Bittersweet, Were her Kisses! (Chapters 1-6)

Bittersweet, Were her Kisses!

(Based on a true Story)


By Dennis L. Siluk



Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk, 2007
Bittersweet, Were Her Kisses






Illustrations inside the book By D.L. Siluk
Cover by Yang Yang
[permission to use for cover of book given]
Photo by Rosa Penaloza de Siluk



Index by Chapter



Introductory Chapter-Poem (by the Cathedral)

1—The Dojo (1967)
2—Brenda and Sandy
3—Sandy, Lee & Oscar
4—The Café and Parties
5—The Rape and Fight
6—Jerry’s Bar, Sandy and Ms Lopez (1968)
7—Ms Lopez, Johnny, Patty & Lee (1968-‘69)
8— The Meeting of Greg (1985)
9—Fifteen Years Later (1982)) the Meeting of Greg))
10—Thirty-nine years Later (Winter of 2006) Jerry’s New Bar

End Poem: ‘Donkeyland—Sunset’



Introductory Chapter and Poem



Passing by the Cathedral [2006]


I often pass by the St. Paul Cathedral:
Passing by in a car,
Perhaps I’ve passed it a million times
I’ve never counted, it always swells
My heart
I pass it so fast (nowadays, or so it seems)
It’s hard to make it out; but no need to, I
Know it by heart…,
I want to get out of the car and go up to it:
It rests on a summit (the highest point
in St. Paul, I do believe), to what, I’m not sure,
It seldom changes its composure.

A passing glimpse is all I get—my eyes are not
As quick, or swift as they used to be—
Getting old.

When I was young: to walk in those great halls
Of hers, under her great dome—walk
Around those monstrous pillars: often crossed
My mind—and one day I did, and I seemed
So very small, listening to my echo… return!

In autumn, its copper dome looks bluish, with
Autumn colors of: red, orange, green and blue
(around it): most beautiful. Leaves brushed across
its encircling streets and lawns, by the
Minnesota winds….

They put brown copper onto its dome, a new
Roof, they call it; about five years ago, that no one
On earth likes—heaven I doubt will even
Glance at it now.

It’s a shame, the young folks will only have
Pictures to look at how it used to be, until that is,
Until the copper molds with age again.



#1229 2/21/06, written at the Coffee House in Roseville, Minnesota (Har Mar Mall)


Note by the Author: “I grew up in St. Paul, Minnesota, and the dome was always that bluish old copper; the cathedral was built around the turn of the century, and myself created in the middle of the century, thus as a kid it had turned its colors. So I’m sure at one time, the original time, it was brown copper to start out with. But I shall nonetheless cherish the memories of the blue copper, as I suppose the youth of today will adore the brown.”
Spanish Version
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza


Pasando por la Catedral


A menudo paso por la Catedral de San Pablo:
Paso en un carro;
Talvez he pasado esta un millón de veces,
Jamás lo conté, esto siempre hincha
Mi corazón.
Paso tan rápido (hoy en día, o así parece)
Es difícil de distinguir, pero no hace falta, yo
La conozco de memoria...,
Quiero bajarme del carro y acercarme a esta:
Esta descansa en una cumbre (el punto más alto
En San Pablo, creo), a lo que, no estoy seguro,
Esta raras veces cambia su compostura.

Un fugaz vistazo es todo lo que consigo—mi ojos no son
Tan rápidos, o veloces como solían ser—
Están envejeciendo.

Cuando era joven: caminar en aquellos grandes pasillos
De esta, o debajo de su gran cúpula–caminar
Alrededor de aquellos pilares monstruosos: a menudo cruzaban
Mi mente—y un día lo hice, y yo parecía
Tan pequeño, escuchando a mi eco... ¡regresa!

En otoño, su cúpula de cobre parece azulada, con
Colores otoñales de: rojo, naranja, verde y azul
(alrededor de esta); más hermosa. Hojas traídas a través
de sus calles rodeadas y céspedes, por los
Vientos de Minnesota...

Ellos pusieron cobre marrón en su cúpula, un nuevo
Techo, ellos lo llaman; casi cinco años atrás, que a nadie
Sobre la tierra le gusta—el cielo dudo le echará un
Vistazo ahora.

Esto es una vergüenza, la gente joven sólo tendrá
Fotos para mirar cómo solía ser, hasta que,
Hasta que el cobre se moldee con los años otra vez.


