Moth lg-2

by James Sallis

  There was only one place for Alouette to go. And only two reasons for going there, the first of these, and far the least likely, her grandmother.

  I’d driven less than an hour, coffee long gone, half a doughnut left in the bag, when, ahead, I saw a semi pull onto the opposite shoulder to let someone off, then pull back into traffic without looking, sending a panicked Camry into the oncoming lane. A panel truck in front of me hit its brakes and swerved onto the shoulder. It fishtailed and came to a stop nose-down in a shallow ditch at roadside, one wheel hanging free. I worked my own brakes, slowing by increments, and at the end of the curve, after the Camry had retaken its lane and shot by me, fell into an easy U.

  I watched her face change as I approached and pulled off beside her.

  “Thought you might need a ride.”

  “Guess so. Last one’s price was one I didn’t want to pay. Man, you get straight and people start smelling bad, you know what I mean?”

  She got in, crossing her legs beneath her on the car seat.

  “He wasn’t even going the right direction. I hitched him at a truck stop down the highway and he told me he was bound for Vicksburg. But then we get to the highway and he turns north. And when I say something, he just says, ‘What difference does it make, little girl? Places is all alike.’ ”

  “So how’d you persuade him to let you out?”

  “I told him I just couldn’t go back toward Memphis, cause my daddy the sheriff had all-point bulletins out on me up there.”

  I sat with motor idling. The panel truck backed out, wheels spinning, throwing up dust and stray gravel. A piece flew across the road and banged into the Mazda with a strangely nonmetallic thunk.

  “Anytime now,” she said. “I’m in. We can go.”

  “Okay. Which way?”

  “You mean you didn’t come out here to haul me back?”

  “Why? You don’t want to be there, you’d just leave again. Not much I can do about that. Not much anyone can do about it.”

  “But me, you mean.”

  I shrugged.

  After a moment I said, “Something I used to do a lot was, I’d line everything up against myself so I had to get slapped back down. Work myself half to death sometimes, just getting it set up that way.”

  “When you were drinking, you mean?”

  “I still drink.”

  “When you were a drunk, then.”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re saying that’s what I’m doing.”

  “No. I’m only saying that I try not to do that anymore. If you want to go back to Clarksville and whatever’s there, I’m not going to try to stop you.”

  “But you came after me.”

  “Only to talk. You don’t want that, we’ll shut up, both of us. You don’t want to come back up to Memphis, you just open the door and get out. Or you can ask me and I’ll drive you to Clarksville myself.”

  “That’s it, that’s where I want to go,” she said.

  “Okay.” I waited for a couple of cars to pass, pulled the Mazda back onto the highway and started gaining speed.

  “Lewis?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t preach to me, tell me what’s right, what I need to do, like all the rest.”

  “No.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I figure you know what’s right, as much as any of us do. You’ll either listen to that, or you won’t listen to anything-me, least of all. And you’re the only one who can say what you need. Whatever it is, you have to go after that. Everybody does. But needs change, and you don’t always notice. Besides,” I added, “who’d be fool enough to take advice from me?”

  “Let he who is without sin …”

  I smiled, remembering the last time that came up: when I was hospitalized for DT’s, back when I first met Vicky.

  “Something like that. But look who’s preaching now.”

  We rode on in silence.

  After a while she said, “Lewis, I think you took a wrong turn back there.”

  There weren’t any turns, only farm roads stretching out like dry tongues to the horizon.

  I looked at her.

  “Memphis is back that way.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Memphis it is, then.” I pulled off to the shoulder. “And on the way, maybe some lunch?”

  “Why thank you, sir,” she said in a broad Hollywood-southern accent, “I’d mightily admire to have lunch with a fine, strong man like yourself. One that’s paying.” She sighed dramatically. “A lady carries no money, you know.”

  As we rode back, I told her about Bob, how he’d suddenly caved in during class that day.

  She sat quietly for a while when I was finished, then said: “Why’d you tell me that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A tractor pulled over to let us pass, rocked back onto the road behind us.

  “I think I do.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Because you feel responsible somehow. You think there’s something you could have done, that you should have noticed something was wrong. But none of us can be responsible for other people and their lives, Lewis. At your advanced age, you should know that.”

  She was right.

  I should.

  I looked over at her, noticing now that her dress was torn under the arm. Her eyes were amazingly clear, and she was smiling. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen her smile before.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The crows swept in that next day, dropping onto us out of a bright, clear sky.

  I sat looking out on that day from an alcove tucked away at the end of the hall. Even the clouds shone with what seemed their own internal white light.

  Two were older, one of them about my age, another sixtyish with silver hair and eyebrows like frosted hedges. With them was a lank man in his midtwenties whose law degree from Tulane had gained him the enviable position of carrying their briefcase. He was dressed like the others in dark three-piece suit and rep tie, but had a haircut reminiscent of old British films. A forelock kept falling into his face; he kept brushing it away with two fingers.

