Castaic 77 turned into an American movie “Alice Agonistes”

Castaic 77

佳思地七十七号

The first time I set my eyes on Castaic #77, a small cabin-like house on the mountain in the forest; I fell in love with it right away.

“Well, I have to tell you, there is a jail two miles down the road.” My agent Wallace told me. Wallace was a sincere, honest and hard- working realtor whose office was full of his wonderful family photos.

“Is that close?” I asked with some eerie feeling. That was the very first time I heard about the word “jail” since I came to the United States. Wallace said “That place was called ‘reform center’. It’s the same as a prison. However, this little path here leads to a dead-end; there is no other way out. So the prisoners would not run into this corner and get caught senselessly.” Wallace commented more.

“Reform center” sounded a little different and less severe. “I am ok with that.” I said. I loved the cabin house too much to give it up. Two days before that Wallace had taken me to downtown to see a gorgeous, “foreign-style” house and told me the selling price was unbelievably good. I was tempted a little. But once I saw the cabin house, I changed my mind immediately and forgot that down house completely.

It was a bit cloudy that day when the previous owner of that cabin house, a short man in his fifties, was moving the last batch of his stuff out of Castaic #77. I stood outside of the front door, peeking inside. I saw a wood Cross still hanging there on the wall in the living room.

“Why is it still here?” I asked, pointing to the wood Cross.

“You may want to keep it. “ The man replied in his low but deep voice. “I thought it might be useful to you. But if you want me to remove it, I will take it down today before I leave.”

“Never mind; leave it here.” I shook my hand.

A week after I moved in, I regretted a little for choosing this house. The house sat on the top of the slope. It was very windy in the night time; the strange, scary sound came with the wind and filled the whole house. There was no other house close by. I was pretty frightened being all alone by myself in this cabin house. I put an additional police lock on the door and a wood stick under my bed, preparing to fight back with it, if some break-in could happen. Finally I was able to relax and sleep well.

One midnight, I was woken by a string of sirens; the sirens sounded so clear and sharp. As soon as I opened my eyes, I could tell they were the police sirens.

“Could it be that some prisoner escaped?” Somehow that thought came to me first. Then I told myself: I worried too much. Didn’t Wallace tell me they would have to break through six independent doors with high security alarms before getting out and seeing the sunlight or moonlight?

The sirens were finally gone and my heart beat was back to normal. Some fugitive could get caught! Nice job policemen! The society had one less piece of trash and was safer now.

The next day I worked 1 hr overtime in the office and left for home a little late. On my way home, a bloody red sunset was right in front of my windshield. I felt the sunset was a bit lonely and sad, which reflected my mood a little.

My garage and house were connected. When the garage door shut behind me, I could feel I was home safe without a doubt. That day,

I slowly pulled my car into the garage and closed the door right after. I got out of the car and was about to open the door to the house when I heard something moving behind my back. Before I was able to turn around, a man’s voice uttered: “Do not move! Slowly get in!”

I have watched enough movies and heard enough stories to realize something was going on. Although that voice was pretty low and calm, my hands were sweaty and cold. My entire body was trembling with fear.

“Open the door – No, put the other hand up --- Take me in.” The guy ordered again.

“Ok, Ok.” While oking, I raised one hand and tried to open the door with the other shivering hand.

I dared not to turn around.

Finally I entered the living room and put my purse on the couch. My left hand was still up in the air.

“Now sit down, slowly.” The man behind me demanded.

I slowly turned around and sat down quietly on the coach. My head was still down.

What if he is a rapist? My brain stopped functioning when that idea hit me.

“Don’t be scared like that. I am not a bad guy.” He said.

That was a magic word! I felt a little bit eased and even a little bit brave after hearing that. I lifted my head and my eyes met his. His eyes were so deep that I could not tell what was hidden behind those dark eyes. He was around his 30s. Maybe because of his dirty face, messy hair and rough beard, he looked dark. He was of medium height, a little thin. He had something in his hand, which I quickly recognized was my medium size screwdriver from the garage. I looked at him and felt horrified: The worst could happen. He must be the fugitive! He could have committed rape! What was I supposed to do? I should try to call the police immediately. But his vigilant eyes were staring at me. I simply had no chance to move.

