The Entropy of Bones

by Ayize Jama-everett

  After three hours, Roderick sat on a couch while Dale rolled two joints four fingers thick. I knew better than to ask any questions. They’d speak when they were ready. All Roderick had said so far was, “He didn’t have to do that.”

  “Ok, big man. Time for a smoke,” Dale said, nearly shoving the thing in his brother’s hair-encrusted mouth.

  “I can’t . . .”

  “Yes you can, big man. This is his favorite strain. It’s got the red hairs and everything. Come on now.” Dale lit it for Roderick. With one large inhale, the joint was gone. Roderick held it in so long I feared he was having some form of seizure.

  “That’s some good shit,” he finally said, releasing an insane amount of smoke from his lungs.

  “I like the idea of you and me stepping out on the porch for a second. What do you say?” Dale near whispered as Roderick’s eyelids began to give way to fatigue. I nodded and we walked outside, Dale armed with another joint. “This one’s for us.

  “I know it’s not your custom, but given the circumstances I’d take it as an extreme courtesy on your part if you’d light this one up with me,” Dale offered gently after he’d taken a mannish-sized hit himself.

  What happened? I said after I took my first dainty sampling of marijuana. Memories of the fungus rock came rushing back to me. Something in the taste.

  “Honestly, I was hoping you could tell me. Ever since he started seeing that Poppy. . . . It was like he was addicted to her, couldn’t go half an hour without talking to her, seeing her, something. I mean this girl was his screen saver, on his phone, everything. Got to the point that Roderick declared the fields and family time to be no Poppy time. I think that’s part of why he’s taking it so hard.”

  Poppy, was all I could get out. She seem weird to you, know what I mean?

  “Wouldn’t know. Never met her. Look, I’ve been in love. I know how it gets. I was trying to be supportive. Invite her into the family. We’re not as rich and all that. But I figured if she liked him as much as he liked her. . . . But he wouldn’t hear of it for a long time. It was only last week he agreed. Said we should go down to that hotel where both of you are staying and have dinner or something.”

  He’s been staying at the Naga? It came out wrong. I meant for it to be a question but it sounded more like a statement. Dale was so wrapped up in his private grief he didn’t even notice. I hadn’t known he’d been there.

  “Only times he’s coming up lately is for the deliveries.” Dale took another big puff before offering it to me again. I had to accept. “He’d been through so much. Maybe it’s hard to tell just by looking at him, but he’d come a long way. I . . . I just don’t see why . . . I’ve known guys who’ve taken their lives before. Tough guys, weak guys, loners, folks with friends. You see a lot of things. But I never saw this coming. He was happy. He was so fucking happy.” Then it was Dale’s turn to cry. Without saying a word he reached into his pocket and gave me Shotgun’s suicide letter.

  “I can’t be the type of man that she needs me to be. I’ll lose her to a better man someday. I can’t carry that load. I love you, baby, and I’m sorry. Dale, Rod, give her everything. She deserves it and more.”

  I waited until I got home. My real home, the Mansai. In a ball I cried myself to sleep. The next morning I went over to Mom’s and asked her to help me shop for a funeral dress. When she asked me who died, I started crying again.

  At the Suites I could have gotten the most in-fashion misery dress of the year, but away from that place my head began to clear. There was something narcotic about the entire building. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. But the medicinal flow of the Bay helped to clear my senses; the sight of my mom reminded me of my life before the Suites.

  She was obviously the better choice for shopping. She knew me. Knew not to be in my face too much but also knew to be in earshot. She took time off of work just to be close. Work hours were such a precious commodity when I was growing up I didn’t think I’d ever hear about her giving them up. Even when Narayana left and I was incoherent, she still went to work.

  I spent the week before the funeral embarrassed and avoidant. Rice would get no response to his numerous texts, emails, and phone calls, despite how insistent each one became. He claimed he just wanted to make sure I was ok. But the want in his voice, the need, it unsettled me. Not his desire, but mine to make him feel ok.

