Salvation City Part 15

"Shame on you, son. I know I've taught you better than that."

Cole was ready to cry. "Aren't you even worried about her?"

It was the laugh Cole swore he'd never forgive.

"Come on, now, Cole, you know your cousin can take care of herself."

His cousin! It was the first time he'd ever heard Starlyn called that.

PW reached for the whiskey again, forgetting there was none left. "Tell you who I am am worried about, though. I'm worried about Jeptha's mama." He was talking about Boots's daughter-in-law, whose son had just been killed in Israel. "Losing your only son, that's got to be the worst kind of hurt. But I don't think I've ever seen anyone so torn up as that poor lady. Far's I know she's always had a powerful faith. But the other day it was like you could see it evaporating off her, like a mist. She would not be comforted. I'd try to get her to pray with me and she'd just give me this smile, this cold, twisted kind of smile. Like I tried to cheat her and she just got wise. Shook me up." worried about, though. I'm worried about Jeptha's mama." He was talking about Boots's daughter-in-law, whose son had just been killed in Israel. "Losing your only son, that's got to be the worst kind of hurt. But I don't think I've ever seen anyone so torn up as that poor lady. Far's I know she's always had a powerful faith. But the other day it was like you could see it evaporating off her, like a mist. She would not be comforted. I'd try to get her to pray with me and she'd just give me this smile, this cold, twisted kind of smile. Like I tried to cheat her and she just got wise. Shook me up."

"She's only sixteen," Cole said, his heart breaking.

PW shrugged his big shoulders. "My granny had two babies already by that age. My mama had her first when she was barely seventeen."

"But aren't you going to call the police?"

"Dude, just what is is it about you and the police? Didn't you and me already have this conversation?" it about you and the police? Didn't you and me already have this conversation?"

Cole wasn't sure if PW had raised his voice because he was angry or because he was drunk.

A promise is sacred. Cole made a quick decision and plunged ahead. Cole made a quick decision and plunged ahead.

"I saw them. I saw Mason-I saw them kissing-that's how I know-"

To Cole's astonishment PW laughed again.

He must must be drunk. How else could he laugh? be drunk. How else could he laugh?

"Listen to me, son. You think you're the only one that's got eyes in his head? You really think I didn't know what was up with the two of them?"

Yes, he could see it now. That had had been pretty stupid of him. He was seeing a lot, finally. No wonder he'd started to feel sorry for Starlyn. been pretty stupid of him. He was seeing a lot, finally. No wonder he'd started to feel sorry for Starlyn.

"So you're mad at Mason. So you go and make wild accusations, talking a heap of nonsense about kidnapping-and why? I'll tell you why. Because you're jealous. Because you think he stole your girl. Because you think he stole your girl. Isn't that what this is really about?" He punched Cole's shoulder again, less playfully this time. "Like you had any business sniffing after her." Isn't that what this is really about?" He punched Cole's shoulder again, less playfully this time. "Like you had any business sniffing after her."

"It wasn't like that," Cole said hoa.r.s.ely. He was mortified that PW had used the word sniffing sniffing.

PW kept silent, as if to give Cole a chance to explain himself, and when that didn't happen he sighed and said, "Look. I don't mean to be harsh, but you got to understand this has nothing to do with you. We shouldn't even be discussing the matter, it's not fitting. I want you to promise you'll put it out of your mind and leave it to your elders to worry about, okay?"

Cole nodded mechanically.

"Good. Now, let's talk about something else. What do you hear lately from that aunt of yours?"

"I'm thinking about going to see her in Germany."

In fact, until that moment he had been thinking no such thing.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Cole remembered that he had not yet pa.s.sed on the news that his aunt was back in Berlin. He was about to explain when PW doubled over.

The attack this time was shorter but more vicious than the first. When it was over PW stood up, saying, "Let me go dry myself off."

Left alone, Cole tried-unsuccessfully-to pray. All his other emotions were now swamped by a new fear. What if PW never got better? What if he could never live a normal life again? What if he just drank and drank and drank?

Cole was distracted by the appearance of a moth that had come indoors and kept banging into one thing or another until finally it knocked itself onto its back. Fantastically large, almost the size of a sparrow, it lay quaking on the floor, filament legs kicking furiously. Then it went still-not dead, Cole figured, just wiped out from struggling. It could rest there all it wanted; no harm would come to it. He resisted the impulse to pick it up. He'd been told that touching a moth or a b.u.t.terfly could hurt its wings and maybe even kill it.

This time, unlike a moment before, and without trying, he found himself praying. He prayed to G.o.d not to be too hard on Starlyn, and if it turned out she was never coming back he prayed that G.o.d might bring her, somehow, somewhere to safety. Amen.