“Don’t you even think about calling police?” He seemed to have figured out what was on my mind. “If you do so the consequence would be you and I die together.” Although he said it calmly, I knew that he was threatening me. He was a fugitive after all, and there was nothing a fugitive wouldn’t do to save himself.

“Ok, now can I have something to eat?” I couldn’t believe that the man was in fact asking me for food! His voice was certainly a bit softer now.

“Would you leave after eating?” I asked.

“I told you. Don’t be afraid, because I won’t hurt good guys - especially women. Look at that,” he pointed to the Cross on the wall. “You are protected by it.”

It looked like I had to feed him first before I could have a chance to be free. I stood up and walked to the kitchen.

“Wait a minute.” Hurriedly he followed me to the kitchen. “Do not use knife.”

“I won’t. All the stuff is ready to cook.” I explained.

Still he entered the kitchen and took away all knives.

I cooked two bowls of fried rice, one salad and a little pot of chicken corn soup.

He wasted no time to sit down. He looked at the food hungrily.

“Won’t you clean up yourself first?” I asked, looking at his dirty face and hands.

He looked into the mirror over the other side of the wall; felt his own skin.

“Very dirty, isn’t it?” He expressed a child-like giggle.

That laugh infected me, and I smiled.

“You must go with me.” He stopped laughing and regained his alert.

I went to the bathroom with him. He turned on the water, cupped the water with his hands and splashed some water over his face. I handed over a towel but he shook the water off instead.

Before long we went back to the table. I could not think and did not have appetite for dinner. From time to time I was peeking at him. After he washed his face, I could tell that he was a white guy. He has dark brown hair. Maybe he was an Italian American. In fact, he did not look like a bad guy. He was quite starving. He finished his bowl of fried rice very quickly.

I passed over mine to him subconsciously.

“No, that’s yours. You eat it.” He shook his head.

“That’s ok. I have something else.” While I was talking, I returned to the kitchen.

He followed me closely. He probably was afraid that I would go pick up the phone or something else to defend myself.

Quietly, I took out a Cantonese bowl of noodle, filled it with water and placed it into the Microwave.

He followed me gingerly until I finally returned to the table again.

“The noodle smells good.” He commented.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Bob.” He answered and sounded as he just made up that name casually. Maybe he really was the fugitive and did not want to release his real name.

“Where did you come from?” I could not help, but, asking curiously.

This time he did not answer.

“Did you run away from the jail?”

He did not deny. So I drilled my question down all the way to the bottom: “How did you go in there?”

He put down his knife and fork; was silent and expressionless for a moment.

“I am sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“I killed the God damn Dick!”He became emotional. I probably had provoked something inside of him.

“Dick?”

“That guy not only tortured Jane but finally killed the innocent girl!” While listening I could see blue veins appeared on his forehead.

I was shocked and stunned.

He picked up the fork and knife again. “I did not mean to kill him. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. I did not expect him to be so weak. Well, he died and I was put into jail. I revenged for Jane anyway and that was worth it.”

“Why didn’t you report to the police?”

He sneered. “Actually the police took him to the court. Then he got released because of lacking of evidence.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“What is your name?” He changed the topic.

“My name is Debbie. Can I ask another silly question?” I tried to return to the old topic.

“I am listening.”

“Why would you want to escape?”

“It is indeed a silly question.”

“Well, jailbreak is very dangerous.”

“Freedom is worth everything.”

“Not for love.”

“I’ve got no love to compete with it anymore – except this, the dinner you’ve made for me.” He stopped and gazed at me. “I hope you won’t hate me.” He said.

This fugitive really isn’t a bad guy --- I was sided for him a little. “I won’t hate you. But you won’t kill another soul, all right?”

“Jane died. Dick died. Who else in the world is worth my killing?” He coughed a little and was choked with his words. He finished up the soup and eventually completed the dinner.

As I started to clean up the table, he stayed closely with me. When I finished cleaning, he asked me: “Can you do me three more favors?” He looked very sincere.

Three more “favors”?! I felt nervous. For him, one would be big enough; how could he ask for three?

“What are they?” I asked uneasily.

“First, can I take a shower?”

“Oh! Sure.” I felt a little bit relieved.

“Secondly, could I have your promise to not call the police?”

