Blue Bottle Tree

by Beaird Glover

“Are you cold?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” I said. I shivered the second she pulled her arms away.

  I was lost in that moment when a shower of rocks hailed down on the kiddie pool.

  “Time for work,” Hoof’s voice boomed. The blue plastic dome was lifted by an ingenious pulley system which creaked as he cranked rope onto a spool. I realized that I was not the first he had held captive. A ladder came down into my hole. The light was fantastic. It was evening, burnt orange halos swooned from the setting sun, and distances blurred. Stalking cats closed in on me from every side. I fumbled my way up to test the ladder, hoping the cats would not be ordered to attack, and Hoof thrashed me with the whip. With the next snap, the whip curled around the ladder’s top rung and he jerked. I fell and the ladder toppled down on me. I set it right and tried again. I had almost crawled out and he beat me back. Another sip of green water appeared in my bowl and I drank. It gave me strength and made me dizzy. On my next attempt, I was permitted to climb out and collapse on the outside dirt. This whole process may have taken an hour. The stars pulsed when I opened my eyes again.

  He was dressed as Baron Samedi as he had been the last time I saw him—the top hat, long tails, face painted white with blacked-out eyes, and jaw hinge smiling, teeth stretching all across his face. He discarded the whip for a white-tipped cane, which was sharp, and he pressed it into my sternum, giving the impression that I could be impaled. “Zombies do,” he said. “What you do is work.”

  “I won’t do anything for you,” I mumbled, but my words did not make sense. I was afraid his cane would puncture my chest. Any wrong move and the point could cut between two ribs, killing me.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” he said. “You’re going to need it.” But he seemed to discern the intention of my murmuring. “You’re lucky to be a zombie,” he said. “If you were too dead, then you wouldn’t even have this.” He flourished his arms to the dump. A cat meowed behind him. “Your mother and grandmother are dead. Your home is gone. Penny is gone. The Eye of Marie killed her, of course. Your grandmother killed Penny Langston.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Don’t speak. Zombies don’t speak. Zombies do.”

  He gave me a bowl of corn meal mush which I was obliged to eat with my fingers, and then he directed me to the mountain of garbage. I was to sort through it, in the gathering dark. He was essentially asking me to move the mountain—as much of it as I could—from here to there, there being a few feet away from where it currently was. “Extract the things I like,” he said. He sat at the whip’s length behind me and cracked it on my back when he thought I was moving too slowly. The task of finding what he wanted was impossible. I offered him a crystal glass and he whipped it from my hand, shattering it on a concrete slab. Of the discarded refuse I gave to the new pile, he picked out a broken violin bow. “This! This I like!” he said.

  “Why would you want a broken violin bow?” My words came out all garbled, like drivel, without enunciation enough to call it gibberish. I had lost the ability to intone anything more articulate than blabber. It was horrible.

  He thwacked me with the broken end of the bow, the loose, floppy tendrils. “Horse hair. This is black horse hair from the bow of a bass, not a violin. Violins use white horse hair, from the tails of white horses. This is much coarser. This…” he held it up to the moonlight, “…has tooth! If you displease me I will cut these hairs short and feed them in your mush. Your stomach will bleed and your intestines will swell with the sores of a million tiny punctures. Blood will rise up your gullet and you will choke. Do not displease me, Seven. Horse hair mush is a terrible way to die.”

  “I won’t displease you,” I tried to say. But it was impossible to make the words come out right.

  “Work!” he said.

  I did the best I could. I was bleary, worse for wear and tear, but this was the way of it. Along with the bow, Hoof acquired the torn-off wing of a rubber bat, a silver charm bracelet, and a headdress made of long turquoise feathers. He took a perverse delight in an AA sobriety coin. He even gave me a bowl of mush for it, because he knew who the coin used to belong to and why the guy had thrown it away.

  Having produced several items that were to his satisfaction and having established a small pile of junk from the bigger one, Hoof decided I had done enough for one night. He put me back in my hole.