  I was more embarrassed by my own failings. Roderick and Dale didn’t have to ask me to take care of their nephew; I knew that was my job. If they’d seen his reaction to the high life of the Naga Suites, they’d have pulled him out, let Dale run the weed trade with them. But he was so into Poppy. I recognized that unreasonable need and desire. It reeked of my high school feelings for Narayana. Pathetic and sad as it was, I couldn’t condemn him for something I had done myself. But now he was dead and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault. I was even robbed of my nickname for him. I could never think of him as Shotgun again.

  Mom came to the funeral. She looked beautiful in her black church get-up, minus the hat, of course. She fitted me with a loose black blouse and a long black skirt, which gave my hips and legs room to breathe.

  “It’s going to be hard, little girl,” she said when she saw my surprise at the wardrobe she picked for me. “No sense in being uncomfortable as well.”

  It was an impressive spread. Lots of food and booze. Two hundred people showed up easily, milling in and out of the formerly grand house. It was a collection of grape growers, weed dealers, bikers, locals, and family. People passed bottles of wine and whiskey, as well as joints, with a solemn abandon in the front yard. When anyone erupted in laughter over a Shotgun story, tears soon followed. Thirty people at the most were always with Matt at the closed casket in the living room of the family house. Roderick had pulled himself together a little better since I saw him last, but he still seemed distracted and infinitely mournful. Mostly he sat in the fireplace room. I couldn’t see an end to his misery. Dale was less public with his grief. As his brother reclined in upholstered chairs fit for his size, Dale met everyone at the door and received visitors and ran the kitchen full of catered food, made sure there were enough chairs, all of it.

  “This is my mom, Dale. Mom, this is Dale. Matt was his nephew.” Dale moved so gracefully, he shocked us both. In the span of a breath he’d wiped his hands on his apron and gently took one of my mom’s hands with both of his and bowed his head gracefully.

  “This is truly an honor, ma’am. Chabi has been a great comfort to my family long before this . . . tragedy. I wish I had thought to extend an invitation before now. In any case, welcome to our home.”

  “I have nothing but sympathy for your loss, brother,” Mom said gently as we walked into the house. “Your family has been a boon to my daughter, so please let me return the favor by helping with anything you need.” Before Dale had time to reject the help, Mom was strutting to the kitchen with a determined look. Twenty minutes later, their laughter was the predominant sound coming from the kitchen. It was like they were both refugees from some unknown island of grief, who took solace in their shared common sad language.

  I sat in the main living room, a palatial room, made for the times when extended families all sat around huge rectangular tables during holidays. Even with the mourners the room felt small. The coffin felt huge. I sat toward the back as Matt’s friends from town and jail filled the front aisles. Some of the jail guys left envelopes on the coffin. Some people left flowers. Others left weed. There was so much love for someone now gone in such a selfish manner, I almost started crying again. Instead, I raged. I wanted to rush the coffin, pull Matt out of it. How dare he leave Roderick in such a state? How dare he let his uncles suffer just for a rich, entitled bitch? It was as though Poppy heard my thoughts because just as that idea entered my mind I got a text from her: “Can’t make the funeral. Give my condolences to his brother, or aunts or whatever. TTYS. P.S. Rice misses u.”

  I rushed out the room to f
ind water, ice, something to cool myself down. I locked myself in the third-floor bathroom. I was furious. Poppy didn’t give a fuck about the funeral, Matt, or his family. That text was letting me know that she was proud of the mess she’d made of his life, of how easy it was for her. When I came out, Mom was standing there waiting for me.

  How’d you know I was here?

  “I heard you calling,” she said casually. My Voice had called for her without meaning to. “What’s wrong?”

  From his girlfriend. I’d kept Mom away from everyone and everything having to do with the Naga Suites. But I needed someone else to understand why it was hard to keep my breathing calm. Mom took more time than I thought necessary to read a simple text. Then she clucked her tongue.

