Back to the Garden

by Clara Hume

  I took her aside afterward and said, "I need to go tie some things up in Silver City, but I plan to come to Idaho later. What are you going to be doing, Mei?"

  She wouldn't answer me with her voice, but instead hugged me tightly. I embraced her too, not realizing how slight a woman could feel. She was the tiniest one here, even more so than Fran. I felt instantly protective of her and figured that was just a person's instinct if you found yourself caring for someone.

  In the days to come it became clear through notes and gestures from Mei that she had decided that she would come with Buddha and me. Her sweet face, normally meek and pleasant, gained another look when she became determined. Her dark eyes were set tightly and her lips pointed in determination. A spray of faint freckles splashed across her nose. Whatever her expression was at any given moment, I decided she was as cute as a button. I wasn't going to argue against her coming with us. If she went with the others I'd feel safer, but Buddha and I were her favorite people in the world it seemed, and we both agreed that if she were with us, we'd feel more alert than usual. She was also the best shot of us all.

  As I drove away from our earlier destination, I could feel that our energy had improved, but we also had a long way to go in heat, dust, cloudbursts, and the potential of death along the way. How we'd been so lucky so far, I didn't know, though we'd seen our share of destruction and death too.

  Buddha—Chapter 28

  In early September the rest of the dudes dropped us off in Nevada, on a small highway that looked like we were on Mars or something. The desert dunes were red, with crazy rock formations. The sky was long and painted in a hazy blue tinged with pink. We hugged everyone good bye and had every intention of joining them after a short stay in Silver City.

  I was glad to drive fast now on the bike, with Joe in the sidecar and Mei on his lap. They looked like a real couple, with his one arm around her and their long hair blowing free in the wind. I drove to California and stayed north of Highway 15, which went on down to Riverside, but we weren't going south. I had to drive on account of my fat belly, and I still couldn't fit in the sidecar even though I guessed I'd now lost about 40 pounds. When you start out at, well, dudes, I won't say my old weight, but face it, I was still a fattie. I figured that in the new world I could start a national weight-loss program that would work 100% as long as you followed its plan. The plan would be to starve yourself in 100-degree weather for months. Not by your design, but because there would be no other option. I figured this could work and I could make millions.

  My motor bike had seen its better days, but I felt it could make it up to Idaho. We had some guns and ammo, but didn't plan to stop anywhere unless we had to pee, so figured if we ran across anyone mean, I could just hit the gas. All we'd seen along the way across the country, if we saw people at all, was cart people or bicycle people or walking people or dead people.

  Here we were, with me gunning it to Silver City, our throats parched and our tummies filled with hunger pangs—we hoped that our next destination would be a relief. Joe said, "Well, Maisie's place will be hotter than hell and though she has a fresh water source, I don't know about how much food will be there."

  All I could think about was food. Sometimes I had dreams of finding a chocolate bar, and then I could envision myself, slo-mo, peeling off the package and savoring the chocolate as it got all over my chubby fingers. The background in this montage would be white. A cool breeze would blow my curly, black hair away from my face and as the chocolate dissolved in my mouth I would dream of the hardships it took to get to this one point: all the miles traveled, the decay witnessed, the polluted waters...all so I could get to this one beautiful moment in time. Chocolate.

  I almost drove into a ditch thinking about it.

  Joe yelled at me.

  "Sorry, dude," I said, with a refocus on the road.

  We drove in the hottest part of the day through what seemed like Hades. All red, a hot and dry biome, Fran had said on the way out to South Carolina. Mirages of water formed in the distance around bends. We severely rationed our water, even though it was now too warm for refreshment.

  By nightfall we had crossed the Sierra Nevada Mountains and reached Silver City. Joe directed me to the lane leading to Maisie's place. It was the first time Mei or I had been there. I was dreaming of finally having shelter for sleeping. The forests still had viable trees to shade the house. Maisie had told us that before her father died, however, he had studied the giant redwoods in the area and said they'd experienced a loss of moisture, including less nightly fog, which had made the forests prone to drought and wildfire.

  As we got closer to the old place, we could see someone was sitting on the front porch with a lantern.