  The dump had a single streetlight, on the other side of my new mound. It cast a shadow down the center of my dome, leaving me in the dim blue half, and my shadow somewhere else. I immediately confused myself with the shadow. Its head moved without me moving my own. Or, I did move my own head, opened my mouth, and the shadow’s head yawned. I coughed, but the shadow threw its head back. Throat too dry and I saw the shadow was scratching me. There was no green water to drink. I licked the last drops from my bowl. My tongue was almost wet, almost enough to swallow. He favors me now. I have water—more than ever before. So, I drink, and forget what I was thinking.

  It’s a freshly dug hole—the earthworm did not yet know the change. Its wriggly point breathed in the open air. It got a surprise, having to navigate this newly packed earth, eating dirt to clear the way. This Tao of Zen earthworm was feeling its way around a rock, never trying to go through. A worm cannot go through a rock. Don’t try. Do not ever try. Do not ever think of trying. Stay on the path. There is no path. Think outside the box. There is no box, no thinking.

  I am the earthworm. Eat what is before me until it’s gone, until I rear to the sky, writhing. I blasted through the soil, made my way to the top. Did not find sunlight, not grass, wrong turn, still not above ground. The worm I squirm, out of this crack, this excavation. Fallen to dirt floor. Picked up by a giant, rolled between warm fingers, I can get out of this, squirm like never squirmed before and it drops me on mud in the dark.

  I became the worm and now I’ve lost it. Handled it too roughly. Handled it all too roughly. Never did it right. The bow was broken when I found it. I can’t change the broken bow. How could I make it whole? The dump is where broken things go. The hole is for a zombie. Work-a-day is done.

  Family dead, gone. Penny gone too. Nobody left but me. Hoof gave me mush and rice. A new drink of green water and I do not think of sadness. Exhausted thoughts bursting, racing to and from. Can’t sleep like this, can’t find the worm. Can’t find myself. I am in the worm.

  No thinking then, I was apart, disjoined and only writhing between warm fingers, pinched apart and left to die. Half alive to regenerate. I killed myself like that. I always killed myself. Alive and twice alive but bleeding. Which side will I be? Half the worm not moving. I was the part that died. I was the pinched-out middle in-between. I’ve lost my way back into the ground. Back to darkness. Go around the rock, go around the blue bottle tree. Go inside and be the spirit there. I have no bottle here. No spirit. Blue dome, shadow of a worm, tongue lolling still too dry.

  Peace be with you, and also with you. Sleep perchance to dream. Away in a manger, a hole for a bed. Gone the other way, down. Down in a cave. A cave on a hill. Bones in the cave from before I was born. Who would kill a child? It was always you, I never did. The boy was missing before he was found. They found me. I died in the hole.

  Cave on a hill is same as this. No, the cave is better. I’ve been here before, always here. Always leaving, never gone. Go before I tell you.

  The EMT said I was dead. He can’t pronounce. Mail trucks have the right-of-way. Somebody could die. Use the siren.

  I want to come back. Whose turn is it to cry? I hate everything. Hate too strong a word. Not enough energy for that. Can I work again? Hoof is coming. I hear him. It was day and then dark and half a shadow. Again too hot, must be midday, must be noon. I like the dark side. Here I’ll stay. The ants can’t find me. I was the one who did it wrong and everybody knew. They said Seven is the worm in a cave. He died. I think therefore I am.

  Dome is up, my ladder down. Outside air is rich and sweet. A breeze. This must be magic, so much better. I
love the nighttime air. Clear water once again. Yes, I can be happy here. I always was. Thank you. Yes, I work better now. No, still I cannot speak. You know, of course you know. Yes, I see, Victor. You are everything to me. Could you use one shoe? No, but a lace you’d like? No wait, you do not see. I will keep the string.

  I whip the lace out through six eyes. Man’s black leather shoe, office work in town. Unstuck sole did this shoe in. A thin lace won’t be missed. Tossed bad shoe on growing pile, I’ve done it! Now I have a string. String in pocket no one knows. Joyful all the day. I have a string now. I have a string. What things we will do together, it brings me closer to. What knots I can make, a string to tangle, wrap around a finger, a ring, a bond that can’t be broke. Don’t forget I have a string. Yes, a thin black lace is mine.

