by Douglas Rees
Finally, when they were looking exhausted, I said, “I know I only have the body of a weak and feeble gadje, but let me in there,” and they did.
If this was supposed to be the part where my one little extra bit of strength made the difference, somebody forgot to tell somebody about it. Pretty soon, I was as wiped out as they were.
We all lay on dry grass and panted.
Turk walked over and looked at it.
“Oh, man,” she said. “Wouldn’t you know it?”
“What’s the matter?” I said. “Apart from the fact that nothing’s working.”
Turk didn’t answer. She just leaned all her weight on the valve and made grunting sounds. Then the valve gave a short skreak and began to move.
“Somebody stuck a British fitting on the pipe,” she said. “It turns the other way.”
“You are joking,” Gregor said. “Anyway, how do you recognize such a thing?”
“I do art,” Turk said. “I did a whole network of pipes and faucets once and entered it in a show in Seattle. Called it Water You Doing. Great title. Didn’t win, though.”
“You have been—intelligent,” Gregor said, dragging the words out of himself.
“Duh.” Turk shrugged.
From inside the mill came a sound like dragons roaring, trying to get out.
“What is such noise?” Vladimir said.
I swear he jumped.
“Air in the pipes,” I said.
“Let’s go see our water,” Turk said.
Inside, the faucets were trembling and spitting, coming back to life one at a time. Water came spewing out in brown, angry jolts, along with grumbling air that hadn’t moved in seventy years or more.
“You know, some of these drains could be clogged,” I said.
“Thought of it, Cuz,” Turk said. She produced a plunger and stood there holding it like a scepter.
Sure enough, the sink right in front of us began to back up.
“Permit me?” Constantin said, and held out his hand.
“Sure,” Turk said, handing him the plunger.
Constantin worked the plunger up and down and side to side, and gave a heave that sent water flying all over us.
The drain gulped greedily, and the water went down in the most beautiful swirl I’d ever seen.
In an hour, the air was gone from the pipes and the water was running clean. Relatively clean. Almost clean. Clean enough for what we had to do next, which was wash the walls.
You have no idea how fast four jenti can wash the walls of a hundred-and-fifty-year-old New England mill unless you’ve seen them do it. Room by room and floor by floor they scrubbed. None of them spoke except to call for another bucket. Turk and I ran buckets of fresh water to them while they hung on the walls, one or two to each, and made long, sweeping strokes that changed the color of the bricks to dark, warm red.
Vladimir licked one of the bricks and said, “Not bad. If it were made of blood, I would like it.”
By now it was getting dark inside the mill. We closed everything up. By the time we were done, the sun was throwing patterns of squares all the way across the bottom floor. They made our half-done wigwam glow.
“I never thought it was going to be this easy,” Turk said.
“Not so easy,” Gregor said, looking at his fingers. “But well done.”
A car crossed the bridge and pulled up in front of us. A city car. The twin snakes of New Sodom were painted on the door.
A pudgy guy with a pleasant face got out. He had a piece of paper in his hand.
“You the homesteaders?” he said.
“I am. We are,” I said, jerking my head toward Turk.
“This is for you, then,” the pudgy guy said, and slapped the paper into my hand.
“What is it?” Turk said.
At the top of the paper were the words NOTICE TO CLEAN PREMISES. Below was some legalese telling me that my property was an eyesore and a health hazard, which was true enough, and giving me thirty days to clean the property or lose my claim. Only the word thirty had been crossed out, and the word three written in above it.
“This is kind of an interesting old form,” the guy said. “I’ve never delivered one like it. You guys are the first homesteaders I ever cited.”
“You know,” Turk said, “this place doesn’t look too different from the other ones around here. Do they all get citations, too?”
“No.” The guy shrugged. “There’s nobody responsible for most of ’em. Nobody we can find. But you guys are here, and you’re responsible.”
“Did you cross out this number?” I asked, pointing to the three.
“Not me,” the guy said. “I just deliver ’em. Rain or shine, weekdays or Sundays.”
“But why is it crossed out at all?” I said.
“Everything happens faster these days,” the guy said. “Back when this form was printed, a month was probably like three days now.”
“We need an extension,” I said.
“Oh, you get that down at the department,” the guy said. “The thing is, it takes thirty days to process a request. And you’ve only got three, so—” He shrugged.
Vladimir growled.
The guy lost his grin and backed toward his car.
“Well, good luck,” he said, and drove off, bouncing over the potholes and looking back over his shoulder.
“I get the feeling somebody doesn’t like us,” Turk said.
“Nobody likes you,” I said.
“Big joke,” Turk said.
“He is right. Nobody likes you,” Gregor said, and his guys snickered.
Turk ignored them.
I looked down toward the trees at the river’s edge. Somebody was watching this place for sure. Somebody who had enough clout to get a guy from city hall to come out on Sunday with a carefully modified citation.
“There’s only one thing we can do,” I said. “We have got to get this place cleaned up. We need Dumpsters. Anybody know anything about getting Dumpsters?”
