Recovering Charles

by Jason F. Wright

  “Friend who’s a girl.”

  “Hmm. She’s pretty.”

  So are you, I thought. “She’s a good friend. Maybe the best I’ve had since grade school. Plus I’ve known her for years so we’re comfortable.”

  I changed the subject with pictures of Bangkok and Vertigo, one of the highest open-air bars and restaurants in the world. “That’s on the sixty-first floor. We ate dinner up there. No roof, almost no rails, fantastic view.”

  Practically right in my ear Bela made sounds and said things that indicated she was very impressed.

  I liked that.

  “Ooooh . . . Those girls were soooo adorable . . . Wow, look at that . . . That was sweet of you . . . You ate up there? Not me . . .”

  For almost an hour I’d completely forgotten why I’d come to New Awlins.

  My cell phone reminded me.

  Fountain Realty

  Always punctual.

  “Get that. I’ve got to take off and say good-bye to Castle anyway.”

  I flipped open the phone. “Hang on, J.” I covered the mouthpiece and looked up at Bela.

  “You need me to walk you home?”

  “I’ll be OK.”

  “You sure? I don’t want Jerome on my case later.”

  “It’s fine. There are still people around downstairs; I’ll find someone to walk me.”

  “All right then. Thanks for listening.”

  “Thanks for talking,” Bela answered. “It was fun, given the circumstances.” She pointed to my camera. “You’re talented, Luke Millward.”

  “Thanks, really, that means a lot.”

  “And buy me one of those some day, would you?” She pointed to my laptop with one hand and slapped my knee with the other as she crossed in front of me and disappeared down the spiral stairs. I waited until I heard conversation from the first floor.

  “Hey, Jordan.”

  “Hey, bud.”

  “You get into my place OK?”

  “Without a wrinkle. The picture of you two is up and everywhere.”

  “Thanks. I hate to ask you to do all this.” I couldn’t have meant it more.

  “Stop it. This is what I’m here for. I’d do this for you—and more—even if we weren’t friends.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Listen to me, you’re going to figure this out. I know it. I have faith in you, Luke. I believe in you.”

  “Thanks, Jordan.” I had to admit the woman always knew exactly what to say.

  “And I miss you.”

  Chapter

  23

  I dreamt someone was shaking me.

  “Luke, get up, son.”

  Someone was shaking me.

  “We got us a boat.”

  I sat up and rubbed sleep and surprise from my eyes. Jerome was standing over me.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Six.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Your dad’s place.”

  “What?”

  “The five-four. Let’s go, son. Get up. We’re waitin’ on the street.”

  I sat up and pulled my shoes out from under the end of the couch. I used the bathroom, splashed water on my face, matted down my hair, and ran back down the hallway and down the stairs.

  “Camera,” I said and scurried back up. I put it in its bag and slung it over my shoulder.

  “Good morning,” Jez greeted me when I walked out of the club and onto the street. Jerome stood next to her. Tater and Hamp were talking to Officer Rostron. Four others I’d seen at the club but not met yet stood to the side and talked quietly. It felt like it was seventy-five degrees already.

  “Morning there.”

  “Hey, Frank,” I answered, curious that he was there but too numb and tired to ask.

  “Jerome tell you?” Jez approached me. She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before. But then so were the rest of us. “We’re going to your dad’s place. Frank found us a flat-bottom boat not spoken for, and Tater and Hamp know some of the Coast Guard and FEMA guys at a staging area on Rampart and Elysian Fields.”

  It suddenly hit me. “You haven’t checked Dad’s place yet?”

  “Yes, they did,” Jez answered. “Early Monday morning, before the levees broke. The house was empty.”

  “You haven’t gone back?” Incredible.

  “Lots of people have been by, Luke, but the house has been empty. Sweetheart, there are still people down there, people who might still know something. That’s why we’re going.” She looked at Jerome. “Plus we thought you might want to see his place. Maybe take whatever’s dry.”

  It was a morbid and entirely rational suggestion.

