Читать книгу SQUIRRELY - John Mahoney - Страница 9

Death should be reserved for soggy Winter days. Everything in Winter is cold and colorless anyway. Dreary, lifeless, rock-hard landscape. Windows closed, curtain drawn days. Winter is perfect for death.

Death should never occur during the Summer. Never on warm, sun-caressed, stroll-on-the-beach days. Death should especially never occur on the Garden State Parkway.

But that’s exactly what happened.

It was late August. Nancy and I were driving north near exit 120 when I heard and felt the muffled clong of metal against metal. The engine gave one last burst of kinetic energy and fell silent. I let the car coast to the shoulder of the Parkway. Nancy and I looked at each other. She wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I know the car was old, but I wasn’t ready to part with it yet, especially since Nancy and I had worked so hard to improve its appearance.

I opened the hood and Nancy stood at my side as I looked over the six-cylinder smudge pot. The engine seemed ridiculously small for such a large compartment. There were no fluids leaking, no billowing steam, I had no idea what was wrong.

“Can you fix it?” Nancy asked.

I pulled out the oil dipstick, which was about the extent of my mechanical ability, and could see the engine had plenty of oil. I came to the only feasible conclusion: 106,000 miles was all one could expect from a car held together by spit, twine, and glue.

“It’s dead,” I said, glumly.

I left the hood open as a distress signal while Nancy and I sat on the grassy slope along side the Parkway. It was a fitting end to a less than perfect day. The day had started with great promise, blue sky, bright sun, a cashed paycheck. But the promise was broken early. We had gone to Seaside Heights to spend a day on the beach. While I had protected Nancy with plenty of sunscreen lotion, I decided to do the manly thing and get a tan the natural way. In hardly any time at all I had a pinkish glow on my shoulders that felt like a dragon had breathed on me. Then for lunch we had walked up to the boardwalk for a sausage sandwich and I got a splinter in the fleshiest part of my foot. Later, while sitting on the beach in my tee shirt, a low flying sea gull christened the top of my head. And when I waded into the ocean to wash it off, some fat little kamikaze on his inflatible mat bowled me over.

We decided that for once we would try to beat the homeward bound traffic, so we started packing up at four thirty. That’s when I closed the folding chair on my finger.

Finally, the topper was the internal parts of my engine fusing themselves into a solid block of metal.

So there we sat, with grass stains on our shorts, looking at the traffic thicken into a slow parade, looking at the people looking at us.

Nancy put her arm around me and I grimaced.

“Ooh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot about your sunburn. Does it hurt much?”

“Only when I breath,” I said.

We killed time by talking about marriage, more specifically, the wedding. Nancy wanted a big wedding, in a big white dress, in a big church. She went into great detail on exactly what color and style dresses she wanted for the maid of honor and six bridesmaids. She wanted to get married in December. Her birthday was in December, the 10th, and of course Christmas was in December. It had always been her special month, and us getting married in December would make it all that more special for her. I agreed with everything Nancy wanted. Her happiness was my only concern.

Naturally, we couldn’t get married in the coming December. It was too soon in coming to make plans, plus, we didn’t have a whole lot of money saved. But December of the following year would be okay. We didn’t have a calender with us, but we figured on getting married in December of 1973, sometime between her birthday and Christmas.

“There’s only one thing left to do,” Nancy said.

“What’s that?”

“The proposal.”

“What proposal?”

“You have to ask me to marry you.”

“I do? Why?”

“Because it’s tradition, Mackenzie. The man always asks the girl to marry him.”

“Is that in the Marriage Book of Rules?”

“Don’t get wise. I’m serious. You have to propose.”

“Oh, okay. Now?”

“I don’t care when you do it. Although, I think you could pick a more romantic spot than sitting here on the side of the road next to a broken down car.”

“Okay. How about next week?”

“Jeez, Mackenzie, you could use a lesson in spontaneity. I’m not asking for a candle lit dinner in some fancy restaurant with a trio of violinists. Just…just surprise me, that’s all.”

I conjured up a plan. Next Monday would be Labor Day; a holiday for both of us. We could go back to the shore on Sunday. We’ll stay at a motel. We’ll go to dinner, someplace quiet and romantic. She’ll expect me to propose there, but instead I’ll keep making jokes like, ‘Nancy, will you…pass the salt?’ or, ‘Nancy, I have something important to ask you. Can you lend me ten bucks?’ Yeah, that’ll be funny. Then after dinner we’ll go to one of the piers that jut out into Barnegat Bay, and as the sun sets I’ll tell Nancy how much I love her and ask her to marry me. Then we’ll go back to the motel and have sex all night. Then on Monday morning we’ll have breakfast, then more sex, then go to the beach. What a great plan!

