Читать книгу SQUIRRELY - John Mahoney - Страница 5

On Friday evening, two days after Christmas, Bill pulled into the gas station. He was home from college for Christmas break. He had called my house and my mom told him where I was. I was too busy to talk to him for any length of time, so we agreed to meet at Henry’s after I closed the station. I told him to contact John so we could have a reunion and drink ourselves blind. Before he left he congratulated me for getting a job.

Business slowed down after seven o’clock to about one customer every ten minutes. But it seemed every time I lit up a cigarette some idiot needed gas. Charlie didn’t want anybody smoking around the gas pumps, so by the end of the night there were a dozen or so one-drag cigarette butts in the office ash tray.

At 10:00 I was walking briskly toward Henry’s. I was hoping John would be there without his shadow. The last time I saw John without Birdie was the week before Christmas. I had gone to Shop-Rite to buy a big bag of peanuts and a box of cheese crackers, and I saw him sweeping the floor in the produce aisle.

“You having a party?” John asked me.

“No. I feed this stuff to the squirrels.”

“You shouldn’t feed the squirrels,” John warned. “They become pests. They’ll hang around your house just waiting to be fed.”

“But I like squirrels,” I said. “They’re my friends. I know this sounds crazy, but I think sometimes they talk to me.”

“You are crazy.”

Then John invited me to join him and Birdie for church services Christmas eve.

I said to him, “What’s this going to church jazz? I thought the only church you knew was the Church of the Holy Draught.”

“Well,” he said meekly, “Birdie wants me to go.”

I didn’t know what to say to him, but words like Birdbrain and Birdshit sprang to mind.

When I arrived at Henry’s it took several moments for my senses to pierce the cigarette smoke and raucous din. But much to my delight, there at our favorite bar stools—in front of the girls’ bathroom—sat John and Bill. There was no Birdie in sight, but I think John was telling Bill all about Birdlegs when I snuck up behind them and mashed their shoulders together.

For the rest of the night we talked and laughed, and drank and laughed, and smoked and laughed. It was just like old times, before college and the Army, before girlfriends and jobs. The only difference was, in the old times we had to do our drinking in a Staten Island bar because we weren’t old enough to drink in New Jersey.

At 2 AM, Big Ed announced it was time to close. When Henry closes the bar he’ll say something like, “I have to close now, okay? Everybody has to leave now, okay?”

But when Big Ed closes he just says, “Out, now!”

John, Bill and I stood out on the sidewalk in the glow of Henry’s Christmas lights, discussing what we could do for an encore. Saturday night was only seventeen hours away. None of us had to work. The only logical thing would be to meet at 7 PM at Henry’s. Bill agreed. John said he would be there, but Birdie couldn’t come. (As if that disappointed me.)

I said, “What’s the matter? Is she waving the red flag? Is her Aunt Flo in town?”

I was glad John was going stag. Actually, Henry’s Bar was stag almost all of the time. Hardly any girls, married or unmarried, dare set foot in a place where records are kept for the longest and loudest fart. We had some serious drinking to do and we didn’t need any female interference. I was equally pleased that Bill had the good sense not to bring a girl to Henry’s.

On Saturday night Bill showed up with two girls.

Susan was from Millburn; Nancy was from Maplewood. They were classmates of Bill’s who had telephoned him in the afternoon, asking for a get-together somewhere, anywhere. So jerky Bill picked them up and brought them to Henry’s.

I sat between John and Bill, and the girls sat on Bill’s left. I said “Hi” to them when they first came in, but for the next hour and a half I spoke only to my two friends. Then the girls said they were hungry, and that was after Nancy had polished off three small bags of Cheese Doodles.

Bill suggested we go to O’Leary’s for hamburgers and fries. O’Leary’s was a bar not far from my house. It was a little classier than Henry’s, catering to the elite of Orange. The elite in Orange was anyone who didn’t wear a flannel shirt all the time and knew enough to take off their hat when entering a restaurant. I didn’t go to O’Leary’s often. It was a nice place with good food, and a game room with pinball machines and a pool table, but it lacked the belching, chug-a-lug coaxing, flatulent ambience of Henry’s.

John had to bow out. He had the pitiful excuse of having to get up early to go to church. So me and Bill and the two fun wreckers got into Bill’s car. I don’t know how this happened, but I ended up sitting next to Nancy in the back seat. Susan sat very close to Bill in the front. I sensed danger.

It was a short trip to O’Leary’s and I didn’t say much to Nancy. Mostly I just answered her questions. When Bill mentioned I had been wounded in Vietnam, Nancy asked how.