“They cost hundreds of dollars,” Turk said. “I rented one once for an art piece. Wiped out my budget.”
I looked at the piles of junk around us. Some of them stood higher than my head.
“We’re going to need at least ten big ones,” Turk said. “I could maybe afford six.”
“I can get the rest,” Gregor said.
“Like hell,” Turk said. “I don’t want to owe you anything.”
She turned to me. “Want to buy my car?”
“Not even if I had the money,” I said.
Gregor was looking at Turk like she’d slapped him, which she pretty much had. “You are a stupid, arrogant girl,” he said.
“I don’t take favors from anybody,” Turk said.
“It is not a favor,” Gregor said. “I want to keep my rooms here. That will be hard now that someone knows—that the city knows—”
“This is about those marks, isn’t it?” I said.
“Never mind,” Gregor said. “You want no favors, and I give you none. But I will buy your worthless car for whatever price is fair. And please do not think for one moment that I do this for you, stupid gadje cow.”
Turk looked down at the ground. “All right, damn it. Three thousand.”
“Done,” Gregor said. “You will have the money tomorrow. But can all this be cleaned so quickly?”
“It’ll have to be, or we lose this place,” I said. “Are you guys willing to skip school?”
This was like asking jenti if they wanted to go swimming at the beach. They just didn’t do it.
Gregor turned to Vladimir, Ilie, and Constantin. “We will get these Dumpsters, and you will all join me. We will forget school for that day.”
“Forget school?” Ilie said.
“All day?” Vladimir said.
“Like gadje?” Constantin said.
“Exactly like gadje,” Gregor said. “This is for Burgundy,” he added.
Then he walked over to them and put his hand straight out.
“Burgundy,” he repeated.
“Burgundy,” Ilie said, putting his hand on top of Gregor’s.
“Burgundy,” Constantin said, slapping his hand down on Ilie’s.
“Burgundy,” Vladimir said, and put his hand on top of the stack.
“Burgundy, Burgundy, Burgundy, Burgundy,” they chanted.
It sounded like they were trying to get served in a wine bar.
Turk held out her car keys.
“Want to take a test-drive?” she said.
“That will not be necessary,” Gregor said. “I plan to resell your vehicle as soon as I own it.”
Turk turned away and headed toward her car.
I followed.
“I’ll call as soon as I’ve got the Dumpsters lined up,” I said to Gregor.
“We will be ready,” he said.
As we drove back over the bridge, I said, “Just in case you’re wondering, I have no idea what that Burgundy stuff was about.”
Turk didn’t answer. She didn’t talk all the way home. I think she was saying good-bye to her car.
16
One thing I did when we got home. I showed my dad the notice.
“Hm,” he said when he’d read it. “Looks like you’re being set up, all right. You might want to get a lawyer.”
“Dad, get a grip,” I said. “You’re a lawyer, remember?”
“Somebody important really wants you out of there,” Dad said like he hadn’t heard me. “Funny how everything in life eventually comes down to real estate. It’s the damnedest thing.”
He gave me back the notice.
“So?” I said.
“So, Leach, Swindol and Twist do a lot of business with the town government,” he said. “We’re not in a good position to take this case.”
“Then how about loaning us ten thousand dollars for some Dumpsters?” I said.
“I’ll be in my den,” Dad said, and turned away from me.
“Thanks a lot, Uncle Jack,” Turk said to Dad’s back.
If Dad noticed the dirty looks he was getting from me, Turk, and Mom at dinner, he didn’t show it. And he disappeared back into his den as soon as we were done.
Turk went up to her attic and paced back and forth. We could hear her feet stamping up and down the length of the house.
I looked up the numbers of all the Dumpster places in New Sodom and left messages for them to call me the next day. When I was done, I had a message.
Justin had called.
“Need to talk to you,” he said when I called back.
“Talk,” I said.
“Been thinking about that thing you’re doing out in Crossfield,” he said. “How’s that going?”
“Getting done,” I said. “But we’ve run into trouble.”
And I told him about the Dumpsters.
“But we’ve still got a shot,” I said. “Turk’s selling her car to Gregor, and with that money we should be able to afford enough of them to get the job done on time.”
I made it sound as good as I could. Who knew? Maybe he was calling because he’d decided to help.
That was not the reason.
“Mm-hm,” he said when I was done. “Listen, Cody. I’ve got something to tell you. If you go ahead with this thing, if you turn that old mill into your arts center or anything else, I just don’t see how I can go on being friends with you.”
“What?” I said. I was sure we had a bad connection.
“I mean it, Cody,” Justin said. “You know what that place was.”
I didn’t say anything for a long time. Then I said, “Yeah. But I also know what it could be.”
“No good,” Justin said. “It needs to be let alone.”
Again, I waited before I spoke.
“How’s that going to help?” I finally said.
“Nothing’s going to help,” Justin said. “That’s just the way it is.”
“Justin, this isn’t about forgetting what happened out there,” I said. “It’s about going forward. Together.”
I was dizzy. The idea of losing Justin was so far out there it didn’t seem real. But I knew I hadn’t convinced him.
