The Comic Book Morality Conundrum (Short Story) {Part II}

                                                                                                                        Word Count:1485      

     Unfortunately, both Nigel and his father Calvin were correct. Ever since Margaret Dorfmeister passed away from ovarian cancer ten years previously, her two sons and husband had struggled mightily to survive financially. This wasn’t because any of them was lazy or didn’t lack for a very strong work ethic. What they did lack for was the intangible ability to choose gainful employment that wasn’t related in some way to the arts. Nigel with his acting, Nick, the comic books & graphic novel collecting, and Calvin with the performance art.

     This odd little quirk of character had been a hallmark of the Dorfmeister clan for many generations dating as far back as the 1500’s. Notable Dorfmeisters included Helmut, a famous magician in 16^th century Prussia, Mildred, a highly in demand Soprano at the Berlin Opera house, and Melvin Dorfmeister, whose paintings graced the walls of the Hapsburg family palace in Vienna. Fame and fortune accompanied all of them at one time or another during their lives.

     This all came to a screeching halt with Fritz Dorfmeister (Calvin’s grandfather). Choosing to ignore a sharp downturn in his career as a novelist, Fritz stowed away on a passenger ship headed to America. He considered his writings to be a loving homage to those of Fyodor Dostoevsky, which was pretty much what his mother and a few close friends judged his talent to be as well.

      Most folks on the other hand (including the majority of literary critics out there in 19^th

century Europe) believed his writing to be of a slightly poorer quality. “Mindless, unmitigated,

rubbish” as one critic so mildly put it in a critique of his musings.

     As a result, he labored in obscurity for the remainder of his life, and this pattern carried over with subsequent Dorfmeister descendents right up until the present day. Calvin’s father Heinrich, stumbled and bumbled his way during a long, drawn out career as a street minstrel (supplementing his income through shop keeper payments not to perform in front of their business).

     Even though Calvin wanted desperately to provide a comfortable living for his family, his clown-for-hire business just wasn’t making much headway. Things got pretty lean (both figuratively and literally) for Margaret and the boys at various times. This really became apparent to him when he discovered that his act was in extremely high demand just prior to Halloween. Due entirely to the fact that clown make-up made him look more like a psychotic serial killer than anything else.

       Suddenly the Dorfmeister run of bad luck looked like it was about to end with Nick. His attendance and graduation from college gave the outward appearance that he seemed to be moving in the right direction with his passion. Unlike the previous Dorfmeisters who for the past three generations leading up to him appeared to have jumped into their life’s desire without bothering to do any of that advanced planning stuff, Nick on the hand, had been thinking and formulating his strategy for quite some time.

     Some things don’t look like they’re meant to happen, and all of a sudden Nick’s longing to one day own and operate his own comic book store looked like it was about to become another casualty of the curse. Through no fault of his own too.

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     The loan department at Midtown Mutual Savings was the main lending purveyor in and around Fort Upton, Nevada. Besides providing small and medium sized businesses with a ready-made source of cash to get their ideas and plans off the ground, it was also directly responsible for the return (with interest of course) of said money loans to the institution. Most of the cash it lent out was paid back in a more or less routine manner, and over time things got downright boring for the company and most of its lending officers. Business transactions in a small town where the white-collar (as well as blue collar) crime rate is almost non-existent can tend to get that way.

      The economy nationwide (if not globally) in the summer of 2011 was about as anemic as a polar explorer who’s allergic to Vitamin C, and thus had an adverse affect upon a number of loans green lighted by Midtown Mutual. Subsequently, quite a few lending plans sank into dream shattering, sickening nonpayment. Among them, money they’d lent to Amin Abdoo, a Lebanese immigrant writer who decided that he wanted to open a small bookstore near the Cherry Blossom Mall in downtown Upton.

     Amin never had any intention to sully his credit rating, nor his overall reputation for that matter. Economic realities had a way of guaranteeing this; along with a Titanic-like shift in the way most Americans bought and read books. Fewer and fewer people were perusing them, in addition to the fact that a lot of them just weren’t even buying the things anymore either.  Small, independent bookstores like his really took a massive hit because of this. A financial broadside if you will. Amin being the trailer, and the economy being the tornado.

     The harsh reality of the situation became painfully aware to him when he went through a one-week period of operation and only sold enough merchandise to pay his utility bills for the month. He might’ve been able to weather this financial tsunami an earlier time, but he owed monthly

overhead payments to various entities. This, along with a mortgage owed to Midtown Mutual

slowly, but surely forced him into default. 

    The cold, gray, truth of the matter became painfully apparent to Amin and his wife, Jamila, during a dinner conversation they had on a Wednesday night.

     “We need to stop speaking to each other in this manner,” said Amin. “It’s stifling our progress since we’ve been here in America.”

     “What on earth are you talking bout?”asked Jamila.

      “Speaking to one another in Arabic instead of English is continuing to put a communication roadblock in front of us. We postpone our future.”

     “So. It is our native tongue in case you haven’t noticed.”

     “It also makes us linguistically challenged.”

     “Is that some sort of physical ailment?”

     Amin gave Jamila a skeptical look. “Of course not.”

     “Getting to more pressing matters, another slow day at the store wasn’t it?”

     “Very much so. I only sold a Simpson Desk calendar, whatever those infernal things happen to be, and a two paperback mystery novels. This month’s mortgage bill from Upton Midtown Mutual Bank must be paid by next Tuesday. We don’t have the money, and last month’s bill still hasn’t been taken care of either. On top of that, I’ve only remitted just over half of the mortgage bill from two months ago to the bank officers.”

     “This is bad. How exactly did we get into this mess?”

     “I guess it just snuck up on us.”

     “Did anything happen that was even remotely positive today?”

     “I did meet this nice young man while on my lunch break.

     “Really, where?”

      “We met one another as we were sitting on the same bench in the park. His medium build,

straight brown hair, extremely inquisitive looking eyes, and friendly manner is what attracted me

to him. We talked for quite some time, as he didn’t shy away from me like most Americans.”

     Jamila frowned. “All that stuff about not judging a book by its cover, and staying away from racial profiling is complete garbage. Most Americans look at the two of us and automatically assume we’re suicide bombers.”

     “Hardly. I don’t even like heavy things strapped to my back. Thank Allah this person I met today is different. He said his name is Nicolas, and that he’s checking into the rental of a storefront near our shop.”

     “That’s surprising. Here we are having all this trouble with our business, and you meet someone who’s going to start his own venture.  He’s probably of European descent isn’t he?”

    “Now Jamila, that shouldn’t be a factor in whether his planned business venture will succeed or not. Everything is supposed to be equal in this country.”

     “But is it? By the way, what is his planned commerce activity?”

     “He told me he’s going to open a comic book/graphic novel shop.”

     “What’s that?”

     “A store that sells picture books with accompanying words.”

     Jamila reached across the table to add more Tahini paste to her to her fried eggplant. Figuring this would enhance her point. “Like cartoons in Al-Hayatnewspaper?”

     “I guess. Do you think the youth that buy these comic books in America are like the cartoon fanatics back home in Lebanon?”

     “Probably. Over here the name is similar. They call them Fan boys.”

     “So what happens now?”

     “Since we can’t make our mortgage payments, we’ll probably lose the business.”

     “Sort of like the American Dream in reverse.”

     “Unfortunately yes.”

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