No speed bags. No heavy bags. No ratty gloves hanging on the wall. No sparring ring. No Little Manny. No Jack.
Instead Nat saw a man, who surely must have been on steroids, bench-pressing weights with no one to spot or supervise him, and three women in colorful spandex tights working out on stair-climbers and treadmills. Towels around their necks. The woman on the treadmill was reading a magazine positioned on a rack in front of her.
“Excuse me. May I help you?”
Nat glanced over at a young woman behind the counter. The counter that had never been there before. The counter that wasn’t supposed to be there now. He stared at it briefly, then back at the women in spandex.
“Excuse me. You’re letting the cold in. May I help you?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Nat stepped inside and let the door swing closed behind him. He stepped up to the counter as if in a dream. “Where’s Jack?”
“Jack who?”
“You know. Jack. The guy who …” Owned the place? Did he own the place? Nat realized he had no idea. He had never asked. There was a lot he had never really known. “You know. Jack. The boxer. The guy who trains people to spar.”
“There’s no Jack here,” she said. She was blonde, with a turned-up nose, and Nat felt she was looking down on him. And it was beginning to irritate him. And she seemed to know.
“Well, there was. I mean, there used to be. There always was before. And I need to know where he is now.”
“I’ll get the manager,” she said.
Nat purposely did not look around while he waited. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. He was right on the edge as it stood. So he just stared down at the counter, and squeezed his eyes shut, intermittently.
In a few moments a big man with a waist-length blond ponytail came out from behind the curtain. A body-builder. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Nat wished he hadn’t been forced to start over from the beginning.
“I’m looking for Jack.”
“Jack Trudell?”
“Um. Yeah. I think so.”
“The gentleman who used to lease this place?”
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Trudell is deceased.”
Nat stood stupidly, mutely, measuring how much confidence he felt in knowing the meaning of that word. Not enough. He thought he probably knew. But he wasn’t sure. The old man found it intelligent to ask if you didn’t know. Or so he said. Nat was not at all sure this Mr. Muscles would agree.
“As in dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“What did he die of?”
“I wouldn’t know that.”
“He wasn’t a very old guy.”
“No, from what I heard he wasn’t. Anything else we can do for you?”
“Um. No. Thanks.”
Nat walked out with his head down.
Even seeing Feathers waiting for him at the curb, wagging his tail as if he really were Nat’s dog — even that couldn’t make him feel better.
• • •
Nat sat on the freezing concrete in the alley behind the gym. Feathers sat beside him, staring into Nat’s face. Cocking his wiry head slightly, as if trying to ask what the trouble might be. Nat scratched him behind the ear, and he straightened out his head and sighed.
“I guess I should go on down the street and look for a help wanted sign,” Nat said out loud to the dog.
Feathers cocked his head again. Nat watched their clouds of frozen breath puffing out and mixing together.
“But I don’t think I’m going to.”
Nat had been trying to lift the idea in his head all morning. But it weighed millions of pounds. It was heavier than the world in which he’d have to accept such a job. It would have been impossible enough to imagine, even if Nat had been sure that job applications didn’t ask if you’d ever been arrested. But Nat was not sure of that at all. In fact, he figured they probably did ask.
“I wonder if they ask you if you’ve ever been arrested? You think there’s a space for that on a job application?” Nat asked Feathers. “I bet there is. Maybe I just won’t tell them. You think they check?”
A long silence.
His rear end was getting numb from the cold of the pavement, and he could feel the cold seep through his jacket where his back pressed against the brick of the next building. The back wall of the dry cleaners. Nat could smell the chemicals they used. They were making him a little bit queasy.
Well. Something was.
“Maybe I should just go down to the Frosty Freeze instead. That sounds like a better idea. Doesn’t it?”
But in the silence that followed, he knew it was not a good idea. Not at all.
Because he had no money in his pocket. Not a dime.
How could he show up at the Frosty Freeze and not even have the money to order a milkshake? Or even a Coke? What kind of a statement would that make about him? And how could he even pretend he had just come in as a customer, like everyone else, like anyone had a perfect right to do? What would he answer, when she asked him why he was even there? Which she obviously would. If he couldn’t say, “Oh, I was just in the mood for a chocolate milkshake,” then what on earth would he say?
“No,” he told Feathers. “First I have to get a job. Then we can go down to the Frosty Freeze.”
But the instant he said it, the millions of pounds descended on him again. Nat felt that his thoughts had just dragged him on the world’s most depressing neverending loop, dumping him right back at the impossible spot where he’d started.
A voice startled him. “I know you. You’re that kid Jack was gonna train.”
Nat looked up.
“Little Manny!”
“Yup. That’s still me, all right. Whatever happened to you, kid? Jack was just starting to like you. Then you up and disappeared.”
“Got myself thrown in Juvie Hall for three years.”
“Oh. That explains it.” Little Manny squatted beside Nat, his back against the brick of the dry cleaners. Patted Feathers on the head. “Funny-looking dog,” he said, not making it sound like much of an insult.
