Lowboy Part 17

"Is this your son here?"

"Of course."

An overexposed snapshot of a garden. A boy with his feet planted squarely in the center of the frame, his hair almost colorless, his arms held out like someone caught without a handhold on a train. Four or five at the most. Some quality or detail of the picture was remarkable but it took Lateef a moment to discover what it was, perhaps because it was the last thing he expected. The look on the boy's face was intelligent, of course-even confident-but it was more than that. It was knowing.

"You see it too," she said quietly. "Don't you see it?"

Lateef nodded.

"We were frightened even then, I think. It wasn't just the way he looked. He moved differently from the other kids, talked differently. It was Alex who decided we should take it as some kind of mark of genius." She sat back lightly on the couch. "Now I feel as though we both knew what was coming."

"It always seems that way, thinking back on things."

"Does it?"

"I don't see what either of you could have done differently."

"You see what I mean, Detective? You're much too generous for your line of work."

He was still staring down at the picture, still trying to see it as no more than a snapshot, trying to bring it into clearer focus. It took him another few seconds to notice the girl in the background. She was older than the boy, already into her teens, but aside from that she might have been his twin. The boy was too young to be beautiful yet but the girl was no less than a vision. She hovered in the upper lefthand corner of the picture, blurred along her left side, as if caught in the act of escaping from the frame. He found himself hesitating to ask about her for fear of the change in his voice.

"Who's that in the corner?"

"Who do you think, Detective?"

Of course it was her. Of course it was. Now at last she'd disarmed him completely. He turned and looked at her but she was too close to focus on, blurred about the edges, exactly like the face in the photograph. "How old were you when you came to this country?"

He'd expected a smile from her but she withheld it. "Too young to know better, apparently. Twenty-one."

"The girl in this picture looks about fourteen."

She nodded. "I used to hate how young I looked: it made no sense to me. As if I'd been put in someone else's body."

"You could have done worse, Miss h.e.l.ler."

She frowned. "Alex used to catch me making faces at myself in the mirror-the ugliest faces I could think of. Will picked that up from me. Will makes faces all the time."

Unwillingly he turned back to the alb.u.m. "When was it that Will's father pa.s.sed away?"

"Two years ago this March."

"I see." Now he recalled a cursory obituary in the Times Times: a heart attack in some obscure airport motel, alone and in bed, with all the sordidness that kind of death implied. "Right at the time your son's condition worsened."

"Alex had stopped coming around by then. He had troubles enough of his own." She might have been talking about the sad fate of a man she'd once met on a train.

"No love lost between the two of you, I take it."

"Not by the end." She began to say something else but stopped herself. "That's a ridiculous expression, isn't it? 'No love lost.' When Alex was alive I might still have taken it literally." She sat up and took back the alb.u.m. "More important things than that were lost, of course. Our son was lost."

As he watched her he became aware, dimly at first but then ever more clearly, how far from reason and prudence he was straying. Soon the fact of it was inescapable. His awareness, however, was a pa.s.sive thing as he sat there and let her relieve him of his last defenses. In time it seemed to disappear entirely.

"I want to show you one more picture. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all."

She balanced the alb.u.m on her knees and turned its pages measuredly, bashfully, playing the role of the doting parent. No. She's not playing any kind of role, he told himself. Don't belittle her because you want her. You put your head down freely on the block.

"Here," she said, smoothing the cellophane down. "Here he is at the library. A few months after his fourteenth birthday."

He leaned toward her and looked. The same delicate head, more beautiful now than seemed necessary in a boy, backlit before a flight of granite steps. The same wide-legged stance, the same carefully combed hair, the same downward tilt of the shoulders. The face was also the same but its expression had changed to one of simple panic. A grin was fixed to the front of it like a screen around an operating table.