I hesitated.

“At least, not tonight so I could have one night of good sleep at least?”

I nodded. I guessed I had to. Why? I don’t know. Actually I had almost forgotten about calling the police after these few hours of chatting with him.

“The third one…”

I started to feel nervous again, guessing it would be a real big one.

“Tomorrow, could you please drive me to San Diego?”

I did not answer immediately. I was puzzled a little. I wasn’t sure whether I was worrying about him or myself or, even the police.

“Why are you going there? It is not safe there neither.”

“I’ve got an acquaintance there.” He said. Seeing me baffled, he continued: “If you cannot drive me there, I’ll just walk myself.”

I looked at him. His image gradually changed my thought: From bad guy, to not a bad guy to now --- almost a good man. He committed crime because of his loved one. I trusted what he said and I could forgive him for that. There were not many chances to be an errant knight in one’s life. So I decided to do it once. “Let me take you there.” I said.

The siren rang again. Bob walked to the window to check.

“This area is a dead end. The policemen know that. They wouldn’t bother to come here.” I tried to comfort him. “And even if they do come, I will just say nobody is here.” I didn’t know when I decided to lie.

“What if they bring the dog?” Bob asked me with a naughty smile. He was obviously more relaxed.

The siren of the police cars gradually vanished.

“Tomorrow we need to leave early.” Bob walked away from the window. He was about to take a shower.

After the shower, he looked fresh. I saw him stand there in the living room with his hair still wet. He stared at the Cross on the wall.

“Do you believe in the Cross?” He asked me.

“I am not sure. The previous owner left it here saying it might be useful to me.”

Bob nodded, silently.

I looked over my closet and took out a blanket and a coverlet. I had the habit of keeping everything clean and did not like other people to sleep on my bed. I put the blanket and the coverlet on the sofa. “Can you sleep on the sofa?”

“I guess I don’t have any choice.” He replied.

We said good night to each other.

But it was not a good night at the beginning. I could not sleep. Something went back and forth, up and down on my mind. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing or not; or was I simply helping the evil. He killed Dick because of Jane. If later on he loved some other girl, would he kill again if the same situation happened again? The law is the guidance for everyone and seems cruel at times; it should not be broken under any circumstances. While thinking those through, there was one moment I almost thought I should call the police. I got down the bed and tiptoed to the door. I put my ear against the door. It was dead quiet in the living room. He must be in sound sleep. He lost his alertness… Suddenly I recalled the conversations we had the night before：

“Bob, if same thing happens, would you kill again?”

“I told you I did not mean to kill him.” He seemed a little upset.

“I am sorry. I meant will you fight hard?”

“What do you think? There is only one true love in a person’s life; I guess the same goes for the deep hatred.”

I sigh. I had promised him not to call the police, at least not tonight. Let him go. I had saved a little bird under the wrap of a cat’s claws. Let me do the same for him; let me send him back to freedom…

Bob did not even have a bag with him, nor even have any clothes. It became an issue in my mind as to what he was to wear for tomorrow’s trip. I checked the closet and looked at the top shelf. There was some old stuff I had not touched for years. I stood on a stool and rolled down the clothing on the top shelve. I saw some old T-shirts and sportswear. I used to buy large size clothes, which now would be good fit for Bob.

He got up pretty early the next day. I rushed to toast several pieces of bread, fry a couple of eggs and pour a full cup of milk for him.

He quickly finished them all.

It was time to leave. He stood in the middle of the house, looking around. He was again staring at the Cross for a short while. Then he told me: “Clean all the surfaces.” I understood he was reminding me to get rid of his fingerprints just in case.

Before he shut the car door, he once again turned around and took a last look at my house. “I will never forget this house.” He said. I was moved. But there was no time for emotions. I got to start the car.

It was a three hours driving. He was pretty quiet on the road. In the end he told me where to stop. I pulled my car to the side of a dirt road, a place very close to the boarder of Mexico. I had been there with my friends long time ago.

“You are going to Mexico?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about where I am going.”He answered.

I handed over the bag I had prepared for him before we left. “There are clothes, dry food and water. It also has a little bit of money.” I said.

He looked at me – almost stared at me. After quite some time, he uttered: “Thank you, thank you Debbie!” That was the first time he said “Thank you” and the first time he called my name.