He’d stopped coloring his hair, Nat noticed. It was now shot through with gray. And much shaggier. No hair cream and neat comb-marks. As if he hadn’t the time or the patience any more. Maybe he had just stopped caring.
“Little Manny. What are you doing here?”
“Same thing I always did. Mopping the floor at closing time. Spraying bleach in the showers. Wiping sweat off the machines.”
“So you still work here.”
“Well, they still needed somebody to clean. And I just live right up there. So why not me?” He pointed to a window on the second floor above the gym, and Nat looked up. “That’s how I knew you were down here. I heard you talking. I had my window open. I like the cold. People think I’m crazy, but I like it. Colder it is, the more I like it. So I looked out the window, ‘cause I heard you talking. And all I saw was some kid and a dog. So I come all the way down here to see what kind of a kid talks to his dog. And it was you.”
“Yeah,” Nat said. “That’s me. I’m a strange boy.”
“I’ll say.”
A long silence. Feathers licked Little Manny’s wrist.
Then Nat said, “What happened to Jack?”
Another silence.
“Jack’s dead.”
“Yeah, I heard that much. But why? How? How did he die?”
Nat heard only a long sigh. He thought Little Manny was never going to answer him. Then, “Let’s just call it a series of unfortunate choices and leave it at that.”
“Oh,” Nat said. “I guess I can relate to bad choices.”
“At least you’re still here.”
“Yeah. Great. I’m still here. What terrific news, huh? What good does that do me?”
“What’s so bad about not being dead? I mean, when you weigh the alternatives.”
Nat wondered if he could explain. It made him tired to even consider it. But it was L
ittle Manny asking. So he had to at least try.
“I don’t know. It’s like … The whole time I was inside, that whole three years, all I thought about was getting back here. I figured I’d walk in the door, and there Jack would be. Sparring with some old guy in the ring. I pictured it a million times. Really saw it in my head. I figured he’d walk over and ask me where I’d been so long. And I’d tell him. And he’d nod like he totally understood. ‘Cause he understood stuff like that. And then he’d say something like, ‘Well, come on, kid. We wasted three years as it is. Let’s not waste any more. Put on a pair of gloves and we’ll make up for lost time.’”
“Yup. That’s probably about what he would’ve said all right.”
“Now who’s going to teach me to box?”
“Well …” Little Manny said. Then he paused for a time. As if trying to decide whether to finish the thought.
“What? You know somebody? You got an idea?”
“Well …”
“I’m pretty desperate here. In case you didn’t notice. If you got something, I’d really appreciate hearing it.”
“I’m the one trained Jack in the first place.”
“You trained Jack?”
“Yup. Taught him everything he knows. I mean, knew. I had the savvy and all. You know, the instincts. I knew how to fight, but I wasn’t worth much in the ring. Just not built for it. They got weight classes but not height classes. You know? Where could I hit except below the belt? I couldn’t reach much higher. You know the old saying. Those who can’t do something, well, then, they just teach it.”
“Teach me.”
“I don’t know, kid.”
“Please?”
“It’s been a long time since I trained anybody.”
“You’re my only hope.”
“Aw, don’t lay that on me, kid. I couldn’t take it. I’m too old and broke-down to be anybody’s last hope.”
“You’re younger and less broke-down than anybody else who’s gonna be willing to train me to fight.”
“Yeah, I guess I see your point about that.” A long sigh. A long pause.
Nat watched their breath puff out in great clouds of vapor. All three of them. He knew Little Manny would say yes. Because he had to. It just couldn’t go any other way. It was too important.
“Aw, hell. Come on upstairs, I guess. Might as well. What better have I got to do? I got a couple bags up there in my room. We’ll see if you remember anything at all.”
• • •
Nat arrived home a little after five.
The old man was sitting in the living room, watching the evening news.
He looked up and smiled at Nat, then rose and crossed the room to turn down the volume on the TV set.
“How about you don’t even bring Feathers in? Maybe just put him straight into his run and then get cleaned up for dinner?”
Nat stood frozen in the foyer, still holding the dog’s leash. Not crossing the threshold into the living room.
“Yeah. OK. I mean, good idea.”
“You must have had a successful day.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you were gone all day, so I figured you must have found something.”
Oh, yeah. I found something, Nat thought. I finally found something. Finally. Maybe even two somethings. “Oh. You mean work?”
“Yes. I thought you might have found a job.”
“Oh. No. I didn’t find anything.”
“Well, then, what did you do all day?”
“Oh. Well. I was looking.”
A brief, tense moment. Was it tense? It seemed so to Nat. But maybe the tension was only on the inside of Nat. Maybe the old man couldn’t see it or hear it at all.
Then the old guy said, “Maybe you’ll have better luck tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Nat said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe so.”
• • •
Nat borrowed an alarm clock from the old man, who seemed more than pleased to lend it.
He set it for six A.M.
6 October 1978
Late
Nat arrived at the breakfast table before seven. Showered. Dressed. His hair neatly combed.
He was the third and last to arrive.
The old man was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper and eating ham and scrambled eggs. Eleanor was standing at the stove, scrambling more. For him? Nat wondered. He hoped so. He had a big day in front of him. He’d need his strength.
