Читать книгу Core - Kassten Alonso - Страница 9

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SHADOWS BODIES THRASHING WHEAT. SHADOWS BODIES weaved from sheaves, bodies rolled upon the threshing floor. Hulls and chaff and muddy heels. The drift of the flail dance. The echo of harvest drum. Dead offerings tossed to murky pond water.

He erupted from the bath. He gasped the nails and tacks and ground glass in his lungs. His hand slipped from under him He bashed his mouth on the tub he fell back in the water. He beat the tub with his elbows and floundered up again. Water slapped the tub, slopped over the sides. Water stung his nose and eyes. He Newborn brayed and sobbed for air.

Well I met this chick a couple weeks back, Cam had said. I don’t know if I told you.

No.

Yeah. She’s coming to the party tonight, Cam had said. Equinox, man.

He coughed at the light bulb in the stained ceiling. He coughed and rolled his body out the tub. His left knee thumped on the floor he fell over on his hip. Water all around him. Red spots adrift in his eyes.

But you know man me and the band’s playing tonight Cam had said Which means I ain’t going to be that great a date to this chick, so.

He lay beside the tub and rubbed his mouth. His heart bubbled in his chest. Newborns wanted only darkness, wet. Newborns did not want to be dangled in the light. Didn’t Cam know this of all things?

He sat up and pushed forward onto his knees. He grabbed the sink he pulled himself to his feet. He reached for a bath towel and wrapped and tucked the rough cloth around his waist. His clothing another wet heap on the scuffed linoleum. He kicked the clothing aside and hawked and spat in the sink. Red spray on yellowed enamel.

Come on man, Cam had said, It’d totally lack for her to be there by herself. Sure she knows some people but. But since you promised you’d go anyway I figured you could maybe be my stand in dig? Fetch her beers and ears a corn and shit. Tell her what a great motherfucker I am.

He stared from the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair. Plaster. Face streaked wet with plaster. He pulled down his lower lip. Blood seeped between his teeth. Blood stained his eyes. Shadows rustled in his eyes. Shadows clutched of sweat and dust. Shadows black flails beat out grains on the threshing floor. Had it all been a dream? Or something else?

I told you I didn’t want to stay too long, he had said. Maybe you should find yourself another babysitter.

Cam had said Look man I know what you’re thinking but believe me this chick ain’t my usual. Not by a fucking long shot. Check it out she dyes her hair black not blonde. Cam had laughed. Come on man. You’d be doing me a real big flavor.

He twisted the hot water tap. Brown water turned red turned clear. Water could wash blood down the sink. But water could never get warm enough. He reached for the toothbrush the rolled up tube of paste. He squeezed a blue worm of paste onto the frayed bristles. Saw his face, asleep and dreaming under the water. Eyes open under the water. And mouth wide and drowning.

He shook his head. He leaned over the sink and brushed his teeth. Plaster stained the backs of his hands. The way Cam just smiled at him and said nothing. The way Cam smiled because Cam liked this game because Cam always won. He spat pink foam in the sink. He dipped his mouth in the stream of tepid water. He spat again and rinsed his brush and said, You’re such an asshole, Cam.

So you’ll be my stunt double tonight? Cam said.

He waved the toothbrush at Cam in the mirror. Just promise me this isn’t some kind of set up, he said.

Cam laughed. I know you’re going to have a good time man. And I bet you get a kick out a this chick. I’ll drop her off later tonight.

Can’t wait, he said.

HAIR DYED BLACK. JUST COVERED HER EARS. METAL BARRETTES pulled the bangs off her face. Cutoffs and green horn rims and plaid shirt knotted to show her pale belly. She had big legs and big hips, her breasts not big but big enough.

He wiped his hands on a towel. The two of them watched Cam’s jeep bounce away up the old fire road. The girl waved after. He looked down at his high tops. He kicked a splinter of wood. Fucking Cam.

He said, Want a beer?

She shrugged. Why not, she said.

Got some in the fridge, in the, in the studio. In here. He stepped aside so she could enter the tin outbuilding.

She turned in place to take in the room. This is cute, she said. He moved past her on the left, toward the mini fridge beneath the wedging table. He tossed the towel on the table and kneeled and said, Well. I’m not sure how cute this is, but it does the job.

So Cameron says you do like, ceramics, she said.

Hiss when he twisted the cap off a bottle. He handed the bottle to her. Among other things, he said. He opened a second bottle and rattled the caps in his fist. Sculpture mostly. Stone, plaster. Clay. Wood every now and then. And sure, ceramic. Tiles. That’s why I put the kiln in.

