The Park Service 01: The Park Service

by Ryan Winfield

“Hannah.”

  “Who ya talkin’ to?” Jimmy asks, wobbling beneath me.

  “Hannah’s a funny name for a girl,” I say.

  “No, it’s not,” she says. “Besides, what would you know about girls, anyway?”

  “I know plenty.”

  “Well, you can’t know that much,” she says, “because you don’t know enough to use the door right beside you.”

  “Aubrey,” Jimmy says, almost yelling now.

  “People don’t build walls as an invitation for guests.”

  She laughs, her face even more beautiful when she does. “So you’re telling me you think they build them to invite boys to peek over?”

  “Aubrey! Who ya talkin’ to?”

  “I’m not a boy.”

  “Well, whatever,” she says. “The wall’s to keep the flowers in, not to keep anything out. The door isn’t locked.”

  She disappears behind the wall again as Jimmy lowers me. I step down and he crosses his arms and rubs his shoulders and glares at me with his face bright red.

  “What the hell, Aubrey,” he says, “dun’ ya listen? Who was ya talkin’ to in there?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  We each grab an iron handle and swing the doors open, soundless on their oiled hinges. Hannah stands just inside the courtyard with the posture of some dignitary doing her duty and receiving guests well beneath her station.

  “Welcome to the Lake House at Malthusai,” she says.

  She turns and walks into the courtyard. Jimmy and I follow without a word. She leads us to a shaded patio overlooking the lake, sweeping her arms toward a large iron table indicating that we should sit, and lowering herself into a chair without waiting.

  The heavy chairs are cushioned with thick fabric, and after months of river boulders and fallen trees for furniture, it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever sat in. The table has seats for six, but only Hannah’s place is set with plates of fine china, a saucer and cup, a crystal glass, and silver flatware.

  She lifts a small golden bell and rings it, and almost before she sets it down again, a woman steps from the house carrying a tray. The woman stops when she sees us, her apron swinging away from her waist and settling again, the ice rattling in its metal pitcher. She turns and disappears back into the house.

  I look at Jimmy, Jimmy looks at me, and then we both swivel our heads back to Hannah.

  Shortly, the woman reappears carrying a larger tray and she sets place settings to match Hannah’s in front of us. She turns our cups over and fills them with steaming tea from an iron pot, and she fills our glasses with ice water from the pitcher. She pauses to look at Junior in my arms. She reaches to pet him, but pulls her hand away and walks back into the house.

  When she comes out again, her tray is loaded with food. She sets out a basket of breads. Wood bowls filled with fruit—strawberries, raspberries, oranges, and even mangos. She lifts the steaming lid from a dish of boiled potatoes and asparagus. She sets down pancakes and maple syrup, toast spread with avocado, and a bowl of sliced bananas. On the grass beside the table, she sets a bowl of water and another of fruit and granola. Junior is already squirming in my arms for the food, and when I set him on the grass, he makes for the bowl and buries his little face in it, eating. The woman bows slightly and retreats into the house leaving the three of us alone with our feast.

  “Don’t be shy,” Hannah says.

  Jimmy and I look at one another and then we reach for the food and begin to eat without even pausing to put anything on our plates. Our flatware and linens remain untouched as we stuff muffins and bread and fruit into our mouths, chewing and swallowing it before it can be taken away. Hannah sits across from us, sipping her tea and watching with a smile on her face.

  The crystal water glass is heavy and cool in my hand and the water tastes deliciously strange after drinking from rivers and streams. I watch Hannah drizzle honey in her tea, stirring it with a tiny spoon. I try to copy her, but I gulp the steaming tea, scald my tongue, and spit it out. She laughs. I eat on.

  Fruit, pastries, nuts. Jimmy eats pancakes with his hands, folding them and stuffing them in his mouth. I scoop potatoes and asparagus onto my plate and lift my heavy flatware, but it’s been so long since I’ve used any that I knock the fork against my teeth. We devour nearly everything before us and then the woman comes from the house with even more.

  And we eat more.