She shifted away from him and coughed into her fist. "When I explained to Will that he was getting sick, a few days after we'd been to visit Kopeck, he read every book on schizophrenia that he could find. He learned that he didn't have much time-or maybe he could feel it, I don't know-and he asked if he could be excused from school. When I got him a note from Kopeck he seemed almost proud of it." She coughed again. "There was no need for a doctor's note, of course. He could never have gone back to school. He was hearing voices already, talking to himself, giggling for no reason, all of the usual symptoms. But he kept himself under control at the library, at least at the beginning, and by the end of that month he was practically an expert. I asked him one day-a particularly good day, I remember-what he thought we should do. He smiled at me in an indulgent sort of way and took my hand. 'We'll have to wait for the end of the world, Violet,' he said. He was treating me as though I I was the patient, as though I was the one who needed looking after, and I suppose in a way he was right. 'What do you mean, Will?' I asked. 'What world is going to end?' He reached over and patted me on the shoulder. 'My world, obviously,' he said. Then he kissed me on the cheek and went upstairs." was the patient, as though I was the one who needed looking after, and I suppose in a way he was right. 'What do you mean, Will?' I asked. 'What world is going to end?' He reached over and patted me on the shoulder. 'My world, obviously,' he said. Then he kissed me on the cheek and went upstairs."

Lateef sat on the edge of the couch and waited. Violet's eyes were closed again but she held herself stiffly upright. Say something to her, he ordered himself. But of course he said nothing. The lamp had started to flicker, like the beam from an old film projector, but that might have come from watching her so closely. He knew that his desire was obscene in light of everything she'd told him but the knowledge had no effect on him at all.

"You deserve better than this," he said dully. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. "A better kind of life."

She opened her eyes. "Are you proposing to me, Detective?"

"Miss h.e.l.ler," he said. He took her tentatively by the shoulder. Her body twitched under his fingers, then relaxed. "Violet-"

Her eyes went flat. "No one but Will calls me by that name."

The telephone rang as he took his hand back from her shoulder. An actual bell, a bright and childish alarm, antique as everything else in that place. For the first three rings she sat motionless, staring helplessly at her hands, as though the sound incriminated her. Then she darted past him out into the kitchen.

When the ringing stopped short he a.s.sumed that she'd answered: he waited for her to speak but she said nothing. Only then did it occur to him that she might not have picked up in time. The phone rang again as he got to the kitchen and this time she answered at once.

"All right," she said calmly. "It's all right now."

It was clear to him then that she'd been expecting the call from the beginning.

Violet? h.e.l.lo? Please say something Violet. Please be answering and saying It's all right all right.

All right. It's all right now.

I f.u.c.ked up Violet. There's blood coming out of my clothes.

Are you hurt, Will? Is there any pain?

Will?

I don't know about that. Pain? There's no pain.

Good. That's good. Now take a breath, if you can, and tell me- What's funny is she tipped me over backwards. She got up all of a sudden and that was a surprise and when she made the cut I fell and laughed out loud. She'd obviously been waiting with the key. It was a simple thing. She ran back down the stairs like a f.u.c.king track rabbit. I didn't want to do it anymore. I watched her go Violet. She just hopped right away. You don't know what I'm talking about. You don't even know what a track rabbit is.

That's right, Will. I don't know. Would you explain it to me?

Was I supposed to do it Violet? I thought I was supposed to. If I wasn't I'd never have pulled down my pants.

First tell me where you are. If you tell me that, then I can come and find you. I can listen to you then. I'd like so much to hear- Hear what Violet? I don't want to hear anything. I want not to be hearing. I want everyone to shut their mouth already. Uhhh- Who's there, Will? Who's everyone? Can you tell me that?

Uhhh. You know who.

I don't know, Will. I want you to tell me.

You know who. You know who. I stopped taking my meds.

Your meds are the only way to shut them up, though, aren't they? I talked to you about that. You made me a promise. Remember the promise you made to me, Will? Remember what Dr. Fleisig- They shut up too much with the meds. It gets quiet. It all gets so flat.

You sound quiet too. There's a funny kind of buzzing on the line. Are you maybe calling from a payphone?

From a payphone in a station in a tunnel. That's all right. A payphone is a coin-operated machine.

Why are you being so quiet? Why are you whispering? Are there people around?

Close enough Violet. In the doorway. Three of them together. For a long time they were in the other room.

Can you tell me the name of the station? Which station is it?

A good station actually. One of the best. Ladies in raincoats are talking about us. Trains going by. It's one of the finest stations on the line.

They have raincoats, the ladies? Is it raining there?

Uhhh- What kind of line is it, Will? Is it a letter or a number?

No Violet. Uhhh. No no no no.

That's just fine. It doesn't matter. Can you tell me what color it is? Can you tell me that?

I've been cut up actually. Emily did it. She sat straight up and chopped me in two pieces. She cut me right between the t.i.ts.