# 1229 21/Febrero/2006, escrito en la Cafetería en Roseville, Minnesota (Har Mar Mall)


Apuntes por el Autor: Crecí en San Pablo, Minnesota, y la cúpula de la catedral era siempre ese viejo cobre azulado; la catedral fue construida a comienzos del siglo, y yo nací a mediados del siglo, así cuando niño esta ya había cambiado sus colores. Entonces estoy seguro que en cierta época, el tiempo original, esta era de cobre marrón al empezar. Pero sin embargo abrigaré las memorias del cobre azul, como supongo la juventud de hoy adorará el marrón.



The Cathedral of at St. Paul, Minnesota



The Story




The Dojo 1

Brenda Muller and Sandy Swindle crossed the arch of the door from Arcade Street, into the karate dojo, and, sat down in the chairs provided for visitors along the side of the wall, while they watched the karate demonstrations, and karate members freestyle fight, and exercise. Sandy played with a loose thread in the bottom of her skirt, as Brenda sat still for the moment, seemingly a tinge more refined, and fussily looked about. There were several karate remembers doing katas and so forth in the dojo, and she (Brenda) got Lee’s attention—first. He looked interesting to her: then Sandy looked at Brenda looking at Lee, and she got interested in him—and to Lee’s surprise (feeling satisfied), he had both girls looking at him at the same time, he smiled, at both of them, analyzing in a way, it was an odd experience.
At this point it come to mind to him that with the light above him, and the street light reflecting in from the front windows and doorway (it was 7:00 PM, the fall of 1967, it got dark early) he was more noticeable than the others, more public. He was not sincerely acclimatized to this spotlight of two young flashy teenagers looking at him. In his own mind he always felt confident with girls, he was nineteen, going on twenty in a few months (Brenda he would find out later was sixteen, and Sandy seventeen). Not a world of difference. He slipped back into a karate stance and did some more katas (technique), trying to be anonymous, but hardly was.
He stopped working out, and settled himself by the girls; they both seemed to be attached to not only his personal appearance (he had auburn hair, five foot eight, build strong, and slim), but his rough liability countenance, but also to his politeness and soft spoken voice, he was charming, unattached, and available (and perhaps usable). He was of a raw-breed, thought Brenda, by her looks she estimated she could tame him. But Sandy, was different, her eyes were most obviously adult, with a definite air of being willing to do what ever it took, for whatever she wanted.



Brenda and Sandy 2


Lee started dating both Brenda and Sandy, nothing had happened between them, it was for the most part, so simple, lacking in situation or crisis. He’d go visit each one, at their homes, with his 1957, Ford, four-door, red and white, rustic, one that used perhaps more oil than gas, and had to sandblast the sparkplugs every week because oil would leak on them. He worked at Ron Saxton Ford at the time (but soon would quite to start working for Swift, Meat Company in South Saint Paul, where his mother worked; it was double the money). He lived on the East Side of town, of St. Paul, at 900 York Street, a duplex with a lot of single rooms for single folks. The refrigerator was on the second floor, for the whole household, there were perhaps five rooms filled with men, one old timer who works for a fur company, perhaps in his 90s, he always greeted Lee when he came home, he sitting on the porch, drinking Lee’s beer. He told the old man one day, “How come you go all the way up there each day and only take one beer?” His response was, “I’d take two, but I’d fall on my way back down.” So Lee always left two beers on the porch for the old man.
As I was saying, nothing really happened to this point, and so as usual, Lee would go visit one or the other of the girls, depending on whom called him first. After about two months of this dating, Brenda was getting to Lee a bit, it seemed she wanted to saver herself for an evening wedding day before she’d go sleep with him, and Sandy, impersonal, kept a safety valve for getting serious, but was knocking at his door after a few months, and he told her to “Come in”, and they started a habitual sexual romance, scarcely noticed by Brenda, but felt somehow by her, and Lee admitted it was developing into that.
No shrillness of an inferiority complex for Lee Stone on the matter, in a way, he was getting tired of making three visits a day to see girls. When he broke it off with Brenda, her voice sank to a slackened flatness; she felt chilled and said, “I suppose Sandy putout for you? (hesitation)…but I just can’t—perhaps if you’re patient …” she stopped there, looked at Lee, knew she was off balance with his way of thinking, and became silent sitting on the patio.
She was an ideal hostess, thought Lee, a lady more so, than, not so, placid, friendly, efficient—never obtruding, and keeping her reserve to a thoughtfulness. Although her opinions were smart, and she was tolerant of his choice, almost amusingly so—but she was hurt nonetheless, as expected coming from a caring person, as she was, showing a soft air of composure, nonetheless; she had that look of ripeness, Lee Stone enjoyed (perhaps all men enjoy).
Lee had left without friction, or movement or even a sigh from her, not still a protest. Then as he looked out through his 1957-Ford window at Brenda, all except a faint blue shadow could be seen, the silhouette of her dress.



