The Spider Truces Part 35

"It's important to enjoy these things," Ellis agreed.

"We don't mind black people so we none of us didn't become militant," the unnamed one continued. "We remained affiliated but we never saw anyone go a certain way. Like I say, I don't mind them ..." he paused for far too long for Ellis's liking, "but I choose not to mix with them. We have the right to choose, see. Don't see them rushing out to mix with me, so no one's missing out."

"Anyhow," Warren added, "water under the bridge and Barbie plays that trombone good enough."

Interstate 48 from Cincinnati to Indianapolis took them across a razor-thin landscape beneath deep skies.

"Why didn't you go with those brothers and photograph them?" Gerd asked, 175 miles west of Cincinnati.

"They weren't up for it," Ellis said.

Twenty miles of silence later, Gerd said, "You're lying, Ellis. Look, you don't make a book of photographs called Things I liked along the way. The book is Things I encountered. Not everyone out there is sweet old Moses Mahler."

Ellis thought to himself that this was pretty rich coming from a man who photographed Hoovers.

"I know what you're thinking," Gerd said, "but I'm telling you, Ellis, you can't photograph from the outside looking in. You can't do anything meaningful without getting involved."

Ellis let this advice hang in the air for another twenty miles of highway. Then he lit two cigarettes, pa.s.sed one to Gerd, and said, "You're right. But you're also a motherf.u.c.king German wh.o.r.e for leaving me alone with them."

There was a moment's silence, then Gerd roared with laughter. It took forty miles for the grin on his face to subside, slowly and evenly, almost unnoticeably, until his face had settled back to its preferred doom-laden setting.

If I achieve nothing else in life, Ellis told himself, I made Gerd laugh.

On the Fourth of July 1988 at three in the afternoon, Ellis was woken from a deep, sunburnt sleep by the realisation that the car was not moving. He heard the lapping of water and felt a cool, drinkable wind blow through the open windows. He dragged himself out of the car and took in the view of a river so wide and strong that it made him gasp. To the north, two miles away, was a bridge bearing the interstate. Near to it, lining the great river on both sides, were low wood-clad dwellings which gave way to a community of houseboats. Gerd was at the water's edge where the riverbank was undeveloped and one could pretend that America had not grown up so fast.

"Unphotographable!" he said, with reverence. "Except from s.p.a.ce. Do you know what you are looking at, Ellis?"

Ellis shook his head.

"The Mississippi river, Ellis. That's what you are looking at."

The river bank rose to a knoll. They sat there and watched the currents toy with the driftwood. Ellis settled on to his back and the blue sky laid itself across his line of sight. He told his dad that he was on the banks of the Mississippi. He pictured the day his dad was strong enough to travel with him. He brought him here, to the great river's edge, and they watched G.o.d flow past, wide and majestic. He felt sure that such a day would come, a day just like today, when his dad was well and life was infinite again. This time next year. When the days are hot but the river breeze is cool. This time next year.

By nightfall they had checked into the one remaining room at the Barron Motel, Barron, Iowa, a shaky L-shaped establishment alongside the railroad. At one-thirty in the morning, Gerd was woken by the clanging bells of the railroad crossing and the pa.s.sing through of a goods train of great length and little speed. The walls began to vibrate.

"Ellis! Wake up," Gerd said, lighting a cigarette.

Ellis stirred. "What?"

"How can you sleep through this?"

Ellis turned over. When the train had pa.s.sed, Gerd was left listening to the steady breathing of Ellis's sleep.

Barron was a town of one main thoroughfare, which was wide and quiet and ran from Church Street at the top of the hill to the railroad crossing at the foot of it. Three silver silos towered over the railroad tracks. They shimmered in the wind and sunshine.

There were few people to be seen in Barron during the day and none at night. Those that were there were at ease with the blistering heat which Gerd and Ellis sought shelter from in the cool rooms of the Barron Candy Kitchen. Michalis and Cynthia Eugenikos had run the soda jerk since 1930, when Michalis took it on from his father, a Greek immigrant. The chrome fittings and appliances were original and mint. It was the last of its kind and that was why Gerd had come. They arrived there late because Gerd had been distracted by a dead c.o.c.kerel lying at the side of the road.

"For the record," Ellis said, "if, like last night, you find yourself watching me sleep through the train thing and wondering how I do it, it would be better to ask me how I do it the next day, after I have finished doing it, 'it' being sleeping through the train thing."

"Be quiet, Ellis," Gerd muttered, ushering him up the steps of the Candy Kitchen.

