In the Shape of a Man

by Paul Clayton

  Tina came out of the kitchen with a loaded up white plastic laundry basket.

  “His door is locked,” Allen said to her.

  “Because he’s being punished,” Tina said as she brushed past him on her way to their room.

  “Goddamn it, Tina,” he said. “What…”

  She had already closed the door to their room. He went in. She was folding clothes and setting them in neat piles on top of the bedspread.

  “Where is he?” Allen said.

  She glared at him. “In his room. Where else would he be?”

  Allen felt his frustration rising, ready to boil over. “Well, I want to see him.”

  Tina stopped her folding and looked at him. “Not tonight.”

  Allen shook his head. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because you’ll just ruin it like you always do. He has to be punished. If you go in there you’ll start commiserating with him, taking his side, ruining things.”

  “What the hell…” Allen looked at her as she went back to her laundry folding. He got the sense that she was on the verge of one of her violent temper explosions, but he couldn’t let her get away with this. She didn’t rule here; they were supposed to be a team. He remembered the key ring with all the keys from the bedrooms in the top drawer of the chest of drawers. He went over, slid open the drawer, took the keys and left the bedroom.

  Allen put the first key on the ring into the keyhole as Tina came up behind him. She grabbed his hand, trying to wrest the keys from his grasp. He tried the key; it wouldn’t turn. He pulled the key out and pushed her away, sticking the second key in. It, too, wouldn’t budge. Again she was on him, trying to grab the keys out of his hand. Failing that, she tried to shove him aside. He shoved her back and looked down at the key ring. There were only two keys left to try. He put one in the lock. Just as he was ready to turn it her hands found his face. He flinched at the pain as she dug her long nails into his flesh. He turned away from her, attempting to turn the key. It wouldn’t budge. As he was pulling it out she attacked again. “God damn it,” he said as he pushed her away. She came right back, grabbing at the keys in his hands; they fell to the floor. She squealed as she reached down and grabbed them. He looked at her and saw triumph in her eyes. He knew he could easily take them from her again, but what was the point? She had won. Not because she had the keys, but because of what she had brought them to. They had crossed the Rubicon; their fighting had become physical now, like two ignorant welfare case losers in some ghetto. The thought sickened him. Things had escalated too far; they were on the precipice. If he forcibly took the keys from her and forced his way into Reynaldo’s room, she’d be on the phone to the police in seconds. It would go badly for him. Hadn’t the lawyer said as much? He knew it as surely as he knew anything. In any domestic disturbance situation, the cops always asked the husband to leave; it was SOP. So there would be a police report, but it wouldn’t be about child abuse, but rather domestic abuse, battery—who knew what she might throw at him? The neighbors would be treated to the sight of a police cruiser, lights flashing, parked outside their house, him handcuffed with some cop’s big meaty hand on his head as he was pushed into the back seat. It would become an issue at work too. Then what? Despite the new awful turn their relationship had taken, he would still need a job. Actually, more than ever. He’d heard all the stories from the older men at work that had gotten divorced—spousal support, some of them, child support, court costs, counseling fees, finding and furnishing a new domicile for himself. He turned away from her in disgust.

  He went out into the living room, panic rising in him. He was surprised to see Christine sitting rapt before the TV on her little yellow chair. He had forgotten all about her. Did she hear or see what had just happened between him and her mother? She gave no indication and for that he was thankful. He watched her for a moment; nothing existed for her other than what was happening in front of her on the TV. Not him, not Tina or Reynaldo, this house, nothing. All for the better, he realized, poor kid. Had he been doing the same thing, he wondered, blocking out much of what was going on right in his own home?

  Allen went out into the night and closed the door. The awful thing that had happened back in that house could never be fixed or made right ever again. The lawyer was right; he was screwed. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. All that mattered now was going forward, and the details—who got what, who lived where. It would be hashed out by greedbag lawyers and busybody judges as they pawed through his and Tina’s and the kids’ lives. It would be somewhat public and ugly.

  As Rad worked in the darkness he thought about Tawny, wondering where she was and what she was doing—probably at one of her Buddhist meetings. Rad pulled the last of the wheels from the bed of the truck and leaned it up against the rear fender. He had installed three of the wheels earlier today and had taken a break, intending to do the fourth and last tomorrow. But after sitting in the house alone for a couple of hours he had started to feel lonely and depressed. And so he’d decided that despite the darkness, he would get them all on tonight. The tires were bald; he couldn’t afford new ones, but at least they held air. And he still needed new shoes for the front brakes, but as long as he didn’t drive the truck too far he’d be all right. But he had to get it off the blocks and off the front yard.

  As Rad began jacking up the left rear he did not notice that the wheel leaning against the truck fender had moved. Each stroke of the jack raised the truck above the wheel further and further until there was nothing holding it. The wheel began rolling down the slope of the yard.

  Allen walked up the sidewalk, his breathing becoming rapid. He craved something down to the bone. What? Someone to listen to him. Someone to help him understand what was happening. Was he crazy? Was Tina? He heard a steady clicking sound. What the hell had she been up to, locking Reynaldo in his room and not wanting to let him see him? He had no answers anymore and he felt like screaming out. Rage filled him.