I replied, “You don’t wanna know.”

“But you’re all right now, aren’t you?” she asked, with soulful eyes.

“Oh, sure,” I said, “I’m normal now.”

Nancy shook her head. “Vietnam is such a terrible war. I wish it would stop. I really feel sorry for the guys over there. See, I even have a POW bracelet.”

She did too. It was Major Something-or-other. I couldn’t see the name clearly without leaning over and holding her wrist. And I wasn’t about to do that.

We sat at a table and had the same seating arrangements as we had in the car. We each ordered a cheeseburger and french fries.

The owner’s son brought us our food and drinks, giving us a friendly “hello”. His name was Dennis O’Leary. He went to the same high school as Bill and I, but he was a year ahead of us. Dennis was a draftee who had already returned from Vietnam before I even went over there. He had been a grunt in the 25th Infantry Division. While on a search and destroy mission the guy walking in front of him set off an anti-personnel mine, and Dennis was hit in the chest and face. I remember he was a good looking guy in high school, with a great personality. Everybody liked Dennis. The war seemed only to change his looks. His face wasn’t scarred too bad; his cheeks looked as if he had slept on his fists and the marks wouldn’t go away. He was given a nickname by his friends when he got back from Nam. It was a nickname I wouldn’t like being called myself, and I would most likely want to kill anyone who said it. Everybody called Dennis “Ugly”.

Ugly O’Leary was a letter carrier for the North Orange Post Office by day, and at night he worked at his family’s bar and grill. He always had a smile and a friendly greeting for everyone. That’s all I’ve known him to be—friendly. I suppose he felt lucky to have survived Vietnam, and he was able to carry over his demeanor from his pre-Army days.

In the few times that I’ve seen him since I’ve been home he’s never mentioned the war. He joked a lot about his face and his nickname, and always ended by saying, “Ain’t no big thing.”

At our table, Susan did most of the talking. I could tell she really liked Bill. She kept touching his hair and leaning into him when she laughed. I had a feeling I was about to lose another friend.

Nancy didn’t talk too much about herself. She asked me a lot of questions about my school days with Bill, and about my lousy job. She didn’t ask me anything about Vietnam, and I suspect Bill had warned her ahead of time not to. Even if she had asked me I couldn’t tell her the truth.

I felt it was my duty to say something to Nancy so I asked her what her college major was.

“History,” she replied.

“History?” I said. “Are you going to teach history when you graduate?”

“No, probably not.”

“Then what good is a degree in history if you’re not going to use it?”

Nancy looked a little uncomfortable then, and Susan sensing that, interjected. “So, Mac, you’ve known Bill longer than I have, what can you tell me about him that I might not know?”

I thought for a couple of seconds, then I said, “Well, he’s extremely tight with money, he likes cold pizza for breakfast, and he thinks dust bunnies are an endangered species.”

Everybody laughed. Nancy had a nice sounding laugh. Her fingers draped over my arm and I felt the hairs stick out on the back of my neck. It was difficult to tell exactly how clear her complexion was in the halo of the overhead light, but she seemed pretty enough, and her brown hair and brown eyes shone through the dimness. Her smile was perfect, too.

I had made a good joke. It wasn’t very often I could make people laugh at one of my jokes. But I had just made three college students laugh and I wanted to keep doing it.

“So, Susan, I told you something about Bill. But there’s something I always wanted to know about him and I think only you can tell me.”

“Oh?” Susan said. “What’s that?”

“What’s he like in the sack?”

Susan’s face reddened. Nancy’s was redder still. Nancy even pulled back from me slightly. Bill leaned forward and spoke to me in an admonishing tone.

“You really know how to impress a girl, don’t you?”

I didn’t think I had said anything so terrible, but for the rest of the evening the mood had gone from jocular to terse.

At eleven thirty the girls said they had to go home. I walked them to Bill’s car.

“Don’t you want a ride home?” Nancy asked.

“Nah, I can walk home. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“Well,” Nancy said, “it was nice meeting you, Mackenzie. I had fun. Maybe we could do this again some time.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to work a lot. I don’t have much time off.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

I closed the car door and gave the obligatory wave. Before Bill got in the car he looked at me and shook his head.

I went back into O’Leary’s and sat at the bar. Ugly brought me a beer. I must have had a sorrowful look on my face because Ugly asked me what was wrong.

I shrugged. “My life is crap. I have a crummy job. I don’t have a car. My friends don’t have much time for me anymore.”