  “So it is possible my father is inside that house?”

  Jerome hesitated. “No, son.”

  Something is telling me otherwise, I thought.

  “And this is OK,” I asked, “that we get in a boat and do this on our own?”

  “It is if I’m in tow,” Frank said. “I’ll get you launched.”

  I didn’t doubt that. His telephone-pole biceps were on full display under his painted-on blue T-shirt.

  “Morning, Bela,” Jez said, looking past me.

  I turned around.

  Bela wore a tan tank top and blue nylon basketball shorts. Her hair was back in a ponytail, tucked under a Tulane baseball cap. Her hat looked wet around the sides where it fit snugly. When she turned, I saw that a stream of water had dripped its way from her ponytail halfway down her back.

  “Good morning, Jez,” Bela answered. She seemed to smile a “good morning” to me, too.

  I smiled a “good morning” back.

  “How’d you sleep?” Jez asked.

  “I didn’t. Hallie is the only one left in the apartment, and she’s finally leaving to meet her parents up north. We talked all night.”

  Before Jez could respond, Jerome raised a hand in the air. “All right, you see these people ’round you, son?” He referred to them but looked straight at me. “These people are here for you, today. Let’s see what we can find. Let’s find some hope.”

  “That’s right,” Jez chimed.

  “’Course you know me, Jez, Bela, Tater, and Hamp. Tha’s Joe Call and his girl, Cherie.” He motioned to the four bystanders. “The tall guy is Baldwin, and I don’t know the other one. They’re friends of Castle.”

  They all waved or nodded. The man Jerome didn’t know shook my hand and whispered, “Chuck.”

  “Luke, all these people have lost someone. Every one of ’em knows someone who’s dead this mornin’.”

  Do I say thank you? I thought. Or I’m sorry?

  I said neither, asking instead if we could take a photo.

  “A what?” Jerome asked though he’d obviously heard me. He was checking his shirt for stains. There were a lot.

  “A photo. I’m a photographer; this is how I record life.” That wasn’t the first time I’d used that phrase.

  “Well, get it over with.”

  “I’ll snap it,” Frank offered.

  I gave him a ten-second tutorial, and we gathered in a gangly semicircle. Jez stood at one end, next to me, and Bela, by chance, stood on the other side. The rest fanned out to her right.

  I was grateful Frank didn’t ask us to say “cheese.”

  “One, two, three.” Click. “You want to check it?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, taking the camera from him. I viewed the image before it disappeared into my camera’s memory. It was more than fine, it was outstanding.

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  Jerome took over again. “Let us pray.”

  We gathered in a circle in the middle of the street and held hands. I stood between Bela and Jez.

  “Dear Lord,” Jerome began. “We love Thee. We thank Thee, dear Lord, for the blessing of this day. We thank Thee, Lord, for our friend and brother Toby Castle. Get him safe to D.C.,

  O Lord, and let his sister live until he stands by her side. Or longer, Almighty L
ord above, if it is Thy will that she be healed. And Lord, we thank Thee for Luke and his mission here in New Awlins. Let us find what he is looking for, Lord.”

  Jez and Bela both squeezed my hands.

  “And Lord, let us be safe while we look. Bless all those still missin’, Lord, and bless all those still lookin’.” He paused and finished thoughtfully. “Forgive us, Lord. Forgive us all of our trespasses. Forgive what we do today. Forgive what we do every day.”

  There wasn’t much I could imagine anyone in that circle needing to be forgiven of.

  “Amen, Lord.”

  “Amen,” we repeated.

  “We’re goin’. Frank will drive a few of us in his cruiser. I’ll take the rest in Jesse.”

  Frank opened the passenger’s door for me and I climbed in. Jez and Bela shared the backseat.

  We sat quietly while Jerome and the others walked through the alley and loaded up in Verses’ fifteen-passenger van. As soon as the nose of the van appeared in the alley, Frank pulled out and rolled around the corner onto Toulouse. We took the road north, away from the river, toward Rampart, then turned east. Rampart became St. Claude and, three blocks later, Frank parked us on the side of the road behind a dozen trucks with empty trailers and law enforcement and EMT vehicles of every conceivable make and model.

