“His brain wouldn’t have exploded, baby. At least I don’t think so. If the thing that was growing in there got big enough, though, it might have squeezed the inside of Bert’s head so much that he wouldn’t have been able to think properly. I’ll call him when we get to Memphis.”
“What if the doctors couldn’t get it out?”
“I’m sure they did, Roy, otherwise I would have heard something. I think I can pass now, hold on.”
“Mom, where did the seed in Bert’s brain come from?”
“Just a sec, baby, let me get back over into the other lane. Okay, what did you say? How did a seed get where?”
“In Bert’s brain. The thing that was growing began as a seed, right? How did it get planted there?”
“That’s a good question, Roy. I don’t think anybody knows exactly, not even the doctors.”
“Remember the Johnny Appleseed song? ‘Oh, the Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed. The Lord is good to me.’”
“I like to hear you sing, baby. You have a sweet voice.”
“It couldn’t have been an apple seed in Bert’s head.”
“No, it wasn’t. Don’t think about it anymore, honey. Pretty soon you’ll see the ducks on the pond at the Peabody.”
“Maybe that kid will be there again.”
“I guess it’s possible.”
“I wouldn’t ever try to drown a duck, even if I could.”
“No, Roy, I don’t believe you ever would.”
Sound of the River
“Is it okay if I turn up the radio?”
“Sure, Roy, but not too loud. What’s playing?”
“I don’t know, but I like it.”
“Is that a man or a woman who’s screaming?”
“He’s not screaming, Mom, he’s singing. Sometimes he shouts, but it’s part of the song. But that’s not the part I care about so much. What I really like is the kind of thumping sound behind him, the way it jumps up around his voice sometimes and almost swallows or drowns it or something.”
“You mean the rhythm section. It’s the part of the band that keeps the beat. They keep the song moving.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard music like this before. It reminds me of the noise water makes hitting against the rocks on the side of the river, like down behind the Jax brewery. The same sound over and over, only it’s not exactly the same.”
“That’s the Mississippi, baby. Can you remember how the waves sound on the beach in Cuba? The way they slap down on the sand, then make kind of a hushing noise as the water rushes up before rolling back. It’s different than the sound of the river in New Orleans.”
“I remember being out on a little boat with Uncle Jack and on one side of the boat the water was green and on the other side it was blue. Uncle Jack told me to put my right hand into the water on the starboard side, into the blue, which was really cold. Then he told me to put my left hand into the water on the port side, and it was very warm. He said the cold blue side was the ocean, and the warm green side was the Gulf Stream. Wasn’t that near Varadero?”
“No, honey, that was off Key West.”
“Where are we now, Mom?”
“Macon, Georgia.”
“What’s here?”
“Oh, most likely the same as everyplace else. Men and women who don’t understand each other and aren’t really willing or able to try. Just what this man is shouting about on the radio.”
“I think he’s saying, ‘Lucille, won’t you do your sister’s will? Oh, Lucille, won’t you do your sister’s will? Well, you ran away and left, I love you still.’”
“Sounds about right to me.”
Red Highway
“You hit one that time, Mom. I felt the bump.”
“I can’t avoid them all, baby. They crawl out on the road and lie there because the asphalt absorbs heat and they like the warmth. I have to admit I’m not very fond of snakes, but I’m not trying to run them over.”
“I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose. There are a lot of good ones, like king snakes, who help farmers by eating rodents that destroy crops.”
“You’ve always loved reptiles, Roy. Maybe when you grow up you’ll be a herpetologist.”
“Is that the big word for reptile handler?”
“Herpetology is the study of snakes, and a herpetologist is a person who studies them.”
“There’s another one! It must be six feet long. You just missed him.”
“They’re easier to see when they’re crawling, otherwise they blend into the highway here.”
“Why is this road dark red? I’ve never seen a red highway before.”
“It must be the earth here, baby, the color of the dirt or clay.”
“If it rained now, I wonder if the snakes would all crawl away.”
“Probably they’d want to get down into their holes,”
“Why were you so mean to that man in the restaurant back in Montgomery?”
“He said something I didn’t care for.”
“Did he say it to you?”
“No, Roy, he said it to everyone who could hear him. He wanted people to hear him.”
“What was it that he said?”
“He was showing off his ignorance.”
“Nobody likes a show-off.”
“Especially not his kind.”
“What was he showing off about?”
“He used some words I don’t like.”
“He called you beautiful. ‘What’s the matter, beautiful?’ he said.”
“That wasn’t what upset me. It was what he said before. Forget about him, honey. God punishes those people.”
“Could God change him into a snake and make him crawl out on the red highway so he’d get run over?”
“Roy, don’t believe you’re better than anybody else because of the way you look or who your parents are, or for any other reason you had nothing to do with directly. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“It sounds simple, but it’s not so easy to do. Treat people the way you’d like them to treat you, and if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sorry, baby, I don’t mean to preach, but that man made me angry.”
