The God of War

by Marisa Silver

  I couldn’t stop myself. “You could borrow it.”

  “Really? Are you sure? Because that would be amazing.”

  “I guess.”

  “You could ride it out here tonight, and then I’ll take it and go do my business.”

  I was disappointed. I had imagined we would go for a ride together, maybe out to Slab City. He could pedal and I could ride on the handlebars. I would show him where Richard took us scrapping. If we found anything, I’d let Kevin keep it. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  “You know, just hang out.”

  “Here?”

  “Exactly!” he said, as if I had come up with this brilliant solution myself. “They won’t notice. They go to bed old-people-early.” He clapped his hands together. “So tonight. Okay? Just ride up around the back of the house to my window. I’ll be waiting.”

  The door opened. Mrs. Poole stood with her hand on the knob. “Time to go, Ares,” she said.

  I looked at Kevin, hoping he would laugh or indicate in some way that this was all a joke. But he threw his arm around me.

  “This kid’s cool,” he said. “He’s gonna be my cool little brother.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting along,” she said warily.

  Kevin punched me playfully on the shoulder and pushed me gently toward the door. When I looked back at him, he winked, and all my worries about the bike disintegrated. Until that moment, I had not realized how lonely I was, and how it had been impossible for me to imagine friendship. I was mesmerized by Kevin.

  At the front door Mrs. Poole handed me a large manila envelope. “Give this to your mother,” she said. “I want her to look at these brochures. It’s very important. I did some research.”

  “Okay.”

  Malcolm slipped out the door. When I turned to follow, Mrs. Poole put a hand on my shoulder. “She doesn’t look at the papers I send home, does she.”

  “She’s busy.”

  “I don’t understand. Doesn’t she want to help him?”

  The intimacy of her comment, and the way she assumed I would share in her judgment of my mother, startled me. But I did not defend Laurel. “Should I tell her Malcolm did good today?”

  “Did well,” she said, but there was no steam behind her correction.

  THAT NIGHT, LAUREL LEFT ME to clean up after dinner while she went to her room to lie down. Malcolm smelled like old food, so I took him to the bathroom. He submitted to being undressed without much fuss, but once in the tub, he splashed water all over the floor, the walls, and me.

  “Cut it out,” I hissed, not wanting Laurel to hear, but when Malcolm didn’t calm down, I grabbed his wrists. “Stop it! Stop it!” I whispered. He started to kick, and water sloshed over the lip of the tub. I squeezed his wrists tighter and I felt what those boys must have felt when they threw rocks at him: the savage pleasure of hurting someone who was weak. He looked at me not with an expression of pain but of confusion, as if he didn’t understand why I wanted to harm him. I dropped his hands, frightened by how easily I could destroy him and how good it would make me feel.

  Once I was sure that Laurel and Malcolm were both asleep, I rode my bike through the dark streets of Bombay Beach and onto the highway. Occasionally a car or truck passed, nearly pushing my bike off the road in its gust of wind. I pedaled faster then, trying to take advantage of the path described by the headlights. When I reached Mrs. Poole’s house, I left my bike by the curb so that the wheels wouldn’t make noise as I crossed the gravel driveway. At the back of the house, Kevin’s window glowed softly behind gauzy white curtains. I picked up a handful of gravel from the decorative border that circled the house and gently tossed the rocks at the window. The room went dark, the window opened, and Kevin’s sneaker, then leg appeared, followed by the rest of his body.

  “Where’s the bike?” he whispered, as he noiselessly lowered himself onto the ground.

  “I left it on the street,” I said, humiliated by his disregard for my bravery. I followed as he ran to the front of the house, then stopped to watch as he sprinted across the front yard and mounted the bike. He pumped hard, gained speed, and coasted down the dark road.

  I started toward the porch, but halfway there, I realized how exposed I was. If Mr. or Mrs. Poole were to look out the window they would see me plainly. The only safe place to hide was on the windowless side of the house near the vegetable garden. There, I slid down onto the cold ground. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tossed gravel from one hand to the next. I retied my shoes. I stared out at the vacant night until I became chilled. I drew the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, pulled my knees to my chest, and ducked my head between them. The close air inside the pocket I’d created for my face made me drowsy. I closed my eyes and slept.

  “Wake up, man. This isn’t your bedroom.”

  I looked up to see Kevin standing above me. His eyes were red, his pupils tiny dots of black. He couldn’t keep still and kept checking over his shoulder as if he thought someone were following him.

  “What time is it?” I said, struggling to stand.

  He held a silencing finger to his lips. “I brought you something,” he whispered, handing me a folded slice of pizza. “Payment for services.”

  As I took the pizza, he ran silently around to the back of the house. I followed him just in time to see his legs disappear though the open window.

  FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, whenever I could get out of my house at night, I did. Kevin brought me all sorts of small tokens: burgers, tacos, a pack of chewing gum, an old Spider-Man comic book that was missing a cover. Each night he came back hopped up, red-eyed, and restless, but sometimes he would sit down next to me and we would talk. He showed me how to find Orion in the sky, told me that if I was ever jumped I should start acting crazy because even criminals were scared of crazy people. He showed me how to make a quarter roll across my knuckles without using my other hand. He’d learned some card tricks at the center and said he would teach them to me if I brought him a deck. He showed me how to do the Hustle, and when we both started laughing at his moves, a light came on in the house. When the light went off, and we were safe, we laughed into our shirts to muffle our sound. One night, he fished a crushed pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans and I smoked my first one. He was patient as he taught me how to inhale and let go of the smoke without stinging my eyes. He called me “little brother.”

  TWELVE

  A few weeks later, Malcolm and I arrived home from school to find Richard leaning against the side of his Jeep. He wore his cowboy hat and a camouflage vest studded with pockets. Malcolm surprised me by acknowledging Richard immediately. He made whooping sounds and started to jump.

  “Whoa, boy,” Richard said. “That’s quite a greeting.” He reached into one of the pockets of his vest, took out a sea-shell, and handed it to Malcolm. “Got that on the coast of Oregon.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said, wrapping Malcolm in a hug. “Door’s locked.” He tilted his head toward the trailer.

  “We lock our door.”

  “Any more dead bodies popping up around here?”

  I drew out my key from under my shirt, where it hung on a leather thong around my neck.

  “Keys to the kingdom,” he said.

  “Does she know you’re back?”

  “Thought I’d surprise her.”

  “She doesn’t like surprises.”

  “Listen, man. You can give me all the hard time you want. I left. I blew it. It was a shitty thing.”

  Inside, he sat at the kitchen table. I took a Mountain Dew from the refrigerator and opened it.

  “I’ll take one of those,” he said. I gave him a can and he took a long drink from it. “Looks like we’re going to have one more little monster around here.”

  “She said you were out of the picture.”

  He squinted into the dark opening of the can. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “When
she comes home, I’ll tell her you’re at the Slabs.”

  Richard shook his head. “Sold my trailer. For about half of what it was worth, which pisses me off.”

  “Where are you going to live?”

  “I thought I’d try living here with you guys.”

  “Here?”

  “Are you being dumb on purpose?”

  By the time Laurel came home from work, Richard, Malcolm, and I were at the table, eating the spaghetti Richard had prepared. The material of her spa uniform strained over her belly. “What are you doing here?” she said.

  He laughed. “This family has a way with hellos.” His eyes traveled to her stomach, taking in the new geography there.

  “He sold his trailer,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  He stood and walked to her. “I’m here to give it a shot, okay? Like you said.”

  “Don’t pin it on me,” she said. “If you blame me for coming back, you’ll blame me when you leave again.”

  “I never blame anyone else for my mistakes.” He reached out and spread his hand over her stomach. He leaned close and whispered something into her hair. She smiled as he kissed her cheek.

  “Get off,” she said, pushing him away, but there was flirtation in her voice and in the way she brushed her body against his as she passed him on her way to set down her purse. “You made dinner,” she said.

  “I had some help from my friends here. Ares here is wicked with a can opener.”

  Laurel laid her hand on Malcolm’s head. He looked up at her, his mouth opening to reveal the half-chewed food inside. “Hi, my sweet boy,” she said softly. She touched my shoulder. “How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she repeated for Richard’s benefit. “That’s all I get.”

  “He’s a boy,” Richard said.

  “Is that what boys are like?” She smiled coyly. “Tell you nothing? Take everything?”

  “Every last one of them.”

  That night I slept on her bed behind the card curtain. I was amazed by how quickly arrangements had been made, space rearranged, new teams formed. I tried to think of Laurel’s room as mine, but it was still filled with her things: an Indian print scarf draped over the lamp, pots of creams crowding her bedside table. Her sheets were suffused with the perfume of her body. I heard the low rumble of Richard’s voice coming from inside my old room and the warm response of Laurel’s laugh. I did not sleep.

  The following day, Richard drove Malcolm and me to school. “Door to door service,” he said as he pulled into the parking lot.

  “Are you going to do this every day?” I said.

  “You’d rather take the bus?”

  “We ride our bikes. Kids on the bus make fun of Mal.”

  “Kids can be assholes.”

  “I think Malcolm knows it, too.”

  “I’m sure he does.” He looked in the rearview mirror at Malcolm.

  “Mom doesn’t do anything about it.”

  “Listen, Ares. It’s not going to work out here if I get in your mother’s way. I’m not here to fight any battles for you.” He stared at the school building. “Why do they have to make these places so damn ugly?” he said.

  A girl from my grade passed and stared into the Jeep, then looked away.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Just some girl.”

  “Just some girl,” he said, smiling. “Don’t be an asshole to girls.”

  “I’m not an asshole.”

  “That ‘some girl’ has a name.”

  “Danielle, I guess.”

  “Alright then. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Are you going to be like this now?”

  “Like what?”

  “Teaching me things? Acting like you’re some kind of dad or something?”

  “You got a little attitude on since I saw you last. How old are you now? Eleven?”

  “Thirteen in a month!”

  “Thirteen. Shit,” Richard sighed, as if suddenly overwhelmed by the immensity of what he had undertaken.

