Читать книгу Fire Is Your Water - Jim Minick - Страница 19

8

Same Day

On his second day at work, Will parked his Plymouth at the back of the lot, up against the mountain.

Aunt Amanda checked her hair in the mirror. “Did you remember your lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Right on time for my shift.” She looked at her watch. “So, Mr. William, what are you going to do for two hours?”

“Oh, I might take a hike.” Will didn’t doubt that she knew. And she was probably the only one in the whole world who would’ve approved.

“Watch for snakes” was all she said as she walked toward the HoJo’s back door.

Will carried his lunch into the back room of the Esso garage.

“Surprised to see you here so early,” Dickson said, which made him jump. “Just in time to help me do inventory. How about it?” He had a clipboard in his hand and a pencil behind his ear.

Will had wanted to sneak in without seeing anyone. Just shove his lunch in his locker and head up the mountain. He should’ve known better. “I was hoping to hike up the mountain before my shift starts.” He opened his locker and found one of those little Bibles.

“Thought you might need that,” Dickson said from behind him. “Why don’t you take that with you? Lots of people climb mountains in that good book.”

The Bible had a leather cover just like the one on his bedside table, the one he hadn’t opened in years, the one that once belonged to his mother. “I already have one of these.” He held it out to Dickson.

“Have another.” Dickson turned to look up at all the fan belts hanging from the ceiling. “Can you tell me the number on that long one?”

Will slipped the Bible back in the locker and read the number. Then he headed out.

“See you in an hour or so,” Dickson yelled.

Will didn’t reply. Out in the lot, he wove between the big rigs, their engines idling, the drivers still asleep. At the incinerator, the air reeked of rotted eggs. Will held his breath and jogged past. Someone had dumped trash along the curb where he’d swept, which made him curse Dickson again. Will didn’t want to tear his uniform, so he squeezed through the hole in the chain link fence, slow and easy.

On the other side, he paused. Already he’d scuffed his new black leather shoes, the only part of his uniform he had to buy. Yesterday, those shoes had become little Dutch ovens, the sun burning the tops, the asphalt a bed of coals underneath. He expected the same for today.

Far across the wide valley the sun crested South Mountain. A shaft of light pierced the clouds, and the whole sky glowed, a rich wash of purples and pinks. In the night, the wind had shifted, and he was sure it would rain in a day or two.

Down on the plaza, two Esso men filled a tractor-trailer, and behind HoJo’s, two slender women slammed their car doors and hurried to the kitchen. He looked at his watch; it read 7:05. “Somebody’s late for work,” he said and wondered who. Then he turned to face the mountain.

The scrub growth stood thick at first, where the land was timbered to build the pike. Will scouted a path along a rivulet. Bending like a deer, he plunged through. The air smelled musky and wild, and somewhere ahead, a deer snorted. Soon, the path opened to mature oaks and hickories. Will straightened and stretched his back. The plaza had disappeared, but the sound of traffic stayed close. Can’t get lost with that noise. He pushed up the slope.

Yesterday, from the station, he had plotted landmarks, mapped a route. The ravens kept flying to a cliff at the edge of a hollow. Now up close, the hollow looked twice as large, the rock face not yet visible.

Will hummed Little Jimmy Dickens’s “I’m a Plain Old Country Boy.” Even though he didn’t go to church, he had plowed behind a mule just like Little Jimmy. And like the singer, Will could play the guitar. At first, he’d taught himself by listening to the radio, picking out the melody. Then for his thirteenth birthday, Aunt Amanda had given him a few lessons with Bill Freeman. Will learned enough about chords to work through Hank’s tunes, and Little Jimmy’s, too.

About the same time, Will signed up for the junior high band because Betty Lee wanted to play the flute. That was her first and last name, but everyone called her that like it was one word—BettyLee. He sang those three syllables, over and over. Mr. Fogle, the band director, handed him a saxophone, said that’s what the band needed, so that’s what Will got to play. He hated it at first, the squeaks and sore lips. But Betty Lee loved it, and eventually that beat-up, scratched piece of metal yielded a melody. When his father hit his own steady snoring song, Will listened to big bands on the late-night radio, working through the fingerings, memorizing the solos.

