(2005) Wrapped in Rain

by Charles Martin

  I lay down next to him, back to back, my head nudging the squared base of the tree.

  Good night, boys.

  I closed my eyes and placed my hand across my tummy. Out of the darkness, I heard Mutt whisper, "Good night, Miss Ella." It was the same whisper I had heard a thousand times coming from the lower bunk every time she kissed us good night. The same whisper I had heard in the supply closet at the hospital. And the same whisper he spoke at her graveside. Salty tears welled up and rolled off my face, and once again, I drifted off, wrapped in the arms of Miss Ella Rain.

  Chapter 33

  LIFE AT WAVERLY WAS NEVER BEAUTIFUL. REX SAW TO that. We lived under a cloud that never disappeared, but although they are difficult to remember, there were days when a few rays broke through and shined on us. And on those days, I think Miss Ella had more to do with it than we gave her credit for at the time. I don't think she could stop the sun, but I think she redirected it a few times.

  With the first rays of daylight, I woke and Mutt was gone. A light mist had settled in the trees and begun to generate rain.

  When Mutt was about ten, he decided he would dig to China. He read in a science magazine that if you dug long enough and deep enough, you'd eventually hit the feet of people in China. Mutt cut out the article and hung it on the wall, and since Rex had already given him a good start with the quarry, Mutt opted to piggyback on that. He bought a wheelbarrow full of tools and spent about three weeks during the summer digging a sideways tunnel midway down into the quarry. His plan was to dig around the rock and then sink a shaft straight to China. With every linear foot, he'd drill in support trusses, and he even ran a string of lights and a few fans to bring in air. Miss Ella sent me to check on him every night at dinnertime, and I grew more amazed every day.

  I secretly hoped he'd hit gold so we could retire Miss Ella and tell Rex to take a hike. He didn't and we never had the pleasure, but Mutt did keep digging and drilling, making it about thirty feet sideways before he got waylaid by school. He promised to come back to it, but by the time next summer rolled around, Mutt had read another article that disputed the claims of the first, stating that, in fact, he'd end up in some place like Australia or Spain but not before the core of the earth incinerated him. Mutt had his heart set on China, so with that no longer possible, he gravitated toward other pursuits.

  I rolled up his sleeping bag and followed Mutt's footprints to the quarry. I stood on the ledge and saw that he had already repaired the zip lines. New cable, new handles, the things were slicker than wet ice on wet ice and looked inviting. Below me, coming from his miner's tunnel, I heard what sounded like a pick and shovel, though there was no rhythm. It sounded more like tinkering than digging.

  I climbed down to the tunnel, stepped sideways along the side wall, and ducked my head into the tunnel. Via a series of mirrors, light from a single bulb lit the entire shaft. The shaft was warm; Mutt had a heater plugged in somewhere and a fan drew air inside the tunnel. Mutt had his shirt off and was sweating pretty good, ridding himself of both toxins and drugs. It looked like he was starting to get his strength back.

  "Good morning," I said.

  Mutt looked up, said nothing, and kept picking at the ground with his pick.

  "You okay?"

  Mutt looked around as if I had spoken to someone else.

  I made eye contact and said it again. "You okay?"

  He nodded and dug the pick into some soft earth. I walked around the light, not casting a shadow on his work. "What're you doing?"

  Mutt looked around, behind me, underneath the tip of his pick, and then fumbled with his hands, which were dirty. "Looking for me." Mutt sunk his pick, hit something hard, dropped to his knees, and dug around it with a rounded and rusty shovel. Unearthing a fist-size piece of quartz, he threw it aside and squatted on his heels. "This was just about the last place I remember being me, so I'm looking for him." He handed me the shovel. "You want to help?"

  "No ... no.,, I pointed out the tunnel toward Waverly. "I need to check on Glue and Katie and Jase. You know." Mutt nodded. He was agreeable either way. "You be up for lunch?" Mutt nodded and used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow.

  I walked out of the tunnel and thought, despite Mutt's mental capacity at the moment, his physical condition looked pretty good. Almost as good as I remember. If we got into a wrestling match, chances were good that he'd win.