  When I finally push my plate away and rest my hands on my belly and look down, Junior is laid on his side next to his empty dish and breathing heavily with his tongue lolling out. Jimmy finishes eating also, and then the woman reappears and refills our tea, refills our water, and carries everything else away and comes back to sweep the crumbs from the table.

  We sit there looking at Hannah as if we’ve just sat down, no evidence left at all of the feast we just ate except our swollen bellies and our drooping eyes.

  “It’s nice to have company for breakfast,” she says.

  “What is this place?” Jimmy asks.

  “It’s my home,” she says. “What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy and Aubrey. And what’s the pup’s name?”

  “Junior,” I say. “Do you get many guests?”

  “No,” she says, “never.”

  She sips her tea and smiles at us.

  Jimmy picks his teeth, I look around.

  “Father won’t be happy about the pup,” she says, after a long silence. “We’re not supposed to have pets here.”

  “You live here with your father?”

  “And my mother,” she says. “They’re off touring, but they should be back tomorrow morning. That was you watching me play tennis this morning, wasn’t it?”

  I blush and turn away from her. I see Jimmy narrow his eyes at me, realizing I lied.

  “Where did you two come from?” she asks.

  Jimmy nods toward the forest and the mountain beyond.

  “Shut up,” she says, setting her teacup down. “You guys crossed the mountains? Have you seen the ocean? I long to see the ocean. I dream about it even. But Daddy says I’m too young to tour yet. Tell me about the ocean.”

  Jimmy and I start to talk at the same time and stop.

  Hannah’s eyes dart back and forth between us, and I jump in and keep talking and her eyes settle on me.

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “You have to see it. The water’s as blue as you can imagine and it moves with a life of its own.”

  “Is it big?” she asks, leaning forward, her eyes wide.

  “Is it big? I’ll tell you, you can see the Earth curve away at the horizon. In the evening, the sun slips into it, and sometimes there’s a blast of after light that sets the whole sky on fire.”

  “Ya can drown in it, too,” Jimmy says. “Or get yerself cut to pieces by the Park Service.”

  “Well, then …,” she says, picking up her cup and tossing the last of her tea into the grass. “You two look like you could use some rest. Let’s see if Gloria’s set your rooms, shall we?”

  She stands without waiting for an answer.

  Jimmy and I slide our heavy chairs out and follow her to the house. I turn back for Junior, but Hannah waves me along and says she’ll have Gloria fix him a comfortable place.

  Inside the house is cool. The floors are laid with polished tiles, the walls plastered, the ceilings boxed with timbers. Fresh flowers spring from vases everywhere, and the whole place smells of lavender and pine. She walks us past a study with a fireplace you could stand in, walls of books to the ceiling, and a ladder on wheels with which to reach them. The halls are hung with art, and alcoves display exotic marble statues that watch us pass with dreamy, frozen stares.

  Hannah stops in front of an open door.

  “Why don’t we give you the green room, Aubrey? That’s the bath there,” she says, pointing across the room to another door left ajar and from which a shaft of white light runs across the floor and climbs the opposite wall. “You’ll fi
nd everything you need in there. I’ll have Gloria see what clothes Daddy can spare. Come with me, Jimmy, we’ll give you the blue room.”

  She pulls the door shut, leaving me standing there alone, taking in the room. Soft light filters in through a high window and lands on an enormous bed turned down with cotton sheets and a green comforter. I walk to the bed and sit—the mattress is soft and springy. The rest of the room is simple. Two lamps. A chest of drawers against one wall, a wood wardrobe against the other. The walls are papered green and inlaid with pictures of yellow birds frozen in flight.

  Who made all this stuff, I wonder.

  The room is quiet, too quiet. It feels strange to be alone, to be away from Jimmy after all this time. I consider going to find him, but I decide to check out the bathroom instead.

  White tile floors, a white clawfoot tub with silver plumbing hanging from it like jewelry. I turn the tap and hot water pours from the waterfall spout. Ah, to have running water again. As the tub fills, I remove my father’s pipe from my neck and set it on the counter, strip off my filthy furs, my homemade shoes, and stand in front of the full length mirror.

