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    The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories
    The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories
    The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories
    Ebook135 pages2 hours

    The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories

    By Joseph Sutton

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    About this ebook

    A collection of sixteen short stories dealing with classic American themes of heroes and mentors, roller-coaster relationships, sports, coming of age, and aging. These stories deal with humanity's goodness and wickedness, loyalty and betrayal, rage and exultation, triumph and defeat.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoseph Sutton
    Release dateApr 18, 2011
    ISBN9781458053107
    The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories
    Author

    Joseph Sutton

    Joseph Sutton was born in Brooklyn and raised in Hollywood. He played football at the University of Oregon and graduated with a degree in philosophy. He earned a teaching credential and a degree in history at Cal State University Los Angeles and taught high school history and English for many years. Sutton, who has been writing for more than 50 years, has published over two dozen books. His essays and short stories have appeared in numerous national magazines and journals. He lives in San Francisco with his wife Joan.

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      Book preview

      The Immortal Mouth and Other Stories - Joseph Sutton

      THE IMMORTAL MOUTH AND OTHER STORIES

      by

      Joseph Sutton

      Copyright 2011 by Joseph Sutton

      Smashwords Edition

      Contents

      The Immortal Mouth

      The Baby

      Stopover in Fresno

      Saroyan Again—A Chance Meeting

      The Silver Moon

      At the Store

      The Hero

      The Fourth Stringer

      The Running Back vs. the Ram

      The Greatest in the World

      Paul Milocheck’s Struggle with His Friend Dmitri and the Sea

      Hollywood Story

      American Doll

      Bedtime Story

      The Burglar

      The Health-Mail Man

      About the Author

      Other Titles by Joseph Sutton

      Connect with Joseph Sutton

      The Immortal Mouth

      Charles Stein and his friend were sitting at a small table in a bar drinking beer, talking about the world in general, when a skinny old man walked up to Stein and said, I want your mouth. The old man’s voice was firm. He had piercing brown eyes. His clothes were shabby.

      My mouth! blurted Stein. You’ve got to be kidding.

      Go and try your jokes on someone else, added Stein’s friend.

      I am not joking, the old man told Stein’s friend. I need your friend to model his mouth for a painting of mine.

      Look, mister, we’d like to drink our beer in peace, replied Stein’s friend. You better be on your way.

      No, don’t go, Stein told the old man. Tell me, what’s so special about my mouth?

      Charles, broke in Stein’s friend, are you crazy? The man says he wants your mouth. Don’t tell me you’re going to hear him out?

      I’m just curious, Stein said to his friend. He turned to the old man. Go on, why is my mouth so special to you?

      Two years ago, explained the old man, I finished everything in my painting except the mouth. I’ve been searching for the perfect mouth ever since and finally, tonight, in this bar, I found it. For the past forty-five minutes I’ve been sitting in that corner over there studying your oral area. It’s just what I need—a large, expressive mouth with thick, tender lips. May I be so bold to ask if I can see your teeth?

      Stein, who was very proud of his teeth, didn’t hesitate to let the old man peer into his large mouth.

      I knew it, drooled the old man. Perfect teeth.

      You’re darn tootin’, boasted Stein. Not one cavity in all my twenty-seven years.

      Let me have your mouth, implored the old man. I’ll pay you anything you want if you’ll model it for me.

      Wait a minute, Charles, warned Stein’s friend. I think this guy has something else on his mind instead of this baloney artistic line he’s feeding you.

      Do not even think such a thought, young man. I am a painter. I need your friend’s mouth to make both my painting and his mouth immortal.

      How are you going to do that? asked Stein.

      I believe you have the ability to give me two opposing expressions at the same time—rage and exultation.

      That’s impossible! cried Stein. I’d never be able to do that.

      Of course you can, encouraged the old man. You have the perfect tools for it.

      The old man made Stein feel like someone special, a man of importance. You really think so? asked Stein.

      Look, young man, I’ve been waiting two years for this day to arrive. If I didn’t think you could do it I wouldn’t be standing here right now.

      How many times would I have to model for you?

      If all goes well, just one sitting.

      What if I say I’ll take twenty-five dollars for each hour I sit?

      "Young man, your mouth is worth more than that. I’ll gladly pay you five hundred dollars."

      Watch out for this guy, cautioned Stein’s friend. The way he’s dressed, he can’t even afford to buy you a beer.

      Stein wasn’t listening to his friend. You mean you’ll pay me five hundred dollars if I express rage and exultation at the same time?

      In cash.

      It’s a deal, said Stein, extending his right hand to finalize matters.