  Ties to bind one to another. If there was one there must be two. Yes, I pull. I always do. Someone on the other side. Someone hears me now I know. A knot. Yes, I tie Penny to me—not a trap, a tunnel door.

  Done and done good work he told me. Work and home again. I have a string. Hoof saw it. Always knew. He always knew. Gave it to me too. He said he gave me life. He saved me. I may keep the string. My mush does not have horse’s hair. No bleeding yet, no sores inside. I’ve done well, he let me keep the string.

  Tie one finger to another. Now I have a game. You are me, not strong as I, the one who does the thinking. Stop all extra. Too tired. Can’t do more. Can’t do anything. Every action must have purpose, reptilian efficiency. No wasted move, no twitch of dissipated energy. Deeper in, back and farther back there are no words, black and silent night.

  I pull her closer with the string.

  15 A Man In The Sea of Boys

  After Victor told me that Seven had been in the tree, I did not go to the window, even when it happened again. I did not want to encourage Seven. I did not turn on a light or make a sound. I just pretended it wasn’t happening, put up with it, and tried to sleep. Pings nonstop and then little acorn showers, down from the roof, and sprinkling on the ground. I hid my head under the blanket, and kept my ears covered all through the night.

  I tolerated one night, but the next night was worse. I think the pings were sharper, and I was afraid he would break the glass. I opened it and looked, and looked, brought a flashlight and shined it into the tree. “Seven, I know that’s you. Why don’t you just leave me alone. Okay? Please. Just leave me alone and I won’t tell anyone else about this. Okay?” I dropped the window with a thud. Nothing more that night, but on the next, it started again. Now with pine cones. Really, Seven? I yelled and my mother came in the room. She went outside, also railing at Seven, threatening to call the police. They would bring the fire department and a ladder high enough to pull him out of that tree. Then they would arrest him for harassment, peeping tom, trespassing, and everything else. Dad was blaring too—as if the boy in a tree throwing rocks at my window was my fault, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  Then they calmed down and we all went back inside. I was pretty sure this would be enough. But when I saw Victor jogging the next morning, I ran after him. I wanted Seven punished. “He’s still doing it,” I said.

  Victor slowed to a walk, not even breathing hard. “Seven?”

  “Yes. He’s still throwing rocks and stuff at my window. He does it every night and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Short drive,” Victor said, chuckling. Great, he thinks I’m crazy too. I had not even brushed my hair and I was still wearing sweats. I must have looked horrible. “Your lips are getting worse.”

  “I know.” I hid the fissures stretching out from the corners of my mouth. It was embarrassing.

  “It’s because of the clarinet. Don’t play it anymore.”

  I did not feel the need to tell him, but I could not play the clarinet even if I wanted to. It made me bleed. It was awful. Graduation had been the day before, and I was in the graduating class. I marched in with makeup covering the irritations well enough, and did not have to play in the band. I don’t have to play the clarinet—well, ever again if I don’t want to. Seven should have been at graduation. I don’t know how he got out of it. He’ll be in trouble for that, as if he cares. No one in band gets to skip graduation, or anything else. He must have overslept. I know where he was till four in the morning. He must have finally had to sleep.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Victor said. “I can make him stop.” And that was it. He was in command. Behind his steely eyes I saw rage. He would do whatever it took. Seven was nothing to him. He dashed off in the other direction. He looked great, like an Olympian, like a man in the sea of boys.

  Later, Victor sent Mad Dog over to help me babysit, as a condolence for being sick. Mad Dog was in the backyard, pushing Ava in the swing. She loved to swing, always begging me to push her. And now there was Mad Dog, taking time from his busy moron schedule to play with my little sister. Maybe I should have given him a break. They were having fun. I let myself in quietly, glad for Mad Dog to entertain her. It gets so tiresome babysitting a nine-year-old. I looked out at them again and craned my neck to see as high as I could in the old oak tree. I still don’t know how Seven had been up there and able to hide. It was so unlike him to do that. He must have gotten mad at me when I ran out of his house. But his mother was freaking out! I know he’s got it hard and lives with two crazy ladies, but that’s not my fault. I can’t be expected to endure it just because he does.

