View Finder

by Greg Jolley

  I hit my knees.

  He cocked his fist to knock me lower.

  Heidi pulled one of the triggers.

  After sliding the barrel from her mouth and aiming it at Father’s face.

  FATHER’S BLOOD and hat and hair and brains splattered against the top edge of the grave. The fresh snow and the draped, white linens were splashed with his blood.

  “Boy,” Heidi said, her voice shaking, “save this.” She kicked Father’s briefcase across to me in the wet muck.

  I watched her struggle to climb out of the hole, hands trembling, but determined. After a slip, she clawed her way up and out and stood there in her filthy dress.

  “I’m gonna go change.” Her head was swinging wildly side to side. “Clean myself up. You get to work.”

  “What?”

  “Fill the grave, dimwit.”

  I climbed out and took up the shovel. Father had been blown back and lay with one knee up. I paused, staring at what remained of him. And the end of my torment.

  The first shovel of dirt landed on his missing face and ripped-open throat.

  The second shovelful covered more of that bloody mess and reminder. After that, I went to work in earnest.

  I was nearly done filling the grave when Heidi came out and took down the lighting panels and boxed up the extinguished lanterns. Fifteen minutes later, we stood side by side. She was studying my handiwork. I was watching falling snow covering the mound.

  “Where’s the briefcase?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “With Father.”

  “You moron. Dig it out. We need cash.”

  I turned to her. Clean clothed, fresh makeup, but looking and sounding twitchy.

  “I took some.” I hoped that would help.

  “How much?” her teeth chattered.

  “Three packets.”

  “Hmm.” She breathed deeply. “That should do. Give ’em to me.”

  I gave the packets to her, and they went inside her purse. Earlier, I had pocketed one for myself.

  Heidi told me to unplug the borrowed electricity, and I did.

  “I would have liked to see his eyes before the end,” I said to her.

  “Your father’s? They were full of disappointment. And surprise.”

  “No. The boy’s.”

  “Who? What boy?”

  “Like Father says. Said. No matter.”

  Heidi gripped her purse close, and I shouldered my satchel, and we closed up the cottage and walked out to the snow-covered automobile.

  Scene 4

  We entered the Grand Belle Tower Hotel at 2:00 a.m. Crossing the clean, warm lobby, I was keenly aware of my filthy clothing. In particular, my mud-caked shoes on the gold carpeting. The soft-spoken woman at the registration desk paid no mind to my appearance. Heidi selected the suggested parlor suite and paid cash up front.

  I kicked off my shoes just inside the door to our suite, and Heidi walked to the second room, leaving crusts of snow and dirt and discarded clothing in her wake. When she stopped at the foot of the bed, she was naked to her undies and carrying her purse in one hand. I sat on the carpet instead of muddying up a chair or the couch. I was getting one of the bad headaches like I had on the train.

  The misting sound of Heidi’s shower was interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened it to a sleepy, ferret-faced man in a Belle Tower vest who went into the bedroom and turned down the single large bed. He came into the front room and lit the fireplace with wooden matches from the mantel. I got up from the carpet and offered him a tip from my cash packet. He refused it, smiled, and left.

  I saw Heidi fresh from the shower and naked for the second time in a handful of days. She had a towel wrapped around her hair and sat on the couch, facing the fire. She picked up the telephone receiver from the end table. I went into the bedroom and retrieved one of the two folded robes from the foot of the bed and brought it to her. She stood and stretched backward while talking on the phone. I listened to her ask the front desk about purchasing clothes—it seemed that the hour of the night was a problem.

  She hung up, pulled on the robe, and sat on the couch and looked to me.

  “Boy. Push your eyeballs back in and go clean yourself up. I’ll see if the kitchen is open.”

  I headed off to bathe while she placed the second call.

  I took my time in the shower tub. I watched dirt slide from my skin and form a swirling pool of brown water at the drain hole. Warm water on my face seemed to help reduce the headache. Swimming clouds of dried and dissolved blood were swirling around my feet. I realized I had been splattered when Father was killed. I briefly wondered if the night clerk had called the police. Then I found the soap bar and that question dissolved as I washed my face.

  When I left the bathroom, I pulled on the second robe and gathered up my clothing and pushed them inside a laundry bag. I followed the path of Heidi’s clothing.

  She was seated at the dining cart that had been wheeled in during my absence. There was enough food and drinks for five on the nicely set table, and I realized how hungry I was. We sat across from each other and started in on the selection of breakfast and dinner entrees.

  “He’d been hunting for one like me,” she said as she took a sip of coffee.

  I set my fork down.

  “Hunting?” I asked.

  “I need a hand to hold, to take along.” She did a fair imitation of his gruff voice. “You’ve got nothing to live for.”

  “That isn’t true, right?” I asked.

  “He thought so. My profession. The drugs.”

  I looked straight across the table wishing I could again see people’s eyes—her eyes. There was nothing but blurring above her attractive nose.

  “He only got three things wrong,” she continued.

  “Yes?”

  “One, thinking my life was worthless. Two, believing if I were going to heaven, I’d go with him.”

  “And?”