      Charles Stein called in sick to work the next morning and started out for the address the old man had given him. When he arrived at the man’s house, he was surprised. Instead of knocking on the door of a run-down shack, he was ringing the chimes of a beautiful two-story Victorian mansion.

      A butler opened the door and greeted Stein. He showed Stein into the living room. Mr. Vincent will be with you very shortly, sir.

      Before Stein could walk up to any of the paintings to see who had painted them, old man Vincent blew into the room.

      How are you this morning, Mr. Stein?

      Flabbergasted.

      May I ask why?

      I wasn’t expecting you to live in such grand style, Mr. Vincent.

      Why do you say that?

      Because last night you looked so poor.

      I was dressed in my work clothes last night.

      But how...? What did...?

      Get to the point, young man.

      Where’d you get the money for all this? blurted Stein.

      It’s all inherited, replied Vincent. May I have Maurice bring you some coffee?

      No, no thanks.

      Then we mustn’t dally another second.

      Vincent led Stein up a wide staircase to his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Stein looked around and didn’t see one clue telling him that Vincent was a painter. Vincent began taking his pants off. Stein made a quick about-face and started for the door.

      Why are you leaving? asked Vincent.

      A shaken Stein turned toward the old man standing there with his pants off. I should’ve listened to my friend last night.

      Don’t leave, Mr. Stein. I’m only changing into my work clothes.

      You liar! shouted Stein as he bounded down the stairs.

      Mr. Stein! the half-naked man called from the second-floor railing, "I’ll pay you anything for your mouth. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if that’s what you want."

      Stein stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Vincent. I thought you said you were a painter. Is this what I get for trusting a stranger?

      "I am a painter. I’ll prove it to you if you would only have some patience."

      How do you expect me to have patience when you take your pants off in front of me? Look at yourself! You look disgusting.

      As calmly as possible, Vincent said, I already told you I was changing into my work clothes. I didn’t know I would startle you like this. Please forgive me.

      Are you telling me the truth?

      Yes, Mr. Stein. You see, my loft is above my bedroom. I thought I would change into my work clothes when you arrived.

      If you’re telling me the truth, then change into your clothes before I come upstairs.

      I will. But first you must promise me you won’t leave. My offer still stands. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars, in cash, for your mouth.

      Stein went upstairs as soon as Vincent dressed. Vincent pushed a button on the side of his bed and a large panel next to one of his dressers opened. Both men went through the opening and climbed a spiral staircase.

      Stein felt tremendous relief when he saw art supplies strewn about Vincent’s loft. Can I see the painting you’re going to use me for? he asked.

      You’ll see it, said Vincent, going behind a canvas that was taller than he was, but not today. I never show a painting to anyone unless it’s completely finished. Now, Mr. Stein, I want you to sit on that stool over there and use your mouth to express both rage and exultation for me.

      I practiced it last night, Mr. Vincent. I think I know what you want.

      Charles Stein sat on a tall stool and opened his large cavity-free mouth as wide as he could. He repeated in his mind the words rage and exultation.

      No, no, shouted Vincent, I don’t want a surprised look! Give me rage and exultation. Yes, Mr. Stein, that’s better, said Vincent, beginning to sketch on the canvas. Now you’re getting it. More exultation. Stop shaking your head. Exult, Mr. Stein. Exult! How can I get you to . . . you look like a man who’s played football in his life . . .

      That’s right, Mr. Vincent. That’s what got me through college.

      Do you realize, Mr. Stein, what you just did? You broke your expression. I absolutely forbid you to talk. I don’t want to hear another word out of you.

      Stein obeyed the fanatic and started visualizing the two opposing words again.

      I still need more exultation, demanded an intense Vincent. Show your front teeth more. Lower your jaw. Lower. That’s better. So you played football. Then picture yourself running with the ball. Your team is behind. It’s the last play of the game. Every man on the other team has a chance to tackle you but you refuse to go down . . .

      That really happened to me! burst out Stein. We were six points behind. It was the last play of the game, and every man on the Notre Dame team had a shot at me. Were you at the game, Mr. Vincent?

      Vincent was seething. "There you go again, Mr. Stein! You ruined it. Is it asking too much of you to just listen to me? A model must be silent. Now, open your mouth, and this time, leave it that way."

      Stein reluctantly followed Vincent’s orders. He couldn’t understand how this old painter knew so much about football and especially about his famous run against Notre Dame. Is the man psychic or something? he asked himself. He can’t be, he must’ve been there in person.

      Rage and exultation, exhorted Vincent. Exult, Mr. Stein. Exult! Think of your touchdown run. Yes, now you’re seeing the light, said Vincent, turning his head repeatedly from Stein to the painting. "You’re getting closer to the goal line. You’re on the twenty, the fifteen. But wait, the last man on the other team jumps

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