We were hot and hungry by the time the tow truck dropped us off at the service area. And it was long past dark by the time Bill and Susan picked us up and drove us home. Along the way we all discussed going to the shore for Labor Day weekend. As much as I would enjoy the company of Bill and Susan on the beach, I feared their presence would put a crimp in my plans. But I suppose something could be worked out.

On Tuesday morning Nancy drove me to a used car lot in Springfield. I really wanted to wait a few months before buying another car, but there was no getting around it. I could’ve borrowed my dad’s car for maybe a week, but I decided against asking him when I saw him sitting in his chair looking over a paint chart. The twenty five dollars I got for junking the ‘61 Chevy barely covered the towing charges, so I had nothing to use as a down payment except money from my savings.

There were at least a hundred cars on this car lot, most of which were out of my price range. Nancy was very excited that I had asked her to help pick out a car. I had no preference as to the make of car I wanted, I just knew I didn’t want anything too flashy.

We walked hand in hand under the flapping plastic pennants, low down payment signs, and guaranteed state inspection banners. Some cars were easily passed up as being either too costly, too big, too small, or too ugly.

“How about this one?” Nancy said. “It says 426 Hemi. What’s that mean?”

“It means it uses too much gas.” I said.

“Ooh, look at this one, Mackenzie. Shelby Mustang convertible. And look! It only has two thousand miles on it.”

“I’m not a convertible kind of guy.”

A salesman soon came out of the office in the middle of the lot and approached us.

“Can I help you folks?”

Nancy squeezed my arm in delight when the salesman called us “folks”.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Do you have any cars? I mean…we’re looking for a car. A nice car. Not a big car. Well, kinda big, but not too big, and not small, well, not too small. A nice color car, not black, or red, well, red could be okay, but not yellow, and not green, well, not dark green anyway, yellow might be okay too. And bucket seats. No wait, no bucket seats! And not too much money. But not a cheap car either. Know what I mean? And a radio would be nice. And maybe an eight track player? How much is that car over there?”

The salesman looked at the blue Maverick I was pointing at, then he turned to me sporting a big grin. I suddenly had the feeling I had “sucker” written all over my face.

So I bought the 1970 Maverick. It was an okay car; nothing fancy. In fact, it was about as far from fancy as an outhouse is to a marble commode. But hell, all I needed was transportation back and forth to work, and a reliable ride for our Sunday outings.

The next morning I called several motels in Seaside Heights to make reservations for the coming Sunday. Every place I called was booked for the entire weekend. No one was renting rooms for Sunday night only. But finally I did manage to procure one room in a motel two blocks from the ocean. It meant sharing a room with Bill and Susan, which meant we would have to screw in shifts.

When I arrived at work that afternoon the work schedule for the following week had already been posted. The schedule was posted every Wednesday, and only the Subs had to read it. The regulars always worked the same never-changing schedule. To my amazement, all the Subs had been scheduled to work on Labor Day! That can’t be, I thought. That will ruin all my plans and I told Mr. Dell he had to change the schedule because I really needed that day off.

“Can’t,” said Mr. Dell. “I need you to work.”

“But I have plans. Important plans.”

“Look, Mac, you didn’t work the Fourth of July or Memorial Day because you didn’t know the scheme. But now that you know the scheme I need you to work the holiday.”

“Come on, don’t be a prick. I haven’t missed a day of work or been late since I started here. I deserve to have Monday off.”

Mr. Dell removed his glasses, a sure sign he was serious about what he was going to say.

“I may be a prick, Mac, but I’m a fair prick. Everybody gets treated the same around here. If you don’t like the way I run things you can quit. No one’s stopping you, and there are plenty of people who would be more than happy to take your job.”

Mr. Dell was a couple of inches shorter than me, and I tried to intimidate him by standing close to him on the balls of my feet. But it didn’t work. He walked away from me before I could give him the universally recognizable fists on the hips stance. Lucky for him he didn’t say another word to me because I was getting ready to blacken his eyes.

When I told Nancy the bad news she was of course disappointed. I insisted she go to the beach anyway with Bill and Susan. She said she didn’t want to go without me. But after much debate she agreed to go. She hadn’t seen Susan for several weeks, so it would be good for the two girls to get together. Besides, Bill and Susan couldn’t afford to pay for the motel room by themselves.