  “Fuck that whore,” she said in her old pre-Christian voice. I smiled. Then her mouth puckered and she got stern. “No. Real talk. Women that can send that type of message to someone at a funeral ain’t got no cause to be respected or listened to. On top of that, bitch seems cruel and hateful. I’ve dealt with enough of that in my life. You too. Dale and his brother don’t need that bitch’s mess in their heads right now. And fuck this Rice guy as well!”

  I nodded, noticing for the first time where I got my temper. She calmed herself down, pulled out her copy of the serenity prayer, and chanted it to herself as she held it.

  With a calm voice she spoke again. “You haven’t always picked the best people to associate with, Chabi. Me neither. I can’t judge you. I can only help. When you find good people like Dale and Roderick, you stand by them, protect them, and defend them against the shit we both know the world has to offer. Understood?”

  Yes, Mom. And then, and I don’t know why, I added, I love you Mommy.

  She hugged me tight, and then excused herself to the bathroom. I couldn’t deal with more grief so I went outside to the giant porch where all the smokers were. It’d been a while since I’d seen so many white guys with ponytails, but they were kind. They offered joints and swigs from their bottles. I was thinking about taking a hit from one when I saw a familiar face out of the corner of my eye. He stood away from everyone, almost around the corner of the porch. I went to him and saw his lazy smile.

  “Sorry for your loss,” he said gently.

  Appreciated. I breathed hard then jumped in. You knew him?

  “Only that he was close to you. You remember me?”

  The infinitely forgettable rectal irritant.

  “A.C. to most, but yeah.” He lit his strange-smelling joint. “Forgive my directness but I’ve got to ask, what exactly are your feelings towards your current employer and his friend, the girlfriend of . . .”

  Poppy was no friend to Shot . . . Matt. And I’m beginning to question whether or not she’s even a girl.

  “You’re asking the right questions, Chabi. But still avoiding one of mine.”

  I don’t owe you a thing, vanishing boy, so slow your roll. He looked dejected as he mumbled in some foreign language.

  What do you want me to say? He’s never done a thing against me, given me a job, and only wants my happiness. I can’t explain why I don’t want to see him, why that hotel creeps me out, why just wanting to make him happy fills me with dread. I don’t even know how you know about him. I . . . I just. . . . Fuck. I was exhausted.

  He’s evil, isn’t he? I asked finally.

  “I wish!” A.C. laughed, coughing out a big hit. “If Rice were evil, his family would be of creation and subject to its rules. Rice, Poppy, all of them are etic creatures, children of entropy. They don’t worship harm; they embody the end of all things. And if you want to stop them, you’ll need my help.”

  Roderick stepped outside and announced the service would be starting soon. He looked my way, smiled, and did his best to pretend everything was ok by waving me over. The big man squinted for a second, looking more in depth for a second then went back inside.

  Wait, I told the mystery boy.

  “I don’t have a lot of time to wait, Chabi.”

  You gonna put me on a time card, Mr. Forgettable? You really want me to choose between running off with you wherever and attending my boy’s service? That really the best thing for your dental plan right now?

  “It’s not me putting the pressure on. It’s the situation.” He’d taken my threat seriously and prepped himself to guard against about half of my attacks.

  Well, fuck the situation. I’m seeing Matt off. After that, I’ll deal with those that got him in this position.

  As soon as I walked in, Mom took me to the side.

  “You’re going to sing with me.” I literally opened my mouth to say something, but Mom cut me off right away. “They were going to send him off with no music. You remember “Beautiful Hills of Galilee”? We’re singing that at the end. Get over the shyness and be of service.” Mom patted my hair and helped some of the more senior folks into the big living room.

  Mom used to sing the song in the pre-Narayana days when she wasn’t too drunk and I was having problems sleeping. It’s a mournful and fatalistic slice of peace that probably wouldn’t be approved by any therapist as an appropriate lullaby. But it worked for me.