PW returned wearing a clean white shirt, left unb.u.t.toned, and carrying a fresh pint of bourbon. He tousled Cole's hair with his free hand as he sat back down on the sofa. He seemed to have forgotten what they'd been talking about before, and Cole did not remind him. They sat for a few moments without speaking. The second attack had so weakened PW that his arm shook just from the effort of bringing bottle to mouth.

"You know," he said, staring straight ahead as if he were addressing someone other than Cole beside him, "G.o.d put men at the head of women because we're the stronger s.e.x. But it's my observation that when it comes to physical pain women can take more. Think of Tracy." Which Cole did very reluctantly, recalling the time he'd accidentally hit her in the chest. "People still talk about how brave she was when she had the cancer, and I can testify she was a real trouper when she got the flu. I just know she'd be able to deal with this neuralgia thing better than I can."

Cole said nothing. A cosmic sadness was seeping into him. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he would start wailing and not be able to stop. It was happening again, he thought. Everything was changing. The air felt supercharged, and there was a weight to every pa.s.sing moment that said nothing would ever be the same. He saw how wrong he had been to believe he was no longer a child. He was a child, only a child, too young to know what to do. Everything was too hard and too complicated, and he was too young, he was too weak and powerless and dumb.

He wanted to be alone. He was tired and confused and filled with anxiety at not knowing what was going to happen next. Too much had happened already, and he wasn't able to put all his trust in G.o.d the way PW and Tracy and the others did. He would try, but it wouldn't work. It was like trying to stick a piece of paper to the wall with spit.

He wanted to be alone. He thought that if he was alone some idea would come to him. If he was in his room he could start to draw something, and that would make him feel calm and normal again. But then the thought of drawing-the thought of all the drawings he had done and the pleasure they had given him and the pride he'd felt at being praised for them-suddenly all this struck him as embarra.s.sing, cause for shame. He thought of the comics he'd lavished so much of himself on, and he cringed. He'd made a fool of himself, he thought. Just like when he was on the radio. It would be a relief to destroy them, to burn every one of them. Then he could start all over again. This thought made his throat ache.

He wanted to be alone. But he could not leave PW. He had to wait until PW-already breathing heavily and listing at his side-was ready to pa.s.s out. Then Cole would help him get up the stairs and to bed.

THAT NIGHT HE RODE THE HORSE AGAIN.

A game-long forgotten-from the days when his mother used to tuck him in. Time to ride the horse! Time to ride the horse! Scooping him up in her arms. Not into bed but onto the back of a horse he'd pretend to climb- Scooping him up in her arms. Not into bed but onto the back of a horse he'd pretend to climb-Now, off you go, pumpkin-to ride through the night.

His mother's smell.

His bronco sheets.

That night he rode the horse again. A hero's horse, fast and thunderous as a train. Here and there along the path masked figures rushed at them. Hands reached up to grab and yank Cole to the ground. But the horse knew never to stop or slow down.

And he could never get lost, his mother said; the horse knew the way.

Morning: this was where she always promised to meet him.

He sat up, drying his eyes.

He had slept as usual with the blinds open. Outside the light was pale. The sky looked low and as fragile as eggsh.e.l.l, as if a rock hurled hard enough could smash it.

He glanced uneasily around the room, gripped by a vague pang of fear-but no, it was all right. He hadn't actually burned or destroyed anything, he remembered now. It was just a silly pa.s.sing thought. Coming in last night and seeing the drawings lying around or taped to the walls, he'd felt sheepish about his vow to get rid of them. Most of them still made him cringe. They were childish, they belonged to yesterday, they should be put away in a box or a drawer somewhere. But there was no reason to destroy them. What if it turned out he never saw Starlyn again? Wouldn't he hate himself for not having kept those drawings of her?

His senses told him he was the only one in the house who was up. He got out of bed and dressed quickly.

Downstairs, he went first to the porch and collected the bottles. This morning the whiskey smell, though faint, made him queasy.

The moth! He searched, but it was gone.

He was waiting for the computer to boot up when he heard someone coming up the back walk. He had no idea who it might be at this hour, or why he went cold, his heart hopping like a bird from rib to rib. When the bell rang, he stayed in his chair as if welded there, terrified and ashamed of his terror at the same time. He remembered a boy in their building back in Chicago who'd answered the door while his mom was in the shower and let in a man who then- But this was Salvation City, where people kept guns in their homes but did not always lock their doors.

"Hey, didn't you hear me ring?"

Rather than lie Cole said simply, "Hey, dude, what's up?"

"I was supposed to come by and get some help with this sermon I been working on. I know it's way early."

"You ride your bike over?"

"Yeah. Actually, I been riding around since light."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just checking things out. Lotta people didn't sleep last night, you know. They're way freaked out."

"What about your house?"

"I guess they're okay."

