“I don’t care if we spend the whole week at the Department of Motor Vehicles, as long as I’m with you,” he’d said. And this had pleased her. He was sure of it. And, in that moment, seeing this, he was pleased with himself. Hadn’t he hugged her, and hadn’t she nestled at his neck?
They’d had a good life, hadn’t they?
He was thinking this, in a breath-stealing fury, coming along toward the house with the giant willow oak, when he saw a big man walk out of the sixth fairway of the golf course and trot a little to come into the road a few yards ahead of him.
“Hey,” the man said.
Koren nodded at him.
“Out walking, huh.”
“Yeah,” he answered tonelessly, without slowing his pace.
“You live around here?”
“Yes, I do.” He spoke through narrow lips.
“Close by?”
Koren looked past him, still walking. Surely his demeanor expressed his wish to be left alone.
The man stayed a couple of steps ahead of him, maintaining the pace. For a few moments there was just the sound of their shoes on the pavement. A car swung by them, driven by a woman, with two children in the backseat. The car was dirty, and there was a dent on the back fender, the bumper swinging slightly, loose. Koren saw this and marked it; you would have to pull over a person driving a car in that condition.
“Nice morning,” the man said, as if to remind Koren of his presence. He was well over six feet tall, easily two hundred seventy pounds, a full head taller than Koren, and very pale, even a little sickly looking, though the waxy flesh around his face was heavy, the grizzled chin going straight down into the neck. He wore a baseball cap with the FedEx logo on it, only the word was FEDUP. He had a striped pullover shirt, dark new-looking jeans, and running shoes. An earring sparkled in his left ear.
“You lived here long?”
“Look, do you want something?” Koren said. “Because I’m not really in the mood for company.”
“Just curious, man.”
They kept walking.
Finally Koren said, “Okay, you want to go ahead or should I?”
“You got any money on you?”
“Do I have any money on me.”
“Well, what it is, you never know when something might happen. We’re always within range, sort of, ain’t we. Right around the corner from disaster. Right? Because, see, I’m what you might call a bandit.” The man lifted his shirt just enough to show the handle of a pistol. “This has kind of a hair trigger, you know, and it can do a lot of damage.”
Koren kept on walking. He was thinking about the toilet paper in the trash can in the little bathroom, the glass breaking in the dishwasher.
The big man kept pace with him, evidently waiting for some reaction. “Look at these houses,” he said. “These’re some rich people’s houses right here.”
“Better move off, sir.”
“You live here.”
“I walk here.”
“You wanna stop now? Because, well, what if I did a little target practice on you, just for the fun of it.”
He halted. “Just go on, okay?”
“I know there’s a problem with believing this is happening. But, man, it really is happening. And I will shoot you right quick if you don’t do exactly what I want you to do, you know.”
Koren glared at him. “I’m gonna give you one chance.”
“You’ll give me—look, I don’t think you understand what this is.”
He felt the heat expanding in his limbs.
“Hey,” the big man said. “Here’s the deal. This is a robbery. We keep walking. We go to your house. Get your bankbook. You get me some money, and I don’t shoot you and you never see me again.”
“I don’t think so. You keep walking. I’ll wait here until you’re out of sight.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Really. This hasn’t been the best morning for me. You know? And I’m in a rage right now, and the fact is, it’s got nothing to do with you. Nothing. So, you know, you mess with me and something really bad might happen.”
“Well, what if I just take your wallet and your watch?”
“Why don’t you just get the fuck away from me.”
The man took the gun out. It was a Luger. He held it lightly in his hand and sighted with it, just past where the other was standing.
“Oh, wow,” Koren said. “And I’ve already had a ridiculous morning. Nice morning like this, arguing over toilet paper.”
“What?”
“Yeah. A silly-ass thing like that.”
“What the hell’re you talking about, man. This ain’t Oprah.”
“Your intent is to rob me, then. Is that right?”
“Let’s say that’s exactly right. And my intent is also to hurt you if you do anything rash. And if you run, you know, I’ll shoot and I’ll hit something that’ll cripple you. I’m pretty good.”
“All right.” Koren reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Here.”
“You won’t regret it,” said the thief, taking it in one hand. “This is actually your lucky day. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve decided to be ben-NEV-u-lent.” He smiled, opening the wallet.
Koren brought out his service revolver.
For a second, the other just stared. Then he quickly held up his hands, dropping the wallet and the Luger. “Oh, look—there’s no bullets in it—I swear. It’s a dummy. I couldn’t shoot myself with it.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Koren told him. “And anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.”
“A cop. Jesus. You’re police. Mine’s not a real gun, man. I don’t own a real gun. The barrel’s sealed.”
Koren felt something climb to his brain stem from far down his spine. He cocked the revolver, stepped over, and put the barrel of it just at the other’s mouth. “Open up.”
“This—this is an arrest, right?”
“Open up. Wide.”
“Oh, man. Don’t.”
“Nice and wide, this one is real, and it also has a hair trigger.”
“But you’re a—you’re a policeman.”