Sandy, Lee and Oscar 3


When Sandy heard of the swing towards her, Lee made between her and Brenda (as far as the relationships went), a light went on inside her head, her face was clear, aglow came over it, and near flames in her eyes appeared, along with a stirring mind: a skeptical transforming of joy had taken over her.
The familiar face of Lee returned to his room quietly, where she was patiently waiting for him with a calm hand he turned the key, there she was, naked on the bed waiting, like a delicious Strawberry Sunday.
After a while Lee went down to see the old man who lived on the first floor, Oscar Olson (he once worked for a fur company, he told him, downtown in St. Paul, Minnesota, out of business now, that was back in the 20s), Sandy had fallen to sleep, as he had for an hour, but remained unmoved with her eyes shut. He and Oscar talked quietly down on the porch, the door opened somewhat to let the summer air in.
Sandy moved about in the bed—opening her eyes, not feeling Lee by her, waiting for his movements, not finding, or feeling them, he was gone. Discovering he wasn’t there she had become anxious and it became her chief concern; then opening the door to the small sleeping room, she looked down the hall, went quickly up to the brown painted wooden railing, next, looked over it, heard voices, saw the old man, Oscar Olson talking to Lee on the porch, by the screened-in doorway, she had only a pillow covering her. She formed a gesture to the ninety-three year old man, with a smile, and Lee appeared.

As Lee walked back into his sleeping room— modestly and self-satisfied; Sandy straightened herself with civility and a tinge of difficulty indisposing of her disappointment of finding herself alone.
Lee, on the other hand knew (or at least felt something was wrong, men don’t always catch on right away) knew, he was perhaps a bit naughty leaving her alone, but took her hand ever so lightly, and it all was forgotten in a clap of an eye, as she grabbed onto his shoulders to brace herself—for love making. Then she sunk her fingers deep into his flesh. She spoke loud and clear, almost into his ear—“Lee!” she got a look of personality returned and they both shut their eyes!



The Café and Parties 4


At several months into this new and somewhat, solo relationship (one that was turning into a part-time relationship), Lee looked up from his breakfast meal, at ‘The Little Chief,’ café off East Seventh Street, a few blocks away from his sleeping room, it was a weekend, Sandy on the other side of the table (they had eaten their several times in the past), “I hear there is going to be a graduation party with the kids graduating from and around Cayuga Street, over at Indians Mound, next weekend, will you take me?” asked Sandy.
“I hadn’t heard of it, but if they are going to have one, I can (he hesitated)—but perhaps you’d want to go alone, you’ve met several friends at the recent parties, anyone of the guys can take you.”
“Yes, I know, but I feel safe with you, even though I want to be able to fool around with whomever I wish and you can too of course, but everyone will be drunk, and I’m a bit fearful of a few of the guys.”
There had been a time when Lee had ceased to be jealous, or annoyed with such talk, oh, he liked her, but he knew he could never hold her, and perhaps she knew the same, both felt the same way. He looked at his sunny side up eggs, indirectly at her, she seemed to like the look he gave her, almost forgotten though as she finished her eggs and toast. He was thinking, and she was waiting. He pictured the parties he had taken her to recently, and the guys she had met, and those she was trying to accustom herself to during these discovery parties, he’d often leave early, knowing he might make her uncomfortable.
“Yes,” said l Lee, “…if that’s what you want,” and finished his breakfast.
“Well,” she murmured in a childish way, now completely done with her breakfast also, a little behind him, looking up at him “What—oh, you said yes…!”
He sat straight up, grabbed a napkin, found a pen in his pocket, “Give me the time and date,” he asked her, she was about to polish her nails. Next, Lee wrote down carefully, big and legible the information and put it in his wallet, “So we can meet at my place, and I’ll drive us down to the spot, OK?”
“Yes, a good deal, thanks a lot, I very rarely ask for something like this, but I want to go to the bash and this sounds good, plus, I’m graduating also you know.” Lee knew that already, but the Cayuga Street Gang was not all familiar with her, only a few from the neighborhood were, so it probably was wise to engage him, perhaps uses him, but then, he knew it was more like to like.
As they stood up, he laid the money for the food on the table, put his arm round her shoulders, “Why don’t we settle down at my place for the rest of the day, I got some beer, just fool about?”
Sandy stopped fiddling around with her nails, leaning her cheek against him she said, with a purposeful little moan, “I try to keep myself looking good for you, Lee—“
‘Oh sure,’ he thought, ‘me and who else,’ I suppose the old habit of sudden mannish control made him stiffen up a bit, (for he did) especially in his throat, but the moment they reached the duplex, and opened the door to his room, caution and power was thrown to the wind, “You always look nice,” he said, as they both jumped on the bed, shoulder to shoulder laughing and ignoring, if not forgetting to close the door.