Cynthia Eugenikos threw herself at the Europeans as soon as they triggered the cow bell. She took a piece of paper from the pocket of her red and white striped ap.r.o.n and read a quick welcome speech. From the ceiling hung a banner: BARRON WELCOMES OUR FRIENDS FROM EUROPE, GERD AND ELI.

She led them to a table where two menus and a posy of flowers awaited them. "You'll sit here, on the Gregory Peck seat."

Cynthia placed a hand on Ellis's shoulder and he glanced at her bright red fingernails and wrinkled, liver-spotted skin.

"For as long as you're in town, everything here is on the house. The soda jerk is your home. I'll come take your order in just one moment when I've explained to my other customers who you are and exactly what your exciting photography a.s.signment is all about."

"I'd be interested to know that myself," Ellis said with a smile.

Cynthia looked at him helplessly, pushed the menu closer to him and scuttled off to her other customers, none of whom was south of seventy.

"There's a place for sarcasm, Ellis," Gerd said strictly. "And it isn't Iowa."

There were thirty-four different malt milkshakes on the menu. Ellis went for a Malt Peck, formerly known as the Chocolate Truffle Malt until ordered by Gregory Peck on an impromptu stopover in May 1978. A silver plaque on the wall commemorated Peck's visit. Gerd toyed with the idea of a raspberry and pistachio milkshake as this was the other celebrity item on offer, having been ordered by Brooke Shields and her mother when they visited in 1984, the menu explained.

"I wonder why they didn't name the milkshake after her like they did with Peck?" Ellis whispered. "Maybe they only do that if you've won an Oscar."

"Maybe they just loved Moby d.i.c.k?" Gerd said. "Either way, I'm not having one. I'll have a b.u.t.terscotch Malt."

"They aren't going to have named a milkshake after Gregory Peck on account of Moby d.i.c.k. It would have been To Kill A Mockingbird. Surely?"

"I agree with you one hundred per cent," Gerd said.

"You agree as in you agree? Or you agree as in shut up Ellis?"

"The shut-up-Ellis one."

"It was probably that shot of her having her first period in the Blue Lagoon," Ellis said. "Put them off naming a milkshake after her."

Gerd shot him a certain look.

"Brooke Shields," Ellis explained unnecessarily. "Especially a raspberry milkshake."

The German grimaced and lit a cigarette. "You're a strange man, Ellis O'Rourke."

Ellis lit one too. "But you're not. Everyone spends two hours photographing a dead chicken."

The Candy Kitchen was an orgy of original Light-Up Soda Fountains, Palm-Press Syrup Dispensers, Royal Crown Coolers, Rippled 12oz Soda Gla.s.ses, Cla.s.sic Double Ring Bar Stools and more, at every turn and glance. Gerd was in chrome heaven. Ellis observed his choice of lenses, the use of long exposures in preference to flash and the painstakingly slow deliberation over composition. The stillness of the soda jerk during its many quiet hours was finally focusing Ellis's young mind on the opportunity that watching Gerd offered him. The key to successfully a.s.sisting Gerd was recognising when to leave him alone. In such moments which lasted for hours Ellis stepped outside, or if Cynthia were loitering he'd divert her to the far end of the counter, sit on a high stool and let her talk. The more he listened to Cynthia Eugenikos the more she spoke and the more she spoke the closer Ellis grew to understanding what it meant to travel.

"Just listen," Gerd had advised him, after his failure to stick it out in the Anvil Bar and Grill. "And when you've listened, listen some more and then you can photograph ... maybe."

Cynthia seemed set on calling Ellis "Eli". He decided to let it go. A comfortable opportunity to correct her hadn't materialised and suddenly it was too late. She got distracted by a ninetieth birthday party and Ellis escaped outside where the air tasted crystal clear. Ellis sucked it in and thought of the meadow above Innsbruck where he had slept in the long gra.s.s. He found Michalis Eugenikos sitting on the railroad track reading a paper.

"Don't get run over," Ellis said.

"One train a day," Michalis replied, "and that comes at night."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

"Gerd will be pleased."

Michalis folded up his paper and slapped it down on the dust track.

"I don't want to disturb your paper," Ellis said.

"You're not." Michalis stood up and wedged his hands into his pockets. He was barely five feet tall, a foot shorter than his wife. He wore a bow tie and his shirt-sleeves were rolled to below his elbows. He had thin straight hair, more of it than he might have had at eighty-four years of age. It was combed back and he occasionally ran the palm of his hand over it.