“Yeah, I’m a citizen, too, and this morning I’m really pissed off. Open up.”
“You’re not gonna shoot me, though,” the thief said, then slowly opened his mouth.
Koren put the barrel of the gun into it. “Now close up tight.”
The other’s eyes were wide and white and his whole body was shaking. His lips came closed around the barrel.
“What’s it taste like?” Koren asked him.
“Pweesgh. Oh, pweesgh don’ shoop.”
“I was gonna take a peaceful walk on a sunny day, and my wife wants to argue with me and then out of nowhere she makes everything a complete and utter ruin. Ends everything, everything. My whole fucking life, you know? And then you come along.”
“Oh, God. Nyo.”
“You come at the very exact wrong time.”
“Oh.” The man sobbed, and shook, and then urinated himself, standing there. The pool spread at his feet. “Oh, God.”
Koren looked at his own hand, holding the gun, and the sick-blue color of the other’s lips around the barrel. Now he would squeeze the trigger. Now. He saw it all—the blast and the falling and the sudden splatter of bleeding—in the shaking instant that, with an icy shiver along his spine, and with great slow care, he removed the gun barrel from the slack mouth, and stepped back.
The man put both hands over his lips, staring, shaking. He gagged, and then coughed, crying. “You arrest somebody, yeah, but this—this ain’t right.”
“Yeah. It’s wrong. Like pulling a fake gun to rob somebody on a morning walk. Somebody perfectly innocent and not deserving anything bad. Who hasn’t done anything wrong. Not one goddamn thing wrong.”
“Oh, Christ.”
A moment later, Koren said, “Tell me your name.”
“Breedlove, sir. I’m really—I’m really sorry. I wouldn’t’ve hu
rt you. I’ve never hurt anybody.”
“Well, Mr. Breedlove, you’re under arrest.”
“Yes, sir. I deserve it, sir. Under arrest. Right. Sir.” The big man looked down, standing in the wet circle his urine had made. “Just please don’t shoot me.” He sniffled.
Koren indicated the Luger and the wallet. “Hand me that.”
The bigger man warily bent down and retrieved them, then handed them over. Koren put the Luger into his belt, pocketed his wallet, and pointed to the low white brick wall on the left side of the road. “Have a seat.”
The other walked over and sat down. “I’m a mess.” He kept crying softly.
“Yeah, well, so am I.” Koren, still holding his revolver, brought his cell phone out of the pouch on his sweatshirt, and then sat down himself.
“You’re gonna call a car, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” The big man seemed happy about it.
“You know what kind of morning this has been for me?” Koren asked him, and was surprised at how quickly the rest of it came out. “My wife told me this morning, man. She’s leaving me. I thought we were happy. I’m falling over, you know? I’m sailing down. Plummeting. I can’t believe it.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.” He put the service revolver back into the belt of his jeans, with the Luger. Then he put his cell phone away, too. “So, you know, maybe you’re just a very lucky man this time.”
“If I’d’ve known. I wouldn’t’ve bothered you, really.”
This made them both laugh. There was something nearly panic-stricken about it.
“Jesus,” said Breedlove. “I didn’t mean that as a joke. Sorry.”
Koren glanced at him, a tall slovenly overweight man, sitting slumped on the low wall, hands folded between his knees, head down, staring forlornly at the surface of the road. “What got you into this kind of trouble, anyway?”
After a moment, the other gave a small halfhearted shrug. “Usual, I guess.”
“You married?”
“Was.”
“Tell me.”
“We didn’t get along.”
“Tell me.”
“Nothing much to tell. She took up with somebody she worked with. She had a pretty good job. Trouble is, I don’t have any skills.” He sobbed, sniffled, wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I have no self-pity, though. Never gave it a thought.” Again he wiped his nose. And again he sobbed. “Sorry.”
“So you don’t have a job.”
“Naw, I do. Work in a gas station out on Forty.”
“So what was this about?”
Breedlove sighed and shrugged. “Extra money, I don’t really know. I thought about it a long time.”
“And this was really your first.”
He actually smiled a little, shaking his head. “Yeah. Stupid, huh.”
“Look at that tree,” Koren told him. “You ever see anything like that?”
“Big, yeah. Willow oaks grow big.”
“Strong, too. Roots’ll break up a road.”
“I saw lightning hit one, once.”
“Think of the massiveness of it. Must be a hundred fifty years old.”
“At least.”
“When did your wife leave you?”
“Years ago.”
“You with somebody now?”
“Not for a while.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do. What do you do, your wife wants to leave you because of an argument over toilet paper.”
There was a pause. They were staring out at the golf course, the trees lining the fairway.
“Man.” Breedlove emitted a little gasping sigh. He was still shaking. “I’ve never been so scared. Look at me. Jesus.”
“Were you ever happy, you and your wife?”
“Sure, sometimes. At the beginning.”
“Mine gets it into her head she’s unhappy—”
“Well,” said Breedlove. “I gotta admit I wasn’t much to live with. Trouble is I have no skills.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“Sorry.” Now there seemed a kind of weighted hesitation.
