Windchill Summer

by Norris Church Mailer

  Bean’s old man had passed out and his mother was watching TV and eating popcorn when Carlene and Tripp came in, so the three of them left her glued to the set and went out behind the house to the shed, sat on the broken-down tractor, and passed around a joint while Bean and Tripp got acquainted. Before long, they seemed like old buddies. Carlene took a few more tokes while she listened to them speak as if in a foreign language about Vietnam, then she started to crash.

  “Y’all, I’m sorry, but I can’t take any more of this. I got to get home. I’m exhausted. Mama has to go to work in the morning, and I have to get up and take care of Kevin.”

  “Don’t go yet, Carlene. I’d like to give you a little present. You guys are the greatest friends I could have met here. You make me feel right at home, and I’d like to do something nice for you.”

  “What kind of a present?” Carlene asked. “You don’t have to give me a present. You’re a great guy, too, Tripp, and I’m happy to help you out any way I can.”

  Tripp pulled out a bottle of Visine eyedrops.

  “Here in this little bottle is a piece of heaven—the ticket for the most wonderful trip you will ever take. I’d like to share it with my two new best friends.”

  “What is it, Barlow?”

  “My friend, it is acid. Moondust and magic.”

  “Thanks but no thanks, Tripp. Pot is more than enough for me,” Carlene said. “It’s been fun, boys, and I hate to be a party pooper, but I need to get going. You coming, Tripp?”

  “Why don’t you stay, Barlow?” Bean said. “I can take you down. I got to go back to my apartment anyhow.”

  “Okay. Sure. Better than hanging out by myself at the Ramada smelling the beer somebody spilled. Right, Carlene?”

  “Anything’s better than that.” She climbed down off the tractor, got her purse, and started across the yard to her truck. “Y’all be good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’ll see you, Tripp. If you need me to, call me tomorrow and I’ll go with you out to the pickle plant to see about a job.”

  And she left them as Tripp put a drop of acid on Bean’s tongue.

  —

  Carlene was still feeling rosy from the pot and all her Hollywood plans when she neared the turnoff to the Water Witch and a Honda motorcycle shot out in front of her and headed down the lake road. There was a young girl on it, black hair flying, and for a minute Carlene thought it was Baby, then realized it was her little sister, Pilar. With a jolt, it hit her that it must have been Pilar’s motorcycle she saw down at Frank’s houseboat. The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen, if she was even that. It felt like all the blood drained out of her face, and Carlene turned the truck down the road and headed toward the Water Witch.

  Carlene didn’t know what she was going to do, but she had to confront Frank. She felt sick to her stomach, and wished she hadn’t smoked so much—her brain seemed to be working in slow motion. Maybe she shouldn’t confront him at all. Maybe she should just never mention it and never see him again. But she couldn’t do that. It was Baby’s little sister, and even if Pilar was a willing partner, she was still way too young. With sudden clarity, like on the day her daddy died, she saw the young girl she used to be lying in the dirt behind her trailer, the last of her childhood wrenched away from her. She couldn’t let that happen to Baby’s sister. Not by her own boyfriend. No, she couldn’t let it go, even until morning.

  Carlene drove nearly to the restaurant, then pulled the truck into a turnaround off the road, killed the motor, and walked the last several yards toward the houseboat. She didn’t want to give Frank any warning.

  The lights were on, and she saw Frank through the window. He was sitting at the table with rows of pictures spread out. He looked up as he heard footsteps cross the gangplank, but before he could do anything, she had opened the door and come inside.

  “Carlene! Honey, what are you doing here this late?” He tried to slide the pictures into a stack, but there were too many. He left them and stood up, then noticed her distraught face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You tell me if something is the matter, Frank. I just saw a fourteen-year-old girl leave here.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you thought you saw, but there was no girl here. I’ve been alone all evening.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Frank. I’m not as ignorant as you think I am. What are those pictures of?”