  “Handing me the shotgun.”

  WE FINISHED the meal in silence. The clock on the mantle read 4:00 a.m. Heidi told me to get rid of the table, and I wheeled it out into the hall. I came back inside and saw that she had left the front room, and the bedroom door was closed. I found a blanket in the short hall closet and lay on the couch. I watched the fire and felt the headache dissolving as I melted toward sleep.

  I was about to close my eyes when Heidi called out, “Boy. How old are you?”

  I sat up and turned to the bedroom door.

  “Fifteen,” I called back to her.

  “Come here. I want to taste you.”

  Scene 5

  When I woke, the bedroom windows were bright with midday light. Heidi was gone from the bed, and while I couldn’t hear her voice, I did hear the rustling of paper and cardboard. I found my robe entangled in the bedding and pulled it on and went out to the front room. Heidi was standing in front of the couch before a row of shopping bags and shoeboxes. She had pulled on undies and a bra.

  “Your pile’s over there,” she told me, not turning, but pointing to the loveseat to the side.

  Half awake, I was swirling with images of her body and what we had done in that big bed.

  Her back remained to me.

  “Get with it, boy,” she instructed.

  I crossed the carpet and opened clothing bags and boxes searching for underwear first.

  We ate a silent, late lunch in the restaurant downstairs, both of us freshly attired in loose fitting and dark-colored clothes for travel.

  Like Father, Heidi didn’t care that I wasn’t legally old enough to drive. She told me to get the car from the lot and meet her in front of the hotel. When she came out through the lobby doors held open by a man in a Belle Tower vest, she only carried her purse. I assumed she had rented the suite for another night because all our other new clothing was up there. She surprised me by circling the automobile to my door.

  “Scoot,” she told me, and I did.

  Heidi got in behind the wheel and steered us de
eper into Ann Arbor. She stopped once to ask for directions at a service station where she also had the tank filled and the windshield sprayed and wiped.

  “We’re going to sell the car,” she said, applying apple red lipstick and watching the service attendant. “Might as well have it looking good to get the most.”

  I nodded. I was headache free. I didn’t understand how we could sell a hired car. I found it odd that making the auto look good didn’t include washing the hem of dust and mud from all four sides. I didn’t ask.

  The parking lot at the train depot was full of automobiles, but there were only a few travelers to see. Heidi parked at the curb and slid a twenty from a packet in her purse. She handed it to me and said, “Go get us a train schedule. And a newspaper. Maybe there’s something about your mother.”

  It was way too much money for a newspaper, but there weren’t any smaller bills. I climbed the walkway that was shiny and wet with shoveled snow to the sides. I went through the tall glass doors and spotted the ticket booth. The woman behind the counter didn’t raise her mouth or nose but pointed out her window to a box of folded schedules. I took one.

  Like the front of the depot, the interior was empty. High, green glass walls rose three stories before coving to the ceiling. I walked to the snack bar, but it was shuttered and had a sign hanging on the grilled door: “Back at 4:30.”

  To the side was a newspaper box. I bent to look at the headlines and saw that the box was empty.

  I walked back across the lobby full of pale green light and out into the afternoon sky. My satchel was on the curb, and our automobile and Heidi were gone.

  Scene 6

  Under the green window light, I sat on a wooden bench and looked through the train schedule. When the big display clock read 4:15 p.m., a train entered the depot. Within a minute, the cavernous station was filled with footsteps and voices. A crowd of people washed in like a wave that left echoes as the water receded. I recalled the few times Mumm and I had taken an idyllic to the beach, she with her umbrella and me in the surf.

  I had the long, wooden bench all to myself and opened my satchel on it. Unfolding my map of California, I traced the lines of crosses that showed train tracks to the west. I saw that a line neared the town of Greenland within a half-inch. While I was missing maps for the other states across America, I was encouraged. I went to the snack bar and broke the twenty for a candy bar and a bottle of cola. The news box had been restocked. I used the change to buy a newspaper and carried it to my bench.

  Searching page by page, I scanned for Elizabeth Stark, Mumm’s actress name. Her name appeared on the society and gossip page along with a grainy publicity photo. The image was twice as large as the single column article that was titled, “Vanished?”

  The first two paragraphs used the words rumored, speculation, and whispered without any facts, but lots of suggestions, mostly with exclamation marks. The article was suspicious of a studio press release stating that the current film she was on had been halted: “While Ms. Stark crossed the Atlantic to be at her brother’s deathbed.” The paper offered steamy suspicions that wove in her husband’s wild parties and recent brawls and his own disappearance. I was equally suspicious because I knew that Mumm, like me, was an only child. The remainder of the article was a scolding of Hollywood for its decadence and closed with a parable about greed and sin.

  Taking all the coins from my pocket, I crossed the green cavern to the row of phone booths. Sitting down and closing the door, I dialed Ezra’s number. Neither he nor his secretary picked up. The next call was to the mansion. The telephone rang and rang eight or nine times before I ended the call. My third call was to Mumm’s message service.

  The operator knew me by voice and shared that Mumm had seventeen unanswered messages.