Party at Indians Mound 5
(The Rape and Fight)


[The Rape: 11:00 PM] Lee heard a voice calling for help, then the voice called his name, “Lee, help, help, he’s raping me…!” and so Lee left the party with its bonfire blazing, a bottled-glass of beer in his hands, and went perhaps 125-feet behind the fire, in the bushes, and there was Greg straddled over Sandy, slapping her, and tarring her cloths off, calling her every name under the sun.
“What you doing (it really was a rhetorical question at best)!” asked Lee, in a puzzled way, and Greg’s reply was, “What do you think I’m doing!” A few more times Lee told him to stop, “Fuck off,” he said…then he was inattentive to all his pleas, and slapped her again, and pulled his pants farther down, he had started to insert himself into her, “Enough,” shouted Lee, you had better take this as a last warning (he really didn’t need to rape her, she’d probably go with him after the party, if indeed they could come to an agreement)” but he paid no attention, perhaps trying to get his climax before Lee took action, but to his dismay, it did not happen that way; Lee’s eyes focused on him as she spoke loudly and clearly, almost into Greg’s ear, “Stop!” Yet laboriously, he arched himself, as if to prepare for the pinnacle and tried to get into her further, and that was the end of the entry, Lee grabbed him, and…


[The Fight] He threw caution to the winds. Greg Layman lay there on the ground, bellowing, his nose was smashed flat, both eyes closed to sheer slits, his face one red facade of pulped fleshy tissue and blood, but through the slits of his eyelids his eyes still blazed with old darkness, it was a ferocious attack, as Lee had several times crashed his right hand with the beer bottle in it, onto his jaw, face, and head. He had knocked men down with one blow, or one straight and solid kick before, but not like this, he buckled to the ground. Then Lee felt himself slipping, he was tired and half drunk (Greg perhaps somewhat drunker than he), his legs trembling, he then rallied to Sandy, who was white from fright, and bruised in her face from his backhand slaps, with her nose bleeding and a raw jaw, other bruises were on her thighs and back.
Lee heard in the distance a voice say, “Hey, whatsa matter, Greg?” People were starting to gather and come over their way, by the bushes, when she was screaming no one heard but Lee, but whatever, Lee was at an end to his vitality (he didn’t wish to fight anymore, and had he stayed any longer, it would have led into that), and Sandy in a sort of panic, without a quiver, he grabbed her by the hand and got off that hill, and to his car, as quickly as possible. Again, I say, had he stayed any longer, there were several of Greg’s relatives nearby. It was funny, he didn’t see it as rape, rather as an attack on him, save, she could live through it, but he shouldn’t have to, and as if one was responsible to fight fare. One drunk to another is what it was, with the perpetrator, crying about his wounds. He was not sorry for what he did, he was simply sorry, someone stopped him, and he got a shit beat out of him.

[The Hospital]: Greg Layman was taken to the hospital; a number of stitches were used to close his wounds, ones that would leave scares. As for Sandy, she also was taken to the hospital, for trauma, and bruises. The following day, Lee got a kind phone call from Sandy’s mother telling him how grateful she was that he stood firm with the man trying to rape her daughter. And he got also a message, several of them, from Greg’s family and friends, that they would not forget what he had done to him. He remained in the hospital for a spell.
Perhaps it was excessive force, but how can one measure it when one is drunk; thus, Lee used the same excuse Greg did, but Greg never acknowledge he did wrong, to him, Sandy was a tramp, a whore, in his eyes, but one he wanted to screw nonetheless. Perhaps to Lee, Greg was no more than a grasshopper, which he could have cared less if he hurt him or didn’t hurt him, yet, it was always in his constitution, to avoid fights except when life and lime is in danger. Who can say, it was trying times, youthful times. And no matter what, at eighteen-years old, Greg was just as much a whore as Sandy, if indeed we are to call names, so he got what he deserved, so Lee thought, and felt.