  I don’t even recognize myself, and I like it.

  Other than glimpses in rivers or streams here and there, I haven’t seen my reflection since leaving Holocene II. I’m taller than I was then and my shoulders are wider, my muscles more developed. My skin is tan, my hands calloused and roped with veins. And my shaggy hair hangs almost to my shoulders and it reminds me of Jimmy’s.

  The steam from the filling tub climbs up the mirror like some fog from the past and my reflection is covered up until just my eyes float there looking back. And then they too recede and leave me looking at nothing but foggy glass.

  The water’s hot. I grip the tub edges and lower myself in, sitting still to keep from burning. I feel the heat leach away the dirt and grime, the aches and pains. When the water cools, I reach for a bar of soap and scrub. The water turns so dark with dirt that I have to drain it and then fill it again.

  Wrapping myself in an enormous soft towel, I step from the tub and search the countertops until I find a toothbrush and some paste. I’ve done my best with moss and pieces of fur to keep my teeth clean, but the brush takes off layers of grime and leaves them feeling fresh and smooth against my tongue. I find scissors and cut my nails. The clippings are long and dark and they pile on the counter like dead insects.

  Back in the room, I find clothes folded neatly at the edge of the bed. On top of the clothes, written in beautiful script on pink stationery is a note that reads:

  TAKE A NAP IF YOU’D LIKE ONE. SUPPER WILL BE SERVED ON THE TERRACE AT DUSK.

  There’s a soft tap on the bedroom door. My heart jumps, thinking maybe it’s Hannah. I wrap the towel around my waist, puff out my chest, and open the door. Jimmy’s standing there.

  “Hey, Jimmy. What’s up?”

  He hands me a note.

  “What’s this say?”

  “It just says we’re having dinner on the terrace.”

  “Oh,” he says, nodding. “Ya look different.”

  “I took a bath. You should too, it feels great.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m gonna rest,” I say, feeling very drowsy now.

  “Sure,” he says. “Okay, I’ll see ya for dinner then.”

  As soon as I shut the door, there’s another knock.

  “What is it, Jimmy?” I ask, opening it again.

  “I gotta go.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “No, I gotta go shishi.”

  “Oh,” I say, chuckling. “Just use the toilet.”

  “Which one’s the toilet?”

  I invite him in and show him the toilet and how to flush it. He nods, seeming to understand, but looking uncomfortable.

  “How do ya know all this stuff?” he asks.

  “I grew up with plumbing.”

  “So ya’ll jus’ shishi in yer houses?”

  “Guess I never thought of it like that,” I say, shaking my head as I walk him to the door and see him out.

  The bedding smells of lavender, the pillows smell of pine, and the sheets are warmed from the sun filtering into the quiet room. I’m comfortably full, I’m clean. I feel as if I’m floating in some fantastic fantasy as I close my eyes and picture Hannah’s flowing red hair and her perfect angel face.

  I fall asleep and I do not dream.

  CHAPTER 24

  My Sweet, Sweet Hannah

  I stir, turn.

  The light is gone from the window—

  Oh, no, I overslept!

  I jump out of bed and flick on the lamp.

  The linen slacks are a little too big, but I cinch them with the belt and roll the cuffs to make them fit. I pull on the shirt, slip on the fabric sandals. Then I hang my father’s pipe around my neck and comb my fingers through my long hair and pull it away from face. I feel entirely new and civilized as I step from the room and make my way through the house to the terrace.

  I find her sitting alone on a wicker chair beside a stone fire pit, holding Junior in her lap, stroking his fur and looking out across the lake. She wears a simple green dress that’s striking against her red hair. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as she looks sitting there.

  She hears me step up and nods to a chair. The fire pit must be fueled with gas because flames rise out of nothing but white sand and seesaw at the air in a light breeze coming off the lake.

  “It’s not good to take animals from their environment,” she says, looking at Junior in her lap. “This little guy should be out there with his mother.”

