Saving Elijah

got to the baboon section, separated from the rest of the park by a high wooden fence. An attendant stopped them and said they couldn't proceed unless they signed a release. He pointed to a sign on the fence: NO CONVERTIBLES ALLOWED, BABOONS MAY DAMAGE VINYL ROOFS . It was a very small sign and there were a lot of signatures on the release form, so Carl overrode his wife's qualms and signed.
    "I told my wife they didn't mean brand new vinyl roofs, they meant old dilapidated vinyl roofs. Well, those baboons saw us coming in our brand-new Grand Prix and they were licking their chops. The minute that gate clanged shut, they came at us from every direction, from behind every tree. Baboons are really nasty animals. Who knew?
    "They surrounded us, hopped on top of the car, and started dancing around like it was a party, all the time making baboon noises, squawking and squealing, hooting and egging each other on. As they started to claw at the roof, my wife said, 'Carl.' Whenever Sally was angry or upset, she always said my name as if it had two syllables. Car-el.
    " 'I mean, Death by Baboon?' I said. 'Come on, Sally.'" He began to rock the car, shifting between reverse and forward gears, trying to make the baboons fall or jump off. "But they were too busy eating my roof. And my wife was busy saying, 'I told you not to sign that release.' I had visions of us heading out to the highway, riding down Interstate 95 to Miami with the baboons still hanging on."
    Eventually the attendant at the other end of the section poked the baboons off with a long cattle prod. He had a smirk on his face.
    And Carl had all of us laughing out loud. Usually, after they heard each other's stories, they'd say things like "My daughter got married in a New York hotel, too," or "Oh. Then you're from Pennsylvania, like me." Then they wanted to know if it was their turn next. But that day for a brief moment Carl had all of them wanting to listen, rather than tell. Maybe it was the way he dropped his deadpan delivery, and began to choke up as he ended the story:
    "Of course it wasn't so funny then, but Sally and I laughed about it for years afterwards. Looking back on it now, I can only think one thing, how I'd love to hear my wife say, 'Car-el.' With those two syllables, the way she used to say it when she was upset or mad at me."
    "CARRRR-ELLLL."
    I looked around the room. "What?"
    "CARRR-EL."
    No one had spoken.
    "Is something wrong, Dinah?" Abe Modell said. My face must have drained of color.
    "CARRR-EL."
    I managed, "I'm all right."
    But I wasn't all right. I had heard an old woman's voice, abrasive and rather whiny but all around me, emanating from nowhere and everywhere.
    My blood froze in my bones.

    *    *    *

    When I finally fall asleep that night, I have a degrading little playlet of a dream.
    Sam and I are walking down the aisle of a packed movie theater, where every seat seems to be filled with someone I know. People I know from my past, people I have in my present: Gabby Sterling, Jay Salisbury, Mark Sullivan, Becky, Tammy Pearl, my grandfather Eli, smoking a cigar. He has an expression on his face I can't understand. Is he leering?
    We sit down in the only empty seats in the front row, then the lights dim, the curtains open, and I can hear the gritty whir of a projector. A movie begins with a hand-lettered title, white on a black background.

    THE   DEVIL'S  BARGAIN
    A Film by Seth Lucien

    Cut to a room with a peaked ceiling, an attic. Crudely filmed. Stationary camera. Black-and-white images. Familiar. Another black title card now:

    PART  ONE 
    INNOCENCE  SURRENDERED

    Cut back to the attic. A poodle bounds in and out of the camera's field as a young man and woman walk to the bed. The man leaves the shot for a few seconds; the young woman stands there, looking around nervously, admiring a beautiful carved mirror on the wall. The man returns, stands behind her, puts his arms around her waist, kisses her. She pulls away. He leads her to the bed, where, in a queer tremble of black and white light, he begins to kiss her again.
    But wait. A protest. Their lips move but there is no sound. The young woman motions toward the dog, who is resting its long, sharp muzzle at the edge of the mattress. The man points, the dog retreats, then the couple begins to make love. There is an odd kind of staged quality about the scene, though the actors are convincing. First some foreplay; then, as the man thrusts his hips a few times, pain shows