“Would you come back and see me again?” I sincerely hoped to see him again.

“I got your address and phone.” That was his reply.

“Bob,” I called him.

“Yes?”

“Promise me two things.”

“I owe you one then.”

He wasted no time to kid. “Take good care of yourself and no more killing --- I meant no more fighting. OK?”

He sincerely nodded. “Debbie, I finally recognize God’s being by the existence of people like you. There is no God in law. You think God is in the court just because there is a Bible in the court?”

Right after he said that, he turned around and quickly stepped towards the direction of Mexico.

I looked at the horizon where his shadow disappeared. I stayed there; looked at the horizon for a long time. There was so much I wanted to communicate with him. I wanted to tell him: the law does have God’s spirit in it to keep the society in order for this world.

The sun went down towards the other side of the horizon. I guessed the sun could always see Bob no matter where he was going to be, but I could not, at least I did not know when, where and how. There was some emptiness in my heart followed by a massive load of sadness.

I felt myself changed as a different person after Bob left. I often missed him and worried about him. Every time when I drove by the path, which led to the “Reform Center”, I would turn my head and looked at the very end of the path. I would wonder if he was back to dark jail room again. I had been waiting for his message to come by somehow. .There was none. I knew it would not be easy for him to communicate with the outside world because of his identity. I regretted that I forgot to give him my email address... But, maybe he did not even have a computer or/and did not even get a chance to go onto the Internet.

I still remember the bloody red lonely and sad sun hanging over the bridge on my way home; when that particular evening Bob and I were about to meet the very first time. .Many evenings after that I would watch the sun sink to the horizon of the west. I would feel the daylight vanished and the moonlight took over in the sky. “I hope tomorrow’s sun would treat Bob better and tender…” I prayed.

I watched the local news almost everyday. I did not see any news regarding the fugitive. No news was good news. I was a little relieved.

On the first Thanksgiving Day after Bob had gone, I was cleaning the house when somebody knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” I asked while walking over.

No answer.

I was wondering who could be. I looked through the little hole on the door and saw a middle age man.

“Who is this, please?”

The man stood outside; told me his name. I did not get it clearly.

I plugged on the door chain before opened the door.

The man was at his late 30s, medium stature. He looked like a South American. He was looking at me and asked, “Are you Debbie?”

“Yes. How do you know my name?” I was a little surprised.

He handed over a letter to me, “Your friend asked me to bring you the letter.”

“My friend?”I was confused.

“You will understand once you read the letter.”

I opened the envelope and saw several hundred-dollar bills. I did not pay much attention to the money. I pulled out the letter. When I saw the endorsement on the bottom of the letter, I was totally stunned: it was nobody else but Bob!

There were only a few lines of words:

Dear Debbie:

I am sending the money I’ve owed you. I have been in stores trying to get something for you. I found nothing would suit you; nothing could express my gratitude to you. You know, there is no God in money or material things. But my heart has. This letter represents my heart. It will always remember you, love you and bless you!

I am doing well. Don’t worry. You are welcome to visit here. Once you found my friend, you would find me.

I moved my eyes from the letter to the man. I could not hide my emotions: “Is Bob really doing well?”

Without a doubt, the man nodded in a barely audible voice. “My name and phone number are on the back of the letter.”

The man’s name was Acardo.

I did call Acardo afterwards. I called a few times and eventually I was able to get in touch with him. I told him I was planning on visiting Mexico next Thanksgiving.

“Josh would be very happy.” Acardo said.

“Josh? Who is Josh?”

Acardo did not answer.

Josh must be Bob, I thought.

The year after, October comes with the golden autumn look; I started the preparation for the Mexico trip. But at the end of October I received an unexpected phone call from a lady who I did not know before. She introduced herself as Hanna.

“Did I know you?”

“You know my younger brother.” The lady spoke from the other side of the phone line.

“Who is your younger brother?” Right after my questioning, I had guessed half of the answer.

“Josh.”

“Josh! How is he?” My heart jumped with the anxiety slipped through my mouth.

Josh’s sister did not reply directly. Instead, she asked me to go to her house as soon as possible. Her house was right in town.