You sell any of this stuff? she said, and took a drink.

Just the tiles, he said. To pay the bills. He sat back against the wedging table. He sipped his beer.

She leaned against the large worktable across from him and looked around. Could use a little decor, she said.

Too distracting.

The girl shrugged. A friend of mine David has a studio downtown not so full-blown as this place yet but he does have a press for prints and woodcuts and shit.

I’ve always wanted a press, he said. They raised their beers to their mouths and looked around. She caught him staring and he glanced away. He shook his fist and the caps clinked.

She swayed toward the back of the studio. Bottle loose between two fingers. So this is the kiln she said over her shoulder. You say you put it in?

He rose from the wedging table and walked up behind her. Yeah, he said.

That’s cool, she said. She moved past him, up the back aisle of the room. He followed. She placed a hand on one hip and looked up and down. Now this thing looks like a giant spice rack, she said. What’s in all the jars?

Glazes, he said. Oxides. Whiting. That kind of stuff. She glanced over the mason jars labeled with dirty masking tape, at the smaller jars, at the bottles and bins, the sieves and mortar.

This the scale Cameron weighs his dope out on? she said, and smiled. She raised her beer to her lips. What did she look like without her glasses.

Cam told you about all that, huh?

Of course, she said. Lovers tell each other everything.

He rattled the caps in his fist. He said, I suppose.

What’s this thing? she said. She pointed down at the stand that held two metal rollers. The rollers were attached to an AC motor. She reached out and spun one of the rollers.

It’s a ball mill stand, he said. He pushed the bottle caps down his pocket and picked up a porcelain jug. Shook the jug and pebbles rattled inside. Ball mill, he said. For mixing glazes.

She turned and stepped over to the worktable. She said, Let’s see. This is a chisel and here’s a spoon and a penknife. Sandpaper. One of those dental scrapy things. Oo. What kind of a hammer is this?

He shook the pebbles in the ball mill and set the mill on the stand. It’s called a bouchard, he said. Bush hammer.

She swung the hammer a couple times. It’s weird it’s like a meat tenderizer. These points, she said, and rubbed her fingers over the face of the hammer. What’s it used for?

You use it to like. Wear away stone. It like, bruises it. Pulverizes. He drank his beer. She lay the bouchard on the table.

She said, I almost want to ask what you do for fun.

He shrugged and looked around the room. Whether it’s fun or not, I can’t really say. But this is what I do.

She tipped her bottle up and drank. She set the bottle down on the scale. Fumbled the balances left and right. Jesus how do you read this thing? she said and laughed. Shit. Never was any good at science or home ec or school for that matter.

So what do you do? he said.

For fun you mean? Anything and everything. Her eyebrows arched behind her horn rims. Not all at once of course, she said. Even I’m not that talented. She smiled at him. She spun and stepped around the worktable as though to measure the room. Her back to him she stared out the window. So when’s this party get underway?

Oh, whenever. When it gets dark, he said. The skin looked soft on the nape of her neck. The muscles stood out at the small of her back. He said, Bonfires are more pleasing at night, huh.

Well I guess we got some time to kill, she said. Got another beer for me?

Sure, he said. He finished his bottle. He came around the worktable to where she stood. He kneeled before the wedging table and pulled open the fridge. Here you go he said and twisted off the cap and held up the beer.

Thanks, she said. She took the bottle. Her fingers touched his fingers.

He put the empties in a box beside the fridge. He rose and opened his bottle and she was close beside him. He stepped away and rattled the caps in his fist. He stared at the plaster dust ground into his knuckles. So, uh. Cam says you two’ve been going out for a couple weeks.

More like a couple months, she said.

How long’ve you been in town?

About a month, she said. She took a drink and set her bottle on the wedging table. She nodded at the window. So you live over there?

He glanced out at the bungalow. Yeah, he said. I live over there.

I’d love to live in a place like this out in the middle of nowhere nobody else around no obnoxious neighbors fuck that would be so great.

It is, he said. It’s always real quiet. Nobody’s voice or footsteps. Just my own.

She said, So how did you end up here?

He watched her for a moment. She stared out the window. He looked to his left out the open door, at the sunlight across the parched goldenrod outside, at the butterflies and willowtrees. He took a drink of his beer and rattled the caps in his fist.

THE SKY SHOWED PINK THROUGH THE POPLARS AND WILLOWS. He led her down into the fen. Through rushes and stands of cotton grass, over dead trunks and around stiff brown stalks of fireweed, wildflowers going to seed. The ground sucked at their feet.