Nat glanced at the headline of the paper. For some weird reason it flashed him back, all the way to age twelve. A big, sudden memory that hit him hard. He could almost see the headline of the paper dated just two days after his birth. In his head. Behind his eyes. It seemed to be printed there, but he hadn’t known it. It wasn’t the actual headline of today’s paper itself that set things off. That was nothing. It just said, “SPECIAL ELECTION: MEASURE D GOES DOWN TO OVERWHELMING DEFEAT.” Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen the morning paper for years. Or maybe because of whose hands held it.
Nat could almost feel the hard, cold boards of his grandmother’s bedroom floor against his knees.
He wondered what his grandmother was doing this morning.
He wondered if the old man had sat in this same kitchen eighteen years ago and read the morning paper, just like he was doing now. If he saw that headline and thought, right, I know. You don’t have to tell me. I was there. I was the hunter whose name they never bothered to mention.
He shook the thoughts away again, but they left a disquieting hangover.
Eleanor set a cup of coffee and a pitcher of cream in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said.
The old guy folded up his paper and set it on the table. “Nice to see you up and around so early. You look very nice, too. Very professional.”
“Thought I’d get a jump on the old job search.”
“It just so happens that I have a pleasant surprise for you on that score. I called a friend of mine half an hour ago, on your behalf. Marvin LaPlante. He owns a big, thriving dairy on the outskirts of town. Out on the old Hunt Road. I’ve been doing his books and taxes for years now. Maybe twenty years. And I got you an interview for this morning.”
Nat felt his face go slack and cold. And, he hoped, blank. He tried desperately not to let it fall. He wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded.
“An interview?”
“Yes. Marvin said he can always use another able-bodied young man on the loading docks.”
“Loading docks?”
“Yes, you know, loading the milk on to the delivery trucks.”
“Oh. Right. Well … Good. Well … that’s good, then. An interview. This morning. That’s great.”
“I thought you’d be pleased. Especially after pounding the pavement all day yesterday and coming up empty-handed.”
“Um. Right. So … What time am I supposed to be there?”
“He said anytime this morning would be fine.”
“How do I get out there?”
“The Number 12 bus goes out there. But for this morning, it’s really only about fifteen minutes out of my way. Since you’re up so early, anyway. If you’d slept in, I was going to leave you bus fare. But you’re up and ready. And I have to go out as far as Ellis for my first appointment. So why don’t I drop you? And then I’ll lend you some bus fare to get home. And if you come home with the job, I’ll lend you bus fare for the coming week and the rest of this one, and you can pay me back out of your first paycheck.”
Silence, as Nat’s thoughts spun in circles. He didn’t have Little Manny’s phone number. In fact, he didn’t even know if Little Manny had a phone. And even if he did have a phone, and even if he was listed, Nat wouldn’t have any change left over for a phone call. He would just have to be late. Really late. Hours late. He had no choice.
Maybe Little Manny would give up on him.
He could take the bus straight to the little apartment over the gym. Straight from the job interview. And
then walk home. But maybe Little Manny wouldn’t be there by then. Or maybe he would tell Nat to go shove it, if he couldn’t do better than hours late. If he didn’t care about a valuable offer of free training any more than that.
Eleanor set a plate of scrambled eggs and ham slices in front of him, with a separate small plate of toast and grape jelly.
“Thank you. Very much,” he said to her. Then, to the old man, “Does he know about my … uh . . ?”
“Yes. I told him you had just been released from a three-year incarceration. I thought honesty was the best policy in a case like that.”
“And he still wants to interview me?”
“So he says. Better hurry up and eat your breakfast. We have to go in less than fifteen minutes.”
• • •
“I’m a big believer in frankness,” Mr. LaPlante said. “So I’m going to lay it right on the line.”
Nat hadn’t so much as opened his mouth to say a word yet. He hadn’t had time. He had just shaken the man’s hand. Taken a seat in his office as directed. And now this.
Frankness. On the line.
“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t owe a lot to Nathan McCann. I like to lay everything on the table, so I’m being honest with you right up front.”
Then he allowed a pause. It took Nat a moment to gather it was his turn to talk.
LaPlante wore his hair parted in the middle, which Nat found amusing. So he tried not to look. Because when he looked, it was hard not to crack a smile. Over LaPlante’s head was a framed poster of a winged cartoon cow. Wearing a halo. Flying over a cartoon cloud.
The silence extended a beat too long.
“Well, I definitely appreciate your honesty,” Nat said. Hoping it didn’t sound like a lie. Because it was.
“Generally, I figure I can tell a lot about a prospective employee from his background. They say the past is the best predictor of the future. But I have a great deal of respect for Nathan McCann, and he asked me to give you a chance. And I would give that man just about anything he asked of me. Within reason. But there’s going to be something of a trial period for you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’ve made up my mind that you won’t make it here. We’re not set against you. Nobody’s going to judge you unfairly, and if they do they’ll answer to me. You’ll get the same shot as anybody gets. I guess what I’m saying is, you’ll get one shot. Is that acceptable to you?”
When I Found You Page 15