  “His mother got eaten,” I say.

  “Still,” she says, frowning slightly, “there’s a natural order to things. Whatever ate his mother was fulfilling its role. Who are we to step in and save this one from the same fate?”

  “We ate his mother,” I say.

  “Oh,” she says, straightening up and setting Junior on the ground quite suddenly. “You ate meat?”

  “Yes. We ate meat.”

  “What was it like?”

  “You’ve never eaten meat?”

  “No,” she says, holding her hand to her heart as if her honor has been offended. “We’re vegans.”

  “Well, I was raised vegan, too. I hadn’t ever eaten meat until … well, until I met Jimmy.”

  Almost as if I’d called him forth by mentioning his name, Jimmy steps from the house and onto the terrace. His feet are bare, his pants bunched around his waist, the legs rolled up to his knees. His shirt is unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. He looks very out of place here. He joins us at the fire pit and lowers himself slowly into a seat across from me.

  “You both look rested,” Hannah says. “Almost human.”

  Jimmy looks furtively around as if he might be looking for something he lost. Hannah watches him for a while, her eyes curious, her head cocked. Then she turns to me and says:

  “Do you play tennis?”

  “A little, yeah. I mean, I’m not good or anything, but we had an indoor court where I grew up.”

  “How about you, Jimmy?” she says. “Do you play tennis?”

  Jimmy snaps his head to look at her, his eyes squinted.

  “What do yer parents do?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “All this,” Jimmy says, waving his hand across the estate. “What do yer parents do fer it?”

  Hannah turns to me.

  “His manners are quite savage, aren’t they? I’ll go let Gloria know we’re ready for our supper.”

  She stands, runs her hands along her curves to smooth the wrinkles from her dress, and glides across the terrace to the house, leaving Jimmy and I alone.

  “You don’t have to be mean. I’ll teach you about tennis.”

  “Ha! Yer gonna teach me?” Jimmy says, leaning forward and planting his hands on his knees. “We dunno nothin’ about these people. Nothin’. Who are they? What do they do?”

  “I know she’s been kind enough to take
us in and feed us. She even gave us clothes. The least we can do is be polite.”

  Jimmy shakes his head.

  “You dun’ remember nothin’, do ya? One look at a pretty face and ya forget ever-thin’ we done been through. The cove, the mountains—ever-thin’.”

  I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s just being mean because he’s jealous, just like with his mother. Hannah’s paying more attention to me, and he doesn’t like it. But it’s not my fault.

  “Listen,” I say, “I haven’t forgotten anything. Let’s just go with the flow and see what all this is about.”

  Hannah steps from the house and waves us over to where a mosquito net drapes the table, suspended from an armature, protecting the gorgeous scene spread there. Bowls of fresh fruit and vases of cut flowers. Candles in glass canisters.

  And this time, the table is set for three.

  Jimmy ducks through the netting and sits without waiting at the single place setting across from the other two. I wait for Hannah to take her seat, then I sit next to her.

  The sun has already dipped behind the mountains and the torch flames on the dock appear and disappear in the shadow of puff-white clouds that pass slowly overhead, pastel-looking in dark skies. The lake seems lit with some energy of its own in the lightness of twilight.

  Hannah rings the bell.

  The woman appears again and fills our glasses with water and sweet iced tea. Then she delivers a course of toasted bread spread with a rich herb paste that Hannah says is hemp butter.

  “Thank you, Gloria. This is Aubrey, and this is Jimmy.”

  I take Gloria’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Jimmy ignores her, snatching a piece of bread and eating without waiting, his eyes averted from ours. Junior appears and whines and Jimmy passes him bread beneath the table.

  Next, Gloria bring bowls of creamy tomato soup seasoned with an herb that Hannah says is basil.

  While we eat, Hannah tells us about the lake.

  “It never gets old, looking at this view. You know, this is the deepest lake now in all of America. Well, that’s what Daddy says. He would know. I just can’t wait for you to see it in the spring. All the minerals wash down from the glaciers and the water is so blue you’d swear it wasn’t even real.”