“You work for Charlie, don’t you? I hate to say it, but you could do better. Have you ever thought about working at the Post Office?”

“Me? At the Post Office? I don’t think so.”

“It’s a pretty decent job. Good benefits. Good pension.”

That was something I hadn’t thought of before. Pension. What kind of pension would I get after thirty or forty years at the gas station? I knew what Charlie would give me: enough money for a weekly ration of gas and beer, and a hearty, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

Ugly continued. “You’re a veteran right? You have to take the civil service test for the Post Office, but no matter what score you get, they add five points just for being a vet. Ten points if you’re a disabled vet. Are you disabled?”

“No. Not unless you consider a fear of typewriters a disability.”

Ugly winked and waved a finger at me. “I’m going to tell the Superintendent of Mails you’re interested in employment. Stop in and pick up an application. You won’t be sorry.”

“Thanks, Ug…I mean, Dennis. I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, call me Ugly. Everybody else does. Ain’t no big thing.”

The following Friday night I was working at the gas station. I hadn’t seen John in a week; not at Henry’s, not at Shop-Rite. But he did call to say he would be at Henry’s that night.

“Alone?” I asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Just wondering. You know, I haven’t met Birdie yet.”

“I know. I’m preparing her.”

Bill had already gone back to Rutgers, but I did speak to him before he left. He mentioned that Nancy sometimes goes home on weekends, and that maybe I should give her a call sometime.

“What for?” I said.

“You’re hopeless,” Bill said.

At around eight o’clock I was showing a lady customer her dry dipstick, informing her she needed two quarts of oil. Actually, I had learned to wipe the dipstick clean with a rag and show the dipstick to the customer. I sold a lot of oil that way.

The phone rang. It was Charlie. He told me the weekend guy had cut his thumb carving a ham and wouldn’t be able to work for a while. Charlie said I would have to work Saturday morning.

I was pissed! I didn’t like working Saturday. I especially didn’t like working in the morning. Most days, I never got out of bed until noon. But Charlie said I only had to work until one o’clock, so that wasn’t so bad.

I was anxious to finish work and meet John at Henry’s, but I wasn’t able to close the station until ten thirty. Some dumb ass came in at the last second needing a fill up and a pint of transmission fluid. To teach him a lesson I charged him double for the transmission fluid.

All the aggravation of the day melted when I met John at Henry’s. I unwound with a couple of shots and beer. John seemed content to nurse one beer. He had a lot to tell me. Work was going well for him. He worked mostly days now, and I thought that meant his nights were spent with Birdface. He admitted he was not able to see Birdie everyday because he was going to night school.

“You mean you’re going to college?” I said, almost choking on my shot.

“That’s right. The G.I. bill pays for almost all of it. You should consider it, Mac.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to better yourself?”

“Hey, John, look at me. You can’t improve perfection.”

“I’m serious, Mac. You should use your veteran benefits to get a degree.”

“It’s a waste of time. Why are you wasting you’re time going to college?”

“It’s not a waste. I can go far in my job with a college degree.”

“What? The last time I saw you at work you were sweeping the floor. What’s a step up? Shoveling chicken gizzards?”

“You don’t understand. I can be making good money in a couple of years. I’ll need it when I’m married.”

“Oh, now I understand. Birdhead put you up to this.”

“Her name is Birdie!”

“I don’t care if it’s Birdbath. That bitch is running your life and you’re letting her get away with it.”

“You better watch what you say, Mac.”

“It’s true. You marry her and you can kiss your life good-bye. That bitch.”

“Stop calling her a bitch!”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch.”

“You’re asking for it, Peck!”

“Ooh, is that a threat, Mr. Vegetable Man?”

“I’m leaving,” John said.

I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. “You’re not going anywhere! I’m not through with you yet.”

John spun around and pushed me against the bar. “You’re drunk, Mac. Now leave it alone.”

He started to walk out again and I pushed him from behind. “I’m right and you know it. That broad has you wrapped around her little finger. I bet she even makes you wear a rubber.”

I never before saw so much anger in John’s eyes. He came at me so fast I didn’t have time for evasive action. He hit me square on the jaw and I stumbled back against the jukebox. Before I could strike back, Big Ed had a hold of my arms and was herding me toward the door. I put up a fight, but Big Ed held me against the wall, his huge hand squeezing my face.

“I want you out of here, Mac,” Big Ed growled. “Go home and sober up. We don’t need troublemakers here.”