Jerry’s Bar, Sandy and Ms Lopez (1968) 6


Being young has much to do with orientation and did bring some nervous understanding into Lee’s agenda, his daily life, and with clarity: he would never own, or be able to keep Sandy for his own, so when they were not together he looked, shopped around you could say (an egomaniac at times), and not for a tongue in cheek relationship, it won’t do, therefore, he met Miss Lopez at a bar off Rice street, a short Mexican woman, who had two kids, freshly divorced, with long black hair, and dark brown eyes, perhaps twenty-two, not necessary a storybook introduction at this point, but she was very quiet when they met, and Lee was with an old drinking buddy, somewhat sedate at this point also, he was thinking of going to San Francisco with the friend he was drinking with, Jim Larson from the dojo, he was several years older than he, a welder by skill and trade. And he was the person drinking with him, but he had to get on home to his wife, leaving Miss Lopez and him alone, this started a new affair, one on the side you could say.
As this developed, it was easier to leave Sandy on her own as she often wished, and she was wanting that moreso nowadays; but she wanted to hang on to Lee also, kind of a security blanket, or having a ‘Plan B.’

It was a not summer’s day(1968) when Lee took Sandy to visit a friend, who had just purchased a bar, so Lee had hear about it, and his friend had told him a few times that was his goal.
As Sandy went to the pool table, and Lee talked to Jerry Bunn, the owner of the bar, and close friend to Lee, another man was there, he handed her a pool stick, “Wanta play?” he asked, looked at Lee, smiled, then at Jerry, and handed her the stick. Inside of Lee, deep inside him was being filled with a violent, unreasonable irritation, perhaps the Irish and Russian blood stirring. “Just a moment,” the man said, and then put a coin into the pool table slot along side the machine.
“Haven’t seen you for a spell,” said Jerry, “let me show you my bar,” and his twin brother, Jimmy was behind the bar, poured both Jerry and Lee a beer, a glass frosted beer. Down it went, “Magnified,” said Lee, as he got his tour of the dingy little bar on University Ave, close to Rice Street, bee in hand.
As the tour went on, so did the pool game, and Lee overheard Sandy’s conversation with the black leather jacket brute, that was playing with her, and it was very much what he had expected, consequently, his acute phase of a jealous attack was over, the murmur of the regurgitating valves in his heart was normal.

Lee and Jerry had something of a short history together, he was befriend by him sometime ago, went to his dojo, and saw Lee fight, and was impressed (matter-of-fact, so impressed, he would at a later date, join his studio, and far off in time, become a 3rd Degree Black Belt), for the time, he wanted Lee to be his bodyguard (kind of), as he went to parties to collect money (Jerry didn’t really need Lee as a bodyguard, so he felt, he carried a gun, and was a street fighter himself, but he needed—so he said, “…someone to watch my back.”) He had prior to this, just come out of the Navy, a four year hitch.

The girl came back to Lee, leaning against the bar by Jerry, unhurriedly, “I lost…” she said with a dim-teasing-smile to Jerry, and a more proper introduction took place between Jerry and her. The talk seemed to loosen the edges of her

It was scarcely more than a week, when Lee stopped back at the bar to see Jerry, have a few drinks, he was underage of course, but Jerry would serve him nonetheless, and perhaps he’d pick up a six-pack to go. She, Sandy was back again he notice, with a face of unconcern, as if she knew everyone better than he, she was fooling around with a make-up box under one arm, as he walked in.
“Hello Lee,” remarked Sandy with a very plausible ease, “I really like this place, thanks for introducing me…” Jerry was behind the bar. She couldn’t almost hear Jerry say, “She just showed up Lee…hope you don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t mind,” he said appreciatively.
“We don’t want to be enemies over a girl—right.” He replied.
“Good luck,” said Lee, knowing there was not much luck involved in this, just time, and she’d helplessly fall into his arms, willingly.
Sandy filled in the next half-hour with a visit to Lee, “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Not sure,” said Lee.
“What shall we do…?” she questioned.
(A Drunken Soldier walked by.) Piano music came over the radio, an empty beer glass sat on the bar, Lee’s. She had been so preoccupied with this and that, and the bar scene, she was going to say something, but forgot. Fate was kind to her, Lee thought. They had no more than exchanged a few guarded smiles, when the agitated soldier came back from within the bathroom, “You want to play pool, Ms?” He questioned her, as if it was not a request rather short of a demand, if not part of her job. “Yaw,” she said, and the man walked away to stack the balls, and she turned to Lee, “Jerry said he might give me a job here.”
He had been prepared for this, the face, on what might have been called anger, came out as convenience, its good side. Lee looked a bit vicious and hard-bitten, but said his goodbyes and disappeared along side the shades of the bar, where the beaming sun seep through its openings. As he got into his car, he noticed she was so set aback, and so absurdly comfortable, just this one glimpse through the glass doorway told him, she’s trying to find her way–almost motionless he drove off in his red and white Ford.


http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Poeta Laureado De San Jerónimo de Tunan, Perú

Awarded the Grand Cross of the City

Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture