American Rust Part 27

Except I didn't hurt anyone, she said out loud. Why should I be the one to pay for it. That was true-she hadn't hurt anyone. The work she did at the women's shelter-she had helped a lot of people. On Billy's dresser there were a few old beer bottles, she didn't know how long they'd been sitting there, she picked up one by the neck, hefted it, she wanted to throw it through the window, she wanted to scream and smash everything in the room. But there was no one there to see it, or hear her. If no one heard your sounds then you did not really make them.

I am a good person, she said out loud, I have always done the right thing. She was the kind of person who went out of her way for people. And Billy, it was self- defense, she could not stop thinking that. Self-defense, she had seen his neck. One of those people, probably the man who'd died, had been trying to cut her son's throat. It was self- defense but no one was saying that. He would go to prison, lose his life for nothing. And the ones who put him there ...

Say it, she thought. Say what you're thinking. Say what you're meaning now. She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, washed her hands and face. I am a good person but it is not fair what is happening to my son. And Harris can find that man. Good person or a good mother, there was not supposed to be a difference. But there was. It was not the same thing. Except it was. It was self- defense, it was this man, this homeless man, a no one, no one, Harris said, or Billy. There was no question about it, it was not how you were supposed to think but there it was, it was the other man for Billy. Harris said, or Billy. There was no question about it, it was not how you were supposed to think but there it was, it was the other man for Billy.

She took a long bath and used the sandalwood bubble soap she'd been saving for a year now, a present from the women at the shelter. What would they say? But they would all do the same thing, any mother would, there wasn't a choice about it. She called Harris and he promised to come over.

11. Harris

There was something wrong with Grace, she was sitting on the couch as if surprised to see him there, for a second he wondered if Virgil had come back but his truck wasn't outside. Then he thought no, she must be drunk.

"I didn't hear you come up," she said. She patted the couch next to her.

"Bad day?"

She nodded.

"Anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "I guess I just got to thinking it was a sign, Billy and all. Like I gave it my best and ..." She shrugged.

"It's not a sign. It's still early."

"You don't have to lie about it anymore."

"He's a good boy" he said. "Things will start going better for him." He said it and it didn't even feel like a lie, Billy being a good kid, it was just something he wished were true.

"Thanks," she said.

"I mean it."

They kissed a little but there wasn't any heat in it. He had a moment of panic, he wanted to shake her, he had the feeling he was going to lose her again. They were both just sitting there on the couch staring at different things like an old couple.

"Let's go out somewhere," he said. "I'll take you to Speers Street."

"Nah," she said. She lifted her hand and brought it down hard on his, almost a slap. She squeezed it.

"There's still a lot that has to happen."

"I know what's going to happen to him, Bud."

He started to contradict her but there was no point, Billy was not going to be saved, in fact he was going to drag her under as well, he was going to drag all three of them under. There was a sudden rush of anger and he crossed his arms over his chest as if to squeeze it out of himself. The looks she used to give Billy, it had always made him jealous, he was embarra.s.sed to admit it but it was true, he had been jealous of her son. A guilty thought came to him: it would have been better if the boy had died-she'd be able to move on, believe what she wanted. Now the boy both existed and didn't exist, he was there but being kept from her, she would never be able to stop thinking about him. The only torch she could carry.

She interrupted his thoughts: "You're lucky you're alone."

"Grace," he said. "Poor Grace."

"I'm serious, it's not worth it."

"Let's get out of here. We could go up to the city, even. We could go to Vincent's, we haven't been there in years."

She leaned over, hugging herself. "I just want my stomach to stop hurting."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I can't."

"You need to."

She shook her head.

He rubbed her back, then ran his fingers up and down it, gentle, and closed his eyes and felt the fabric of her blouse.

"I know I'm lucky," she said. "I'm sorry I'm being so dramatic."

"No, come here," he said. She leaned into him, put her head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes again.

"Maybe I need to make love," she said. "I think that's what I need."

They kissed some more and it was awkward and he half- wanted to stop but she wouldn't let him. It was a long time before they were both ready and then it took a long time to finish. He felt drained and she got up and she went to the bedroom and came back wearing a bathrobe; he sat awkwardly on the couch without his clothes. After a while he put his undershirt over his lap.

"Not to beat a dead horse," he said. "You should try to eat."

"I just want to lie down."

"Okay."

"I need to give you these things before I forget."

She got up again and came back with the lever- action rifle, he recognized the old .30-30 that was Billy's, and an old single- barrel shotgun.

