ethnic food and the ripe stench of garbage bags left on the sidewalk in 90 degree heat. The hiss of steam rising from a sidewalk grate like the monstrous breath of the number 6 as it rumbled and roared angrily beneath his feet. The rythm from the swirling chaos around him was the very heartbeat of New York; the sounds, smells, and tastes of the city like blood coursing through Rudy’s veins, keeping him alive.

The smell wafting from the pizza joint on the corner made his mouth water. Most nights Benny, the owner, would come out and give Rudy a leftover slice or two. They’d shoot the breeze for a few minutes and Rudy would pass on the latest fragments of overheard street conversation; usually mundane, occasionally hilarious or tragic. Rudy’s hearing was so sharp that he could be standing next to a jackhammer and still pick out the sound of a rat scavenging for food fifty yards away. He and Benny would play a game, imagining who the voices belonged to, what they were talking about, and making up the end of the conversation. As often as not, the two of them would wind up doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Then Benny would slap Rudy on the back and walk back up the street to his Pizza parlor. Invariably, a few minutes later someone would pass by and drop a few coins into Rudy’s cup. Rudy would smile and say thank you to the busy sidewalk traffic. He knew it was Benny, but never let on.

Most people in the streets didn’t even really see Rudy, occasionally bumping into him as they hurried past. Maybe it was because of his perpetual smile and his relentless optimism, but he’d rarely had any trouble, and most people who did notice him were kind. Oh sure, some kids might taunt him or steal coins from his cup, and once they even knocked his cane to the ground but, all in all, the few good friends he had made his life bearable. And in the world behind his dark glasses, he would try to take some of the ugliness of the city and make it beautifull. In Rudy’s mind, at least, the streets were a bit cleaner and the rats a lot smaller.

It was getting late and Rudy could feel night closing in. The avenue was busy, of course, but he could sense that much of the work-day tension had ebbed away, replaced by an inebriated buzz. Behind him, the entrance to the corner bar had been opening and closing more frequently, the smell of spilt beer growing pungent and the din from inside growing raucous and slurred. The door crashed open yet again, and Rudy heard a pack of three loud drunks tumble out into the street, laughing and singing. Slurring their way through a boisterous rendition of “Whiskey In The Jar”, two stumbled past him while the third propped himself against the wall outside the bar and, with some difficulty, lit a cigarette .

Just around the corner on Waverly, a metal gate ratcheted down across a storefront with a rusty groan. “Must be 8 o’clock”, thought Rudy. A lock snapped closed and a pair of sandals padded softly across the sidewalk to the curb beside him.

“Hi Rudy. How’re you doing?” spoke a sweet, light voice; a bit weary and worn, yet familiar and kind.

“Hey Rita.” Rudy said with a grin. “Can’t complain”. The few words he shared with Rita were his favorite part of the day. “You got a big date tonight?” he asked, catching the scent of patchouli which he’d noticed she always wore when she was going out.

“You’re amazing!” she said. She was smiling; Rudy could hear it in her voice. “Sometimes I think you must be psychic”, she laughed. “Yeah, I gotta run, but...” Rita lowered her voice, serious now, her lips just inches from Rudy’s ear. “Did you hear? There was another one...another attack. On another blind man.”

Rudy’s grin almost faltered, but he caught himself, nodding slowly. “Yes, Benny told me. Happened down on the platform of the 6.”

“Uh huh.” She sighed. “I worry about you, Rudy. Just get off the street early tonight. Please...be extra careful, OK? “

Rudy forced a wide smile. “You know I always am. You have yourself a good night now, Rita.”

Another sigh. “Thanks. You too.” She lightly touched his arm, then stepped off the curb and into the street, calling “Taxi!”

She left behind the faintest whiff of patchouli, a scent Rudy had never liked before he’d met her, but which now smelled almost like home. He breathed it in like nectar; sweet honey on his tongue. Rudy imagined what Rita might look like: long, wavy chestnut hair, maybe just a little mousy, soft brown eyes with laugh lines in the corners. Probably wearing a broomstick skirt with an indian print top, dangling earrings, possibly some of that turquoise navajo jewelry. Lots of bracelets on her right arm, Rudy knew; he’d heard them clinking together as she’d touched him.

From out of the rushing river of traffic a cab approached and growled to a stop at the curb. A click of the handle and the door swung open with a metallic groan. “Goodnight Rudy” Rita called, and the door slammed shut. The taxi roared off and was swallowed up by the hungry dissonance of the city.

Behind him, Rudy heard a grunt and the flick of a lighter. A deep drag, and the smoke blown out, long and hard. Shoes scuffed the pavement, turning and walking ever so slowly across the sidewalk. Men’s shoes, expensive; the footsteps in no hurry and a little unsteady. They stopped a few feet away, and an exhale of cigarette smoke floated over to Rudy.