  Jerome parked Jesse right behind us.

  “We’re here,” Frank said.

  I opened my door and watched a crew step onto a boat in a foot of water and begin paddling east.

  “You OK?” Bela said, putting her hand on my arm.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Frank found a man standing by a long johnboat hitched to a trailer. The trailer’s wheels kissed the edge of the water. I watched intently as Frank shook the man’s hand and pointed to us.

  Then he handed him three packs of cigarettes.

  A moment later, he flagged us over.

  Frank and Jerome pulled the boat into the water and guided it clear of the trailer. The boat didn’t seem big enough to warrant a name, but along its side the owner had spelled Pangle in mailbox-style adhesive letters. I quickly snapped a photo.

  Jez and Bela boarded first, then Jerome, Tater, and Hamp. When it became clear we wouldn’t all fit on the three benches, two of Castle’s friends volunteered to stay behind. “We’ll find somewhere else to help.”

  I gave both Baldwin and Chuck a man-hug. “Thanks. Thanks for being willing.”

  Frank shook my hand next. “Good luck, kid.”

  He got a man-hug, too. “Thanks, Frank.”

  I boarded Pangle and Frank pushed it with his foot. Tater started the outboard motor and began navigating toward deeper water.

  Frank lifted his hand in farewell.

  I never saw him again.

  Chapter

  24

  The plastic ball had a grinning Dora the Explorer on its side.

  We floated right by it. The urge to pick it up and try to find its owner was irresistible. I scooped it up and forced it under my seat. But I never found a child to give it to.

  Jez smiled.

  Bela handed me hand sanitizer.

  “I’ve got gloves in my bag for everybody,” Tater said from the front of the boat.

  The water was a floating yard sale with items no one wanted anymore.

  Plastic lawn chairs, a yellow-and-blue Connect Four game, an Allstate Frisbee, tires for bikes, and tires for cars. Broken Big Wheels. An empty Mountain Dew bottle, an open Pirates of the Caribbean DVD case. A 5x7 picture of a gorgeous, smiling black girl cradling her infant brother who was wrapped in a blue blanket, crying.

  I picked that up, too.

  Bela gave me more hand sanitizer.

  I asked Tater for a pair of gloves.

  The others asked as well.

  Jerome pointed out landmarks as we floated through the streets in water that ranged from a few feet to ten, judging by the waterlines on front doors.

  “They say Marshall Faulk grew up right there.” Jerome pointed to his left.

  “The football player?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We passed a series of houses, maybe a full block long of them, that all had orange Xs on the doors with writing in each of the four sections of the letter.

  “Slow down a little, Tater,” Hamp said. “See that one? When they leave a house, they paint an X to say it’s been searched. At the top of the X they put the date; in the right section, the right part of the X, they put the unit that did the search. On the left you see what danger they found to warn others—gas lines, stuff like that. At the bottom, they put the number of bodies.”

  The X we were looking at had a four.

  We moved from the tragic orange X to one of the most striking images from all the coverage I’d seen before leaving New York: a barge in the Lower Ninth—flooded houses all around it, crushed houses under it, missing houses in its path from the Industrial Canal. The nose of a school bus was visible right against the barge, as if the driver had parked it there.

  “It’s like a disaster movie,” I heard Bela say into the wind behind me. I turned around in my seat in the middle of the boat and saw Jez put her arm around her.

  I took a dozen photos, including one of Joe and Cherie. They shared a bench with Jerome and hadn’t spoken since we launched.

  Tater turned left and steered us across a pool of chemicals, or oil, or something else unnatural, floating like a poisonous lily pad. When we cleared it, I looked down to see us passing directly over a submerged teeter-totter.

  “Look.” Jerome pointed to the charred remains of a home. “Burned not a month before Katrina. I knew those people. They were goin’ to rebuild.”

  I took more photos.

  We sailed on.