  "Wonder if Maisie's mom made it back after all," said Joe.

  We couldn't see well enough. It was too dark.

  Turned out it was Joe's Uncle Frank, who had come to watch the house. He was slumped down on the porch.

  Joe ran up to the guy, and said, "Hey, Uncle Frank, wake up."

  I figured the guy was drunk.

  But he slowly came to, and tried to focus on Joe. We couldn't smell any liquor on his breath.

  "Is that you? Joe?"

  "What's wrong, uncle?"

  Mei and I didn't know what was going on, but Frank had been like Joe's dad, growing up.

  "I don't think you should get too near. I got the flu or something," Frank said between breaths. "Been waiting for some help. Been sick now for a few days."

  Joe backed up.

  Mei and I backed way the fuck up.

  "Dude," I said, pulling Mei toward me.

  Joe said, "Get inside, Frank. Got to get you into a bed and get some fluids into you."

  We had to help. We couldn't not help. Seemed it would be inhumane, but Mei and I, we stayed our distance. I had to help lift the old man into one of the lodge rooms at Maisie's place, but Mei, she didn't go near the man. And after lifting him up to bed, I didn't go back near him either.

  Mei found some water and started dinner though. She boiled chicken bouillon and made a quick bread. Joe was the only one who would go near Frank.

  Joe was teary-eyed at one point. "He was like a dad to me," Joe said. Frank sunk into a comatose state with a fever that no aspirin would bring down, and we didn't have access to any ice. Mei had found a nearby creek and gathered water by the bucketful, but it wasn't enough either, even when we dumped Frank into a big tub of the creek water.

  Nothing we could do helped though, and within a few days Frank died. Not exactly the kind of reception we'd hoped for. We buried him out back and cleaned up the room. Then Joe found what Maisie had wanted—some recipes and memorabilia—and said he had to go back to his place down the road to get some photos and memories to take to Idaho. I let him take my bike, but threatened him with dire consequence if he never brought it back.

  "Think I'd take off when there's a girl like that waiting for me?" Joe said to me under his breath.

  "Good on ya, dude. I trust you." I told him.

  Before leaving, he took a long walk with Mei. They didn't say where they were going exactly, but they headed into the old forest and were gone at least an hour. When they came back, Joe had a shit-eating grin on his face, so I could only imagine what they might have been up to. He was off with a plume of dust trailing behind him the day after we buried Frank.

  Mei and I stayed behind at Maisie's, and we talked a good deal—meaning I talked and she listened. Sometimes she looked at me longingly, or was that my friend zone imagination going wild? She was cute, but well, I had the honorable duty of realizing she was Joe's chick. They had a connection. I figured they might have had more if she would open up to him, but Joe was probably right about her being hurt too badly to speak anytime soon. I once heard a saying that the puncture itself hurt less than the healing process. I figured that was what Mei was going through.

  Joe took longer to come back than he should have, and I was getting mad and a little worried. He said he'd be
back the next day when he left, but we didn't see the bike zoom back down the road until three days later.

  Joe tumbled off the bike and fell flat on his face into the driveway.

  "What the hell!" I cried. I bounded outside and down the stairs as fast as I could, but Joe waved me away.

  "I've got the fever too. I've been puking my guts out for three days but had to get the bike back to you."

  I still tried to run toward him but Mei grabbed me and pulled me back and screamed, "Buddha, no!"

  Joe and I both looked at her, astonished.

  "What the?" I started to say.

  Mei ran inside and soon returned with two respirators and some latex gloves. "I found these in Maisie's cellar," she said. I recognized the respirators as what my biker friends and I had used when working with methanol for our bio-fuel. They were masks with protective filters. She put one on and handed one to me. I quickly put mine on too, and we ran over to Joe and helped him up. He was careful not to cough on us. I could see he had a small box of treasures from his place in the sidecar: more water, bouillon, photos, and documents.

  We put Joe in a different bed than we'd put Frank. Call me superstitious, but there was no way we were going to let Joe follow the same fate.

  Mei would not leave Joe's side. She sat by him all evening, while I brought in chicken broth as well as went to the creek to get more water. The running flow of the creek had made the water cold, but nothing worked. We couldn't get Joe's fever down.