  Something leapt up at Allen from the dark, knocking into him painfully. It made a wobbling noise in the dark at his feet, then thumped to a stop—a wheel from a car! Incredulous, he turned and saw the young punk, Raggedy Andy, up the slope of his yard with a tire iron in his hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Allen shouted to him.

  “I’m working on my truck. What’s it to you?”

  “Well your fucking wheel just banged into me…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Allen pointed to the wheel at his feet. “I’m talking about this!”

  “Oh. It must’ve rolled off when I was jacking the truck up. I didn’t even know you were down there.”

  Allen looked up at the dark hulk of the truck on the barren lawn above. “What the fuck are you working on it at night for?”

  “You should know, jerk! You wrote my landlord about the truck, didn’t you?”

  Allen frowned, vaguely remembering something about the truck. It didn’t matter now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The punk dropped the tire iron onto the ground and walked down the slope. Allen saw in him everything that had gone wrong in his life, everything that was squeezing him, destroying him. He swung wildly at him and missed as the younger man spun him around and threw him onto the dirt of the yard, pinning him. Allen realized he was using some kind of high school wrestling trick. Enraged, he managed to get to his feet. He and the punk closed again. Allen grabbed him by his jacket and the punk grabbed Allen’s shirt front. Allen tried to throw him, but the punk was too strong and Allen heard the fabric of his shirt ripping. They circled, each trying to trip the other. Allen’s breathing was ragged. “Why are you fucking with me, man?”

  “Fuckin’ with you? What are you talking about? You’ve caused me a lot of grief, motherfucker.”

  “Grief!” Allen laughed crazily. “You don’t know the fucking meaning of the word.”

  Both men continued to circle each other warily, holding tight for fear the other would gai
n advantage. Allen tried to get a good look at the younger man’s face but the corona of the streetlight behind him was blinding.

  “What the hell happened to you?” said the punk. His voice was less aggressive now, less strident “You get in a cat fight or something?”

  “None of your goddamned business,” said Allen.

  “Look,” said the punk, “why don’t you just chill out? I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but it ain’t me.”

  The punk relaxed his grip on Allen’s shirt and both men separated, putting some distance between themselves.

  “You want to talk about this?” said the punk.

  Allen was unsure of what he meant. “Talk about what?”

  “Whatever your problem is, that’s what.”

  Allen watched the punk warily. Could things get any crazier? What the hell was he supposed to do here, talk to some drug-using skater punk about how his family was coming apart and that he needed help?

  “Fuck you,” Allen spat. “I don’t have anything to talk with you about!” He turned and went back down the hill to his house.

  Chapter 31

  After her visit to Doctor Neilson’s office, Tawny drove to Rad’s mother’s house in South City. The test results were positive. After questioning Tawny briefly and probing her in a few places, Doctor Neilson pronounced her pregnant, about a month and a half now. Neilson had been fatherly as he assured her that, given her youth and health, he was ninety nine percent certain she’d have a healthy baby. Then he had called the nurse in to talk to her. Even as the nurse was handing Tawny the pamphlets on prenatal care, ultrasound scans, well baby care, etc., Tawny already knew what she was going to do.

  Tawny parked on the Anderson’s driveway next to Rad’s mom’s little Mazda van.

  Florence, or Flo, as she always insisted Tawny call her, led her into the living room. Tawny’s nostrils flared at the odor of something vile cooking in the kitchen.

  They sat on the couch.

  “I’m so glad you came by, Tawny,” said Flo. “We haven’t seen you in months.”

  Tawny nodded. “I know. I wanted to come by a couple times but… you know how it is.”

  Flo smiled. “Oh,” she said, getting to her feet. “I wanted to show you something. Be right back.”

  Flo brought out a photo album and sat down. “Jack had tucked this away in the attic while he was redoing the bedroom. I had him get it down for me the other day.” She opened the album, an array of about a dozen glossy, glassine-encased pictures on each page. They started with Rad’s baby pictures.

  As they cooed over some of the more fetching ones, Tawny forced herself to remember that she had come here to tell Flo she was pregnant and what she was going to do about it. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how crass and mean that was. Why the hell did she want to upset Flo? To punish her for what she and Rad had done? What was the point of that? It was better she didn’t know anything about it.

  Tawny continued to look at the pictures as Flo left and returned with a tray of shortbread cookies. Despite her embarrassment, Tawny found herself eating them one after the other, she was so hungry. They continued to make small talk as they turned the pages. They came to a picture of Rad sitting on a pony. It was so cute, so beautiful, that Tawny asked Flo to wait before turning the page. She wanted to study it.

  “How old is he in that one?” she asked.

  “Four,” said Flo. I remember the day like it was yesterday. Some Mexican guy came through the neighborhood with a little pony and a camera. He must have made an awful lot of money because every kid in the neighborhood wanted his picture taken on that pony.” She laughed. “I remember being nervous about it…” Flo smiled in embarrassment and touched Tawny on the knee. “That’s just the way I am. The pony was little and beautiful, with its blonde mane, but I could see it was skittish, its glassy eyes looking around everywhere. The guy just let the kids sit on it while he backed off a bit and took his pictures. I was a nervous wreck. I was sure that thing was going to take off with Rad on its back and go galloping down the street and onto the freeway or something.”