Yeah, this used to have a stream running through it, when I was a kid, he said. Dried up, oh. I don’t know. Ten, fifteen years back. There’s still patches that never dry, though.

And this is the shortcut, huh? she said behind him.

They climbed the embankment at the dogleg. Before them lay the harvested cornfield. Music fell from the sky. And the sun. From the center of the field the bonfire glowed. Bodies stumbled unseen around them, laughter in the corn.

Sounds like things’ve gotten underway, he said. He held his hand up front of his face he pushed through the stalks. Footfall and breath of the girl behind him. The moon a white wedge, and the stars.

They stepped into the clearing plowed at the center of the field. Bodies danced around the smoking bonfire. Bodies tossed stalks and lengths of wood and bundles of straw into the fire. Bodies lined up before fat silver kegs. The pigs roasting on spits. And dished up paper plates of meat and bread and corn. A large flatbed truck was parked at the far side of the clearing. The bed was buried under lights, banks of speakers, amps, cables. Cam shirtless in levis, cowboy boots, Cam’s hand thumping against his guitar, his boot heel on the flatbed. PLUTO’S DOG, a banner said, hung across the side of the truck.

He bent and untied his high tops. Pulled his socks off with his shoes. She watched him. It can get pretty muddy, he said. She shrugged and kicked off her sandals. They placed their shoes together, away from the others. The mud was cool. The mud felt good to his feet.

Let’s get a beer, he said.

They made their way to the kegs. Pushed past bodies, walked through the mud. Overhead the wedge of moon and shouts and laughter from the corn. Two big plastic cups raised above his head, he and the girl pushed their way back through the crowd, toward the flatbed.

Bodies danced before the truck. Cam bobbed his head and Cam stamped his foot and Cam smiled and sang. And the world.

The bonfire wavered the light around them. The girl drank from her cup. There was sweat on her throat. And bits of corn tassel captured by that sweat. He blinked and raised his beer.

She turned her head toward the bodies and the spears of flame. Figures darted in and out the undone corn. So this is like a yearly thing, she shouted.

Yeah, he shouted. Long as I can remember. The folks who own this field. Pagans, I think, and he laughed. He glanced from her to the flatbed, then up at the sky. It usually rains, but tonight is real clear. You can see the stars.

Oh yeah, she said. She took his arm in hers. Here turn this way. She pulled him around to the right, backs to the flatbed. She spoke into his ear. See those three really bright stars?

I’m not sure. I guess so.

Those three really big bright ones, she said and traced her finger against the sky. The triangle. See it?

He squinted. All he could think was her body pressed to his body. Yeah. I see it, he said, and pointed with her. A triangle.

The one that’s farthest right is Vega, she said. It’s like the brightest star in the constellation. Lyra that is. The lyre. And the one that’s farthest left is Altair Altair is the eye of Aquila. That’s the eagle. See the stars that form the wings and the tail?

He nodded and watched her profile. He raised his beer to his lips. Squeezed the mud between his toes. He said And what’s the third star?

That’s Deneb. It’s one of the top ten brightest stars and the highest tip of the Northern Cross. She shook his arm and pointed. See the cross?

He looked up. He cleared his throat. Yeah, he said.

Some people call the Northern Cross Cygnus but I kind of look at them as two constellations laid over each other, she said. The lowest tip of the Cross kind of forms the eye of Cygnus or the swan in case you didn’t know.

Yes, he said.

And the wings go out past the arms of the Cross. Cygnus and Aquila swim past each other in the Milky Way.

Cool, he said. Her perfume smelled like flowers.

Stars are cool, she said, and the music rose, voices shouted, hands clapped. You know what I really like about stars? He shook his head. Stars mean life after death, she said.

How do you figure? he said.

The so-called experts tell us the light we see up there is all that’s left of the stars because the stars died a long time ago. But we’ll be worm shit a thousand times over before the light of those stars fades out. So who’s outlived who?

Guess I hadn’t thought of it that way, he said. Her perfume. Daffodils.

Stars go way beyond time the way we know time she said. They blink and we’re gone. Stars are immortal.

He said, Guess they’re like, the closest thing we have to gods.

And nothing bothers the star, she said. While life fucks us over down here throwing in all these twists and turns and sucking us dry the star doesn’t change it doesn’t feel. It’s got bigger things to think about it’s above it all the whole rat race thing. You could be watching TV or working drive up or having sex or getting axe murdered and the stars don’t even blink.

He said, Nothing astounds the stars.

Exactly, she said. What I would give to be a star. What I would give not to feel.

They drank more beer, scored a couple joints, drifted beneath the drift of the stars, drifted among the bodies, the smoke off the bonfire and smell of roasted meat, mud cool between the toes. He and the girl watched the shapes bend and kick around and around the fire.