  The top drawer of my bureau was open and a pair of black stockings were gone. I assumed Ava had taken them. She borrows my clothes, among other things. She’s not even half big enough for those stockings, but she gets a kick out of trying them on.

  It was Monday morning, the first Monday of summer break, and I lay back down in bed. I was not required to do anything or be anywhere. I was so tired. I felt like I could sleep all day.

  16 Mad Dog Sings

  On my way to see Penny’s little sister, I was thinking about my future. I would be a senior next year and had to start planning ahead. Playing bass drum in band was not getting me anywhere. I was a likable guy. I could make friends with anybody, and I liked to talk. I set my sights on being a preacher. Being a preacher seemed right. Church of the Mad Dog Ministry had a nice ring. I would have my own congregation, a group that would pay to hear me speak. I would bring the divine truth to them. I would have to look it up, of course. But then I would know. And I would tell it like I meant it. I would play it up and take them for a ride. I could do that. Easily. I could be the greatest preacher Bellin had ever seen.

  While the rest of my life was coming into focus, I was also gloating over more recent victories. I had done so well with the acorns on Penny’s window that Victor had moved me up a rank. He wanted a pair of Penny’s stockings, and had sent me to steal them. Victor was a genius. Seven and Ray Dimple were nothing compared to him. “Lead Ava into temptation,” Victor told me, “and congratulate her when she gives way.” I was wondering if that conflicted with my plan of being a preacher, while I pushed little Ava on the swing.

  I held my arms up to the heavens, ready to accept my calling. Lead them into temptation. They never knew old Mad Dog had a trick up his sleeve. Victor knew everything.

  Victor had been through the Langstons’ garbage after Christmas last year. He had found some wrappers from Fruit Stripe gum. The wrappers had temporary tattoos on them. It was a rare treat that relatives brought, he told me. It would remind her of a happy time. Lead her into temptation, then congratulate her for giving way. He said a zebra surfing is the key.

  “That was the deal,” I said to Ava. “You got me the stockings and I would play for a little while. But now I have to go.”

  “Not enough. You didn’t play enough.” She giggled, swung forward, and stretched her legs out to the sky.

  “Come on, Ava. I pushed you a long time.”

  “More!”

  “Okay, Ava. One last time.” I pushed her again, pretending it would be the last, and focused on getting down to business. I felt a
surge of pleasure—I was Victor’s coolest spy. “Is she a good sister?” I asked, just shooting the breeze. “I mean, is she nice?”

  “I dunno.”

  “What games does Penny like?”

  “She doesn’t like anything. She’s boring.”

  I kept pushing, “Oh, come on, Ava, I’m sure that’s not true. What does she like? What’s her favorite thing?”

  “She likes to polish her clarinet. And she files her reeds and takes really good care of them.”

  I let that hang in the air. There might be something useful about the clarinet. I pushed less and Ava’s legs didn’t reach as high. She twisted and I felt Penny’s eyes on us from her upstairs window. Ava waved for her to come down. I wagged a finger—no need. You should rest, my finger said. Penny nodded appreciation for the great guy I was. Victor had sent his condolences in the form of me, helping her babysit while she was feeling less than well. It was so devious—I would have never thought of this. But, like everything else Victor did, it worked perfectly.

  The curtain dropped and Ava’s temper surged. Penny had promised to spend more time with her in summer break, but now Penny was too weak for anything. I caught the swing and brought it to a stop. Then I opened up a pack of Fruit Stripe gum. “You want a piece?”

  She recognized it immediately. “Yes! That’s my favorite kind.”

  “I’ll give you one, but you have to tell me something cool about Penny. Something nobody knows.”

  “Are you friends with my sister?”

  “Sure, we’re in band together. I play the bass drum—the big one.”

  “I don’t know anything special about her.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m going to be a preacher. God spoke to me, while I was pushing you on this swing.”

  “Really?”

  I pulled my shirt sleeve up and showed her the wacky tattoo of a zebra surfing. Victor had expertly stuck it on my arm. I flexed my bicep and the zebra teetered, like he was riding a wave. “You want one of these?”