I hung up and my heart jerked for no reason. The next day I found Hanna’s home. It was a traditional home painted in light-green color. The outside of the wall was a little faded. The grass was mostly withered and turned yellow. In the unkempt yard, there were only a couple of roses that were still blooming to greet the visitors.

Hanna opened the door and let me in. She looked a little pale. The purple color surrounding her eyes’ socket showed her lack of rest. After greeting each other, the topic switched to Bob.

Bob’s sister hesitated before she went inside and came out with a jar in her arms. Indeed her body was shaking.

I stared at the pot, frowned. I looked at Hanna. Her lips twitched and uttered with the scariest words: “Josh died!”

I was totally shocked. There was a silent moment before I could barely ask: “What happened?”

“He was being himself. He was the same: fought whomever he thought he should fight. This time it was for his fellow compatriot.” Her voice turned hoarse. Her hand stroked the brown pot. “He could not return to his own country when he was alive, but, only after he died, in this situation…”

I saw her tears rolling down her cheeks. The glittering of her tears became blurred; so was the jar in her arms.

She handed me a tissue.

I took the tissue. There was a moment I felt the world was just like a tissue: white, soft and empty.

“I thought I could see him soon. I thought he would listen to me …” I felt I lost a piece of my heart in a split second; a special good friend who knew me well had just left me ….

The conversation between Hanna and me continued, on and off. Sometimes, we talked to each other and sometimes we each talked to ourselves.

She said her younger brother had never forgotten about me. She said she planned to bury her brother together with their father and grandfather. Their father was an ordinary farmer. He had owned a big farm that had been granted by the Federal to his heroic ancestor in the Revolution.

“When we were little we used to play in our father’s farm. Sometimes, our father would share with us the heroic stories of our great, great, great grandfather. The farm was huge. It seemed that we had never reached the end of it. It was such a happy and worriless time. I had never thought I would have to bury him myself, this soon.”

Hanna’s eyes turned red again. “I am happy though; that you’ve come . . . Josh would be happy too…”

I wiped my eyes and nodded my head. We have become each other’s comfort.

“He never told me his name was Josh. He just said he was Bob.”

A hint of smile showed on Hanna’s face. “There was one time I called him that name when we were playing. He remembered. Our father was a devout Christian. That’s why our names are all biblical.”

Hanna’s narration brought me back to two years ago, when Bob stood before the Cross hanging on the wall of my living room. He stood there for a while until I said something.

“The previous owner left it here. He said it might be good for me.”

“Yes, it is.” Bob said. Then he lowered his head, closed his eyes and looked like he was confessing and expressing a sincere thought and reverent regards.

Hanna gave me a picture of Bob. I carefully put it together with the letter Bob had written me.

Time had slowly passed by, but it would not heal the pain inside of me. When I heard the siren, sometimes, with a natural reaction, I would take out the Bob’s picture and stare at it. I was not asking the questions any more, which I had asked myself after I sent Bob to San Diego: Did I do something wrong? I was sure wrong from the perspective of law, because I helped a fugitive. However from what perspective could I forgive myself or even praise myself? Was it the perspective of my good heart? What that meant anyway? Was our friendship and goodness between Bob and Dick, Dick and Jane…? Was it possible? I did however ask myself: When would the law of man and the heart of man become one?

All I knew was that, I missed Bob (Josh). I was not quite sure what kind of feeling I had had for him, but his voice had been echoing around my ears:

Debbie, do you know, it is because of people like you make me finally believe God’s existence. I don’t know if God is in the law. You think God is in the court just because there is a Bible in the court?”

And his letter I had always treasured:

Dear Debbie:

I am sending the money I’ve owed you. I have been in stores trying to get something for you. I found nothing would suit you; nothing could express my gratitude to you. You know, there is no God in money or material things. But my heart has His Love. This letter represents my heart. It will always remember you, love you and bless you!

My teary eyes turned to the Cross. I imagined the harmony between Bob and Dick and Jane; I imagined the peace of my own soul; I imagined the harmony between law and heart. I imagined that day finally came…

(The End) 

 The film is recently selected by Los Angeles Movie Awards as an honorable mention film and now it plays in theater on Jan 25, 2014 8pm to 9:40pm at 

Chinese Version of the novel (小说中文链接）:佳思地七十七号