  I climbed out of the quarry, pulled my collar up to shed the rain off my neck, and wove a path through the pines, up to the pasture. Mose had connected the disc and plowed several acres late yesterday, turning up the soil and sending the fresh, pungent scent of manure mixed with hay, black organic dirt, and diesel wafting on the air currents. I walked out beneath the pines, and the rain began to fall again-a light rain. It was perfect.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets to guard against the cold and walked out into the soft, plowed field. If the rain kept up, I'd be sure to find a few.

  I walked over the soft dirt, neck bent, eyes focused on the dirt, like I was combing the beach during a rising tide. Thirty minutes later, I had a handful. Some good pieces too. Katie saw me walking circles in the field and came running with an umbrella. "What're you doing? Searching for sharks' teeth?"

  "In a way, I suppose." I held out my hand and showed her the dozen or so arrowheads and pottery shards I had discovered.

  "You found that out here?"

  "Yeah." I waved my hand across the pasture. "After you left, we discovered that most of this property had grown over what once was an Indian village of some sort. Most farmers for miles have their own collection."

  Katie rocked back on her heels, eyes lighting with understanding. "So all those plastic jugs tip on her top shelf in the pantry that look like they're full of rocks are actually filled with arrowheads and pieces of Indian pottery?"

  "yup

  Once she realized I wasn't pulling her leg, Katie began looking with interest. The shiny pieces of jagged flint or smoke-charred pottery reflected more with each raindrop. Katie held the umbrella over our heads and tucked her arm beneath mine. We walked side by side, huddled close, heads down, stumbling through the soft dirt, like two lovers on the beach, or two kids looking for shiny rocks, history, and peace. Before long, she dropped the umbrella and just let the rain wash over us.

  Chapter 34

  JASE WALKED OUT OF THE COTTAGE WITH ONE HAND shoved elbow-deep into a box of Vanilla Wafers. Katie was asleep, and I gathered he woke hungry and couldn't find anything else to eat. With a mouthful of wafer, he said, "Unca Tuck, will you play checkers with me?"

  I thought for a moment and nodded. "Meet me on the porch in five minutes." Jase disappeared, and I emptied the stall muckings into the bigger soon-to-be-emptied bucket and hollered above me, "Hey, Mutt?"

  Mutt, covered in lather, stuck his head over the sides of the water tank. "You mind if I borrow your chessboard?" He thought for a minute, shook his head, and pushed off, disappearing like a dolphin. I unzipped his fanny pack, grabbed the board, and headed to the porch where Jase sat with crumbs spilling off his mouth. He must have been in a growth spurt, because he was eating everything that wasn't nailed down and some things that were.

  We sat Indian style on the porch with the board between us. I reached into the box, grabbed a handful of wafers, and started setting up the board, some faceup and some facedown so we could tell whose were whose. At first, Jase jerked the box back, looked inside, and was a bit miffed that I had taken so many cookies. But when he saw what I was doing, a big grin spread across his face.

  With a board full of Vanilla Wafers, I said, "Your move."

  Jase moved his corner piece forward one square, and I mirrored him from the other side. He moved a second piece and I did likewise. With his third move, he deliberated a moment, then slid it across. I wanted to make it challenging but not too much. Build the tension a bit. I moved again, and he smiled. Without any hesitation, he picked up a wafer, double jumped me, and immediately stuffed both in his mouth.
Spewing crumbs across the board, he said, "I wyfe pwaying shekkers wi'chew."

  When we finished, he gathered up his winnings and tossed me a cracker the way winning poker players throw tip chips at the dealers. I held out my hand and gave him a silent thumbs-up, and he looked at me with narrow eyes. He wasn't quite sure what I meant. I held it out again, this time pumping my fist, and the lightbulb clicked. He held out his left hand, but it wouldn't do what his mind was telling it, so he used his right hand to pull up his left thumb and wrap the other fingers in a fist. With an awkward thumbs-up, he held it back out to me and smiled a beautiful wafer-stuffed smile. His mouth was spilling with crumbs, almost as full as the night I first met him in Bessie's.