Where's Emily now, Will? Is she all right?

Will? h.e.l.lo? Is Emily with you right now? Is she there?

Uhhh.

Will, please answer me. I'm begging you.

Yes and no Violet. Yes and no.

Oh G.o.d, Will. Oh G.o.d. Please don't say that.

I told her everything Violet. I didn't mind. I told her about the weather and my calling and about the Musaquontas. I told her a joke and I followed her and I put on someone else's clothes. A whole new look for me and s.e.xy. I gave her money. Dark blue jeans with dice on the back pocket. An oxford shirt. A sweater. She gave me a green belt too behind the curtain. She did the Robot Violet. She gave me kisses.

Emily would never want to hurt you, Will. Emily's your best friend. Are you listening to me? Emily wouldn't- Oh yes she would Violet. Close your mouth now. How could you know anything? Were you there? That f.u.c.ker. I told her about my time at school but she tried not to hear it. She was stupid and she was scared s.h.i.tless in the tunnel. She did too much talking. We got to the platform and she giggled at me and rolled her eyes like someone from the school. She couldn't hear a single word I said. She told me everything was beautiful beautiful. She liked the arches best. There were chandeliers and skylights. Are you ready? I asked her. She liked that too. She went up the stairs. I thought I was supposed to do it then. There was this calling Violet. It gave me directions. It called me up and said to do that thing.

What sort of things did it- Have I told you about my calling yet?

Not yet. Maybe you could- Who's that with you there? Who's talking?

n.o.body's talking. No one's here but me. Tell me what your calling said.

Well listen carefully everybody! Attention please! Because there's not much time.

What are you talking about, Will? There's plenty of time. Just take a breath and close your eyes and try- There is a hurry Violet. Time is actually very tight. First of all I've only got two quarters.

Can you tell me the number of the payphone there, maybe, in case you run out of money? It's all right to tell me. It's better.

I love you Violet.

I love you, too, Will. You know that I love you. I would never- Why was I born Violet? Tell me why.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Will, give me a straight answer. Slow down and catch your breath and tell me- 7186738197. It could be anybody's.

Hold on. 718.673.819- Why are you saying the number out loud? h.e.l.lo Violet? Who are you talking to?

You're in Brooklyn, is that right? Are you on the F line?

Payphones only ring in the movies. No one gets a payphone call. I've never gotten one ever.

That's not true. I used to call you at the hospital, don't you remember?

Will? h.e.l.lo?

What hospital Violet? What hospital do you mean?

I'm sorry, Will. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call it that. What I meant was when I called you at the- You must think I'm stupid Violet. You must think I wear my underpants on the outside of my clothes.

Hold on a second, hold on-can you please wait a second-don't stop- What's that? Violet? VIOLET?

It's nothing, Will. I'm sorry about that. I just dropped the- Who's with you Violet? Who the f.u.c.k is that?

It's n.o.body, Will. No one's here. I told you already- Will, can you hear me?

Will?

The sun was declining and the firepits were glowing and oilcolored nightbirds were warbling down from the trees. The birds and the fires and the voices made a chorus. His own voice was in it. Dead air whistled through the tenements and bottles cooed and sparkled in the weeds. Sunlight cut into his body like a blessing.

He walked down the street with his left eye shut against the sun and his fingers hooked together at his neck. Smoke rose straight up from the ground in silver lines. Two boys with socks on their hands were kicking something in a rolled-up paper bag. He walked with one foot on the curb and one foot off. There were cars on the street but most of them sat flatwheeled on the ground. Pelts of carbon swaddled them. He found one that he liked and climbed inside.

The windows were broken but the front seat was warm. A smell of sunbaked Naugahyde and s.h.i.t. A sticker on the dash said strictly for my ninjaz. He sat up and pressed the heels of his palms against the wheel. He revved and coughed and sputtered, shifting gears. His shirtfront snapped and crackled as he breathed. He tapped it with his finger and watched the bloodflakes settle in his lap. Snap crackle pop, he mumbled. He sat back in the seat and shut his eyes. Nothing left now but patience. Snap crackle pop. Nothing left to do but wait until the fire.

Under the street at that moment a train shot through a station unstopping. The rails sighed and protested as they will. Emily lay stretched between them. She looked up at Lowboy as the train hit the junction and gave him a thin Christian smile.