She said, So you ever going to ask me to dance?

Cornstalks rose behind her. The flames of the bonfire flickered in her glasses. What? he said and his head spun and the music all around.

She laughed and slipped her arm through his. I said I really really love this song and I think you should dance with me. It’s a party after all isn’t it?

He scratched the stubble on his throat. She was close, her skin against his hand the smell of her perfume. Manikin of daffodil. I don’t really dance, he said and raised his beer to his mouth. The cup was empty.

Don’t be shy, she said.

I don’t. I mean, I’m not. I’m not a very good dancer.

She dropped her cup to the ground. She took his cup from him and dropped his cup. We’re not on TV, she said. And there are no judges. And this is a slow song. Slow songs are easy. You move real slow.

No, that’s okay, really, no thanks, but she pulled him through the bodies, beckoned him away from the bonfire, toward the dead and dying corn. She faced him and pulled his arms around her. She rocked her hips side to side. Arms over his shoulders, she snapped her fingers to the music, and they turned, feet brushing, he swayed with her toward the harvested stalks, surrounded by movement and shouts and laughter. Bodies tumbled Sandbags from the corn. Bodies danced and kicked up mud. Mud on ankles, shins. Mud across bared bellies, thighs.

See this isn’t so bad now is it, she said. Leaves adrift in her eyes. Stars adrift in her eyes.

No, he said and laughed. She pulled him hard against her body, her thighs, her breasts. His arms tightened around her. He tilted his face toward the sky, saw her spread those thighs in the corn. Saw shadows of the stalks on her face. Saw corn ripen among the red splinters in her eyes. And sheaves of wheat, and apples, pears. Saw her legs and arms wrapped around him, darkness cool beneath the soil. Her breath on his throat. He did not know if he should kiss this person. He did not know this person. He did not know.

Head thrown too far back, drunk and adrift, he was falling. His head snapped forward and he slipped in the mud. Shit he said and fell clutching at her, fell so his hands slid behind her thighs, fell so his face pressed into her belly. Soft. Oh, soft. The girl laughed and pushed him and stepped away. He sank forward on his hands and knees. She wagged a finger at him and turned away. Arms out, she spun in circles toward the stalks, circles away from the bright yellow firelight, circles beneath the stars.

She clapped her hands and stamped her feet. She scraped her fingers up her muddy thighs, her fingers upward over cutoffs and belly. Rubbed her palms over her breasts. Jackfruit and rose apple, hazelnut and roasted yam, soiled hands that grasped ruddy ears of corn. Her arms flashed overhead, hips swaying as to sloes ripe on the blackthorn, in sheepskin, in barley water, in communion She inseparate of the corn She a stalk was trembled rhythmic whetstones clashed on scythe blades, Body swayeing to the threshing songe, Ge’s a peat t‘burn the witch, surely a witch, surely a Corn maiden, an oat goddess, rye witch and wheat mother, the one not to be named, She in woman, in moon, in grain, Did she beckon or did she answer a call? Was there somewhere a grave cracked like an egg Scattered earth sole remnant of the one who lay sleeping? Awakened by stags barking to their harems of hinds, awakened by adders birthing young among spent cornfields, awakened by rude dolls weaved from sheaves, by blackberry fool and hedgerow jam Garlic and sapphires to the mud Stalks done scythed and gathered in stooks, spent stalks gathered as straw, straw to the fire, and ferns, and birch tree, and furze, she was corn dancing, she was dancing corn, he a herdsman drunken stunned at the body askew on the threshing floor, stunned by the furious flail dance, by hazel wands, by hen plants, order and valour conquered by enchantment, by enchainments of desire unresolved in time past or time present, yet surely harvested among the stars.

Take five everyone, Cam’s voice crackled from the speakers. Bodies slumped to the plowed soil. Smoke drifted over the corn. The girl moved toward him, firelight in her glasses. He sat before her on his knees. He could not breathe. Here in the mud she would kneel with him.

She smiled and lay her hand on his shoulder as she walked past.

Cameron, she yelled behind. Hey baby.

He looked over his shoulder. The girl skipped once and ran through the scattered crowd toward the flatbed. Cam smiled big white teeth Cam jumped down from the truck. Cam kissed and hugged and rocked her side to side. She pressed herself into Cam’s arms. Cam threw back his head in laughter, Cam’s teeth white within the red dart of his goatee. The girl pointed behind her and Cam looked and saw him. Cam smiled and Cam waved.

He looked away. He rose and walked off into the dead corn.