  She crossed the room toward the table. Frank caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

  “Those pictures have nothing to do with you. I think you’re all upset over nothing, and maybe you should go home. We can talk in the morning when you feel better.”

  She jerked her arm free, moved quickly to the table, and picked up a stack of pictures. They were all like the ones they had taken, but they were not of her. She felt hot with shock. There were dozens of girls. Among them was Pilar. She held one of her up.

  “So there was no girl here? This is the one I saw, and I know for a fact that she is not even fifteen.” Her voice shook.

  “Okay, Carlene. So I’m not a saint. You wanted to catch me and you did. But that girl is eighteen. Oriental girls just look young.”

  “I ought to know how old she is. That’s Baby’s little sister. You remember Baby. You met her at a banquet. Don’t think I didn’t see you talk to her that night and try to put the moves on her.”

  “I never had anything to do with Baby.”

  “That’s because she wouldn’t have anything to do with you. Oh God. I wish I had never met you.”

  She took off the diamond ring shaped like a leaf and threw it at him.

  “Here’s your ring. I’ll give you back every cent you gave me, and you give me my pictures. I have it all. I didn’t spend a penny.”

  “Carlene, be sensible. Let’s talk about this, honey.” He had the smarmy tone of a man trying to talk to an idiot child.

  “And you leave Pilar alone or I will tell the police. I swear I will.”

  He stopped trying to placate her. His voice was like ice. “I don’t think you better do that. The judge is a friend of mine. In fact, he was more than fond of your pictures.”

  “You showed Judge Greer my pictures?”

  “I showed a lot of people your pictures. They are some of my bestsellers. You don’t have to be ashamed. You have a beautiful body.”

  “You sellthese pictures? Is that where you get all your money?”

  “Carlene, don’t be so naive. It’s no worse than Playboymagazine. Maybe I didn’t treat you right and let you in on what was happening, but I thought it would be better if you didn’t know. I was going to tell you eventually, and I was sharing the money with you, wasn’t I? Ask your girlfriends. They think it’s a good way to make a lot of money. You didn’t mind taking your share of the profits. And the films are worth a lot more. Stop and think about it, honey. It could be a gold mine for you as well as me.”

  She was horrified. He wasn’t even sorry. He expected her to say, “You’re right, let’s take some more pictures.”

  She slapped his face, then burst into tears and ran out the door, into the night.

  61.Bean

  Bean dropped Tripp off at the Ramada. It seemed like the acid wasn’t going to hit, and it had been a long day. He had made a point of staying away from acid in Nam, because it was such an unpredictable drug. He knew every little nerve in his body that pot smoothed away, and it was a familiar old friend, but he had seen too many guys strung out on acid and unable to function, sometimes for days at a time. He needed his senses. Even so, he had always been curious about it. Now that he had taken some, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Maybe he was immune to it or something, but nothing was happening. Nothing at all.

  Barlow, on the other hand, was off in some kind of la-la land. His eyes were glassy, and he had a hard time forming words. It was better to put him to bed and talk about it later.

  “See you tomorrow, Barlow. I’ll be by in the afternoon to pick you up and go with you over to th
e pickle plant. Okay? Hear me? We’ll call Carlene and tell her she doesn’t need to take you. You ought not to have any trouble getting on the night shift. Barlow? You listening, buddy?”

  “Sure. Yes. Thanks, buddy. Buddy, buddy. Pickle plant. I know.”

  Bean took off down Route 66 and decided to drive around a little and clear his head. He had been sleepy before, but now all of a sudden he was wide awake. He rolled down the windows. He wasn’t feeling so good. He had a headache, and his vision was doing strange things. Lights coming at him on the road from passing cars were so bright that he had to hold his hand in front of his eyes to keep them from splitting his head open. It seemed like there were animals looking at him from the side of the road. His heart was pumping hard, and he started to sweat. Big drops ran down his face and under his collar. His shirt felt soaked.

