Cowney,
Andrea has asked me to come with him and his family when they are released. I will not need a ride back to Cherokee. I have written my family, so they will not be expecting me. We will leave by the end of the week.
Essie
I crumpled the letter into a tight ball in my sweaty fist and let it fall to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I slept through lunch on my first day back at the inn. That’s not wholly the truth. I lay on my cot, crying through most of the lunch hour my first day back at the inn. All of the workers were in the dining hall, so no one was there to witness my body overcome by the day, the summer—I was undone by sorrow. I was crying for Lishie, but also for my father. For Essie. But most of all, I have to admit, I was crying for myself. Because I didn’t know what was supposed to come next for me. I tortured myself with thoughts of my father doing the same just before he searched out a bullet to load his gun.
I didn’t want the men to find me in this condition when they returned, so I forced myself to stand, collect myself, steady my pulse, and seek refuge in the privacy of room 447. I knew there was no chance Essie would be there. Since catching a brief glimpse of her earlier in the main building, I knew she had returned to her normal schedule and had several more hours before she could choose where she wanted to be. I doubted that even then she would return to the room. Most likely, she was packing to leave with Andrea and his family. In truth, there was no assurance that 447 would be the 447 I remembered. It had been discovered. I had led it to be discovered, and nothing could ever be the same after its existence had become another’s discovery.
I entered the main building with no concern for being stopped. It wasn’t that I did not believe someone might stop me; it was just that I no longer cared if they did. I’d get back on the merry-go-round of questioning, play their game, and find my way off when the music stopped again. However, the lobby was still so busy no one even noticed me anyway. I climbed the stairs and found that the fourth floor was deserted; not a single guest remained. All the guestroom doors were wide open, as if they had been completely cleaned out. I did not know which rooms belonged to Andrea and his family, but wondered if they had been fourth-floor occupants. Had they already been released and Essie with them?
Room 447 was also unlocked and the door was partially open. 447 had surely been abandoned along with the other rooms on the floor.
Nevertheless, I pushed the door open slowly, fearful of allowing a memory to escape. Though the light switch no longer worked, the windows allowed just enough sunlight into the room for me to see clearly the wreck it had become. Every piece of its delicate architectural detail had been stripped, torn, or busted. Even the wallpaper had been skinned halfway down, ripped off in a jagged pattern and thrown into a trash heap in the corner of the room. It appeared that at some point in the two weeks I was gone, the army had considered using the room as an office space because two half-constructed wall dividers cut the room into haphazard sections. The carpet was filthy with mud and cigarette ashes. Even the couch had multiple cigarette burns. Every book had been cleared from the shelves. A few lay on the floor, open and torn, but so many had just vanished. I feared that there were words that I might not ever see or hear again. The mirror above the fireplace was cracked, and as unappealing as I had thought my image was the first time I looked into it, it was even more wretched and deformed by the broken glass. I was broken. Though the windows allowed some light in, the room was far darker than I had ever seen it, even in the latest of evenings. Not only had the soldiers pulled heavy curtains closed as far as they would reach (though they were falling from their rods now), the windows were soiled with smoke and what looked like ashy fingerprints, likely from someone tending the fireplace and then adjusting the window latches.
I turned to leave, but my left knee buckled when I attempted to steady my foot as it skidded across two errant dominos. I bent down and picked them up. I held the two alabaster pieces, the first with four small dots, the second with seven, in the palm of my hand. I scanned the room for more, but could not find even one. Worthless, I thought. There was absolutely nothing one could do with two dominos; not one game could be played. I placed the pieces on the coffee table, took one more look around the room, and closed the door behind me. I made my way back down the stairway as 447 hid in the corner of the fourth floor of the Grove Park Inn, the only door closed on the entire wing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I felt more at home at the Grove Park than I did waiting in Cherokee, especially since there was a good chance my Cherokee home was burned to the ground. There was always a part of me that hoped Essie would be there, that I would see her and she would see me, that she’d ask for one last ride home to Cherokee. But she wasn’t there in the way she had been before, not waiting in 447 for our next game, and the Grove Park wasn’t my home. I was being peeled from the fabric of the inn as easily as the wallpaper of the room. Easily tossed to the side and forgotten.
Even knowing this and willfully choosing to return, now back on the property, it was a bit unsettling to spend even a few more days in a place that had the capacity to change so drastically in the two weeks I was away. I tried to busy myself by helping others with their duties and even caught a ride into town with Lee one evening for dinner and to watch a reshowing of The Great Dictator. Lee navigated the streets like the local he was, always knowing where to park. He didn’t talk much. He answered questions when asked, commented on how good the cherry pie was at dinner and how long it had been since he had a slice. But he didn’t waste words. He didn’t ask me any questions he didn’t care to know the answers to.
“You getting along okay since you’ve been back?” he asked after the waitress refilled his water glass for the third time and had yet to bring me one at all. I was lucky she sat us in the first place, I suppose.
“Yes, sir. I haven’t had any trouble.”
“You let me know if that colonel starts harassing you again, that S.O.B.” The loud gruffness of his voice moved the already anxious patrons to crane their necks and whisper. I wondered if he felt them staring at us, the men especially.