He let me go. Everybody was looking at me as I smoothed my shirt. They wanted to see what I was going to do next. I didn’t like to fight, but I was never one to back down from one, no matter what the odds. You would think after what happened in Nam I would’ve learned my lesson. But no. Here I was again, unable to eat humble pie.

“You can’t kick me out you big jerk. You don’t own this bar.”

Big Ed grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the door. “When you learn to behave like a human being you can come back. Until then, keep your sorry ass out of here.”

I broke free from his grip and turned around quickly, my fist clenched and heading for Big Ed’s bearded face. Big Ed caught my hand in his, like a catcher’s mit stops a ping pong ball.

The next thing I knew I was spread eagle on the sidewalk.

I was at the gas station seven thirty the next morning. I wasn’t hung over, but I sure was tired. I was used to getting more sleep. My jaw hurt and my nose had a scrape on it.

I started thinking about what had happened at Henry’s the night before. I felt bad. Not because I had been beaten up, but because I had screwed up. I had known John most of my life, and I couldn’t remember a time when we’ve fought. Little disagreements sometimes, but never an out and out fist fight. I’m sure he told Birdie all about it and now she doesn’t want John to have anything to do with me, I bet. And naturally I would have to do my shopping someplace else.

Saturdays were busy at the station. Danny and Charlie spent most of the morning in the service bays, and I hardly had the chance to sit down. It was almost noon when I recognized Dr. Kerr’s old Ford at the pumps. There were a lot of regular customers who I couldn’t stand, and Dr. Kerr was one of them. Every time I finished putting gas in his tank, he always got out of the car to make sure I had put the gas cap back on tight. Things like that drove me crazy!

This time, as I was putting gas in his tank, I went to the front of the car to check the oil. The hood release was under the bumper. I raised the hood, and instead of Dr. Kerr yellng out the window to tell me he didn’t want the oil checked, he blew the horn. It scared me so bad I hit my head on the underside of the hood.

I stood up straight, grabbed the topside of the hood and slammed it down hard, leaving my oily fingerprints on the white paint. I slowly walked around to his open window. Dr. Kerr was a little old man, and his little old wife was next to him. The two of them cowered toward the passenger side. I put my hands on the door and crouched so my head was almost inside the window. I yelled with a voice that came from the very depths of my diaphram.

“You want me to shove that horn up your ass?”

The Kerrs were speechless. Their mouthes hung open like dead fish. Mrs. Kerr’s face turned pure white, and Dr. Kerr’s wire frame glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Charlie came running out when he heard me yelling.

“What’s going on?” Charlie said, almost screaming.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on! This jerk blew his horn right in my ear!” I said, pointing at the terrified couple.

Charlie bent over and spoke quietly to the Kerrs. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the last thing he said as he straightened up was, “I’m sorry, Reverend, it won’t happen again.”

Charlie glared at me.

“Reverend?” I said. “I thought he was a doctor. That’s what it says on his credit card.”

Charlie’s voice exploded. “Doctor of Divinity, you…you—you’re through! Get out! I never want to see you around here again. You’re finished, you understand? OUT!”

“You mean I’m fired?”

“I’m tired of customers complaining about you, Peck. I put up with your piss poor attitude long enough. Now scram! I’ll mail you your last pay check.”

I saw Danny’s face in the window as I turned to leave. He didn’t look very sympathetic.

The walk home was slow. I knew my dad would want an explanation as to why I was no longer employed, just as he wanted an explanation when I was discharged from the Army. When I was about a block from home I sat on a stone wall to think. I had a lot to think about. I thought about Bill and John, and how they were shaping their futures. They were going to make something of themselves, and had girlfriends to stand by them as they did. Maybe that’s what I needed—a girlfriend. I needed someone to stand by me, to understand me, to like me for what I was. I had a miserable past, mostly my fault, and I couldn’t change that. What’s done is done.

As I sat there I spotted a squirrel rooting around for food in the yard behind me. I reached into my pocket, but all I had was a bag of crumbs that used to be Cheese Doodles before I ended up on the sidewalk outside of Henry’s. I poured the crumbs in my hand and held it out for the squirrel. He hesitated, he twitched, but finally he came to me and started to eat out of my hand. I wanted to pet him with my other hand, but I knew he would run away if I did.

“Take all you want, squirrel. I’m your friend. Want to be my friend? I sure could use one.”

Yes, I had a great deal to think about. If I couldn’t change the past, then maybe it was time to shape my own future.

I looked at the squirrel and I could’ve sworn he was smiling at me.