  Left to my own devices, I would have worried about singing for the entire service. Dale saved me from myself by sitting me next to a redheaded thick-boned blubbering wreck of a girl named Kate. In her mind she was supposed to marry Matt. They’d begun dating last year and Kate was convinced it was just a matter of time before they settled down. Her tears didn’t get me, but her perfect match for Matt did. She was of his town, his folk. They should have been married, had kids, taken over the farm, given the uncles some little kids to play with. She felt like the thing that was interrupted, the dangling bit of life left from the snip taken from Matt.

  Thick-boned Kate distracted me by demanding to be taken care of with her sniffles and whines as people got up in front of everyone and shared Matt stories. It wasn’t coordinated. Whoever wanted to get up did. They spoke for however long they wanted, then sat back down. A lot of stories were about weed. Some were about prison. The most touching ones were about him as a kid. Roderick couldn’t really get through this story. When it was Dale’s turn, he mostly just thanked people for showing up. No one left while anyone else spoke. Finally, after some silent grief language cue between Dale and Mom, Mom got up and motioned for me to get in front of everyone. I’d fought men three times my size who openly professed a desire to rape me, but I’d never been more scared before.

  “I never had the honor of meeting Matt,” Mom said gently to everyone. “But he was a friend to my daughter and a good nephew to my friends Dale and Roderick. If it’s ok with all assembled, my daughter and I will sing him off on his journey.”

  Mom started on the chorus and I joined in instinctively using my Voice. I left off as she hit the first verse. When I’d been a child she had sung the verses so softly that I hadn’t realized the hymn was about death. But the realization hit me so hard that when I came in for the chorus, even I noticed my Voice changed. People sat up and felt smaller at the same time. Again, my mom killed the verse. But the third verse killed me with the line “For you I was slain.” I almost lost the chorus but I came in with it almost as hard as Hazel Dickens. There was no intention in my sharing. I was just singing. As I was ending, I looked over to see my mom’s eyes filled with tears. But behind her, A.C., the shadowy boy, leaned against the far wall and nodded gently at me.

  I’ve . . . Mom, I’m so sorry but I’ve got to go, I whispered to her as soon as people started filing out the room.

  “What are you talking about, Chabi?”

  Mom. This, this isn’t right. He shouldn’t be dead. For once Mom didn’t have anything else to say. She just looked at me and nodded. I’ve got to do something about it. I mean I can’t bring him back, but maybe I can understand what’s happened. Maybe I can make sure it doesn’t happen again. I think . . . Mom, I think I might be able to be useful.

  “You gonna use that kung fu Narayana taught you?” She sm
iled.

  How many times do I have to say it, Mom, it’s not kung fu . . .

  “Whatever, girl. If you can use any of that for something good, then maybe all that time wasn’t a waste after all, is what I’m getting at.” She took me in her arms, strong, but shaking a little. She was getting older, I realized, as I looked over her shoulder and saw the coffin. “You sang beautifully. You should do it more often.”

  Outside, A.C. leaned against the banister of the steps that led up to the house. He didn’t bother looking at me as I walked toward him. But he did smile.

  “Impressive voice.”

  Where to, ass ache? I snipped at him.

  “Look, I’ll answer every question you’ve got, swear it. But first I need to get anchored in the here and now.”

  Fuck, is it gonna be this much of a headache every time you speak? What do you need?

  “Narayana left some entropy weapons behind for me.”

  Chapter Eleven: Entropy Weapons

  I tore the Mansai up looking for entropy weapons, totally unsure of what they were even after A.C. explained it. There was a sense of violation I was trying to excise. Would Narayana truly have left something behind that I wasn’t supposed to have access to? Would he have trusted this willow in the wind slouch more than me, his number one student? I had to know.

  “This thing with forgetting me when you’re not looking at me . . .” A.C. started as soon as we got back to the ship. The drive was faster than I expected and I knew he had something to do with that. He said something about synchronicity, but it was hard to drive and pay attention to him. I was having the same problem looking around the junk and listening to him. “It’s not something I have control over. Get me? It’s part of who I am, what I do.”