  They laughed.

  “Rad wasn’t scared though,” said Flo, “he loved it.”

  Tawny nodded. “I can see that.”

  Flo pat Tawny on the hand. “Tawny, I’ll never forget the one time at the Kmart. In the store, Rad had been bugging me to let him sit in the cart. I’d told him that he was too big for that but he wasn’t dissuaded. Anyway, I let him climb in the front part of the cart with the packages. And then I pushed him out of the store and across the parking lot to my car. I was putting a package in the trunk when the cart must have started rolling. I didn’t know it. When I turned around, the cart is rolling across the parking lot, picking up speed, heading right for one of the exits. And Rad is standing up in the front and just having a hell of a time, yelling, ‘whoopee!’ And there’s this car coming! I screamed and ran after it but I couldn’t catch it. Fortunately the car saw him and stopped. I felt like a damn fool, but at least he was all right. I was shaken up for the rest of the day.”

  “Oh dear,” said Tawny. “Maybe that’s where he got his love of skateboarding.”

  “Yeah,” said Flo, “could be. When we got home, I put him in for his nap and had a stiff drink, I’ll tell you that.”

  They laughed some more and Tawny knew that Flo must never know about it. Never. It would hurt her too much. Tawny would just have to deal with it herself.

  “You know,” Tawny said, “I better get going. I’m glad I was able to see you, Flo. I haven’t seen you for a long while. And just because Rad and I are not together anymore doesn’t mean we shouldn’t maintain our relationship.”

  Flo held Tawny’s hand as they stood. “I know, Tawny. Listen, you let yourself out, sweetie. I have to go check on my cooking.” Before she walked out of the room her face grew sadly serious and she said, “I know you’ll make the right decision.”

  Tawny nodded as she let herself out of the house. She felt confused. Did Flo mean ‘make the right decision’ in regard to her and Rad staying together or splitting up? That had to be what she meant. But Tawny couldn’t get it out of her head that Flo knew more than she was letting on, and that that was the decision she was really talking about. That might explain her dragging out the baby photo album. Or was it all just one big coincidence?

  The snake felt the call deep in the very molecules of its brain. It was as overwhelming as the call to mate, and as irresistible as the warmth of nearby moving prey.

  The snake began moving slowly toward the light, then paused where the channel of cooler air flowed swiftly into this place. It could not leave at this moment and must instead wait for the safety that darkness would provide. Periodically it lifted its head and swept it from side to side, tasting the air with its tongue. Never before had it experienced this confusion and urgency. It did not want to leave this place where food had been plentiful and regular, where heat had been adequate and constant, and its life quiet and solitary. But there was no resisting. The call continued and grew stronger and stronger.

  The light faded to the point where the snake could safely slide out into the open. It poured itself along in the dark, passing several small prey and then a large one emitting much heat. But it did not, could not, stop.

  The homeless man turned over onto his right side, assuming the fetal position in his sleeping bag. Obscured by some bushes and a low jumble of mesquite, he had been spending his nights here in the little no man’s land between the backyards of the two rows of houses for almost a month. This night something brushed by his head in the blackness. Or did he dream it, he wondered as he lifted his head into the black coolness of the night and opened his eyes. Overcome by tiredness and the remaining alcohol in his blood, he closed his eyes again and forgot what had awakened him. He lay his head back down and quickly fell back to sleep.

  Just before night began to dissipate the snake came to the place. It entered and immediately moved up the rou
gh stony surface of the rise to the place where it was directed. It was promised that it would soon eat, and well. Confusion again threatened to overwhelm the snake, for although the entity that had called it here was powerful and close by, the snake could not detect its heat signature in the blackness.

  As day slowly grew out of blackness, the snake waited patiently, tasting the air with its flicking tongue.

  Chapter 32

  From up in the stands Rad watched the kids as they lined up to practice their foul shooting. Father Mike squatted down to coach the tiniest member of the team after he’d failed a second time to even reach the net. Rad thought again about his run in with Mister Peepers down the block. Initially he’d been really pissed off at the guy, wanting to slug him. But the guy’s pathetic rage, his voice breaking, his rapid breathing and all the scratches on his face—all of it had affected Rad at some deep level and he had backed off. The guy seemed desperate, as if he was ready to die. Rad had never seen anyone in such a state before.

  Father Mike stood up and caught Rad’s eye. He started up into the stands

  “So,” said Father Mike, as he sat beside Rad, “did you think about what we talked about?”

  Father Mike had seemed unconcerned about Rad’s breakup with Tawny. The priest had instead spent most of their time together the week before talking about how important Rad’s relationship with his parents was.

  “Yeah,” said Rad.

  “And?” said Father Mike.

  “My dad and I are supposed to get together for a burger and beer.”

  “Good.”

  The squeak and slap of sports shoes on the hardwood echoed off the gym walls. They watched as little Jay carefully lined up for his shot, then leapt as he launched the ball. It went in and the other kids shouted in approval. Several nearby boys high fived him.