“Yes, sir. But I haven’t even seen him since the first day and don’t reckon I will.”
“It’s just odd how that whole mess about the missing girl just seemed to go away. I don’t hear a peep about it anymore. Colonel probably fouled it up and hoped everyone would forget.” Lee shook his head and continued to eat his pie.
“Probably so,” I offered. I saw no reason to tell Lee about Peter. I could see he had already grasped the most important details of the situation. Someone in charge had fouled up. Someone else in charge made sure to cover it up.
“Sol treatin’ you right?” Lee asked as he took a sip of his coffee.
“Can’t complain. Doesn’t treat me any worse than he treats anyone else.”
“Guess that’s all we can ask,” Lee said.
Lee pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He took out a few dollars and stacked them on top of the ticket.
I followed suit, but realized that Lee was leaving far more than his share. “You need change?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered, standing. “Best get going. Show starts soon.”
We were able to walk to the theater from the diner, and I enjoyed the opportunity to feel the hum of a city night. Cars splashed through the remaining rainwater, and brassy music poured from open restaurant windows and club entryways. Lee and I did not say a word to each other. He seemed as content as I was to let Asheville speak for itself. Until it got way too loud.
At the ticket counter a stout woman with bleached blond hair (poorly masking her true gray) curled her lip as Lee slid money across the counter. “You gave me too much.”
“I’m getting them both.”
“Not for him, you ain’t.”
“Oh, it’s on the house, is it?” Lee clutched the booth’s ledge and leaned in.
“Don’t serve Indians here,” she snarled,
taking a drag of her cigarette. “That so? Sister, tell me how many Indians ye seen come through here in your time.”
“Just that one standing behind you.” She smirked.
“Then how you supposed to know if y’all serve Indians or not? You’ve got a balcony in this place, right? I reckon we’ll pay full price and go sit up there. That way you can say you were a proper racist cuss and still make your money.”
The woman snatched Lee’s money from the counter, threw back two tickets and, clearly in a huff, waved us in with her chin.
We each ordered a small popcorn and Coca-Cola from the concession stand and found two worn leather seats in the balcony of the theater.
Charlie Chaplin’s final speech of the film, the one in which he stands before thousands of people, the very image of Hitler, and pleads with the world to unite in the name of democracy, well, I have never heard a finer speech in my entire life. He quotes a verse from the book of Luke, one I can’t say that I recall from any of Preacherman’s services, though that is likely more my fault for not paying close enough attention than his for lack of thoroughness. Chaplin recites, “The Kingdom of God is within man, not one man, nor a group of men, but in all men.” He continues by arguing that the power is within the people. I looked at Lee sitting next to me. I looked around at the dozen or so other moviegoers, those mindlessly stuffing popcorn into their mouths and those wiping tears from their eyes, so moved by the actor’s words. I thought about how utterly different everyone seemed. How each of us were motivated by so many different things, and yet here we were all sitting together being reminded of our commonality by a comedian, a man whose voice we’d only just now heard for the first time, even though he had been a staple in our lives for years. I wondered if someone might try to take away his voice after they had heard what he had to say. That seemed to happen a lot.
When we returned to the estate after the picture show, Lee pulled to the front of the main building. “Gotta check on a job ’fore I turn in. Mind if I drop you here?” he asked.
“No. This is fine. Thanks for the ride.” I offered him a couple of dollars for gas, but he waved it off. “Keep yer money. I know how hard you work for it.” Lee smiled.
I started toward the dormitories, still able to make my way by moonlight. But something made me stop, made me face the entrance to that beacon of wealth and internment as if I were seeing it for the first time. The massive, ornate entrance beckoned my immediate attention. Other than its staircase, I had spent all summer avoiding this building, especially the expansive guest reception lounge, but somehow knowing I only had a few days of access left tempted me inside the doors. I walked in, absorbing the grandness of the space.
Most of the military-issued furniture had been removed, presumably to make way for the inn’s lavish, paying-guest-friendly fixtures that had been waiting in storage since the US Army took jurisdiction. In its absence, the inn appeared even grander, but cavernous and hollow. The massive fireplaces on each end of the lounge appeared to be shouting at each other with their enormous gaping mouths.
When I entered the barracks, I found a folded note on my bed addressed to me.
The Grove Park Inn
Date: 8/17
Time: 7:03 p.m.
To: Cowney Sequoyah (Maintenance)
From: Myrtle Hornbuckle (1 or 2 words?)
Message:
Uncle very sick. Come home as soon as possible. Bring bread and washing powders.
The news fell on me numbly. I played the note, its message, through my head a couple of times but could not bring myself to develop any kind of feeling toward it. It was as if I were still at the movie house, watching someone else’s life play out. Regardless, I reasoned that I would leave at daylight. The shopping list eased any sense of urgency I might otherwise have had. I pulled my suitcase from beneath my bunk and laid my clothes out on the bed. There was something sad about knowing it took me only minutes to fold all of my possessions into my bag and forever be erased from that place.
In the morning, I found Lee and Sol at breakfast. I handed Lee his camera.