Before his father died, Will used to like pissing him off with those squawks. “Go play that goddamn thing out in the barn,” he’d yell. So Will did, forcing their horses, Mac and Bob, to listen to scales and stupid marches. Later, in high school, Will went to the barn to play because he didn’t want Aunt Amanda to hear. He’d hole up in the empty grain bin with its tight walls; it held in the most warmth and his long, rambling riffs. He could follow a melody and get lost. He found a kind of peace in that music.

The hollow forked, and Will stayed with the north branch, the stream getting narrower, the slope steeper. His feet slipped as he zigzagged up the mountain through a thicket of rhododendron, what his father called “laurel hells.” Just visible beyond was the cliff. He glanced at his watch and kept moving.

The cliff face was brittle and loose, shale mostly. He skirted the bottom edge, searching for the nest. Because of the mountain’s steepness, he steadied himself against trees, moving from one to the next, the ground more rock than dirt, stone piled on stone.

The sun heated the air, and he saw no snakes. Will broke some spicebush to wave away the gnats, the twig smelling tangy and sweet. For a moment, he rested against a boulder to look at the turnpike far below. The cars and trucks had become miniatures, the people tiny as toy soldiers. He wished for his water jug and hoped no one spotted him, especially Dickson.

He was closer now. Will recognized one ledge that jutted out from the cliff. And there was a raven watching from an oak. “I’m just coming to look,” Will said aloud. “Don’t mean no harm.” The raven flew away.

Will glanced at his watch again. Forty minutes left, and most of that he would need to climb back down. “Come on. Where are you?” He scanned the cliff, picking out any ledge large enough to hold a nest—all of them empty.

A barred owl suddenly cut through the air to land in a hickory. It didn’t see Will, its eyes focused on the cliff. Will waited. Within a second, two ravens flew through the trees, squawking louder than Will had ever heard. One dove at the owl. The owl swiveled and looked once more at the cliff. Then it opened its wings, launched from the branch, and glided through the forest and disappeared. One raven followed for a while before wheeling above the trees. The other raven flew to the cliff, and at last, Will saw. Halfway up, a stunted cherry tree grew from the rock face, and at its base, a pile of sticks rested on its roots. The raven perched on the edge of the nest and murmured a soft call. Will heard the reply of two or three nestlings, and he could barely contain a shout. “Hot diggity!” he whispered. The other raven had flown to a tree directly above him, and the adult on the nest turned away from the young to look down at Will.

“All right, all right,” Will said. “I’m leaving . . . but I’ll be back, don’t you worry.” He turned to slide down the mountain.

Scoop spotted Will first as he loped around a tractor-trailer. “Where have you been?” He took in Will’s shoes, the dirt on his knees, the cuts on his forearms. A briar had sliced Will’s cheek, so he held a handkerchief to his face. “You look like you fought a bear.”

Will looked down at his clothes, wondered where Dickson was. He kept facing Scoop. “You have any safety pins around?”

“I think you need a little more than that,” Scoop said. He lifted his cap, wiped back his hair. “There might be some back in the back. What you need them for?”

Will pointed to his butt. “I ripped my pants.”

“Good God, boy, this is your second day at work and you already ripped your new pants. I’ve worked here twenty years and haven’t done that. Let me see.”

Will turned and Scoop burst out laughing.

Dino, at the far island waiting on two cars, hollered, “What’s so funny?”

Scoop couldn’t stop laughing, so he waved for Dino to come over.

“Come on, Scoop,” Will said. “This ain’t funny.”

“No, it sure ain’t. You know Dickson’s fixing to come out here any minute.” Scoop busted out laughing again.

“What’s going on here?” Dino asked in a deep voice, imitating Dickson. “And where the hell you been?”

Scoop bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He just pointed at Will.

“I ripped my pants, Dino,” Will said. “Think you could get me some safety pins?”

“Do what?”

Will turned slightly to show the long rip. The whole seam that separated one cheek from the other was wide open.

“I like your drawers,” Dino smiled and shook his head. “How the hell you do that?”

Will told them he got here early so he could climb the mountain. “There’s a raven’s nest right up on that cliff.” He turned and pointed, forgetting for a moment, then turning quickly back. “When I came scrambling down, I slipped a couple of times. These shoes are worth shit for climbing.”

“I see what you mean,” Dino said. “They’re worth shit for pumping gas now, too.”

“Come on, you guys, help me out.”

“What do you say?” Dino turned to Scoop. “We could send him in to Dickson.”

“Or we could just leave him to fend for himself,” Scoop added. “All them young college girls coming through sure would enjoy the show.”