Leather creaked as the shoes shuffled closer still. The city din faded to white noise as Rudy’s senses focused on the stranger. Rudy could hear him breathing, could smell beer and gin seeping from his pores and the dank, stale reek of cigarette smoke as the stranger blew a cloud into his face.

“Nice night,” said the stranger.

Rudy took a step back, his heel to the edge of the curb. “Uh huh” he said into the darkness, clutching his cane tightly.

“Yes indeed, real nice...” slurred the voice. “Fat yellow moon; the electric sizzle of neon signs; street lights blinking nervously while the headlights of passing cars carve up the darkness... and so many people out walking the streets, dressed in everything from rags to rainbows...a kaleidoscope of colors...pretty little pieces of ass everywhere you turn. Yeah, it’s a regular carnival seen through a prism...” He took another deep drag and blew the smoke out in Rudy’s face. “Oh wait, “ chuckled the voice. “You aren’t seeing any of that are you? None of that bright lights, big city for you, eh? Even the embers of my cigarette...burning so brightly like...like a million dancing little suns, the ashes drifting on the night breeze like fireflies. So beautiful. But...”

Rudy heard the cigarette flicked to the sidewalk and the butt crushed beneath the toe of a leather shoe. “I can snuff out that flame... so very easily.” The voice leaned in closer to Rudy’s ear. “Why, with your eyes, you can’t even wish on a star, can you?”

The stranger slowly circled Rudy as he spoke. Clutching his cane to his chest, Rudy turned in place to keep his face towards the voice.

Suddenly the cup was struck from his hand, the tin clattering to the sidewalk, coins skittering and dancing across the pavement. A trickle of perspiration slipped down Rudy’s cheek. The street was crowded; he could hear footsteps clicking past in both directions, cars rushing by in the street just a few feet away. Didn’t anybody see he was in trouble?

The stranger uttered a low, inhuman chuckle, like gurgling water echoing up from the bottom of a deep, dark well. “Tell me”, asked the stranger. “Why are you here?”

Unsure of his place in the universe and why he had been made to grope his way through the world with a pair of useless organs, it was an existential question that Rudy had often asked himself. “Excuse me?”, said Rudy.

“Why are you here? On this planet?”, said the stranger. “What possible purpose do you serve? You’re no better than these bags of garbage on the sidewalk. Your kind just makes me want to...” The voice trailed off.

Rudy could feel the cane shaking in his hands. He had turned around 360 degrees as the stranger circled him, and his heels were now teetering on the edge of the curb as the traffic rushed by on sixth avenue.

“Who...who are you?”, asked Rudy, feebly.

“Ah...good question. Who am I?” The stranger seemed to be pondering this, letting the alcohol lubricate the gears in his mind. “I’m the footsteps clicking behind you down a dark and empty alley at midnight. I’m the quiet rattle of the doorknob that wakes you from your sleep. I’m the scuttling from inside your bedroom wall in the dead of night. And I’m a face in your mind that you’ll never, ever be able to describe.” Another laugh, deep and self-satisfied. “Know that at any moment I may be standing right beside you...You are never alone. And I hold your life in my hand, for I can crush you like the smallest insect.. So you may as well call me...”

“...God.”

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the collar of Rudy’s tattered overcoat and pulled him close. He felt the hot breath on his face, rank, boozy and sickly sweet. Whispering, the voice said. “And I killed another blind man, just like you. Alone on a subway platform. Begging, standing there with his damn cane and sign, looking for a handout. Well, I gave him a handout allright. Pushed him down onto the tracks.” The stranger spat the last words in Rudy’s face: “Finally found some use for him.” He let go of Rudy with a shove. “Food for the rats.” He chuckled, as a single bead of sweat slid down Rudy’s forehead.

“And when l catch you alone...you’re next.”

Suddenly, the stranger leaned in so his lips were nearly brushing Rudy’s ear. “Or maybe that pretty little lady friend of yours.”

At that, Rudy’s sightless eyes flared and his temples burned.

The stranger pushed him aside and stepped off the curb into sixth avenue, calling out “Taxi!” Heart racing, Rudy impulsively reached out his cane toward the creaking leather shoes, tangling it in the man’s legs.

The stranger pitched forward into the street as the brakes of the oncoming cab squealed in protest.

A sickening crunch of metal on bone; screams and shouts; footsteps running over to get a good look. The taxi driver leaped out of his cab, slamming the door in anger and cursing the body crushed beneath the wheels.

Rudy let out a long, deep sigh, a single tear trickling down his cheek. Tapping his cane, he turned his back on the scene and began slowly following the oily aroma of pepperoni up the sidewalk toward Benny’s pizzeria.