  “When she calls in for them, can you ask her to leave me a message?” I asked. “I need to know that she is safe. I’ll call in again in two days.”

  “I sure will, and you ignore the nonsense in the newspapers.”

  Either way, I was headed west. If I received a message from Mumm, I could always change direction.

  I walked to the ticket window and bought passage to the town nearest Greenland. I did so, recalling Mumm’s last words to me, her request: “Go save her.”

  THE SLEEPER compartment had two double seats facing one another under the window and a bed that folded up to the ceiling. There was a short couch that looked like it could be made into a second bed. The door slid open, and a porter introduced himself.

  “Please call me George.” His nose and mouth cringed at the name before he offered a professional smile.

  George showed me the narrow bathroom inside a click-lock door and asked if I had checked any luggage.

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  When he turned to leave, there was a knock on the side of the sliding door. I was sitting on the double seat facing west when a very tall and thin man stepped inside. George referenced a clipboard and introduced Mr. Wysan Grub to me. I noticed that Mr. Grub wore a nice vest similar to mine. He removed his great coat and hung it on a hook. George left, and Mr. Grub turned to me.

  “Looks like we’re sharing the berth. I’m assigned the less expensive upper bed. Call me Wysan, please.”

  I introduced myself and studied his twitchy smile after he closed our door.

  The train departed. An hour later, Wysan Grub and I ate in the dining car at separate tables. He had asked to join me, but a headache was climbing up my neck and into my brain.

  “No, I…” Shaking my head was painful.

  The train rolled deep into the evening. Later, I listened to him struggle to lower the upper bunk and climb up inside. The train made a few stops in the early night and then ran smoothly for hours. I passed the time with my head covered and my teeth clenched. I awoke at sunrise, not certain if I had slept or not.

  Wysan Grub was gone from the compartment most of the day. I alternated between the chair at the window and my bed, napping rather than sleeping. Around sunset, my head had cleared enough to let me eat a meal in the dining car. I found sleep as the sky started to darken.

  The sleeper car rattled and slowed as we entered yet another station. I woke up and raised my head. My bedding and the rest of the compartment were blue with moonlight.

  Wysan Grub stood in front of my bunk. He held a dripping handkerchief in his hand. His belt and pants were undone. When I looked up at his face, he took a step back. I turned on my bunk light and watched him fumble with the damp cloth and his pants and belt.

  “It’s the fever,” he said in a nervous and shaky voice.

  I saw my satchel laying open on the window seat. I climbed out of bed, pushed past him, and grabbed it.

  He continued to babble.

  “My apologies. The fever…”

  He clamored up into his bunk, and I sat against the wall on my bed, the light on, my satchel held close. When he was settled in and had stopped talking, I opened it and did an inventory. Everything was there but had been stirred through. I decided to ring for George and have him get me another compartment.

  I was about to close my satchel and get into my clothes when I saw Ezra’s gift in the bunk light. I pulled on my pants and my shirt before I opened the package.

  Inside was a pair of goggles with a complex of lenses and little levers.

  I ignored Mr. Grub. He had restarted his apologetic chatter. Dealing with him had to wait.

  I pulled the goggles on.

  The world changed.

  The view was crisp and immersive, and the compartment was displayed in wondrous layers of 3D. I was looking into a world of hyperrealism—the same vision that Mumm’s and my View-Masters provided. I felt my senses expanding, and I tasted a strength, a surety, I had never known. I studied my fingertips in the bunk light. When I exhaled, the world absorbed and embraced my breath. I panned left to right, back and forth, very slowly
, my hands touching everything, even the fine details that were out of reach. I felt myself, my world, take on a true and meaningful depth.

  I marveled at the changes as I stood up. The amazing solid compartment door opened to the view up the hallway. I walked slowly, panning, absorbing the world. No, my world. I walked to the big door at the end of the hall and opened it to wind and cold that I could see as much as feel. Stepping out on the connecting walkway, I looked into the passing countryside. If my life were a puzzle before, it was now complete, and I felt a power, something like being welcomed home.

  I stood on the landing watching the chaotic wind and the countryside—a distant rise of hills that I brushed with my fingertips. I didn’t hear the door open behind me, and when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I ignored it. I assumed it was George wanting to guide me back inside.

  Instead of George, I heard Wysan Grub’s voice. “It’s freezing, but quite the view.”

  He was attempting pleasantries. I heard the words and saw the undertones. The pretentious chatter was masking his true intentions.

  He stepped beside me and nudged my shoulder.

  “Crossing the Colorado River!” he yelled into the icy wind.

  I ignored that. In my new world, I felt a raw and new decisiveness. And strength.

  He turned his face and grinned at me.

  And I saw his eyes.

  I was able to see eyes again.

  His were those of a nervous and deranged wildcat. A predator. A hungry one.

  “Watch your footing!” he shouted as he stepped to the rail.

  He had that damp rag in his hand again.

  In no way did he resemble Father physically, but I saw they shared the same cruel mind and dead-heartedness.

  I stepped back on the landing and over behind him.

  I believe it was my first taste of rage.

  My palms struck him full force in the lower back.