Flee
Page 9
Meanwhile, Rick is in his apartment, contributing. He’d convinced a friend, Carl, currently on ‘provisional leave’ from his programming job, to help with web design, and they’re volleying ideas across town, over the internet. Between times, he calls around to other acquaintances, making pitches and spreading the word. He’s a quant: forty percent of the telephones he dials do not answer, or have been disconnected. He’s also working on the company name – today’s contenders: People Movers and I Want to Take You Hire – and on finding a lawyer to help with incorporation and sample contracts. Quite a few attorneys from the region, it seems, are available, even within his non-budget.
Back outside, Carol braves the thronging cars and pedestrians to sit on a curb, lay her arms atop her upraised knees, and lower her forehead onto the created crosspiece. Eighteen hours earlier, she’d pimpled this neighborhood with flyers, and none, as far as she can see, remain. She’s tired, thirsty, slightly sunburned, and finished with car-reek. Ian stands by a nearby pole. He sends his hand down to her shoulder, holds back. Then he decides on levity: he squats, pulls out paper and tape, starts to afïix a flyer to Carol’s bent back. Carol reaches and tears the page from her blouse, all while continuing to look between her feet. Two minutes later, eyes still invisibly down, she apologizes.
—On George Street, I ran into someone I know – Gerri Knox, I used to work with her on the Lime Disease Awareness fund-raisers, she’s nice enough – and of course I stopped and said hello even though I had to get home, and we try to talk. I say try to, because, you know, and we’re standing on the sidewalk with the cars inching and lurching and all the crazy bustle, but we do start to talk about how were doing and about Jason Scott’s divorce – we worked with him – and about how my neighbor Amanda’s looking to sell her second car, and about the drop in the utility prices. And it was nice, you know, to catch up with all that, to be caught up, and about three minutes in, while Gerri’s talking about her own battle, some neighbors making a stink about her house’s rear boundary, this little russet-haired girl, maybe four, maximum five years old, in an orange sports jersey and powder-blue shorts and she has her hair pulled like into a pigtail on one side, well she just appears from nowhere and comes over to Ger and just, like, she just starts to hold her. I mean, she just puts her arms around Gerri’s leg and just stands there, holding. Well, Gerri stops what she’s saying and looks down to the girl, then looks over to me, then makes huge eyes and pulls up her hands and she doesn’t know what the hell to do, and of course I’m caught off too. So, you know, Gerri looks down again and slowly puts her hand on the base of girl’s neck, and we wait a moment and then I try to say something to this girl: Are you lost?, Is there anyone with you? But the girl doesn’t say anything or respond at all, she just stays there with her cheekbone pressed against Gerri, hugging her leg, looking somewhere straight ahead, not moving or letting go. So we just stand there, you know, unsure what to – hoping, you know, hoping someone will come and get this girl, will help her, and us, not knowing, not sure, one minute, two—
—And, you know, I had to—
—It was really important for me to—
—So what was I supposed to do, OK? What was I supposed to – Aron, he didn’t have it, he told me he doesn’t have it and I believe him, OK?, his roofing business has gone down, I know this as a fact, my cousin’s friend Nickie works for him, it was unpleasant and he looked terrible, all sad-faced he couldn’t even look at me, man, then I wasn’t able to make my car payment, OK?, for the lease, just on Thursday, it was really, I was like humiliated in front of, I couldn’t like even talk, in front of, I felt really … So like I’m sorry, TJ, I’m really, just give me like until the middle of the month, OK?, then I should, by then I should—
—But it didn’t make a difference, you see, the guy told me they’d been buying up all these properties in A-burg trying to shore up their initial investment – his words, those are, shore up – but they couldn’t stay ahead of the curve, that’s how he put it, they just couldn’t do it any more without going belly up. So he wasn’t even interested in my condo for like – Jesus, I can’t even bring myself to say the number, it’s – I can’t believe it – and now like it seems they just want to dump everything they have for whatever they can get. Over in their office I saw they’re offering a three bedroom on Westward Drive for one hundred and eighty thousand, and Max Vergessen’s five bedroom over in New North End for—