“Watch out, Mom, there’s another snake!”
Lucky
“It’s always raining in Indiana.”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it, baby?”
“I remember one night we were driving through Indiana like this and I saw a sign that said New Monster. Lucky was with us, and I asked him what it meant, and he told me there was a new monster loose around there and the sign was put up to warn people. I imagined a crazyman had escaped from an asylum, or a dangerous freak had run away from the sideshow of a carnival. I was really frightened and stayed awake for a long time staring out the window watching for the monster, even though it was dark.”
“Poor Lucky. He was the one who wound up in an asylum.”
“You told me he had to go to a hospital.”
“He did, Roy, a special kind of hospital for people who can’t control themselves.”
“Lucky couldn’t control himself?”
“In some ways, baby. He told terrible lies to people in business and got into trouble all the time. You know how handsome Lucky was, and he could play the piano so well and sing. When he was a young man he’d been a great athlete, too. He was a wonderful golfer and tennis player and swimmer. Lucky charmed everyone, men and women loved him, but he was insane.”
“Later, Lucky told me the name on the sign was really New Munster, which is a town in Indiana. He was just joking around with me, Mom. That wasn’t such a bad thing, even though I got so scared.”
“No, of course not, baby. Lucky stol
e a lot of money from a big company he was working for, but he didn’t go to jail for that, they let him off easy. Then a few weeks later he was arrested for taking off all of his clothes in front of some young girls in a park. I guess he’d done things like that before, or he tried to do something with one of the girls, I can’t remember, so this time he was committed to an institution.”
“Do you know where Lucky is now?”
“I think he’s still locked up in Dunning.”
“Where’s Dunning?”
“A place outside Chicago.”
“How long does he have to stay there?”
“Oh, Roy, who knows? I suppose until he’s well. It’s really terrible about Lucky, it wasn’t his fault. He just couldn’t control himself.”
“Lucky liked to eat spaghetti with a spoon. He’d chop up his noodles with a knife and then eat them with a tablespoon. Do you remember that, Mom? I think that’s a crazy way to eat spaghetti.”
K.C. So Far (Seconds/Alternate Take)
“How come we’ve never been to Kansas City before?”
“I used to come here often when I was a girl. From when I was your age until I was seventeen. I rode the train back and forth from Chicago to see my father.”
“Pops was in Kansas City then?”
“Yes, for a few years, when he was married to another woman. Remember, I told you about her. Actually, I don’t think they were really married. They lived together and she told people they were married. I never liked her.”
“What was her name?”
“I called her Aunt Sally. She was a terrible housekeeper, very sloppy. She left her clothes lying around everywhere, always had dirty dishes piled in the sink. My father liked her because she was pretty and well-read. Sally liked to talk about politics, literature, art. She wasn’t stupid, I’ll say that for her. She was a chain-smoker. The ashtrays in that house were always overflowing with butts and dead matches.”
“It’s hot here.”
“It can get very hot in Kansas City, Roy, especially in the summer. We used to sit out on the porch at three and four o’clock in the morning, drinking lemonade with shaved ice, when we couldn’t sleep because of the heat.”
“What did Pops do in Kansas City?”
“He was a hat salesman. He traveled all over the Midwest. Traveling salesmen were still called ‘drummers’ back then. It’s where the phrase ‘drumming up business’ comes from. Or maybe the word ‘drummer’ came from the saying, I’m not sure. I think Pops had a girlfriend in every town in his territory, or most of them. That’s what caused the breakup with Aunt Sally.”
“Pops still wears a hat when he’s outside.”
“Yes, baby, a homburg, that’s his favorite. Pops always was a sharp dresser.”
“What happened to her?”
“Who? Sally?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I have no idea where she is now, and I doubt that Pops does, either. She stayed in Kansas City for a while after my father moved back to Chicago, then he stopped talking about her. Sally was a blonde with plenty of pep. I bet she found herself a guy and cut Pops off cold. It’s strange how sometimes people can be such a large part of your life and then suddenly they’re gone. I didn’t miss her or those long, hot train trips.”
“She wasn’t nice to you, huh?”
“Sally wasn’t bad to me. I guess I didn’t want to like her because I was so close to Nanny, and I felt if I allowed myself to really like Sally then I would be disloyal to my mother. I’m sure most kids have the same conflict.”
“If Dad got a new wife, would you want me to hate her?”
“Not at all, baby, of course not. You’d make up your own mind about her. It would depend on how she treated you.”
“Even if she was nice and I loved her, I wouldn’t love her the same as I love you, Mom. I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
“Roy, look at that airplane landing! It’s coming in so low. The Kansas City airport is in the middle of the city. Planes fly in right over the houses.”
“I’d be scared one would crash on us if we lived in a house here. You know, Mom, I don’t think I like Kansas City so far.”