"It's probably better if you take these."

He stood up naked and looked into her eyes but there was nothing in them. She handed the guns over impa.s.sively. He set them in the corner by the door.

After lying in the bed awhile they slept together again, not awkwardly but as if by routine, she was responding to his touch but it was not the same, she had retreated to some place the signals barely reached. When they were done they lay there holding hands. She would never get over this. He would have to make a decision.

Except it was already made. Possibly he'd made it when he'd first hidden Billy's jacket. He was not going to leave her like this. He smoothed the blankets on top of him, it seemed that if he pushed hard enough he could break through his own skin like a drum. He had done this to himself, let the dark times catch up. It was an old feeling. The last time it had come was on a hunting trip in Wyoming, lost and trapped two nights in a snowcave, out of food and the snow kept collapsing on him. He knew he would die, there was no question about it, he had earned it, gone out with weather coming in, known it might turn bad and walked out into it anyway, he had flown all the way out to Wyoming and had not wanted to waste his big trip.

It was no different than this. He'd walked into it. At dawn the third morning he'd left the cave and started to walk, set out postholing through the snow, too weak to carry his rifle or daypack, and ten hours later, in the last few minutes of daylight, he'd found a road. He had never told a soul what happened, not Grace, not Ho, not his doctor, he'd checked into a motel and caught his flight the next day. A piece of him had stayed out there. This will make sense also, he told himself. This is the only thing you can give her.

He started to pull the covers up but he made himself stand and walk around the room. Maybe he had always known it. He stood by the window and waited to see what he would say.

"Come back to bed." She patted the place next to her.

"I will." Out the window there was a faint light, a few stars, he was looking for something but he didn't know what.

"I'll be alright, it's just that it all hit me today. I promise I'll be better. Just come back a minute."

Later that night he opened his eyes and realized he hadn't really been sleeping. It would be no different than anything else he'd done before, getting rid of a bad element. A talking to. There wasn't any point in thinking about it. It had always been Billy over everyone else, there were people who lived for their children and she was one of them. She would be a different person otherwise. Plenty of other people didn't, it was good there were people like her in the world. It was lucky he knew one of those people.

"What did you say?" she whispered.

"I'll take care of Billy. I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

They looked at each other for a long time across the dark. She doesn't know, he thought. She doesn't know what this is going to mean.

"Just in case, it's better if you don't say a word about this to anyone. Not a word."

He could see that her eyes got wet but she wiped them and that was all.

"I'm a bad person," she said. "Aren't I?"

He reached and stroked the hair from her face. "You're his mother."

12. Isaac

He slept in the undergrowth at the edge of a field and was awakened by the sound of an approaching truck, its headlights bearing down on him. Get up, he thought, here they come. He tried to remember where he was, and where he was going to run, and the noise got louder and the headlights swept to a different part of the woods and Isaac jumped to his feet.

It was a green farm tractor. Isaac sat down again and the farmer shot past, not noticing him, a large John Deere planter trailing a plume of bright yellow seeds. Christ these early risers. His blood was rushing and part of him wished he was still asleep but he couldn't help grinning. The old man's driving that thing like a racecar. Except very straight rows. He stayed where he was and watched the farmer work and then watched the sun come up over the long flat field before collecting himself and slipping the back way out of the hedgerow. There was a road on the other side.

The land was very flat, mostly agricultural. A few scattered housing developments, but mostly broad rectangles of tilled soil, separated by narrow treelines or old fences. Everything in neat grids. Stick to the roads. Planting time, don't get caught trespa.s.sing. Course you might get a meal out of it. Or at least a drink of water out of someone's hose.

Around noon he came to a large river that stretched on forever in three directions, as far as he could see. Or it might be Lake Erie. That would be close to here. Wonder if it's safe, just to wet the mouth. No don't try it. End up even worse off. To his left there were houses along the water, a large gated community, to his right, farther away, was a small marina, just open land beyond it. He made his way toward the marina. As he approached he saw an overflowing trashcan by the gate.

Will you? But there was no question. He looked around for witnesses, then picked through the trash as quickly as possible. There was uneaten and unspoiled food, he could smell it intensely, more strongly even than the rot of the trashcan. No he thought I'm not there yet. He dug through paper bags of fast food, wine bottles, empty beer cans, water bottles. That one is heavy. Nearly full. Water or something else? Make sure it isn't someone's p.i.s.s. He was up to his shoulders in the trashcan and he retrieved the bottle and held it up to the light. Clear and cold. Hope they didn't have anything. Better than lake water-share with one stranger instead of a few million. He drank half the bottle, which had a faint taste of cigarettes, then capped it and put it into his pocket. There you go. Feel better already. Hope no one saw.