—Can it, will you?, don’t tell me about this any more, OK?, I don’t want to hear it because once, you know, once you even hear those prices they, it—
—Well yes, of course, a natural barrier exists below which we will not go, our houses, absolutely, have inherent value. On the other hand, these men, the Great American Equities, well they made a bet on us, they heard something or read something and from this deduced an opportunity. Nothing wrong in that; from that much good ensues; there is absolute value in efficiency. That is, it is perfectly natural for those men have no inherent engagement with Anderburg, to have no feeling or concern for here, for us, beyond their business interests, it is right and productive for them to bring objectivity to bear. That is the value they add, and this is an enduring contribution to stability, to productivity. For them to act otherwise would compromise the efficacy of these mechanisms, and many of us would end up snarling at one another. Much great good, it is widely known, can and indeed does come from it, and accordingly, my property, which I—
—Yes, please, Ms. Hennessey – Nina – yes, go ahead, show it to anyone who—
—And what I’ve heard …? The government, the city government … They’re blocking it, all up and down the net. Shit yeah they are, they’re blacking out websites, and blogs, that Facebook thing, you name it. How else do you …? First they shut down Seven Days and the Free Press, then the web should take over, right?, that’s what happens everywhere, right?, everywhere on earth. No, I’m sorry, I’m wrong, this isn’t China, this isn’t Syria, this isn’t No Ko, our good government would nev—
—Oh no no no. City Hall isn’t acting against the web. Couldn’t. No possible way. Technologically infeasible. And at the bribe level? – no way either. No sir, in some kind of grand, unconscious, communitarian whatever, we are silently amassing behind a force even greater than housing prices. We are banding together—
—Bonding—
—Yoking ourselves—
—Finally—
—Oh spare me this—
—To hide our shame.
The next day, the three are in Rick’s apartment, its transformation still too pointillist to call the one room an office. Papers fan the floor. The desk sits one. The company couch is Rick’s bed covered with a kilim-patterned cloth.
Carol lands upon it, gets a little bounce.
So, she says. Doesn’t seem Street activism’s really doing it for us.
Mm, Rick says, and keystroke-closes a file. Sorry – I just got to …
lan, leaning against the wall by the refrigerator, looks on.
Rick turns to the others, chair following face. OK …, he says, and clears his throat. So, I had a thought.
OK …
I mean, if you think about it, what we’re doing here, in a kinda not-insubstantial sense, is a public good, Rick says. So maybe, I was thinking, maybe we can get the city in some way to subsidize—
Rick …, then Carol goes quiet.
Rick looks down. Yeah, he says. Not my greatest-ever idea.
He looks up again. So then maybe – maybe we work it the other way, he says. Maybe we can pay the city to leave the flyers up.
Pay them with what, Carol says.
Rick looks down. Well, he says. You know. I was just—
You see that phone?, Carol says, and points. The one right there with, if I remember correctly, the flat-rate plan?
They get to it. Using Google, they find business names and telephone numbers all up and down the city’s main commercial streets, and, after the third dialed number, make a blood pact
not to say a word about unanswered or clicked-off calls. Rotations are twenty minutes, Carol-Ian-Rick. Between shifts, Carol works her cell, searches the yellow pages for non-obvious outreaches, and keeps the coffee happening; Rick continues with web-design and such. After the second round, Ian says he prefers to wait outside, but will be back in time for all his turns.
By 5:15 p.m., Carol and Rick know what they had known: that while city businesses had rounds and rounds of people quitting, they were afraid to hire. Still, eighteen enterprises – three clothes stores, a cleaning agency, a Toyota dealership, more – had taken their telephone number, and every one of the thirteen jobless friends they’d contacted said their employment-agency idea was good, and that they’d be grateful to be kept in mind. At five forty, Ian returns after his latest step-out and offers paper slips: six with the names and numbers of new, explicitly appreciative job-seekers, two with contact data for still-extant shops that just maybe.
