Fiction by James Finn Garner
A stranger approaches a Cub fan in a bar, carrying a strange relic….
I was sitting at the bar at Yak-zie’s on Clark. The season hadn’t started yet, so the place was nice and peaceful, full of locals. The expectations, the intensity, the slobbery emotions of the regular season were still off in the distance, so I was soaking in the serenity of things that currently were and the things that could in the future be. In short, I enjoyed being near my favorite ballpark with a cold one in my hand, without having to share the place with hordes of drunk account managers from River North and Schaumburg.
I was just about to ask for my tab when a certain smell stung the air, a smell like the floor of the Grand Avenue Red Line station. I turned to my left and was confronted with a haunted face staring intently at me. The man wasn’t a bum, but he wasn’t quite normal either. His scraggly beard was dusted with gray, and his full head of hair was slicked back. His eyes were brown and lit from the inside, surrounded by cracked circles of skin like pale dried mud.
Hey, I said.
You need to do me a favor, he said.
Sure I do.
You do.
Well, you have such a sweet way of asking someone, I said, how could anyone refuse?
Don’t laugh. This isn’t a joke.
Shove off, pal, I said as I turned toward the bar.
Are you a Cubs fan?
What of it?
Then you’ll want to know about this.
From his jacket pocket he pulled something wrapped in a dirty cloth and set it on the bar. I’ve seen a lot of panhandlers and a lot of crazies, but not many came bearing relics.
And what is that? I asked without much interest.
This here, he said in what was beginning to be a clear Chicago accent, is the source of all the anguish suffered by the Cubs for the past 30 years.
How did you wrap the whole Tribune Company into that snot rag?
I warned you, he said growing slightly angry, this is no laughing matter.
Okay, I humored him, what’s in the rag?
Have you ever heard of …the monkey’s paw?
Yes.
There was a long silence.
I also know the lyrics to “Louie Louie.”
This here, he pointed to the rag with a dirty finger, is a monkey’s paw. A mystical monkey’s paw. I discovered it, and I’ve been carrying its burden with me for almost 25 years.
This guy was intriguing me. The feeling that I needed to be somewhere else faded away. I wanted to hear how this played out.
So, what about it? I asked. You say you found it.
I did. I was working for a contractor back in ‘84. We were getting ready to tear down a building in Greektown, but before we did, I went looking around for things to salvage. In the basement of the place, I found a small bundle. I almost didn’t see it, it was so covered with dust, But I picked it up and unwrapped it. Sitting inside all those stiff pieces of old cloth was this, the monkey’s paw.
He pointed to my half- finished beer, as if the glass was going to corroborate his story. I caught his drift and pushed it over for him so he could down it. He took a tiny sip to wet his lips and went on.
It was black, stiff and hairy. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I took it to the diner across the street and asked the waitress what it was. She nearly dropped her tray when she saw it. She crossed herself quickly and told me to get the hell out of there. What is it, I asked. She told me to take it to that candle shop at Halsted and Adams and ask to see Zonia. So I did. I went to that store. They took me into this back room where an old, old lady was sitting in an easy chair. I showed her the paw. She didn’t freak out like the waitress did, but she crossed herself too.
I thought to myself, this is getting weird. I know that candle shop, have driven by it many times.
The old man continued, Zonia told me that I’d found a monkey’s paw, an ancient artifact filled with magic that grants three wishes to the person who has it.
So that’s pretty good luck for you, eh?
The old man said, Look at me. You think it’s brought me luck? The thing about a monkey’s paw, the old woman told me, was that the wishes usually don’t go like you think. She told me to take it and throw it in the lake, but I didn’t listen. I was stupid. All I heard was, it grants three wishes. So I ignore her and take the paw home. I go into my kitchen and turn off all the lights. And I says, Oh Magical Monkey Paw, I want the Cubs to finish first, I want them to stand the tallest of all the National League teams.
Well, after I said this, the old monkey’s paw begins to shake, and slowly one of its fingers curls itself up tight. This scared me a lot more than it made me happy. I waited all season to see what would happen.
So you got your wish, I said. The Cubs came in first that year, although….
Although! Although! You didn’t hear what I said. I asked for the Cubs to stand the tallest among all the National League teams. And what happened?
Durham lets the ball roll between his legs, I said.
Yes! Standing tall. If I hadn’t uttered those words, Durham handles the routine grounder and makes the out at first, the Cubs beat those stinkin’ Padres….goddamn stinkin’ Padres, with goddamn Steve Garvey…..and go to the World Series.
I looked at the package on the bar, then back to the old man. You’re full of it, I said.
It wasn’t a coincidence. I said those words. It was the paw.
Since you found it in Greektown, I asked, you think maybe it was a South Side paw you were dealing with?
This frightened me to death, the old man wheezed. The monkey’s paw really had powers. I tried and tried to get rid of it. I walked to the lakefront I don’t know how many times, but I could never throw it in. Finally I wrapped it up in its rags and put it in a box in my closet. I tried to forget about it, but I’m a die-hard. If it was given to me, why shouldn’t I try and use it? The temptation got to be maddening. Still, I was frightened of it. I wanted to use it in ‘89, and again in ‘98, but I didn’t. Then 2004 came along. I mean, half the time I want the team to lose big time, so I’m not even tempted to bring out the stupid paw. But in 2004, they had Wood, and Prior, and….I couldn’t help myself. Sometime in June I got out the paw again, and sat in my kitchen. I thought maybe my selfishness had caused the problem before, like I wanted the team to win just for me. So I decided to try a different way, I said, Oh Magical Monkey Paw, I want nothing for myself, but let the Cubs win, for the long- suffering fans. They need a championship. Bring it to the fans, bring it to the fans….
I call bullshit, I said. The Cubs didn’t lose in ‘04 because of one fan’s interference. They lost because of Gonzales’ error, and Prior giving up seven runs. They collapsed, pure and simple, it wasn’t Bartman’s fault…
The old man looked me in the eye and asked very solemnly, Do you really believe that?
It was like looking in the face of God and Abraham Lincoln and my grade school principal all at once. I swallowed hard and looked away. I didn’t believe it. I’d just been telling myself that for three years. I didn’t believe it at all. It was Bartman’s fault, it was, it was, I’d never seen a collapse like that, it couldn’t have happened without…So now I’m passing on the paw to you. I know you are the one to entrust it to.
No, no, I said, I don’t want it….
You are the one, I know it!
Let this cup pass from my lips…
You must use its power wisely, do not make mistakes like I have. There is one wish left.
With that he looked deep in my eyes and sent a shudder through my spine. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, he was gone. The bundle still sat on the bar. What was I to do? Could I just leave it there? Never. I reached over with shaking hands. I pulled at the cloth and uncovered the relic.
On the bar sat a half-eaten buffalo wing. Orange and white, with a few tendons still hanging on. There was even a greasy Yak-Zie’s napkin balled up with it.
I looked at my now-empty beer glass. My face burned. I’d committed a mortal sin for a native—been taken in a hustle. The Cubs and a World Series had been involved, though, which mitigated the shame if not the pain.
I folded the cloth over the scrap, grabbed it and put it in my coat pocket. It was most certainly bullshit. Without a doubt. But what could it hurt to have it along? If the team sticks together, and the bats don’t let up, and the wind is blowing out all year, and Lou is a good skipper, and…and…
With exactly the right phrasing, it might just work.
(Note: This story was written in 2008 for the Cubbie Blues reading series and anthology, hosted by Don Evans. It was eight more years before the Cubs got the monkey off their backs.)
bravo. the paw that depresses.