Concertina Locomotion
“Sometimes it seems like things go very fast, and sometimes they go slower than an inchworm.”
“Yes, honey, strange the way time moves, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’m not twenty or twenty-one or -two anymore. Years get lost, they fly by and you can’t remember them. This is when you get older, of course. I’m sure that now you can remember almost exactly when everything happened.”
“I like watching snakes crawl, the way their bodies fold and bend and curl up like a lasso, then straighten out.”
“Time works sort of like that, in concertina locomotion.”
“Is that a train?”
“No, Roy, it’s the way some creatures move, especially tree snakes. They kind of coil and partially uncoil and this motion propels them. I read about it in a nature magazine. You know how a concertina or accordion takes in and lets out air when it’s being played? Well, this type of snake looks like that.”
“Snakes can see where they’re going, can’t they?”
“Sure, and they use their tongues as sensors.”
“The car’s headlights are kind of our sensors.”
“I also read that blind people use hand gestures when they talk, the same as people who can see. Isn’t that interesting? It has something to do with the way human beings think.”
“I think Texas goes on forever.”
“We just take it a little bit at a time.”
“Like concertina locomotion.”
“Yes, baby. As soon as we’re east of Houston we’ll get a whiff of the bayou. You’ll know when we’re there with your eyes closed.”
Imagine
“Roy, do you remember the name of that man in Havana who used to give you a silver dollar whenever he saw you?”
“Sure, Winky. He had two tattoos of a naked girl on his arm.”
“Winky Nervo, that’s right. It was driving me nuts not being able to remember his name. Winky was in a dream I had last night. What do you mean, he had two tattoos of a naked girl? The same girl?”
“I think so. On one side of the muscle part of his right arm he had the front of the girl and on the underneath was the back of her. She had her hands on her hips the same way in both of the tattoos. I liked Winky a lot. He used to give silver dollars to all the kids.”
“For some reason, Winky was in my dream. He was talking to a black woman outside of a restaurant or a bar or a nightclub somewhere, maybe in Havana, though it could have been Mexico City. There was a red and yellow sign flashing on and off behind them. The woman’s dress was bright blue, and Winky stood very close to her. Under her, almost. You know how little Winky was, and the woman was very black and much taller. She leaned over him like a coconut palm.
“I liked Winky, too. Your dad said he was a terrible gambler, threw everything he had away on craps and the horses.”
“Why don’t we ever see Winky anymore, Mom?”
“Oh, baby, Winky’s someplace nobody can find him. He owed a pile of dough to some wrong guys and couldn’t pay it back.”
“Maybe he’s in the old country. Winky always said how when he got set he would go back to the old country and not do anything but eat and drink and forget.”
“Honey, Winky’s in a country even older than the one he was talking about.”
“Maybe he was showing the woman his tattoos. Winky could make the girl’s titties jump when he made a muscle.”
“Remind me to call your dad tonight when we get to Tampa. You haven’t spoken to him for a while.”
“Not since my birthday. Mom?”
“Yes, Roy?”
“Winky always had lots of silver dollars in his pockets.”
<
br /> “That doesn’t mean he had money, baby. Not real money, anyway.”
“Does Dad have real money?”
“He might not have it, but he knows how to find it and where to get it, and that’s almost as good. There’s a big difference between your father and a man like Winky Nervo. Don’t worry about your dad.”
“I won’t.”
“Winky wasn’t sharp, Roy. He didn’t think ahead.”
“It’s important, huh? To think ahead.”
“Baby, you can’t imagine.”
The Geography of Heaven
“Do you realize, Roy, that Cairo, Illinois, where we are now, is actually closer to the state of Mississippi than it is to Chicago?”
“I know we’re next to the Mississippi River.”
“That’s right. We were on the Mississippi in St. Louis, Missouri, and now Cairo. From here it flows down to Memphis. What state is Memphis in, baby?”
“Tennessee.”
“Good. Then it goes to Greenville—”
“Mississippi.”
“Then to New Orleans—”
“Louisiana.”
“Before flowing into—”
“The Gulf of Mexico.”
“Great, Roy! You really know your geography.”
“I think this is the best way to learn it, Mom, by traveling all over. The places are real, then, instead of just dots and names on a map.”
“You should show me your maps, Roy, the ones you made up. I’d like to see them.”
“I draw maps of real places too, Mom, not just imaginary ones. When we stop, I’ll make a map of all the places we’ve been. Where are we going to stay tonight?”
“I thought we’d see if we could get to A Little Bit O’ Heaven, in Kentucky. Remember, they have all those little cottages named after different flowers?”
“Oh, yeah. We stayed in the Rose Cottage because that’s Nanny’s name.”
“There certainly isn’t much color in the sky today, is there? It’s just grey with tiny specks of black in it.”
The Roy Stories Page 20