  He turned down the road that went out by the lake, and a girl in purple pajamas, on a motorcycle, went around him, her long black hair flying. It was Nguyen. Wait a minute. Wasn’t Nguyen dead? No, she couldn’t be if she was here. She must have been pretending. Those Viet Cong are crafty, pretending to be dead when they really weren’t, waiting for you to come up to them. Then they would raise up and blast you. You never took for granted that a VC was dead. Now here Nguyen was, alive and going to her tunnel, to wait for him in the dark. He must have taken a wrong turn back there on the road. He must have taken a wrong turn and wound up in Vietnam.

  The trees along the road waved to him, beckoning as if they were alive. They reached out their long fingers as he passed and touched his elbow, propped up in the open window. Graceful, long fingers of the jungle trees caressed his arm. They were evil, those trees, hiding Viet Cong snipers in their branches. Bean looked for Nguyen, but she had disappeared. Gone down her tunnel to wait for him; gone to set a trap with a poison snake; a viper that would fall out of a bamboo tube and land on his head, curl around his neck and sink its fangs deep into his flesh. A quarter-step snake, they called it, since after it bit you, you only had time to take a quarter of a step before you fell down dead.

  No, wait a minute. Nguyen wasn’t down in her tunnel. Not yet. She was right here, walking down the side of the road. She had changed her clothes and tried to disguise herself, but it was her, all right. He pulled up beside her and opened the door.

  “Get in. I’ve been looking for you.”

  62.Carlene

  Carlene was walking back to where she had parked in the turn-around when Bean’s truck pulled up beside her. She didn’t know why he was there or why he had been looking for her, but it occurred to her that he was just the person she needed to see. He could help her figure out how to tell Baby about Pilar, and then together they could decide what to do. She got in beside him, and he took off. She could come back and get her truck later.

  “Oh, Bean, it’s so good you came by. I just found out something horrible, and you need to hear about it so you can help me tell Baby. I don’t know what to do or where to turn. It’s about Pilar.”

  Bean was looking at her with a funny light in his eyes. “Are you on your way to the tunnel?” he asked.

  “What tunnel? Bean, are you all right? Come on now, I need for you to focus. Listen to me. Something awful is happening, and I’ve accidentally been a part of it. There’s a man out here, an older man, and he’s been using Baby’s little sister . . . Bean? What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Nguyen was saying something in Vietnamese, but Bean couldn’t tell what it was. Her voice sounded like chirping crickets. He had never noticed it before, but her voice was orange. She was probably lying to him, like she always did, telling him he was her GI number one when she was really plotting to kill him. Plotting to take his baby and kill it and kill him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the baby, Nguyen? Why didn’t you have the guts to come out and tell me what you were instead of going off like that without a word? You and Charlie must have had a good laugh about what a fool I was, didn’t you?”

  “Bean? You’re scaring me. Who is Noy-yen? What are you talking about? Bean?”

  Bean slumped down, and the truck lurched from one side of the road to the other. Carlene grabbed the wheel to keep it from going in the ditch, and the glove compartment door fell open. In the dim light, Carlene saw a gun. She slammed the door shut and shook Bean’s arm. He pushed her arm away, hard, then he shook his head, as if he had water in his ears, and took the wheel.

  He must be losing it on the drugs, she thought. She had to get out of the truck. He was clearly out of his mind, and she didn’t want him to grab that gun.

  “I need to get out here, Bean. Just stop and let me out right here. We can talk in the morning. I mean it now, Bean. Stop the truck!”

  Instead, in a panic, he floored the gas pedal. The jungle was closing in tighter now, the trees reaching out to grab him. There was a whole company of Viet Cong hiding in the trees, shooting at him. But he had Nguyen. She would be his hostage, his ticket out of there. He had to get to safety. He had to get to his tunnel. He’d be safe in his own tunnel.

  He started up the mountain road.

  Carlene was getting more and more scared, but there was no way she could jump out while the truck was going so fast. As soon as Bean slowed down enough, she would jump. She clung to the door handle and waited for her chance.