Will’s face reddened. He couldn’t believe Scoop had once taught him in Sunday school.

“What do you think Dickson will do?” Dino asked.

“I’d guess he might fire him,” Scoop replied, and this sobered them.

“OK, Will, ol’ buddy,” Scoop said. “It’s 9:05, so you’re already late for the punch clock. Dickson will be out here looking any minute. You slip into the restaurant, go to the men’s room, and get washed up. Try to stop that cheek from bleeding. I’ll go back to the lockers and find you another pair of pants. They might not fit right, but at least they won’t be drafty. Dino, you got the islands?”

“Got it, boss.” Dino headed to the four cars lined up for gas.

“But I can’t go into HoJo’s. There’s people in there.”

“People out here too, son. And Dickson on the way.” Scoop turned to walk away.

Will held onto the back of his pants and hurried toward the restaurant.

When he entered Howard Johnson’s, the first person he saw was a tall woman, about his age, standing behind the ice cream counter. “Hello,” she said, “and welcome to Howard Johnson’s.” Her voice had a funny squeak, and she looked at him oddly, her long neck bending like a bird’s.

Will waved his hand with the hankie in it, revealing the cut on his cheek. He said hi and stammered a moment, before asking, “Restroom?”

The woman pointed and Will scurried past, thanking her. He took giant steps sideways, his back to the wall all the way to the restroom. At the door, he never turned, just stumbled backward. Inside, he locked himself in a stall, sat, and put his head in his hands.

A few minutes later, Scoop yelled, “You in here?”

Will came out.

“These are the best I could find.” Scoop laid the pants on the counter. “I think they belong to Dickson, so you’ll have to tighten your belt and pull up your socks. You won’t have to worry about wading any streams on your way home.”

Will thanked him and held up the pants. They wouldn’t cover his ankles, but they didn’t have any rips, either.

“Dickson came out looking for you. I told him you had a little emergency on the way here. A flat tire, right?”

Will shook his head. “He saw me early this morning already, right before I headed up the mountain. He’ll know it’s a lie.”

“Well, you’ll just have to tell him the truth, if he asks.”

Will nodded and pulled his belt. “Thanks, Scoop.”

The pants were about four inches too big at the waist and four inches too short at the ankle, and for a moment, Will debated about going back out. He looked in the mirror, brushed his hair, blotted blood from the cut, and tried to scratch away a new pimple. He cinched his belt one more time before walking out, muttering, “Damn ravens.”

The young woman was serving ice cream, so Will slipped by, hoping she didn’t see. At the door, he looked back. She smiled, her lips closed, and he couldn’t tell if she saw his pants or not.

Outside, Dickson seemed to be in a good mood. “Well, Mr. Will, looks like you grew a few inches.” They all looked at his ankles, the white socks barely hiding his white shins. “And I thought those were new shoes. I expect them to look better tomorrow. Say, how’d you get that cut?”

“Got too close to some briars,” Will replied.

“Did you have a good trip up that mountain?”

Will shrugged. “I found a raven’s nest, for what that’s worth.”

“Do any reading up there?”

Will shook his head. “Ran out of time.” He was glad when a Dodge pulled in.

After lunch, Dickson went home, replaced by Johnny Hilton as the shift boss. He was a tall man with a crew cut, a barrel chest, and a high-pitched voice that surprised Will. Hilton also liked to smoke, which meant he leaned against the restaurant’s wall, in the one spot of shade, and watched the other men work. He came to help pump gas only after he finished his cigarette, not any sooner.

“Dickson might be a dickhead,” Woody said under his breath. He’d come on the same shift as Hilton. “But at least he works.”

“Yeah, but Hilton leaves you alone,” Dino added.

“I’ll say. Alone to do all the work.”

Will just listened and moved from car to car. He liked this work, so far, at least. He liked the ebb and flow of traffic, the orderliness of tasks, the quickness of seeing a rush of traffic disappear. He liked the other guys, too. Most of them anyway. They were like brothers and uncles he’d never had.

After finishing a windshield, Will started balancing the squeegee in his hand. The traffic had slowed, and the other men leaned against the pump, trading jokes. Will placed the tip of the handle in his palm so that the squeegee formed a “T” in the air. He moved his hand left and right, keeping the tool upright, watching the top. Then he switched his hands, the squeegee staying upright.

“Look at you,” Woody said. The other men watched.