“Well, where are the pictures?” interrupted Sol.
“Already packed, sorry. Maybe some other time I can show you.” I looked to Lee as I spoke.
“Packed?” Lee asked.
“Yes, sir. That’s what I came to tell you. That and to give you back your camera. My uncle’s not doing so well. Got a message last night that he’s going downhill quickly.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Cowney. You sure can’t catch a break, can you?” Lee shook his head. “Let me walk you out,” he offered, standing up from the table. “Keep your fork off my plate,” he instructed Sol.
Sol rolled his eyes.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you, Sol.”
Sol sighed. “Yeah, kid. See you around.” He held out his hand to shake mine and managed a half-hearted smile before he continued eating.
Lee and I walked out of the hall and to the dorms to retrieve my bags. “You sure you don’t want to just keep this old thing?” Lee held the camera up to his eye.
“It’s yours. You’ve done enough for me,” I answered.
Lee handed me the camera. “Take pictures of some of those pretty co-eds at college and send ’em to Sol to make him jealous. Consider it a graduation present. Just not sure if it is a late high school graduation present or an early college graduation present … either way.”
“Lee, I appreciate it, but I don’t even know if I can go to school now.”
Inside the dorm, Lee picked up my suitcase and handed me my duffle bag. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“It’s okay. I mean, that’s life, right? Just couldn’t save enough this summer. I’m not even sure what kind of shape my house is in. Maybe in a couple of years—”
Lee set down my suitcase, pulled a wallet from his back pocket, and handed me three $100 bills.
“Lee! I mean, I appreciate it, but—”
“I know. I know it’s not enough for tuition, but it’s a start. And don’t worry about it. The army can’t have us here for our full original contract, but they have to pay out. That’s the way government budgets work. If you’re a line item, you’re going to get paid one way or the other. They have to clear the books. Please, Cowney. I’ve got no one to do things like this for. I surely don’t need it. If ye don’t take it, I’m just going to give it to Sol.”
Lee picked up my suitcase again, and I folded the bills into my shirt pocket. We walked out of the inn together and loaded the bags and camera into the Model T.
“Now, I’m not one for good-byes, son.” Lee shook my hand.
“Me neither,” I said. “Come visit me, will you?”
Lee nodded. “If’n I can find my way over the mountain, I’ll be sure to do that. Ye let me know if you need anything. Hope the homeplace is still standin’.”
I turned to open the driver’s side door but remembered one last thing. “Hey, Lee,” I called to him as he was walking away.
“Yeah?” He turned back.
“Would you write me a letter of reference for school?” I asked.
“Oh, hell. You really do ask a lot of an old man, don’t you? Ahh … whatever …” Lee mumbled, most of which I couldn’t make out. But his wave said it all. I knew I’d have a letter in the mail within the week.
When I arrived in Cherokee at Bud’s house, heaviness greeted me. Bud’s health had deteriorated far more rapidly than I had expected. Bud’s truck was the only vehicle parked in front of the house and, though I knew Myrtle was likely inside, I wondered how long Bud had suffered alone. He was not one to let on about his health, a characteristic that only supported his apathetic demeanor. So from the moment I received the message, I knew the summer cough and work-worn muscles he hinted at before I left were far more serious. He had always been quite capable of concealing the slow progressive effects of his gangrene and diabetes, and I never knew how to ask. I took a deep breath before I entered the cabin and righted myse
lf with the resolve I knew it would take to face both my uncle and his condition.
Inside his bedroom, Bud twisted the white bedsheet in his blackening fists, contorting his torso with the influx of pain. According to Myrtle, he had already soiled one sheet earlier in the morning, and I was grateful to her for replacing it, both for Bud’s sake and for my own selfish queasiness. Myrtle was clearly done now, and she exited the tiny bedroom, leaving me alone with Bud, a pitcher of water, and a table of useless Indian Health Service prescriptions. I sat down in a worn wicker chair beside his bed.
The stench of rotting flesh was much stronger that I had remembered from a week ago, probably because I had been away from its constant suffocation. I inhaled fresh air into my desperate lungs. Bud’s face was the shade of piss.
The last time I had seen Bud I had chosen to not really see him. We exchanged a list of words, meaningless in their essentiality. Eggs, milk, here, there, time, go, come. Words that meant absolutely nothing except to ensure our bodies’ subsistence for the week. By the end of that week, I knew deep down that his body had deteriorated further even in that short time. And he was just as reluctant as I was to talk about it. I guess we both figured that if we kept our words brief and our actions separate, neither of us would notice the pain of the other. I hadn’t pushed him on the fires and he hadn’t offered. What difference did it even make now?
Sitting by his bed, I couldn’t remember ever spending this much time in the same room with Bud. I imagine I did when I was a young boy, out of a lack of options. Now it felt very different. I was now the one with the responsibility. I could see he understood that as well.
“Cowney, it’s lookin’ like you won’t have to put up with me much longer.” Bud turned his face away from me as he spoke and appeared to stare out the sooty bedroom window.
“Ah. Don’t be talkin’ like that. We both know you’re too mean to let something like this get you down too long.”
Even As We Breathe Page 24