“Cody. One last time. Please quit,” Justin said.
“I can’t,” I blurted out. “Mercy Warrener wouldn’t like it.”
“Huh?” Justin said. “Mercy Warrener, my ancestor?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “She wanted a place where everybody in New Sodom could come together and do things. She didn’t call it an arts center. But that was her dream.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to get him interested in Mercy Warrener and bring him over to my side. I wanted to tell him about the journal. But a soft voice in my head whispered, Don’t.
“I can’t tell you, exactly,” I said.
Now it was Justin who was silent.
“There’s an old story in the family about her,” he said finally. “She used to say things about how much fun it could be … if things were like you say.”
“Score,” I thought. Jenti take their ancestors very seriously.
“But she sure couldn’t have meant to do it in Crossfield,” Justin finally said.
“No,” I said. “Crossfield’s just where it’s happening.”
My phone went dead.
I thought about calling him back. I thought about calling Ileana and telling her everything we’d said. But what good would that do?
My phone rang. And it was Ileana.
“Justin called me, Cody,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“He is very upset.”
“He’s not the only one,” I said.
“Cody, I am calling to ask you also. Please give up this idea. For me,” Ileana whispered. “I have never asked you for anything, but I am asking you now. Please give up your wonderful idea and let Crossfield be what it is.”
“What it is, is ugly and useless,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “But there are some things even you cannot change.”
I felt sick. I felt scared. It was hard to breathe. I must have known what was coming next.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I have to push this thing as hard as I can.”
“But why?”
“Because … because you don’t know what you can change unless you try,” I said.
“Cody, if you do not do this thing for me, I do not want to see you again. No, that is not true. I do want to see you. But I will not.”
I couldn’t answer at first. When I thought I had control of my voice, I said, “I’ve got a couple of your books. I’ll give them back to you at school.”
I waited for an answer, but there wasn’t one. Just dead air. Then, click.
I sat on my bed for a long, long time. And I cycled through more feelings than I usually had in a month. A couple of times, I almost picked up the phone and called Ileana back. All I had to do was agree to drop my stupid idea and everything could go back to the way it was.
Except I couldn’t. Not without giving up on Cody Elliot. For the first time, I realized exactly why I was getting myself neck-deep in a swamp full of alligators. Yes, it was for Mercy Warrener, and it was for Ileana. And it might even have been for Turk. But it was definitely because I thought it was the right thing to do. And if I was wrong, I had to find that out for myself.
Life without Ileana and Justin would be one long winter day. A late, cold, gray one, covered with dirty snow. But it was the choice I had made, and I had to live with it.
I went upstairs and scratched on Turk’s trapdoor with both hands. When she came to answer it, I said, “I’ve got to get out of here. Let’s go someplace.”
“Might as well use my wheels while I’ve got ’em,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”
“Away,” I said.
“Dang, Cuz, you sound like you mean it,” Turk said. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you going?” Mom asked as we went out the door.
&
nbsp; “Some place Cody told me about,” Turk said.
“When will you be back?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Turk said.
“Don’t stay out late,” Mom said.
Turk’s cramped little car grumbled awake and pulled away from the curb. I wanted to be able to do this—to turn a key and drive away from things.
We didn’t talk. Turk headed west, the fastest way out of town. When we had left New Sodom behind, she turned onto a side road heading north. A sign said SQUIBNOCKET.
“I’ve always wanted to see a Squibnocket, haven’t you?” Turk said.
“Not much,” I said.
The road dipped and twisted through a range of round green hills that got higher as we went north. A strong wind was blowing the clouds south like galloping horses. Or maybe flying jenti. I wondered if Gregor was up there.
“When Mom backstabs me, or gets married or something, I always take off,” Turk said. “I drive around till I can stand to go back. Or until I run out of gas money. Doesn’t solve anything, but it’s better than nothing.”
I didn’t have anything to say. I just stayed hunched over in the uncomfortable seat.
“Sometimes I just drive around screaming,” Turk said. “I scream until my voice is totally shot. Windows up, windows down. Doesn’t matter. When you’re screaming, people leave you alone.”
“Must be nice,” I said.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me a damn thing,” Turk said. “I don’t care that much anyway. But if you want to spill your guts about it, go ahead.”
“I don’t,” I said. Then I did.
When I was all spilled out, Turk said, “Know how you feel. I had a friend once. Sucks.”
I didn’t know if she meant it sucked to lose a friend, or to have one in the first place.
“Know what I did when she backstabbed me?” Turk went on.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Did an art project about it with baling wire and old refrigerator parts, and sold if for ten thousand dollars.”
“Learned how to drive,” Turk said.
We were coming into Squibnocket now. It was one of those towns that haven’t changed much in the last few hundred years. A covered bridge led into it, and the biggest building was a stone church with a bell tower.
Turk headed in to the church parking lot. A sign by the driveway said, YOU ARE WELCOME TO OUR PARKING LOT AND TO OUR CHURCH. ST. BIDDULPH’S EPISCOPAL CHURCH.