Will had an audience now. A family in a nearby car watched, including the teenage girl. He popped the squeegee into the air and caught it on the tip of his index finger. The tool wobbled, so Will steadied it with his other hand. He kept at it. Soon, he had the tip of the handle moving from one finger to the next. He shuffled to keep the top balanced.

“I think she likes it,” one of the men said. Will glanced at the car. Sure enough, the whole family watched, and this made him drop the squeegee. Dino clapped too loudly.

“You might get some tips if you balance it on your nose like they do in the circus,” Woody said.

Will shrugged and put the squeegee up in the air again. The car had pulled out, and the men had moved to the other island to fill two cars. He was not needed, so he kept messing with the stick. It was as if he defied gravity for this one concentrated moment. High above, one of the ravens soared, and not for the first time, Will wondered what it would be like to fly.

“What other tricks you got?” Dino asked when they all gathered back around a pump, four men trying to huddle in the shade of the tiny roof.

Will heard the raven. He leaned back, cupped his hands to his mouth, and let out a loud, guttural cronk, cronk.

“What the hell is that?” Woody asked.

“He’s talking to the raven.” Scoop smiled. “They ever talk back?”

Will cawed again, and this time the raven answered.

“The man is just full of wonders,” Dino said.

Will saw Aunt Amanda watching him from the bathroom window. He waved and did his raven call again, but the raven had flown away.

Will looked back and saw someone else with his aunt. He waved again, halfheartedly. The other woman he recognized as the ice cream scooper. Will wondered what kind of a fool he’d just made of himself with his too-short pants and his crazy calling into the sky.

“They’re watching you,” one of the men said, and then three cars pulled in.

Will glanced back, but the woman and his aunt were gone.

ON the drive home that evening, Aunt Amanda asked about his pants, and Will told her about the steep climb, the ravens chasing off the owl, and at last finding the nest.

“And your pants, Mr. William?”

“Well, I kind of ripped them sliding down the mountain.” Will paused, admiring the huge cumulus clouds before them. “Think you could mend them, Aunt Amanda?”

“Leave them at the house and I’ll see what I can do.”

Will steered the Plymouth westward toward the huge buildup of thunderheads. “Looks like that storm’s coming tonight, don’t you think?”

“Maybe sooner.”

They fell quiet as they approached the double tunnels. To Will, the mountain looked like a massive wall, the pike hitting a giant gate. And in the bottom, a little mouse hole swallowed all the traffic.

For forty miles, the turnpike cut a long, straight ribbon across Cumberland Valley. Then here just west of Hopewell, four lanes narrowed to two, and the traffic slowed to scurry through the end-to-end tunnels.

First was Blue Mountain. Will sucked in air, and the thunderheads disappeared in the artificial lights of the tunnel. Tractor-trailer headlights flashed by and blinded him for a moment.

Aunt Amanda shook her head. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Will just grinned and didn’t breathe. Ever since he could remember, he had held his breath through these tunnels, seeing if he could outlast the mountain. He counted off seconds in his head and imagined he was an osprey diving for fish.

“Twenty-nine, thirty.” Will exhaled with a gush when they entered Gunter Valley. But this was only a narrow gorge between the two mountains, so Will sucked in another huge breath, as they entered Kittatinny Tunnel.

“You’re going to pass out someday if you keep doing that.”

Will just counted. He could see the far end, the light curved by tunnel walls. So much weight rested above them, so much time—billions of years of fossilized wildness. He felt his heart thumping harder. Kittatinny lasted a good ten beats longer than Blue. “Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.” Daylight hit the hood, and Will breathed in great gasps.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“You should try it sometime, Aunt Amanda. It clears your head, helps you breathe better.” Will was all grins.

They entered Amberson Valley, a small offshoot of Path Valley. Thick clouds rose above Knob and Tuscarora Mountains. Will wanted to try his new key on the employee gate, but it was on the other side of the highway, and he knew Aunt Amanda preferred the longer, safer route to the exit. He would use that gate tomorrow when she wasn’t along.

Aunt Amanda unlaced her shoes and stretched her legs. “My, I get tired of standing on that concrete.” She looked at him. “You sure got quiet.”

Will shrugged, watched the road. Finally, he decided why not. “So, who was that looking out the window with you this afternoon?”

“I wondered if you were going to ask.” Aunt Amanda turned to the window to hide her smile.

“Well, who is she?”