  I hadn't seen Mose since Wednesday, but that wasn't unusual. If he knew I was around to take care of Glue, he came and went as he pleased. Katie walked barefoot onto the porch, wrapped in a blanket, the sleep still spread across her eyes. I could see her calves, the tops of her knees, and the bottom hem of her nightgown. Had it not been for her son sitting across from me, I'd have thought we were twenty years younger.

  The sunlight was bright and too much this early, but her face said she'd slept hard and long. Sleepy but rested. She spotted Jase playing with me, smiled, shaded her eyes, and disappeared back through the door.

  A few minutes later, Katie walked off the porch and sat down next to me. "I don't understand something," she said with her hands tucked into the cuffs of her sleeves. I stuffed a Vanilla Wafer in my mouth and raised my eyebrows. "Your father. Rex. Why don't you just talk with him? Get in the car, drive to Atlanta, sit down, and work it out. Make it right. Stop being so ..."

  "So what?"

  "So ... stubborn."

  I dodged it and looked at Jase. "You guys hungry? How about some dinner? I know this great cafe that makes the best fried chicken this side of Miss Ella's." Jase nodded and Katie looked frustrated, like she was waiting for me to answer. When I didn't, she said, "You're a typical man. You'd rather eat than talk about something important. And your father is important."

  I showered and honked the horn. Mutt looked over the edge of the water tank and shook his head like Flipper. I hesitated to leave him, but I figured if he wanted to disappear, there was little I could do to stop him.

  I buckled Jase's seat belt, and we drove out of Waverly. When I parked in front of Rolling Hills, grabbed Jase's hand, and said, "Come on, pardner," Katie opened her door and looked at me with suspicion.

  "When I said I'd like to go to dinner," she said, "this is not what I had in mind. I thought you said something about a cafe and fried chicken."

  I shrugged and lifted Jase onto my back. "Thought I'd make a stop first."

  Katie took two steps and stopped. Her face told me that it had begun to sink in. She turned white and reached for Jase's hand. "Tucker, I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

  "Come on. He's been defanged, declawed, and neutered. He won't bite you."

  I stood in the doorway and looked into the dark room. The judge was sleeping and the nurses had parked Rex in his usual bird watching position. I turned on the light, and the judge woke up. "Oh, Tucker! For the love of Betsy! I been salivating ever since you left." I led Jase into the room, and Katie followed closely. The judge raised an eyebrow and laughed at himself. "Well, if I'd have known you were bringing visitors, I'd have cleaned up a bit."

  `Judge, I'd like for you to meet some friends of mine. Katie Withers and her son, Jase"

  Jase hid behind my leg and looked around the room. He pulled on my pant leg and pointed at the judge's squash-colored bladder bag, which was full. "Unca Tuck, what's that?"

  Katie walked around Rex in a circle, as if she was honoring the safe striking distance of a snake. When she got around in front of him, she raised her hand to her mouth and looked away. Jase let go of my leg and walked over to his mom. He pointed in Rex's face. "Momma, who's that?" Katie knelt down and looked at me. The Judge kept quiet and stopped licking his lips.

  She picked him up, placed him on her hip, and moved around the side so he could no longer see Rex's disfigured, quivering, and drooling face. Jase pointed again. "Mama, who's that and what's that smell?"

  She walked toward the door and said, "Son, it's just an old, sick man. Somebody you don't know." Jase wiggled loose, ran back to Rex's chair, and peered around the side. "But, Mom . . . " Jase pointed at Rex's hand. Rex's skin was thin, almost translucent, and would cut with the slightest scratch. Somewhere in the course of the day, the top of his right hand had been cut and a single trickle of blood had flowed down the side. Due to years of blood thinners, the blood remained wet, gooey, and dripping.

  Jase pointed at the cut again and said, "Unca Tuck, look!" I circled Rex and reached for Jase's hand, but he was focused on that cut. Jase reached in his pocket, pulled out one of his two spare Band-Aids, and bit the paper off. He stood next to Rex, looked at me expectantly, and held out the Band-Aid.

  I knelt an arm's length from the chair, and Jase laid it in my hand. Katie stood in the doorway, bit a fingernail, and looked from me to the judge and back to us. The Judge didn't say a word but blew into his diaphragm, sucked twice, and blew once more, turning on a recessed light above my head. I peeled the Band-Aid and held it over the cut, considering.