He smiles as Carol looks over the shards.
—It’s evolution in action, Gustav says.
Right, says Breece. Elimination of the unfit.
The town, man, the towns finally getting adapted, adds Gale.
It’s 6:10 p.m. at C. Ruggle’s, and the End-of-Day’ers are gathered at the back of the bar. Light-points and music shine in the dark, over individuals and small groups scattered throughout the long room, all locked into knots. Their voices growl, or do not. But this general population of slosh-bellies, summer jackets, bluejeans and inhibitions leaves the End-of-Day’ers be. They prefer to direct their attention to their Coorses, lavish their J&Bs with love.
Zackly, Breece says. I mean, how often you get the chance to see evolution happen right before your eyes … Going down so quickly that—
Actually, the town’s reaching a Nash Equilibrium, Marcus says. An active balance that’s functional but flawed.
Gustav finishes a sip. That sounds like a description of Breece here, he says.
Don’t know about the functional part, says Gale.
’S true, Marcus says. Even self-correction has rules. And what’s going on out there isn’t exactly Pareto optimal.
Exactly, man, Gale says, and downs a slug. But you’re only confirming what’s already universally known: You just like to hear yourself talk.
Marcus looks to his glass. Can’t agree, he says. Because that would just prove your point.
Shit, Breece says.
And disagreeing didn’t prove it?, Gale says.
Who wants another?, Gustav says. I—
W’all do, man, Gale says. We seek to reach a Pabst equilibrium.
Yes—!
O-right!
Why …?, Breece says.
Because—, Marcus says.
Because we’re pillars of the community!, Gustav says.
The pillars that keep this town up
Pillars of salt—
Water—
…on which this township stands!
Right on. The chimneys of Hiroshima—
—And this is nonsense, you know, nonsense in what they’re – I, that’s, who are we supposed to believe, what are we supposed to – every thing reliable or real – gainsaid, blown to bits, degraded, gone – no this is not just cynicism, not over-reacting I mean what am I, what am I supposed to when Edsel, they’ve been here ninety years, they advertise their longevity, they paid my father’s life insurance, monthly disability to me and my son when I had that awful cellulitis laid me up for nine months first they start selling insurance against falls in your home’s value and then they go under themselves—?
—And the town, the whole of it, I heard, is going to be bought by Benetton—
—And there were two traffic accidents on Battery Street yesterday, two of them, and two on Pearl the day before and—
—And I heard, I heard some old man, a seventy-eight year old, he was trampled to death when Citizens Bank, who knows why, when yesterday in the morning they put up a sign that they were closing at 1 p.m. for routine re—
—And it is time, it is time to get out, I must get out, unbearable unlivable and absolutely I will, I promise myself I’ll be gone by July 18th, I must get away from here and with the three weeks in New York for the Landmark Forum in February it’s less than six months, I will absolutely not be liable this year for Vermont State taxes—
—So I walked, OK?, with all the craziness in town, but the sun was out and the air was crisp and they don’t need any more vehicles in there, so I put on my tennis shoes and just picked up my package from the post office on foot. Why not? Sure its twenty-thirty minutes each way, I don’t mind, and on my way back, when I turned the corner onto my Street, Brook Drive, I was carrying my package down the sidewalk and I heard something and looked over to number 98 and you know, big surprise, there’s someone putting up a For Sale sign. It’s a wooden pole with a bar that supports the sign that hangs, placed sticking out right at the front of the lawn. And you know I just think: Well, that’s a surprise …
So I turn towards my house, and while I’m looking for my keys – had to put the package down on the bench by the door, then fish my bag – while I’m doing that my eye catches something and I turn and see one, then another, then another … and eventually it’s four separate people dashing from different directions from their houses – number 102, Jill at number 96, four of them – and scurrying over to the For Sale sign, until the first one, the man from 101, he gets there and rips the pole from the ground, just rips it right out, leaving soil heaps and a hole. And then, without even looking at any of the others, the man from 101 just takes and hitches the sign onto his shoulder and walks right off with it. And they still don’t look at one another as they all turn and dribble back to their homes, but I just think: Hey, thanks neighbor—