Early on Sunday morning I kissed Nancy goodbye in front of Bill’s house. The weather forecast called for clear skies and temperatures in the high 80’s. The perfect beach day.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Nancy said before getting out of the car.

“You can’t back out now, Nance. They’re depending on you to go with them.”

“But what will you do all day?”

“I don’t know. Wash the car I guess.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I guess that’s it.”

“You’re supposed to say you’ll miss me.”

“Oh yeah, that too.”

She cupped my face in her hands and kissed me. “I’ll miss you too, Mackenzie. I’ll be thinking of you every second. I’ll call you as soon as I get home tomorrow. I love you.”

“Me too.”

She opened the car door and had one foot on the ground. “I can’t go.”

“Go. Have fun. We’ll see each other tomorrow night.”

She leaned over to give me one last kiss and she ran up the driveway to where Susan was waiting.

In the afternoon I washed the car. It took me about four hours. I could’ve finished it in a lot less time if I hadn’t stopped every ten minutes to down a can of beer. After I woke from my backyard nap, I went to the garage to build another squirrel feeder.

I thought about Nancy all day long. I wondered what swim suit she was wearing. I liked the white one with the real thin strap in the back; the one that took a quick pull on the knot to make her top come off. And the bottom piece fit so snugly around her rear end it was like she was wearing a second skin. Oh, God, I hope she wasn’t wearing that one! Maybe she wore her tank suit, or better yet, maybe she decided to wear long pants and a bulky sweatshirt.

Nancy called me Sunday night from a pay phone near the carousel. I could hear the calliope in the background. She had let Bill and Susan have the motel room to themselves for an hour while she roamed the arcade, playing ski-ball and wasting nickels on the crane game that even if she were successful in having that unmanageable crane drop a prize into the bin, it would undoubtably be cheap and useless. She said she loved me and missed me. I said I missed her too. I couldn’t get out of my mind the plan I had to ask Nancy to marry me. If only we were together. She sounded so close, like I could reach through the telephone and touch her. I could propose to her over the phone. I was sure she’d say yes, and it would be a proposal she’d certainly never forget. But it wouldn’t be right. I had to see her face when I said the words. She wanted to be surprised. Perhaps Monday night I could give her the surprise of her life.

The next morning I was at work at ten o’clock. The day was warmer than Sunday. And if that wasn’t depressing enough, I thought about my original planned schedule of events, which meant Nancy and I would be back at the motel room pressing the sheets for the second time that morning.

Eight of us showed up for work at ten o’clock, including Hank Bevins, the Tour Two Supervisor. All of us were Subs, except for Hank. We started in right away, dumping sacks and traying letters. It was more of a relaxed atmosphere working on a holiday. We tuned the radio to a station we enjoyed, a welcome switch from the sleep inducing old fart music we were usually forced to listen to. Most of the lights in the building were turned off, except for those in our immediate work area. Less people meant less noise. And since Hank was hunched over his desk, trying to match the mail volume with work hours expended, he was too busy to bother with us. I would’ve given the day an A1 rating except that I missed Nancy terribly, and I was still a little hung over from the day before.

At noon time I was sitting at the city case, sorting the mail according to scheme to the prospective routes. Hank approached me with his clipboard and I thought he was going to tell me to take a coffee break.

“Okay, Mac,” Hank said. “You can leave.”

“You mean I can take a break?”

“No, I mean you can leave. Go home.”

“Now? I’ve only been here two hours.”

“I know. That’s all Dell wanted you to work. See, I have it right here.”

“Two hours?”

“That’s right.”

“Two lousy hours?”

“It’s not my doing, Mac. Dell only wanted you to work a couple of hours so he can use you for the rest of the week.”

“You mean to tell me I gave up a weekend at the shore with my girlfriend just so I could work two lousy hours?”

“I’m sorry, Mac, what can I say?”

“Well, I know what I say. This place sucks!”

“That’s not the right attitude to take, Mac.”

“Screw attitude! And screw you too, Hank!”

“Watch it, son.”

“You watch it, goddamn it! I won’t be treated this way, you bastard! I’m a Vietnam vet! Two hours? You destroyed my whole weekend because of two measly hours? You know what you can do, Hank? You can take this mail and shove it!”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me that way, Mac.”

“I don’t care what you’d appreciate, you asshole!”

“That’s enough! You’re heading for termination, mister!”

I was one second away from grabbing Hank’s shirt with one hand and beating him senseless with the other. But it wasn’t really Hank I was mad at, it was Mr. Dell, the prick. Hank was actually the nicest supervisor we had. I felt because he was so easy going I could abuse him without fear of reprimand. Hank would never tell the Postmaster or another supervisor what went on between us. I should have felt guilty about the way I talked to Hank, but hell! I was pissed!