He continued to walk, following the contour of the sh.o.r.eline. There was a nuclear plant in the distance, the tall cooling towers by the lake. Where are you headed? I don't know. Just walking now. What is Poe doing? Probably not eating out of trashcans. Probably taking a nap. Drunk and asleep in his hammock. Except that is not the only possibility. There is still a dead body they found and his coat. He will not be able to get away from that.

When do I stop being the same person? In other people's minds or your own? Mine, he thought. I don't know. Something's wrong, you're getting farther from the lake-on some sort of tributary. Keep following this and it'll get you all turned around. Pick a direction and stick to it. Alright, west. But he knew that it didn't matter. There was nowhere he was going, and no one waiting for him, and it no longer mattered where he'd been.

A few hours later he pa.s.sed under an interstate and the land became more open, woods and fields. He allowed himself one small swallow from the water bottle every so often. Sooner or later you'll come on something else. Bucket of fried chicken. Steak and eggs. The road dead-ended in a patch of woods so he went into the woods. Still going west. This makes no sense. It doesn't make sense to be here and it doesn't make sense to be on the road. Just keep walking.

It was alternately a forest, the edges wide enough so he could not see the end of the trees, and a narrower boundary between farmland. By late in the afternoon he was getting the sensation of being followed. Stupid to come here, you are not going to be able to find anything to eat. The ground was wet and riddled with deer tracks. His pulse was beginning to speed up. Paranoid is all. Ignore it or you'll go crazy. Mental health your only health. He continued to walk but the feeling didn't abate. When he got to a natural choke point in the trail he crouched down behind a rock outcropping and waited.

Three dogs soon appeared, strays, trotting quickly along the path, and then the lead dog stopped suddenly to sniff the air. The dogs were thin and filthy, missing patches of fur, mixtures of various farm dogs- border collies, shepherds, it was impossible to tell.

A shiver pa.s.sed through him as he watched. A fourth dog soon caught up to the others, and as he got Isaac's scent he stiffened and turned toward the rocks where Isaac was hiding. Can they see you? Probably not. But that is not a friendly interest. He glanced around him and found several large rocks. You moved-now they see you. The lead dog started forward, hesitantly and slightly crouched, ears back, and Isaac stood up and hit it in the chest with a rock. He had not thrown the rock very hard and the dog only skittered slightly before resuming its approach. The second rock Isaac threw much harder, clipping the dog in the nose, and then hit it a third time as it bolted and ran. The other dogs looked unsure until the rocks began raining down on them as well. He continued to pelt them as they ran.

Was that cruel? Don't know. Get going, he thought. Cross that field and find a road. Sorry, pooches. Except they knew you had nothing to eat. They weren't coming looking for a handout-they were testing. Strays worse than coyotes-less fear of people. Reason farmers shoot them. Still.

Near sundown he stopped to rest under a wooden bridge. The sun was large in the sky and low over the fields and lines of trees. Pretty. He took a sip of water but the bottle was nearly empty and his stomach ached from hunger. If you had more water you'd be fine. Should have kept looking in that trashcan, found a second bottle. No you should have gone along that interstate. Need to stay near food and people. This was stupid.

I am trying to get away from people, he thought. He felt tears of frustration coming to his face. Need to get back to that interstate. Probably five or six miles. Get up. Soon as it's dark you won't be able to navigate. There's a state highway back there somewhere. That will intersect the interstate at some point.

By dark he'd reached the state highway trekking across the fields. His feet felt heavy with mud, he'd been making slow progress. Far enough, he thought. This is far enough for today. If I see a stream I'll drink out of it. How long did I walk? Twenty miles? Your headache is dehydration. Won't kill you. Need a meal and a bed, another sip of water. Save the rest for later. An ounce or two left. Pines over there-should be soft underneath.

In the far distance he could hear dogs barking. Need a good stick. No, need a sleeping bag. Cold coming up through the ground. Let me sleep. When he closed his eyes he could see the figures standing around the fire but when he opened his eyes the figures were still there, up in the trees. The Swede smiling, his face lit orange from the fire and all the shadows behind him. Poe was standing next to the Swede. Tired people hallucinate, he thought. So do hungry people. Just let me sleep.