  A snake slithered by gracefully, cutting a perfect wake through the shiny brown water next to our boat.

  A rescue team in a much larger boat was smashing in the door of a three-story home with the words, Help! 3 still alive! painted on the front door. I doubted it. We were out of sight before I would ever know.

  “Over there. That’s Fats Domino’s place.” Jerome pointed.

  “That’s right, I remember seeing him on TV being rescued by a helicopter.”

  “One of New Awlins finest,” Jez said.

  Jerome said an amen and fished a life preserver out of the water with an oar.

  From behind me, Bela gasped and cried out.

  “What?”

  To our right, we saw a white man floating faceup in sweatpants and a yellow T-shirt. He was tied to a telephone pole by two ropes around his ankles. The corpse was so bloated that its shirt stretched tight across the chest and belly as if five sizes too small, ready to burst at the seams.

  I felt my chest tighten and I nervously cracked my knuckles.

  “Closer, Tater. Please.”

  He maneuvered the boat in a wide circle and pulled up close to the body, carefully avoiding the ropes that kept it from drifting onto someone’s porch.

  I think my cell phone rang inside my front pocket.

  Tater stepped over me and past Bela and Jez to the transom. He killed the motor.

  Jerome stood.

  “Careful,” Jez said.

  Not him, I thought when we were close enough to see.

  Jerome looked down at the dead man’s face.

  “You know him?”

  “No,” Jerome answered.

  “Nine or ten days, I bet you,” Jez said. “That’s how long that poor man has been there.”

  I watched Joe lean over and throw up over the side of the boat.

  Jerome closely examined the ruins of nearby houses. “No way of knowing how far he walked—or drifted—before being tied up here.”

  I put my camera to my eye and pushed the shutter halfway down. The image was more clear and colorful and moving than anything I’d seen through my lens in a long time.

  I put the camera back in my lap.

  Bela was crying. I turned around again. She had her head down as Jez rubbed her ba
ck.

  “It’s OK, he’s in a better place, sweet girl. Don’t cry. It’s OK.”

  “Familiar to anyone else?”

  No, no, and no.

  “Start it up,” Jerome said.

  As we chugged away, Jerome pointed to the sky and whispered a prayer whose words I could not hear.

  Another flat-bottom boat passed by us. Two men in Coast Guard jackets stood inside. Four body bags lay across the boat’s benches.

  No waves, no hellos, no salutes, just a solemn nod. An acknowledgement.

  You’re doing work few men or women could, I thought.

  A helicopter flew overhead. Then another. Then a third. The last flew low enough to send ripples through the water. I wondered if they’d reach the corpse behind us.

  “There,” Jerome said. He pointed with the oar to a two-story house three houses down on our right and sitting on a corner lot.

  Again I turned. Bela was rubbing her forehead, adjusting her cap. “That’s it,” she said.

  “My dad’s?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  This time Hamp came back and turned off the motor just as we cleared what I judged to be a four-foot chain-link fence. We crossed over the edge of what should have been a front lawn.

  The water covered the raised porch and lapped about two feet up against the front door. The water had receded in this area more than most, but was still easily eight feet deep. Most of the home’s shingles were gone. A gutter hung vertically in a tree, its bottom some fifteen feet off the ground.

  Tater guided the boat up to the porch railing and tied it securely.

  “I found fishing waders for three.”

  “Bela, Jez, and Cherie should have them.” I spoke up quickly.

  They didn’t argue.

  I steadied Bela so she could put on the military-green waders that came to her hips. “You don’t have to come in,” I said.

  “I know. But I am.”

  I took Bela’s hand and helped her out of the boat.

  Then I helped Jez don her pair of waders.

  Cherie pulled hers on so quickly and with such ease everyone but her husband Joe stopped to gawk.

  “Fly-fishing,” she said.

  We each put on our industrial-strength gloves.

  Tater had opened a window in the front that led into the living room. The men climbed through first. The water was cold and murky, but the smell I’d expected to knock me over was actually tolerable.