  I couldn’t concentrate at school. Richard’s arrival, and the way the family had reformed around the impending arrival of another baby, and the unspoken tension between me and my mother, all combined to make me feel that I had been pushed out of my life. Richard picked us up after school, but as soon as I got home I rode my bike to the gas station. I wanted to punch someone or hit something, find some way to release what was twisted up inside me. I put air in my tires, then went into the convenience store. The woman behind the counter talked to another customer as she worked the register. Her flame-colored fingernails were so long that she had to hold her hands awkwardly to press the keys. The tap-tap of her nails on the countertop as she waited for payment bored into my brain. I pretended to consider buying a bag of chips then left the store. On my way home, I stopped my bike by the side of the road, reached down the front of my jeans, and took out the pack of cards I’d stolen.

  A few nights later, I crawled out of the window in my new room and brought the cards to Kevin. When he returned from wherever it was he went, he showed me the card tricks he had learned. He made my card appear at the top of the deck even though I had buried it deep within the middle.

  “Show me how,” I pleaded.

  “Nope.”

  “Come on.”

  “No way.”

  I lunged for him, knocking him over. We rolled around together as the cards spluttered from his hands, me demanding that he tell me the trick, him laughing and shaking his head vigorously. Finally, I gave up and lay back on the ground, breathless.

  “You’re a tough little mother, you know that?” Kevin said, standing up and grinning down at me. “I don’t want to get on your bad side.”

  “I’m baaaad,” I said, raising my hands and pretending to shoot him.

  He put his hand to his heart. “You got me,” he said. He leaned precariously to the side, then took off around the house.

  LATER THAT WEEK, RICHARD TOOK me to the hardware store so he could buy material to fix the leaking bathroom faucet. While he searched the aisles for washers and caulking, I pinched a box of nails. At the drug store a few days later, I slipped a pack of gum into my pocket. I stole a small bag of fancy dates from the shop at the date farm, and when I was paying for my milkshake, I stole a key ring shaped like a palm tree. The next day, I stole a Snickers bar from the grocery store as Laurel, Malcolm, and I squeezed through the checkout line. The woman at the register looked at me suspiciously but said nothing. My heart beat fast as we walked out of the automatic doors. I expected an alarm to go off, or for the checkout lady to call me back and have me arrested. But nothing happened. In the parking lot, Malcolm steered the cart toward the wrong car until Laurel managed to stop him. Quietly, she negotiated with him as she redirected the cart. I watched them as if they were strangers. The candy bar sat lodged in my pocket like a gun. I was a thief, and no one knew. No one understood who I really was or what I was capable of doing. Somebody looking at me would think I was just a boy with a pregnant mother. He might think I was generously helping her load the bags into the back of the car because I was good. He might admire my patience as I buckled my spastic brother into his seat. He would be wrong.

  That night, I lay in bed listening to the sounds Laurel and Richard made in their bedroom. The fact that they were having sex disgusted and aroused me. Later, Richard came out of the bedroom. I heard the heavy stream of his piss hit the toilet, the gargle and swallow of the flush. The motor on the refrigerator belched as he opened its door. A bottle top clattered across the counter then bounced into the sink. Laurel began to say something, but her words got lost as he closed their door.

  I kept a paper bag beneath my bed. Inside lay the pack of cards, the nails, the key ring, and all the other things I’d stolen. Each night, I stared at these things with detachment. The small rush I’d felt stealing them had faded and could only be replaced by another theft.

&nb
sp; “WHY AREN’T YOU EATING?” LAUREL said one night. In recent weeks, she had begun to eat with such aggressive determination that I could barely stand to look at her. Even Richard made jokes about her appetite. She put a forkful of food into her mouth, scraped it off with her teeth, then chewed, her lips rolling in and out like a cow.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You should eat.” She reached for another slice of bread. Richard held the plate out for her.

  “You’re a skinny one, Ares,” Richard agreed. “We need to put some meat on you.”

  “I’m not the one who’s pregnant,” I said.

  “Just looking out for my baby,” Laurel said.

  “Our baby,” Richard said.

  “Don’t call me a baby,” I said.

  “I’m talking about this baby,” she said, patting her belly.

  I snorted.

  “I guess this is what they call adolescence,” she said, rolling her eyes at Richard.

  “You act like I’m a joke,” I wailed.

  “No we don’t,” she said, smiling slyly at Richard. “Richard, tell him we don’t think he’s a joke.”

  “He’s dead serious as far as I’m concerned,” he said.

  “See?” I said.

  “No. I’m sorry,” she said, trying to control her laughter.

  “I’m not some statistic.”

  “You’re right, baby.” She grabbed a tangerine from the bowl in the middle of the table, bit into the skin, and sucked out the juice, some of which spilled over her chin.

  “Mom! You’re disgusting!”

  Richard’s smile dropped and he grabbed my arm. “Do not talk to your mother that way, you hear?” he said.

  I looked at Laurel, but she said nothing in my defense.

  “Do you hear me?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He let go of my arm. “There’s something called respect. Go to your room.”

  “What?” I was stunned. Laurel had never sent me to my room before. “I don’t have a room.”

  “Don’t be smart.”

  “Do what he says, Ares,” Laurel said.