No, tomorrow you will have to do something. Steal again, probably. Fine. Nature of nature, take what it needs. Feed off others. Like old Otto-down for good, a dirt sack. Scarecrow bones. Wonder where he is now. Any family to claim him. Empty as any other dead thing only he's a man, name and a story, child of two others, a girl who loved him. Human nature to come in for the dead ones and the weak ones. Animal nature the opposite. Comes out when you're alone. Your higher values lose their color.

His mouth was dry. Get up you can find a faucet at one of those barns, a garden hose or something. Do it now while it's dark. Think-if your mother could see you. Stake through her broken heart. The family disease, her quiet moments. Lee didn't catch it. Old man thinks you did, but he doesn't know better. Wanted a different kind of family, himself at the head of the table.

How long ago was that? A month. Feels like a year. That was when you decided to leave, seems pointless now. Sitting with him out back, wearing your coats and grilling, listening to the radio-spring training highlights. Reds over the Pirates. Zach Duke, Zach Duke, he said. he said. Get him up to the majors-that's the guy who's gonna bring us out of this slump. Get him up to the majors-that's the guy who's gonna bring us out of this slump. What did you say back to him? Can't remember. What did you say back to him? Can't remember. You wonder what it'd be like to be someone like that. A guy who's gonna matter, basically. You wonder what it'd be like to be someone like that. A guy who's gonna matter, basically. He looked at you. He looked at you. You know what I mean? You know what I mean? Then he goes on: Then he goes on: Course, for a person your size, you always had a h.e.l.l of an arm. Course, for a person your size, you always had a h.e.l.l of an arm.

Isaac looked up at the dark sky, then rolled onto his side and curled up for warmth. Was that what started all this? Of course not--just another on the pile. It could have been something else, anything-this whole time you were staying to get his approval. Admit that. It was not out of charity that you were staying. You were staying to get him to realize things about you. Meanwhile you only made it worse. One day he thanks you for dinner, the next he says how you've been living off his pension. Testing you. Same as he did to Mom. Neither one of you ever pushed back. She must have known she made a mistake. Wasn't sure how to get out of it. Tried to bear up but couldn't. Finally made a choice.

She was not a saint herself. Decided her duty was done once Lee got into Yale, same as him. Time to check out. Except you don't know that, anything could have happened. No note, spur of the moment. You look off a high bridge and get a strange feeling. You don't know what happened.

He woke up several times during the night, it was very cold and finally he was so cold and stiff he couldn't fall back asleep. Start walking or you'll freeze. He took another sip from the water bottle, stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off, then began to walk again, half conscious, toward the sound of the freeway, until the sun was up and he knew he didn't need to move any longer to stay warm.

An hour or it might have been three hours after reaching the interstate he found a McDonald's, where he got three egg sandwiches off the dollar menu and drank several cups of water for his headache before refilling his water bottle. People were alternately staring at him and trying to pretend he wasn't there. With tax he had two dollars and eighty cents left. The third egg sandwich he wrapped carefully in a white bag and put in his big coat pocket. He used the washroom to clean up. His clothes were getting wrinkled and filthy again, but nothing like before. He wondered if people were really watching him. Something about your face, he thought. Not just the bruises.

Walking again he stayed parallel to the highway, on the private property side of the fenceline so no cops would pull over. Need to find a train, he thought. Now I can think again. Get a train and get south so I don't freeze. Why, he thought. Where are you going? Someplace warm, I don't know.

I'm fine. Adjusting. Need to scrounge a little today. You mean like rob something? I don't know. Still feel hungry somehow. Need to ration, though. Two dollars and change left-have to eat tomorrow as well. And every day after. Save the other sandwich. I will eat half tonight, he thought.

He continued to parallel the interstate, making slow progress because of all the fences he needed to cross, all the brush, taking his time, staying out of sight. Then there was an open area ahead of him, a rest-stop with a bathroom and cars pulling in and out, he refilled his water bottle and drank for a long time from the fountain. He sat outside the main building, resting at one of the picnic tables. Soon enough a Camry pulled up directly in front of him and a man got out and jogged quickly toward the bathrooms. Isaac stood up and walked past the car, the man's wallet was sitting in front of the gearshift, the doors were plainly unlocked, it was fifty yards to the treeline.

He stood for a half minute with his back to the car, then walked away from it, continued walking, out of the reststop. That was stupid, he thought. You won't have that luxury again. No, I am not going to do that to someone. Yes you will. That or you will starve. I don't have to eat today he thought. I still have money.