Like Cole, Clem was an only child. He lived with his mother and his grandmother in what had once been the town's little red schoolhouse. His great-grandparents had been pupils there. Clem's father had died in the Iraq war a few months before Clem was born. Clem kept his father's army medals in a special case on his bedroom wall. He kissed the case every night before he went to bed. The Harleys also had a flu orphan living with them, an eight-year-old r.e.t.a.r.ded girl named Olettra who refused to leave the house, fighting like a wild animal if you tried to make her. Everyone thought this was because she was too disabled to grasp the real reason her parents were no longer around and was scared that the monster that had got them could also get her.

Clem said, "I know some people are doing like PW said and staying home, but there's a pretty big crowd at the church. I figure he'll be going over there this morning. I don't know if he'll even have time for me."

Cole explained that PW was not up yet. Clem nodded thoughtfully and said, "That pain just won't let up on him, will it."

Cole told him about the two attacks of the night before. Clem listened, frowning. Then he said, "I don't know that drinking's such a good idea."

"But it really helps," said Cole.

"In the short run, maybe. In the long run, it may turn out to be worse than the disease."

It was this kind of thing that could make Clem seem older than he was. He often talked in this grown-up, authoritative way. Probably it had to do with the fact that his mother had never remarried and he'd always been the man of the house. A serious, level-headed, slow-if-ever-to-anger boy, precociously handy, and, like the father he never knew, a crack shot. Everyone admired him for the way he took care of his women. In general, he was more admired than liked, Cole thought. But he himself had always liked Clem, even though they didn't have much to say to each other.

He was tall for his age, but that was his only good feature. He was pear-shaped, his skin and hair were drab, he was p.r.o.ne to sties and chapped lips and cold sores. Huge, blocky hands and feet made him look clumsy, though he was not-just as a sharp nose and black-b.u.t.ton eyes made him look inquisitive, which he also was not. (In turn, his lack of curiosity often made him seem less smart than he was.) He had a habit, sometimes irritating to Cole, of hesitating before he said anything, as if English weren't his first language. Tracy, on the other hand, called it the mark of wisdom. ("He does like they say: Think before you speak.") The boys in their church were like other boys, meaning obsessed with s.e.x. They might not have been as gross as secular kids, but they told dirty jokes and used words like b.o.n.e.r b.o.n.e.r and and t.i.ts t.i.ts and and hump hump and and b.l.o.w. .j.o.b b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. They'd huddle about a girl they thought was hot and what they'd do to her, even though they'd all pledged to stay virgins until they got married. It pained a lot of them (and a lot of girls, too) to think that Christ could return too soon, meaning before they got their chance to have s.e.x. Meanwhile they could dream, and, at least when there were no grown-ups around, they could talk. Most would rather talk about s.e.x than just about anything else. Except Clem. Not that he'd criticize others for talking, or leave the room when they did. He'd just sit there with a blank look on his face, as if everyone else were speaking a foreign tongue, or as if whatever they were talking about did not, and would not ever, have anything to do with him. He didn't care-or at least he didn't appear to-that this had led some to say he was gay.

Cole found it a mystery that Clem wanted to preach even though he wasn't good at it. But though he knew he didn't have anything like PW's gift, Clem said he couldn't imagine any other life for himself.

"Ma tells how I used to talk about being a soldier or basketball star or some other thing, but I don't remember any of that. In my mind I was always going to be a preacher."

Also remarkable to Cole was that Clem had never seen Jesus or been spoken to by Jesus, not even in a dream. Jesus had never woken Clem in the night with a message for him or sent him any special sign. Not that this bothered Clem. The Lord shows himself to me every day, he said. He did not envy those who'd been granted signs and visions and face time. He did not feel lesser than any rapture child or baby preacher.

Though Cole couldn't help feeling there was something truly weird about Clem, something that didn't necessarily have to do with his calling, the two were usually at ease together. And now that he was over his embarra.s.sment at not having answered the door, he was glad Clem had come. His presence warmed the kitchen like something in the oven.

"Are you hungry?" asked Cole, who'd just realized he was quite hungry himself. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Actually, that sounds good. But why don't you let me get it? I could make us some French toast."

"Okay. I'll help in a minute." And as Clem took over the kitchen, setting out bread, milk, b.u.t.ter, and eggs, Cole typed a message to Addy.

The French toast was perfect: eggy and crusty and on the dark side, the way Cole liked it. Clem had microwaved some bacon, too, while Cole set the table. Mindful of those still sleeping upstairs, they moved quietly and kept their voices down, and in that hush, in the soft early light, they might have been performing some ritual.

They ate in silence, full attention on their food, hungry, growing boys first.

In his message to Addy, Cole had said, "I've been thinking over your idea about my coming to see you."

In fact, he had been thinking a lot about it, and the more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. He had always wanted to explore the world. Why not start with Berlin, Germany?