Koren remembered with a shock that earlier he had put the barrel of his service revolver in the man’s mouth and that he had been talking about toilet paper. The fact of it made him laugh again, too loud this time, so that the other stared, wide eyed. “Was something,” Koren got out. “Way you tried to talk with that gun barrel in your mouth.”
“Oh. Jesus. Never been so scared.”
“And here we are—” The laugh wouldn’t let him form the words. He wanted to say “talking women and big-assed old trees and toilet paper and happiness,” but he only managed the first two words.
Breedlove seemed not to understand him. “Boy,” he said, shaking his head. “Yeah. Women.” He rubbed his face with his fat hands.
Koren saw the dimples in the backs of them where the knuckles would be. He stood slowly and held out the barrel-sealed Luger. “Here. Go on, man. Go.”
“You—really?”
“Yeah.”
The other looked at the Luger. “You keep it?”
“What would I do with it?”
He took it.
“Just walk on back the way you came and don’t ever do anything like this again.”
“No, I won’t. Yes, sir. You can bet on that one. No kidding. Thank you, so much, sir.” He started hesitantly away, moving like someone in great age, mincing, tottering slightly, and then trying to hurry, not looking back.
Koren thought about all the extra days of work to come, and he would arrive home each of those days to the empty little house. He would open the door and walk in, alone. Everyone would know about it, that she had left him, that she was gone for good. And there wasn’t even anyone else she was leaving him for. It would be better, really, if there was someone else, or if he had done some one thing, cheated on her or was a drunk or something. Anything. He had come very close to killing Breedlove, just minutes ago. He imagined putting the barrel of the service revolver in his own mouth, and then understood with a fright, in a new way, like blood knowledge, like something from earliest memory, how a man could come to that. He shivered and sat back down, going over everything, thinking unwillingly and with sickening force of his father, while seeing again the way the gun barrel looked with Breedlove’s lips around it. The panic in the face, the wide crying eyes. The moment had seemed inevitable, as if it had been planned for him from far off, and he felt it now like destiny, a thing coming near that he would not be able to avoid or escape. He watched Breedlove go on across the sixth fairway, nearly at a run now, the wide darker place showing on the seat of the jeans and down both legs.
He had never felt sorrier for anybody in his life.
THE BRIDGE TO CHINA
for Lisa Blanc
These first weeks of autumn have been hard, both boys gone and the house all to herself. She arrives after each day’s work with the sinking realization that no one else is coming home. The place seems nearly cavernous.
This is not unexpected. It’s a thing she’s dreaded since the older one, Edward, left for the University of Chicago to study business, four years ago. Edward now has a job with an insurance firm in the city. He’s always reminded her, sometimes not so unpleasantly, of his father: thorough, decisive, even methodical; very good-looking, but also, at times, a bit humorless. Sometimes casually dishonest. He seldom calls, and never visits, though he lives closer. Well, he’s busy. And he was always more his father’s boy.
The younger son, Cody, after two years as a clerk at Kroger’s, left for Southern California this past August to study literature at Chapman University. He’s the star of her heart, and she speaks to him on the telephone or texts with him several times a week, more often than when he lived at home. It’s his leaving that has given her this forsaken feeling. And it’s he who says she ought to join an online dating service.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says quickly, and experiences the sense that she’s fendi
ng something off. It surprises her. “I’m too busy anyway.”
“Eliza,” he says. Calling her by name is an aspect of his new adult life far away. “Millions of people use dating sites. And they work.”
“You’re being silly.”
“A girl I took out last week—her dad used one and he’s getting married.”
“Did you find her that way?”
“She’s in my Chaucer class.”
“Well, maybe I’ll take a Chaucer class. But I’m not looking to get married.”
“It’s just a suggestion,” Cody says. “You’ve been talking about the empty house.”
“I was describing the territory, darling. It’s like I’ve got an appointment to show it and the people don’t come.”
“Oh, God, Mom. See?”
“That’s just you being gone. I’ll get used to it. It’s life, that’s all.”
“But it doesn’t have to be so hard, right?”
“Honey, it is what it is. I get home, I notice the empty rooms, and there’s a moment. But I have a glass of wine, and make myself something to eat, and pretty soon I’m enjoying the quiet. I watch a movie or read for a while. And then I go to bed. When you work the hours I do, and at my age, sleep is nice.”
“Listen to you. You’re not even fifty.”
“You could say it that way or you could say I’m pushing fifty.”
He pauses. Then: “You always worked too hard.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not criticizing. I just don’t think you have to be alone. You deserve someone cool and funny and gentle.”
“It’s a very social business, my work. I make friends. I meet people all the time, honey. Very nice people.”
“Yeah, but that’s showing houses and talking to lenders. There’s not much actual socializing with that kind of thing. Right?”
“How long do you think it would take to build a bridge to China?” When both boys were small, this was something she asked them whenever they began their child’s questions about lies, absent fathers, air, the end of the world, stars and darkness and the meaning of everything.
“Okay, okay,” he says with a soft laugh. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Living in the Weather of the World Page 2