  I looked at his hand, studying the veins, wrinkles, age spots, and fading scars. I thought of how many times that hand had hit Miss Ella, of how many times it had hit me and Mutt, and of how much anger had flowed through those gnarled and twisted fingers. The instrument of my pain. I pressed the Band-Aid quickly on Rex's hand, wiped my hands on my pants, and watched Jase's little fingers smooth the edges of the Band-Aid, making sure it stuck. Jase pulled the second spare Band-Aid out of his pocket, placed it inside Rex's left hand, and patted Rex on the leg. "For later, in case that one comes off." I stood up and Jase placed his hand inside of mine. "Unca Tuck, why're you crying?"

  "Because, little buddy, sometimes grown-ups cry too."

  Jase looked confused and tugged again. "Unca Tuck?"

  I knelt down. "Yes, partner."

  "Do you need a Band-Aid?"

  My eyes met Katie's. "Yes ... I need a Band-Aid."

  Chapter 35

  THE BANQUET CAFE WAS A CLOPTON LANDMARK AND offered the best nightly buffet in Alabama. Part grocery, part restaurant, and mostly gossip. If you wanted to let the town know you were selling something, getting divorced, had committed adultery, or had just had a baby, you mentioned it at the checkout of the Banquet Cafe and they'd get the word out faster than CNN. The sign out front had long since rusted off and disappeared, but nobody bothered to replace it. They didn't need to hang their sign out. Everybody knew what it was and where it was.

  Family-owned, a husband and wife team cooked in the back while a couple of down-on-their-luck women and one old man worked the front, fluctuating between wait staff, hostess, and stock boy. They didn't offer menus and nobody ever took an order, because they only offered one option. The buffet. The usual offering included several vegetables such as collards, yams, stewed tomatoes, fried okra, mashed potatoes, and spinach. The meat options were roast beef, pulled barbeque in a vinegar-based sauce, meat loaf, fried chicken, and my favorite, chicken-fried steak smothered in biscuit gravy. The desserts were banana pudding, peach cobbler-with or without vanilla ice cream-and chocolate cake that was heavy on the icing. Everything was homemade, fresh, cooked with Crisco, and could put the weight on you in a hurry.

  Three muscular, hyper, and protective Jack Russell terriers, named Flapjack, Pancake, and Biscuit, scurried about the floor begging, licking up scraps, and violating every health code ordinance on the books. Our waitress, decorated with multiple body piercings-including one through her nose that attached via a silver chain to her ear-seated us, threw a wad of napkins and a handful of silverware on the table, and said, "Food's hot. Plates're over there. Serve yourself."

  Katie was quiet and looked like she'd lost her appetite, so I held Jase's plate while he pointed at everything he could
see, starting with the dessert. We sat down, and Jase stuffed his face while Katie played with her food and didn't look at me.

  Our waitress single-handedly saw to all fifteen tables. Every table was full; everybody needed refills now, another fork yesterday; and four huge men at a corner table kept tapping their feet and asking about the next tray of chicken. Behind all the jewelry sticking through her face and black ink that had tattooed her body, I saw a girl. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Almost too skinny, baggy clothes, dark eye makeup, and black fingernails, she had doormat written all over her face and walked with a perpetual broken wing.

  In the absence of conversation, we finished dinner in short order and I paid the bill.

  You forgot to leave a tip.

  But she didn't do anything.

  I don't care. You leave that girl a tip.

  Katie pointed at the grocery half of the building and said, "I need a few things. It'll just take a minute." She and Jase walked down the toothpaste aisle while I returned to the table and placed a dollar beneath my uncleared plate.

  That's not the bill I was thinking of.

  I knew what she was talking about, but I wasn't about to leave that on the table. The chain-faced girl walked behind me, carrying an entire tray of empty dishes, and disappeared into the kitchen, where I heard a bloodcurdling scream, a crash, and several people hollering in anger.

  About seven years ago, I had begun hiding a single onehundred-dollar bill in the recesses of my wallet-for emergencies. Experience had taught me the need for it, and on more than one occasion I had needed it. This didn't strike me as one of those times.