—And next election? Forget the mayor, forget Farina, the one I’m voting for is Cozy Van Lines. Um hm, they’re the ones making the biggest difference around here, the biggest contribution, they’re the most active, the most visible citizens in all of A-burg. Every day, Cozy’s out there with truck after truck – just this morning on Scarff Avenue again I saw them, and when they turned on to Richardson Street they had to swerve to avoid hitting one of their own trucks! Jesus those guys are makin’ out like politicians—
—But Rhona, she told me, then she told me not to tell anyone else. So what, what should I …? Is it safe, is it fair not to say anything? Should I keep quiet when she said she heard that there’s some kind of bug going around, some sort of illness that keeps you laid out in bed for weeks and weeks with fevers and the shakes and chills and you can’t even eat! Liquids, that’s all you can take, propped up lipping and drooling from plastic bottles with bending straws and their tops are otherwise closed? So is that – is that what’s really causing it, all the leaving and the fear? Are the going people knowing something that they don’t say because, because it will make things even worse? And for those, us, still here? What are we supposed to—? Are there dozens – are there hundreds …? And we’re not supposed to say anything? To just keep quiet and hope we don’t get struck by – and our houses. They going to have any value? But Rhona, my friend, she’s my friend and she told me. Rhona told me—
—O but wait—
—Really, calm your—
—It isn’t necessary—
—OK? So, wait—
—Plee—
—Please, just a second—
—One second—
—Of your time—
—One second!
—Please, sir, may I have a second of—
—But I, couldn’t I?, would you please—
—
—Please, I…
—
No way around it, the numbers are promising: twenty-two businesses and thirty-one individuals have expressed desire to be part of Carol, Rick, and Ian’s venture. The figures – both on the ledger and on Carol’s scribbled scrap-page work-up – draw their eyes like body nudity.
Businesses seem grateful. Job-hunters,
in many cases, treat them like saviors. Several of the unemployed have volunteered office services in appreciation – message-running, clerical support, massages, meals, down-on-the-knees cleaning. The response even inspired Rick to take a broom and a filing cabinet to his overrun apartment, in anticipation of the first non-primary-friend visitors.
You know, this could really work, Carol says after a chair-swivel one Tuesday afternoon. I mean, our thing is seriously falling into place. No. Not falling. Assuming its natural position, its inevitable one. We are making a gift to people here and they are accepting it. This is going to go.
Among early necessities, the office needed the services of an attorney, most immediately to draw prototype documents. An out-of-work lathe operator referred his out-of-work brother, and Carol set aside ninety minutes on a Thursday afternoon for the call; Rick had arranged this in an earlier call, his second voice giving the business a gloss of substance. Carol told the attorney about her group and their game plan, and used this to soften what she had to say about their money situation – then sat back and heard Date Kaplanski offer to forego an upfront fee, and work for two percent of the group’s net earnings over the first year. Carol rouged, paused, and offered him the second year on top of that.
They’ve also decided on a name: Hire Ground.
Still, they’ve made no referrals. For all the enthusiasm, yearning, passion, need – nothing. Not a single business has come forth with an offer. That need is not there, or has been locked up in economies of fear. And without it – quiet phones. There is no getting around that fact. And they most surely want to get around it.
—First in the post office. (Of course.) Then at City Market. Then, you start walking, you start looking around, they’re all over the place! Store windows, bus-stop benches, telephone poles, gates. Joseph, father, husband, five feet eleven, graying brown hair, brown eyes, picture of a head smiling in muzzy close-up in front of what looks like a display hutch for books.
Then the bigger letters: Have you seen this man? Please call (802) 693-7808.