  They came off the elevator in V formation and marched almost in step to the nurses’ station, where Eyebrows announced that they were here to see Miss Alouette Guidry, presently going under the name of (he glanced at Haircut, who fed it to him) McTell.

  Jane asked if they were relatives.

  “We are attorneys retained by the girl’s father to represent her.” He made a slight hand motion over his shoulder and Haircut dealt her a business card.

  “Hmmm,” Jane said. She picked up the phone, spoke into it briefly, hung up. “Alouette doesn’t wish to see you,” she said.

  “I’m afraid that is not satisfactory, young lady.”

  “Probably not, but unless you gentlemen have further business, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “What is your name, young lady?”

  She pointed to the nametag prominently displayed on her uniform front.

  “Then I suppose we must ask to speak with your superior. A supervisor? The physician legally responsible for this unit, perhaps?”

  It played out from there, the ball rolling on to a head nurse, an intern and then his resident, and finally to the walleyed young man I’d seen in the administrative offices, who came off the elevator blinking.

  “We’re here-” Eyebrows began as he disembarked.

  “I know why you’re here, Mr. Eason.”

  He patiently explained to them, as had all the others, that Alouette was in her majority; that she, not her father, was the patient here, and the only one whose medical or other needs concerned them at this time; and that, should they wish to pursue the matter, they might best proceed in appropriate fashion through proper channels, as they undoubtedly knew, and stop badgering the hospital’s employees, taking them away from what could well be urgent duties elsewhere.

/>   “I don’t know about Louisiana, gentlemen, but we take our patients’ rights seriously here in Tennessee. And now, you will please leave.”

  As though on cue, the elevator doors opened and two security guards stepped off. They stood at either side of the doors as the lawyer trio climbed aboard, then got in with them. The doors shut.

  “Jane, let me know at once if there’s any further problem,” the administrator said, then, turning, saw me sitting in the alcove and came over.

  “Mr. Griffin.” He held out his hand. I stood, and we shook. “I know about yesterday, of course. We’re all rather glad you are here.”

  “Right now, we’re all rather glad you’re here.”

  He looked puzzled a moment, then said, “Oh, that. We’re used to it. They’re serious, or have half a leg to stand on, they’ve already been to a judge and have paper. Otherwise, it’s just a pissing contest.”

  “Still, it’s appreciated.”

  “What I do.”

  “Think they’ll be back?”

  “Up here? No. But we’ll be seeing more of them downstairs, I expect. I wouldn’t worry about it. Meanwhile, if there’s anything I can do to help Alouette, or you, please let me know.”

  We shook hands again. He took out a key and pushed it into the control plate beside the elevator doors; within moments, a car was there. He nodded to me as the door closed.

  I sat watching pigeons strut along the sill outside, past locked windows. One was an albino, wings and tail so ragged it was hard to believe the bird could still fly.

  A moment later Jane answered the phone and said to me, “They’re ready, Mr. Griffin.” I thanked her and walked down the hall to a conference room. Sitting at the table inside were Alouette and Mickey Francis. The social worker held a styrofoam cup, rim well chewed.

  “Thanks for coming, Mr. Griffin. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I called you to come in because Alouette asked me to. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “Not at all. Nothing much going on at the motel this time of day.”

  Uncertain whether or not that was a joke, she settled on a smile. Waited two beats. I thought of other such interviews, in rooms much like this one, when I myself was on the home team.

  “She and I have talked a lot about what happened yesterday. And over the past several months. I know the two of you have discussed her plans once she’s released. Treatment programs, halfway houses, that sort of thing. We all feel it’s imperative that she get follow-up care.”

  “I think she agrees.”

  “She does. And the time for us to shape these decisions is fast approaching.”

  “Not us, Miss Francis. It’s her decision all the way.”

  “You’re right, of course.” She looked down at the stack of folders on the table before her. “Alouette has expressed to me a desire to go back to New Orleans. Not to remain here.”

  I nodded. It was home, after all, whatever else it was.

  “She would like to find a job, to live independently while participating in an outpatient program.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “She was wondering if you might be willing to give her a place to live while she did this. She would like to come back to New Orleans with you, Mr. Griffin.”

  I looked at Alouette. She nodded. “Yes, Lewis. That’s what I want. If it’s all right with you. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  “You can think about it, Mr. Griffin. You don’t have to decide right away. This must come as something of a surprise.”

  “I’m not much of a role model,” I said, “but that house has always been too big for me alone. It would be good to have someone else living there again.”

  Alouette looked down at the floor a moment, then up at me, smiling. With her mother’s eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ad Hominem time.

  The following Thursday at nine in the morning, I arrived at the hospital to take Alouette home, stepped off the elevator and found her in conversation with a stately, lean man in blazer, knit shirt and charcoal slacks who, following her eyes, turned and immediately walked toward me. Italian shoes of soft cordovan.

  “You must be Griffin,” he said, holding out a hand. His shake was firm, relaxed, momentary.

  “Lewis, this is my father.”

  I nodded.