"I'm not really a newspapers man," Michalis sighed. "Just like to get out of earshot of my wife now and then."

Ellis watched fast-moving clouds reflected on the silver silos. Michalis yawned. The railroad tracks stretched infinitely into the flat open plain.

"How long you been on the road?"

"A month."

"I'll tell you something for free," Michalis said. "Where you are standing is just about as far as it's possible to be in this great country from the ocean sh.o.r.e."

"How far are we talking?" Ellis asked.

Michalis pointed due east along the tracks, then due west. "Either way you go, more than a thousand miles."

Ellis grimaced at the thought. "But what about going to the seaside?"

Michalis shrugged. "I've raised three children, seven grandchildren, two great-grandchildren so far. Love my wife, though by Christ she can talk. Love my home town, though by Christ that can talk too. But I've never seen the ocean."

"Never?" Ellis was incredulous.

The old man looked at him inquisitively. "So, what's bugging you?" Michalis asked.

"Me?" Ellis was taken aback. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Michalis dismissed Ellis's answer, swatting it away with one hand.

"Something's on your mind," he said, wandering away, back towards the Candy Kitchen. "I still drive at my age," he called out. "If you ever need a ride."

Ellis looked west, where the clouds marched towards the horizon, slipping through an invisible slit between the domed sky and the land. The sky hummed a monotone drone, as if the clouds were sc.r.a.ping against it as they hurried through. He shut his eyes. For all the open s.p.a.ce around him, Ellis felt he could scarcely find enough air to fill his lungs. A panic swept through him, a fear that he would not breathe in again after he next exhaled. When he opened his eyes, the strength of the sunlight made him blink and in the highest part of the sky, where the clouds were still, he saw the shape of his dad's face amongst the white wisps.

"Found me," he whispered.

Ellis couldn't sleep. He felt a thousand miles of America press against each wall of the motel room. Then he heard the train. He watched Gerd begin to stir. The rumble strengthened, the railroad crossing bells sounded and, on cue, Gerd's eyes opened. The German stared at the ceiling, his body motionless, then rolled his eyes to the side and saw Ellis watching him. Ellis winked at him and whispered, "Tray-ayyyy-n!"

Gerd sat up and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna count the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" he said, lighting a cigarette.

The train was 134 carriages long. Gerd was wide awake and wore the haunted look of the sleep-deprived. He switched on his bedside light, dragged himself into the bathroom and, without bothering to shut the door, took a pee. As the toilet flushed, he screamed and locked himself inside the bathroom.

"What the h.e.l.l's wrong?" Ellis asked.

"f.u.c.k me!" Gerd said, trying to be calm.

Ellis went to the door. "What is it?"

"Spider ... the size of a train!" Gerd shouted.

The spider was on the bedroom floor, tucked against the wall by the bathroom door. It was huge. Ellis gazed at it as if it were the first familiar face he'd seen in America.

"h.e.l.lo, old friend," he whispered.

Gerd shuffled nervously on the other side of the door.

"Ellis ...?" he said. His voice was meek and it made Ellis laugh. "What are you laughing about?"

"Nothing."

"You little s.h.i.t!"

Ellis knelt by the spider and placed his index finger near to it. It flinched and withdrew its legs fractionally, lifting its body. Ellis stared at the spider and felt a calm overcome him. The calm went deep and filled him with a sensation of understanding, although there was no detail to the understanding quite yet.

"Has it gone?" Gerd whispered, through the keyhole.

"Not yet. We're still discussing it."

"Ellis!" Gerd hissed. "Get on with it!"

"It's a lynx spider," Ellis said affectionately. "Don't get them in England."

He cupped his hand and placed it over the spider. He slid his other hand underneath until he felt the faint tickle of its legs on his palm. He felt a wave of love sweep through him. Love for the spider. Love for its weight resting on his skin. Love for its impending safety. He opened his hands a touch and peered in. The spider looked back at him.

"Are you going to kill me?" the spider asked, in an American accent. It sounded more p.i.s.sed off than scared.

"Uh-uh." Ellis shook his head. "Put you outside."

"What you say?" Gerd asked.

"Nothing," Ellis said.

"Can I come out now?"

"Not just yet. He's a tricky b.u.g.g.e.r."

The spider winked at Ellis.

"Just stamp on it!" Gerd pleaded.

Ellis winked back rea.s.suringly. He went to the door and let the spider out and sat on the doorstep. He checked that the calm was still in him. It was. A mighty calm. A momentous, all-embracing peace with a hint of enlightenment and a sense of direction.