“Her name is Ada Franklin, and she’s a real sweet girl from Hopewell. Her family just had that barn fire you heard about.”

She waited, but Will said nothing. She added, “You might ask her out sometime.”

“I don’t need your meddling, Aunt Amanda.”

“Oh, but you asked. She’s mighty pretty. And tall. You’d make a cute couple, both of you so tall.”

“Enough.”

“Just a thought.”

They were silent as they approached the tollbooth. Will signed the form for Audrey Swartz, and Aunt Amanda shouted across to ask how her son was doing.

“We just got a letter yesterday.” Audrey leaned down to look in. “They moved Jacob to a different hospital somewhere in South Korea. He said his leg’s tore up bad, but he still has it. That’s something.”

Aunt Amanda agreed.

“He thinks he’ll be coming home in a few weeks. I just hope they don’t send him back over there.”

“We’re all praying for him and for you,” Aunt Amanda said.

Audrey thanked her and took the clipboard.

“I hope he’s OK,” Aunt Amanda said to herself.

Will was silent as they passed Fannett-Metal High School. Will had graduated just a month ago, and Jacob was a year ahead of him.

“Have you thought any more about college?”

“Not really.” Will was tired of this conversation, tired of not knowing what he wanted. His dad wanted him to farm, and Aunt Amanda wanted him in college so he wouldn’t be drafted. Both seemed wrong. Will liked music, but he couldn’t imagine ever being good enough. And maybe even more than his guitar and sax, he loved engines—tinkering with them, figuring them out.

When he was a kid, he would spend hours fiddling with Aunt Amanda’s lawnmower, getting it to run. Before he could drive, Will would ride his bike the two miles to Ernie’s Garage to help out.

Ernie’s place felt somehow like a church—dark and mysterious, light coming from those high, dusty windows. Ernie always on his knees, as if in prayer to the gods of gasoline, or on his back, as if asking the gods on high for help. Ernie, though, always prayed with goddamn at the start—“Goddamn Buick’s a piece of shit.” “Goddamn Mary Rich needs to buy a different car.” “Goddamn that wrench if it didn’t walk off.” Ernie still went to the Brethren church every Sunday. He still believed.

But what did Will want? To work at Esso all of his life? Or work for Ernie? Or maybe have his own garage, like Ernie’s? He’d heard about being an airplane mechanic—that sounded good too. Better money and the chance to learn how to fly. That sounded even better. The air force seemed like a good place to learn. But there was a big difference between a gun and a wrench.

They drove up the valley, through Spring Run, Doylesburg, Dry Run, the little pebbles of villages strung along the Conococheague and Burns Valley Creeks. Will had lived his whole life in this long, narrow fold, on his father’s farm, in his aunt’s house, and now in his own small apartment above Ernie’s Garage. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Cicero

I loved looking out from that nest. When the gutbags still weren’t hatched, I’d sit on those eggs and just have a gander. (Yeah, I know, gander—a bird or a look—sometimes the same thing—big and fat.) Leaves covered most of the view but for a gap you could see through, and it was like the whole world lay before you. Way out stood another mountain. Closer in, farms and fields and strings of trees along streams. Even closer, that long strip of concrete covered with trucks and cars and all the glorious roadkill they could offer.

The day before the storm, a barred owl got me and Loot riled. We were out foraging, as usual, and I saw that silent bastard first. From high above, I gave the warning call. The gutbags hunkered down as low as they could. They probably even fell asleep. That owl tried to sneak closer, flying from one tree to the next. By the time I came diving down at the big-eyed rat, Loot was right on him, too. By god of all runts and riffraff if that owl didn’t lose a feather before he got away.

One of the gutbags—Cleo, probably—stood higher in the nest to watch, just wanting to have a look, but I gave the warning call again. That owl was not our only problem. This man in a red hat stood right below the nest. Where the hell did he come from? He kept searching the cliff, and I could tell he wanted to have a look. Loot and I both stayed close. Neither of us had ever attacked a human, but I thought about it right then.

That man spoke to us. He said something in an easy voice, something I didn’t understand but for the tone—calm and excited at the same time. And all of a sudden, I understood words—not the specifics, but the idea of them. How they’re magical little vessels, letters strung together like rafts on the river of a sentence, the ocean of a story. The view from that nest suddenly seemed smaller, the world at once larger. All I wanted to do was listen.

Of course, it was Will. That flat-faced owl had led him right to our nest. Lucky for me, I guess.