What he hadn't said to Addy was this: "I know you care about me, but I'm not the most important thing to you. I know that even if you never saw me again, you'd be okay."

Otherwise, he thought, she would not have left without him.

Not that he was going to hold this against her. "I'd like to make the trip as soon as possible."

Of course, PW wouldn't want him to go, even if it was just for a visit. Cole would have to explain-as he was going to have to explain about another decision he had just made: when summer was over, he did not want to go on studying with Tracy. Even if he had to commute all the way to a different town, even if he'd be the only kid in Salvation City not being homeschooled, he wanted to go back to regular school. He knew that Tracy and PW would blame Addy for this. But in fact: It was the day Taffy had come to pick up Starlyn. After they left, a forlorn Cole sat in front of the TV, clicking the remote until his attention was caught by images of some kids around his own age, maybe a little older. It turned out to be a news program about a special school in Washington, D.C. Not a private school-the government paid the tuition-but not a school that just anybody could go to, either. You had to compete to get in, and ninety-eight percent of those who tried to get in were rejected. Those who were accepted studied subjects that were more advanced than what kids their age normally studied. The very top students took college courses.

The students, who came from all over the country, were shown in an auditorium at some kind of a.s.sembly. "You are looking at America's next generation of great leaders and discoverers and n.o.bel Prize winners," the TV reporter said.

Kids in cla.s.srooms or in the cafeteria or out on the school lawn discussed science and politics and even sports in a way Cole had never heard anyone his age talk before. Over his head. And he who had always hated school was smitten with envy. The reporter and all the other adults who appeared on the program were obviously in awe of these kids. The parents of one boy told the reporter that the school had saved their son's life. He'd been in a different school first, an ordinary school with ordinary students and teachers, and despite his extraordinary apt.i.tude (among all those brainiacs, this kid might have been the brainiest of all), he had not done well. According to his parents, there'd been two reasons for this: their son had been bullied, and he'd been bored.

When Cole heard this he became fl.u.s.tered; he became enraged. He, too, had been bullied and bored. Forgetting all about the ferocious compet.i.tion to get into the school, he failed to see why he he hadn't been plucked out and sent to Washington to study with genius cla.s.smates and teachers who never bored them. Tears of self-pity stung his eyes. He bet none of hadn't been plucked out and sent to Washington to study with genius cla.s.smates and teachers who never bored them. Tears of self-pity stung his eyes. He bet none of those those kids was an orphan. (He was wrong.) And what would it be like if he ever met any of them? He would not be like them. He would not know all the things they'd been taught; he would not be their equal. And how would they treat him? For sure, they would look down on him. They wouldn't bully him-they were above that, of course-but they would not befriend him, either. They would ignore him. Maybe even feel sorry for him. The one thing worse than bullying. kids was an orphan. (He was wrong.) And what would it be like if he ever met any of them? He would not be like them. He would not know all the things they'd been taught; he would not be their equal. And how would they treat him? For sure, they would look down on him. They wouldn't bully him-they were above that, of course-but they would not befriend him, either. They would ignore him. Maybe even feel sorry for him. The one thing worse than bullying.

Cole had watched the program all the way to the end. He had turned the TV off then and sat for a long time, his soul in a stew. He felt cheated and humiliated and confused. Deeply, he believed he was more like those gifted kids than unlike them. His pride insisted on it: the future great leaders and discoverers and n.o.bel Prize winners-he belonged with them. A huge misunderstanding had been allowed to take place. Why hadn't anyone seen that just because he hated school didn't mean he was lazy and dumb? It was unfair; it was all a mistake. Somehow it must be corrected. If not, he would grow up to be something worse than an underachiever. He would grow up stupid, an ignoramus. He would have to hide himself away from the world or die of shame.

These were his thoughts, but they were not thoughts he would have been comfortable revealing to Clem. Nowhere in the program about the prestigious school had there been any mention of G.o.d or church or any kind of religious instruction. Clem would have no truck with such a place. He would have called it a school for fools.

But there were other things Cole could share with Clem, and to which Clem could speak better than most.

About that crowd gathering at the church- "What do you think is going to happen next?" asked Cole.

Pause.

"I think the more time pa.s.ses, the more folks'll calm down."

Cole's heart beat faster. "So you're saying you don't believe it's the rapture."

Clem took even longer to answer this time. "I believe I know an elopement when I see one."

Cole could have kissed him. But his spirits sank when it became clear that Clem was no more concerned about Starlyn than PW was.

"Far as I'm concerned this is Mason's responsibility," said Clem. "He's done a bad thing, I admit, but it's not like it can't be fixed."

"Well, I think he's way evil," said Cole hotly.

Clem looked taken aback. "Evil? Mason?" He gazed sadly at Cole and shook his head. "That's not right, Cole."