Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Weird NJ Visits Lucy the Elephant and Late One February Night Two Young Night-folk Do too .. 2/18/14







They flew  south to Atlantic City, maybe like eighteen miles away. I don't know how fast elferinos and elferinas go. I'm told, at times they can snake through a crowd of mortals so fast no one sees them. Not on foot though. Their feet have to be off the ground. They have to be flying. That's how they feed. The very young (pre-pubescent) 'elfin' ones zip along taking quick, sharp drinks from a multitude of throats. People go 'OW!" and blame mosquitos, or gnats, or bed bugs or tiny, little blocked arteries, or something like that. Few realize others around them have also been bitten. 



That's what they did. Marianne and 'Peter' landed near the Borgata, a big, plush, mega-Vegas style place by the Marina. What with their stolen, heavyweight sweat shirts and coordinating scarves and wool ski caps they looked pretty good. Flying didn't mess them up none. If anything it just ruddied their cheeks and tousled their hair. A professional photographer's stylist couldn't have done any better. She says - Lets go get some hot tea.... He says - Please, 'sister,' I am so hungry. When can I feed?..... Then he looked around and added - Who lives here, a mighty magician, a wizard, a necromancer? ...... She said - No one lives here. It's a hotel. It's a casino. They gamble here. They drink here. They laugh at people mocking others and telling ribald stories. They lose their money and sell the children to Gypsies. .... 'Peter' stared wide eyed and said - Really?..... But the elferino, Marianne just shrugged and went - I don't know. I don't know what they do with their children. I just guessed that part.... Then she walked him through the immense carpeted lobby. He thought it was some sort of chapel. They entered a coffee shop, which in any other locale would have been a very commodious restaurant, but in casino-hotels merely a place for twelve dollar corned beef sandwiches and four dollar cups of tea. Peter didn't say a word. She told him not to, but he studied every single thing. What must our time look like to a boy from the third quarter of the eighteenth century? He did whisper one thing. He said - The wenches, why are they in their bits and pieces? Are they whores?.... No - she said. They just play like they are..... They don't charge any money? - he asked... No - she said. They do it all for free, or like for thick beef steaks, jewelry and gambling money. Well, a few might be whore..... Who? Which ones? - he asked..... Marianne looked around and said - Well, the old ladies aren't. And with the others I can't tell. (whispered) Don't stare. Those aren't her real breasts. She paid some low sort of chap huge sums of money to cut open her skin and make her that way. They do anything for money these days. You'll see..... How does he do it? The low chap, I mean. - he asked.... With pillows. With magic, little pillows that look like jelly fish. - she said.



An impossibly well groomed, smiling waiter came over, who may or may not have been gay.  Marianne placed the order, an expensive ( $6.50) herbal tea for herself and a green tea and honey ($5.00) for 'Peter.' Also got a basket of biscotti.  'Peter asked - Why?.... She said - Just crumble up one and move it around the plate. It looks like we ate and they're less suspicious that way.... Do they all know about night-folk? - he asked..... No - she said. But we're a twelve and fourteen year old out by ourselves after dark and that, in itself, might draw attention.... So he did. They each got a little, steaming pot of tea. Enough for two cups. Peter said it was good. He even licked a piece of biscotti, but all he did was lick it. Then he said - Is he a castrato?..... What are you talking about? - she said..... The boy. The one who brought the tea. Has he 'had the operation?' Has he been 'fixed?' Tell me............................. 

Marianne whispered - No, they haven't chopped them off. They don't do that anymore, not for singers anyway. He's gay, loves others of his gender. That's all. Or he may just be very, very, very, very fussy. How would I know?..... She took a sip. When she looked up, he was gone. At least to mortal eyes he was gone. But she saw him streak through the booths and tables taking discrete, little bites from perhaps eighteen or twenty people. Some scratched their necks. Some didn't notice. Elfereino puncture wounds are really quite small and no more than a tiny, watery bit of plasma escapes. ....When he sat down and flickered into view, she said - Why did you do that? Couldn't you wait? I went through the same thing and I waited. Took me four nights and I waited. Was so scared. Didn't know where I was. But I waited. I learned...... He just gave her a sly smile. Marianne knew this one was going to be different. So she put down a tip, paid the bill and they left. The cashier thought they were brother and sister, two nice kids. She even said - Why don't you take some of those little, wrapped mints? They're good...... 'Peter' said - Thank you... and palmed a big handful. Then he zipped through a packed house laughing at Kathy Griffin's Kardashian jokes and 'kissed' maybe a dozen more. 



They passed through the large, mall-like arcade of rather carriage trade shops. She said - Have enough?........ He said - For now... as he  deftly snatched a beautifully wrapped box of impossibly expensive chocolates and passed it to a happy toddler in a yuppie-perfect stroller. The parents never saw a blessed thing.



Fifteen minutes later, after another starry flight, they stood atop the howdah of Lucy The Elephant, a beloved, beachfront landmark in a nice, little seashore town to the south. It was cold. No one was about. The shops, open earlier, were shuttered now and few cars passed on the street. Marianne gazed out upon a calm, moonlit, winter sea. The newly freed elferino beside her...



And then he began to speak...



( oh, one more thing. the video up above, courtesy of the great @weirdnj <yes, you can click on it>  tells all about Lucy and her colorful history... a nice taste of summer, seashore whimsy on a cold, dark, winter night)



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