  Mei explained, "Down in the cellar, I found some iron and zinc pills too. They might help."

  I didn't know much about elements. I felt pretty stupid overall. But we gave Joe a pill of each and waited it out. We made him sit in five inches of creek water in the tub, and in the meantime, Mei also kept his forehead cool with a damp cloth.

  Nothing.

  Hours passed, and his fever did not go down.

  Mei and I were really worried, but finally needed to get him out of the water, which had gone tepid, so he could rest in bed and we could get more fluids into him. We stayed up watching him all night.

  I was still recovering from the fact that Mei had spoken. She had spoken too late, I thought. Poor Joe was so sick by that time he had hardly acknowledged it other than an astonished look on his face. I think Mei felt guilty about it.

  After we pulled Joe from the bath, which we'd repeat in another four hours if his fever was still high, I left the room for a breather. With mask and gloves still on, I went out to pull the bike in and rub down its exterior, as well as Joe's things, with cleaner, the kind that was supposed to kill germs. I tiredly pulled off the mask and gloves, and sat on the front porch, feeling the heat turn my skin into sweat. I didn't know what the hell time it was. I just knew it was sometimes hours after Joe had come back to the lodge, and before sunset. I doubted I'd sleep much tonight.

  I had a hard time moving, but finally got up and went in to heat up some more broth and bring in some more water. I was going to tell Mei there was some more food and to watch the kettle, but as I neared the room, I heard her talking.

  "Joe, you need to get better." Mei's voice was almost child-like. "I want you to get better and come to Idaho with us. I'm sorry I didn't talk before now. Please, don't go away like this."

  Mei began to cry softly, and she hung her head down. Joe wasn't responding at all. I could tell he was still alive, though. His breath was like a rattle. What kind of bug was this, I thought. There was Dengue, which was the big mosquito one for a while and still was depending on where you were at. There were other mosquito diseases too. Then there were bird and rat and pig diseases. And also just the regular flu bug, which could be bad. Whatever this was—it had acted fast on Frank and Joe. I didn't know if these masks would even help us. We'd assumed that Joe had gotten something airborne from Frank.

  I breathed in to see if I could feel a rattle. None here. I breathed out in relief.

  I entered the room and put my hand on Mei's shoulder. "Mei, come and get some rest. I'll take over if you want."

  She refused, so I went back out to bring in some food and water for both of them.

  The next day, Joe wasn't doing any better. Mei slept in his room while I bathed Joe in cool water and made him drink. He'd only muttered unintelligible phrases since yesterday. I just watched him. I checked my skin often for mosquito bites but saw none.

  Mid-day, Mei had left Joe's side for a little while and then later came back to his room sleepily. She wore a nightgown of some sort. It looked too long for her, so I figured she had raided Maisie's closet.

  "Got any bug bites?" I asked her.

  She checked around. "No. Why?"

  "If this is Dengue, then it's caused by mosquitoes. If it's something else, we need to keep the masks on."

  Our voices sounded robotic in the masks.

  "Dengue causes rashes," Mei said. "And neither Frank nor Joe had one."

  "Yeah, Dengue wasn't supposed to be so deadly either, remember? Well if it isn't Dengue, then what is it?"

  Mei sat down next to me and held Joe's hand. "I don't know," she said.

  Poor Joe. He always had a quick smile and a humble demeanor. Now he was pale and thin, and couldn't even talk. His dark hair was stringy and matted. I thought of all those nights he went sidecar with me, along the sad, sorry roads across America. He had a cool and collected head, a good outlook on life. He would tell me about taming wild horses and ranch life out West. Used to make me envious because I was a fat, nowhere boy with nothing I was good at.

  We stopped being able to get Joe to swallow anything, and, like Frank, he became comatose. On the third night after he'd come back on the bike, he died in Mei's arms.

  She shrieked and wailed like an injured animal and went into hiding somewhere in the forest. I tried to chase her, but she was too fast and athletic. I couldn't keep up with her. Ten minutes into the woods, I was a shaking, tearful, pudgy mess and out of breath. I picked up a branch and threw it as far as I could, screaming.