I punched my time card, threw it in Hank’s general direction, and walked out in a huff, slamming the swinging metal doors against the walls.

I was so angry I don’t remember the drive to O’Leary’s. It was too late for me to drive to the shore. It was at least a ninety minute ride. It was too late to rub lotion on Nancy’s back. Bill probably already took care of that pleasure. The bastard! He probably had his hands all over her. He wasn’t satisfied having only Susan, he wanted Nancy as well. I could just see him laying on the blanket between Nancy and Susan, his body touching theirs, his hands stroking their thighs. He thinks he’s so cool. He thinks he’s so great with girls. I’ll kill him!

I sat in O’Leary’s at the end of the bar so I could see everybody who walked in. I was in the proper mood to kick ass and take names. I wanted someone, I didn’t care what age, to say something to me and make me mad. I would trounce them good.

Mr. O’Leary served me a beer and I asked him if Ugly was around. He shook his head and said, “He went to the beach with Rita.”

Damn! Everybody was at the goddamn beach! But not me! I was stuck in Orange with a bunch of old crones while my best friend is screwing around with the girl I’m supposed to marry. And does she care? No! She’s enjoying her day at the beach. If she loved me at all she never would have gone with Bill and Susan. I don’t care if I said it was all right. She’s supposed to be with me.

I stayed at O’Leary’s until 5:30, then drove home. My mom had told me in the morning that she was having dinner at 6:00. I wasn’t at all hungry. In fact, I was so full of beer, all I wanted to do was lie down. It wasn’t very often that I admitted to myself I had had too much to drink. Drunkenness was a term used to describe people other than myself, who couldn’t hold their booze. But this time I was drunk.

As I pulled into my driveway I could see somebody sitting on the front steps, but my eyes were a little out of focus and it wasn’t until I had gotten out of the car that I could see it was Nancy. She ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

“Oh, Mackenzie, I missed you so much. I convinced Bill and Susan to leave the beach early to beat the traffic. I just couldn’t wait another minute to see you. I just had to hold you, and kiss you. You feel so good…You smell like beer, though. Are you allowed to have beer at the Post Office?”

“I wasn’t at the Post Office. I was at O’Leary’s.”

“Since when?”

“Since all day.”

“But what about work? I thought you had to work today.”

“I worked. Two lousy hours I worked. They only needed me for two lousy hours.”

“That’s terrible.”

“You’re goddamn right it is! I was pissed! I still am pissed!”

“That doesn’t seem fair, Mackenzie. I bet that ruined your whole day. But I’m here now. We’re together now.”

“Big deal. I was alone all weekend while you were having fun at the beach.”

“I wasn’t having fun. I was miserable without you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mackenzie, I was. What’s wrong?”

“Who put suntan lotion on you, that’s what I want to know.”

“Well, Bill did.”

“I knew it!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What else did you do with Bill?”

“What are you getting at, Mackenzie?”

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Nancy was silent for several seconds. She turned to walk away, but came right back at me.

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not either.”

“Let me take you inside. You need a strong cup of coffee.”

“Get your hands off me! I want to know what happened. Bill had his hands all over you, didn’t he?”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re in this condition.”

“Did you take a shower with him too?”

“This is a side of you I never knew existed, Mackenzie. I know everyone has a dark side, but it usually doesn’t show as badly as yours.”

“Don’t pull that Psyche One crap on me! The three of you were together in one motel room. Don’t you think I know what was going on?”

Nancy folded her arms in front of her. “Okay, tell me what went on.”

“You were ballin’ you brains out, that’s what!”

Nancy held her stance in front of me, her arms folded, her lips drawn tight. She stood like that for what seemed minutes while I swayed back and forth. I was afraid she was going to punch me in the stomach, then all the money I had spent on beer during the day would be wasted.

Finally, she turned and walked toward her car.

“Where are you going?” I said angrily.

When she turned to face me I saw tears running down her cheeks. “I’m going to see Bill. I want to take up where we left off. I want him. I need him. You know why, Mackenzie Peck? Because he’s a real man, not a jerk like you!”

Nancy started her car and pulled away from the curb as fast as a four-cylinder Opel could go.

I stumbled out into the street after her and yelled at the quickly disappearing car, “Wait a minute! Which bathing suit were you wearing?”

The next afternoon at two thirty, Mr. Dell was waiting for me by the time clock. He seemed none too happy.

“Bit of a problem yesterday, Mr. Peck?”