  “When I refused to see his lawyers, he canceled everything and flew up himself. He wants to set me up in my own apartment, even has a job arranged for me-no questions, no obligations.”

  “A generous offer. Not many free lunches left these days.”

  “I’m sure you’d do the same in my place, Griffin. Do you have children yourself?”

  I suspected he knew the answer to that, along with my financial status, personal history and (not inconceivably) the contents of my trash.

  And I supposed the answer to his question must be no, so I said that.

  Alouette spoke to me over his shoulder: “I told him thanks, but I was going home with you.”

  “Which I’m certain you must realize is just not … possible,” Guidry added, smiling. Between men.

  I smiled back.

  White teeth gleaming.

  Maybe I should break into a chorus of O massuh, how my heart grow weary.

  “I see. Then I have to assume you’re no more willing to listen to reason than she is.”

  “It’s her decision, Guidry. Not yours, not mine.”

  “She’s a child. A confused child.”

  “Laws say that she’s an adult, and protect her rights the same way they protect yours or mine.”

  “One has to wonder what you expect to get out of this.”

  “Wonder away.”

  Instinctively, he had squared off with me. Now he backed away a half step. “I know about you, Griffin. You’re a weak man. Always have been. One hard push, your knees’ll give.”

  “Push away. Find out.”

  “A drinker. And inherently a violent man-a killer, some say. That’s no environment for a troubled young woman who needs desperately to work out her own problems.”

  He turned back to Alouette without moving closer.

  “I sincerely hope you’ll take time to think this whole thing over, come to your senses. See what needs to be done here. I’ve always taken care of your needs. I always will.”

  “Needs change,” she said with a glance toward me. “Maybe you can’t take care of my needs anymore, Daddy.”

  “And this man can.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe only I can. Or maybe I can’t. That’s part of what I have to find out.”

  “I’m telling you here and now that this will not happen. I simply can’t allow it.”

  “I’ve talked to the social workers and hospital lawyers, Daddy. Short of alleging burglary and having me thrown into jail, there doesn’t seem to be much you can do about it.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Do what you think you have to. That’s all I’m doing.”

  “I’ll see you both again then-very soon.”

  He walked to the elevator and stood with his finger on the down button.

  “Daddy.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something I never asked. You always made me feel I couldn’t ask it, but I don’t feel that way any longer.”

  He held out an arm to keep the elevator doors from closing. They bucked convulsively. “What is it?”

  “Why did you think you had any right to keep me away from my mother?”

  He stood looking at her, a squall of emotions ticking at his face in the moment before calm restored itself, then turned and stepped into the elevator.

  We spent the next hour extricating Alouette from the hospital’s coils. A formal discharge visit from her attending physician; a trip down to the administrative offices where our walleyed champion had prepared the way and we were in and out in minutes, Alouette signing papers to pay off her bill in low biweekly installments;
a ride back up to retrieve the clothes I’d bought her and say good-bye to staff and patients.

  Then we were walking out into another bright, clear day. Were in the Mazda curving along Riverside Drive. I asked if she wanted to stop for something to eat since there wouldn’t be much chance for a while after this, and she said no. She found music on the radio, cranked both that and the seat down low, leaned back and fell promptly asleep. Tunica, Mound Bayou, Cleveland and Greenville rolled over her closed eyes. Hollandale, Redwood. But mostly the same furrowed fields, the same narrow straight roads and blanketing dust, huge spindly irrigation systems linked together like Tinkertoys, little more than hoop wheels and perforated pipe.

  Erratic traffic as we approached Vicksburg brought her awake in late afternoon. She opened one eye to peek out the windshield, turned it on me and said hoarsely: “Food?”

  Which we partook at a truck stop just off the highway, in accordance with her express desire (when I asked more specifically what she might want) for “food, just food, in large quantities, with lots of grease.”

  Neither wish was disappointed.

  Nor did we fail to attract looks, just looks, also in large quantities, also (for lack of more appropriate synonym) greasy.

  It was a place of basics: stand after stand of fuel pumps out front, Spartan restaurant area, cashier’s counter with boxes of cheap cigars, pocket knives and belt buckles under its glass top and a rack of T-shirts with clever slogans alongside, bunkerlike bathrooms with rentable showers for truckers.

  Clouds had been gathering for some time, bumping up against one another, and as we sat over burned-smelling coffee with oils afloat on its surface, several of them coalesced into one, like a dark fist closing, and rain began pounding at the windows and blacktop outside.

  I’d spent those hours on the road thinking of many things.

  That, for instance, I’d never got around to calling the university after all.

  Or got back to Chip Landrieu.

  Or talked to Clare.

  Composing in my mind, between Tunica and Shelby, the second chapter of what was to become Mole.

  And thinking how, during travel, the mind instinctively shifts mode. Eyes fix on something far off, something unattainable, as you go on about mechanics appearing to have little to do with end or destination: steering, stopping for gas, working pedals; and time itself, unfolding into a plane, a kind of veldt, a portable horizon, all but disappears.