  I took Joe's body outside next to where we buried Frank. I knew Maisie's dad was buried somewhere on the property, too. And Maisie's mother? Who knew where she was. Now I'd have to make another grave for Joe. I dug the grave, while sweat poured down my face and arms. I didn't bury Joe until Mei returned. When she finally came back, she had cried herself out, but shakily threw something into the grave before we began to shovel soil over Joe's body.

  "What's that?" I asked.

  "Something my father once gave me," she replied.

  I leaned in closer to see it was that faded handkerchief she always carried around.

  After helping me shovel dirt over the grave, she walked back into the forest. I didn't go after her this time. I was just sick about Joe. But I was worried about Mei, too, and went out looking for her when daylight broke the next day and she had not returned. I found her down at the creek, dirt-stained tear marks having run down her cheeks, and picked her up. She had run out of energy and fallen asleep on a soft pile of dirt and grass, so I just took her back to the house and decided it was time to take charge.

  "We're going to clean up and skedaddle, Missy," I said. "Joe's gone. We've got to get back to the others before it gets too bad up there on that mountain."

  In truth, we stayed at Maisie's for another couple weeks. Mei had to mourn Joe, and even though I did too, I didn't need to look at his grave every day. Evidently, she did. I granted her that, because it seemed cruel not to.

  Finally, Mei felt that she needed to thoroughly look around and find anything else we could use up in Idaho. The masks had been a godsend and maybe saved our lives. We piled the sidecar high and Mei comfortably climbed in behind the stash because she was so skinny. Then we were off.

  On the way, Mei said, "Buddha?"

  "Yeah, dude?"

  "Do you think Joe's death was fair?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because he lived this life waiting for something, and when it came, he never really got it."

  "What was h
e waiting for?"

  "Me, I guess."

  "I don't think life is fair, so how can death be fair?"

  "Because I think death might have waited at least another year or two. A taste is hardly something to live for."

  "In some cases, people never get a taste."

  "You have a good point."

  "'Sides, dude," I said, "Death is just something that happens. People ain't above it because they're somehow special or dealt a good hand on purpose. Nobody's dealing that way. Not for us, not for any animal, not for the stars."

  Leo—Chapter 29

  In late September, Buddha and Mei finally made it to the mountain, but without Joe. For a few days our cabin was a shrine as our friends and family came in and out, day and night, to pay their respects to our lost friend, who was buried in the midst of a dying forest miles and miles away. It felt like ghosts and shadows taking over our place, with everyone so quiet and sad.

  Fran had developed her photos, and Maisie brought over her drawings. We had stories in our notebooks too, along with photos we'd never seen of Joe that Buddha brought: we left everything in the hearth room at our cottage so people could look through memories of Joe. Fran and I hung all the pictures on the wall.

  The photos and sketches were black and white. There were pictures of Joe growing up: most of them were him riding horses. One was of him and Maisie at a party; they were only teenagers, and Maisie cried when she saw it. The rest of the pictures were from our journey. There was one of Eugenia and Wesley. Their faces looked as alive as I'd always remember them, even though I'd helped bury one of them. There were pictures of dead corpses on the roadside, of Joe and Mei smiling shyly at each other. There were close-ups of Kristy feeding, of Cameron's grave, of Buddha when he was bigger and smiling like a madman. There was one of all of us in Parker on the river, before a dozen of our merry new biker friends got gunned down by road thugs. There were pictures of Floppy and my floppy hat. There were photos of heated sunsets and polluted waters. Of Jimmy drinking whiskey by the firelight. Of Ishmael looking like a sage. Of Pastor Gregory and his wife. Of chocolate cake and mustard greens and catfish. Of a yellow brick church. Of Caine giving Maisie a piggy-back ride. Of me, shirtless, on a river, with my arm around Fran. Of Kristy and Nathan playing with pine cones. Of a murky seaside we couldn't put our feet in due to too much pollution. Of neighborhoods sunken in murky water. Of wolves and pines and wine. Of dead birds and cows and fish and people. Of clouds and seeds and feathers and rocks.