I was still in a sour mood. Not only were the beer demons using my lower intestinal tract for a trampoline, but I was also heartsick over the way I had treated Nancy. I had tried calling her at work before I left the house, but Mr. Skinner said she was busy with a customer.

“So Hank told you, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter how I found out. I want you to know insubordination is grounds for dismissal. Suspension at the very least. We’ll let it go this time since Mr. Bevins is not insistent on pressing the issue. But in the future you are not to talk to any supervisor in the manner in which you did. Do I make myself clear?”

I knew the type of response Mr. Dell wanted. He wanted me to lock my heels at a forty-five degree angle and give the same cowering response a certain 2nd Lieutenant once tried to get out of me. But I stopped short in giving Mr. Dell the same reply I had given that 2nd Louie. Instead, I stood toe to toe with Mr. Dell and said the kindest words I could think of telling him.

“Eat shit.”

Mr. Dell swiped the glasses from his face. “You’re outta here, Peck! You’re fired!”

“You can’t fire me that easily. I’m in the union.”

“I’m ordering you to leave these premises. I said you’re fired, and believe me, I can make it stick.”

I repeated the same exit routine as the day before, only I didn’t get the chance to throw my time card in Mr. Dell’s face. Out on the platform I quickly passed by two mail handlers who were loading the trailer. No doubt they had heard the altercation between me and Mr. Dell, and they were probably aware of nasty words I had laid on Hank Bevins.

One of the mail handlers said to me as I passed, “Man, you really are the Bad Boy.”

Bad Boy was a nickname Duck had started, but for a different reason, and only a few people called me that. Now, however, I was sure everybody at the North Orange Post Office would know me by that moniker.

I couldn’t go straight home because once again I didn’t want to explain why I was home early from a job. I went to O’Leary’s. I sat at the bar, not as angry as I had been on Labor Day. Instead, I felt stupid. In less than twenty-four hours I had lost my girlfriend and my job. All I needed now was for a tree to fall on my car and my life would be complete.

Every time Mr. O’Leary brought me my change I called Skinner’s. And always I got the same reply: Nancy was too busy to come to the phone. But I knew she wasn’t too busy. She just didn’t want to talk to me. She hated me. It was over between us. If I thought crying in my beer would do any good I would do it. I did slap myself in the head a couple of times while I was in the men’s room, but that didn’t do any good either. If only I could talk to Nancy. If only I could tell her how sorry I was. If only I could tell her how much pain I was in. If only I had been born a cockroach I wouldn’t be having these problems.

I blew it big this time. What was I going to do about a job? What about my future? What would I do for money? Car, food, beer, Nancy. Everything gone.

Maybe if I went back to the Post Office and begged Mr. Dell for mercy he would let me have my job back. I would do anything, Mr. Dell. I’ll take a thirty-day suspension. I’ll never complain again. Just please don’t boot me out. Please, please, please.

But all the begging in the world wouldn’t have done any good. Of that I was sure. It didn’t do me any good in the Army, so how could I expect any different from the Post Office?

I kept looking at the clock, fearing that at any minute Ugly would show up in a rage. It was Ugly, after all, who had gotten me the job at the Post Office, and I had let him down. But by 5:30 he hadn’t shown up. I presumed he had to work overtime. Good. I couldn’t face him.

I went home and had dinner with my mom and dad. I had told them work was slow and had asked to go home early. After trying unsuccessfully another three times to call Nancy, once at Skinner’s and twice at her house, I went to the garage to finish a squirrel feeder. I fastened it to a tree, on the opposite side of a feeder previously erected. I filled all eight feeders with cracked corn and sunflower seeds, knowing the squirrels would be back shortly after dawn to eat.

The sun was descending behind the trees as I headed for the back door of the house. I heard my name called and I turned around. There was no one. Maybe I only thought I had heard my name. I got to the steps and again I thought someone was calling me. I turned around and saw no one. Was someone hiding behind the trees? The garage? I saw no one; just a squirrel. He was sitting in one of the feeders at the far end of the yard. I thought it unusual for a squirrel to be eating at that time of day. But he wasn’t eating. He just sat there on his hind quarters, staring at me with his little dark eyes. He didn’t move. No tail twitching. No nose twitching. No squirrelly chatter. Just staring. I raised my arm and slowly moved my hand back and forth. The squirrel didn’t run away. He sat and stared and didn’t move at all. Then, in that far away tree, in the waning light, amid the good night calls of the birds And the tuning of the cricket orchestra, the squirrel waved back.

I swear to God…he waved to me.