  —

  The truck never slowed down until Bean pulled up into his yard. Before the wheels stopped turning, Carlene opened the door and ran toward the house. Bean jumped out the other side and grabbed her. She twisted, pulled loose, and ran back to the truck; wrenched open the door and took the gun from the glove compartment. She turned to point it at him but fell before she got the chance. She never saw the blow. He hit her on the neck with the side of his hand, like they had taught him in the army; the chop silenced her.

  She fell hard, like a sack of salt. He kneeled down beside her, picked up her hand. It was lifeless. He entwined his fingers with hers, but her hand didn’t grasp them. Her fingers stuck out straight between his, like sausages. He kissed the fingers, rubbed them on his chin, then rocked back and forth, cradling her limp arm like a baby. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Why did you try to kill me, Nguyen? I never did anything but love you. Why did you cut me with that knife? Why did you take away my baby?”

  After a moment, he shoved the gun into his pocket, picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and set off through the woods to his tunnel. He would be safe there.

  63.Cherry

  “Just hang on, buddy. We’ll have you out of there soon.” Bean called out, then he turned to me. “Talk to him, Cherry, and I’ll be back in a while with the tools. You can get farther down the tunnel to where he is. Just lay on your stomach, pull with your elbows, and push with your toes.”

  “You’re just going to leave me down here by myself with him? What if my light goes out? I’ll never find my way out of here again!” I tried not to let on that I was about to panic, but I was.

  “I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

  I guess it hadn’t hit me that Bean would leave so soon without me, but he did, and I was alone with Tripp. He was wedged in a narrow passage-way, and I couldn’t see myself pushing with my toes and pulling with my elbows to get down in it. I did scoot along far enough to beam the light down, though, and saw the top of his head and his arms and shoulders. He looked like he was probably in a cramp.

  “Tripp, it’s me, Cherry. Are you all right? Tripp? Can you hear me?”

  “I can hear you, Cherry. I’m okay.” His voice sounded weak and strained; papery and dry.

  “You don’t sound okay.”

  “I think my leg is broken. It’s jammed between two rocks and I don’t have any feeling in it. My foot is way swollen. Do you have any water?”

  “No. But Bean has gone to get some tools and stuff. You’ll be out soon.”

  “I need a drink bad. My throat feels like cotton. I think there is a pool somewhere down here. Can you get me
some water?”

  There was the pool we had passed, back a ways. Maybe I could get some water out of that, but it couldn’t be very clean, with the blind fish swimming around in it and bats flying over it and pooping their guano. And I didn’t have anything to put water in. But he needed it. I had to try.

  “Tripp honey? I’ll try to get you some water. Hang on.”

  I went slow, memorizing the rocks and the turns I took to get back to the pool. It wasn’t all that far, but there was still the problem of what to put the water in. I squatted by the edge and dipped my hand in the pool. It was freezing. I scooped a little into my mouth, and it didn’t taste too bad. It was good and clear. I hoped it wouldn’t make us sick.

  I looked around, but there was just nothing that would hold water. Nothing but my shoe. Thank goodness it was so big. Even so, it was a lace-up, and the water would probably leak out of the holes. But it was all I had, so I filled it up. By the time I carried the shoe of water back, trying to hold the flashlight steady, and scooted down to where he could reach it, there wasn’t more than a swallow or two left in it.

  “Oh my God. That is the best-tasting water I ever drank. Can I have more?”

  I limped back with one bare foot and filled the shoe again. At this rate, it would take ten trips to get him a good drink, but at least I knew the way.

  Finally, he said he’d had enough. I sat down by the opening to where he was and rested. The sock of my panty hose was torn all to pieces, and my foot was cold as ice. It wouldn’t help to put it into the soggy shoe, though, so I rubbed it and tried to warm it up. My knees were still oozing, and they hurt every time I moved. I had to keep up my spirits for Tripp, but I felt like crying. I wanted to get out of there.